A/N: Ok wow, having just heard the news that Rebecca Luker has passed away, I tried singing "How Could I Ever Know" and broke down crying, so I sat down to edit this as a coping mechanism whilst blasting the broadway cast record. 3 My heart is heavy for Danny and the rest of her friends and family; and I am so honored I got to see her perform live twice (in Cinderella and Fun Home) – she has been one of my biggest inspirations as a soprano for a while now; this is truly a difficult loss for the broadway community. (And if you haven't noticed by now, Becca has always been my point of reference for my Lilias, as I feel she perfectly captures how I imagined her whilst reading the novel.)
But as Frances Hodgson Burnett reminds us, such is the cycle of life, and the important thing is that we keep living for those who are no longer with us. xx
Lago di Como, Italia
COME HOME. LETTER ARRIVED FOR YOU.
URGENT BUSINESS.
NEEDS YOUR ATTENTION
CALL ON SOLICITOR ONCE IN TOWN
– – NEVILLE
Two years had come and gone since the oppressive summer during which Archibald Craven had first resumed his stay at his quaint Italian villa.
Though he would still travel to clear his head every now and then, he never remained away long. It seemed there was a siren in the lake, the faceless enchantress always beckoning him back to her embrace.
As the nights grew longer, he welcomed sleep, welcomed dreams of his lost love, more and more.
Her voice was starting to fade from his memory, as was her laugh, her touch, the softness of her air and sweetness of her perfume. And soon, his travels took on a new purpose. He was not running anymore.
No. He was looking for Lilias. He was hoping to return from each new voyage with her on his arm.
This distraction consumed him, separating him from real life and making it harder for him to get by. Although, he took no note of the changes, too caught up in the drive of his search.
One day, Mr. Pitcher had (rather impertinently) pointed out his master's lack of appetite. Archibald had been thin as a child – pale and ill – but such never took a toll on his body the way his current habits were. In his youth, he would take little, but now showed no desire to do even such.
He excused himself to his valet by citing his ever more sedentary lifestyle, as though he was once as active as other boys. But the old gentleman knew his place well enough to refrain from suggesting a return to Misselthwaite, a visit with the doctor. That would only worsen his master's health.
But that could not stop him thinking it. And Archibald Craven was still surprisingly perceptive, even in his fantasy world.
He watched, as the weather shifted once more to a cold and lonely winter, as his valet's concern manifested as pity for him.
He nearly scoffed when he recognized the all-too-familiar guilt in his servant's eyes, despite ignoring the signs his body had begun to shut down completely.
Although, one could suppose he rather embraced them.
His greying hair was flat and thinning; his deep brown eyes were sunken in, framed by the dark, heavy circles beneath them. The light had left them as Lilias did, but he failed to notice the red veins growing more prominent, washing them out further. If he had looked into a glass he may have thought himself a madman – but he never cared enough about his appearance to do so.
Most of all, however, he was tired.
He had long since abandoned work and society, but every day seemed to bring about a new fatigue. He was bored of dinners with old acquaintances, even for formality's sake. The smallest interactions would drain his energy completely, lethargy taking over as soon as he returned home.
He hardly even took the air anymore, his exhaustion sometimes too great to pull himself out of bed in the morning. Besides, he preferred the monotonous solitude of his bedchamber.
He stopped reading. Most books became a bore to him. Even those he once loved, once read aloud from, sat before a fire whilst Lilias nuzzled up against him, failed to hold his attention.
There was truly little point to novels. He had always used them as an escape from his harsh reality, but such a reality hardly existed for him now. He was caught in a never-ending dream – tied to the belief that he would soon wake from this nightmare and be comforted by his little wife.
Despite the empty days that trickled by, filled with fatigue, he hardly slept. Some days he was kept awake by the terrors of his dreams, whilst other nights found him too restless to even once surrender to the temporary abyss.
Death would be easier, he thought, rolling his head upon his pillow one night. It would be an eternal rest, safe from the world and his fears. And he would be with Lilias. Not just in spirit, but would be safe in the knowledge that his physical form lay beside her in the cold vaults of the Misselthwaite mausoleum.
It enticed him, just like the siren in the sea. Whenever his mind went blank, he could hear it calling to him, drawing him closer and closer to the edge.
The voice grew softer, lighter, sweeter, more musical. He finally recognized it.
He had held on so long because of his promise to Lilias, but if even she was summoning him to her, who was he to deny his wife's wishes?
Then, a telegram arrived from his brother.
He pondered the paper, wondering if it had been a sign from above that his time on earth was not quite over, that there was still a chance for him to start again and find the happiness he had lost.
That sounded absurd. But still, he prepared for an imminent return to Yorkshire.
He met up with his solicitor in London, asking what the business was about. The other man remained stoic the duration of their journey together, convincing Archibald that Neville had asked the man to keep him in the dark.
His thoughts drifted instead to his son – had something happened to Colin?
Such silent queries consumed him as the train continued north. Frankly, Archibald was surprised with himself for being so concerned. Why fret now, when he had shown so little care for the boy in the past?
He knew he was not well informed on his son's condition; and while he knew he was a poor father, he never would wish harm on his son – on Lily's son.
The sound of the wheels sparking on the tracks lulled him to sleep eventually, his mind flitting through possible scenes he may face in Yorkshire.
Somehow, unfortunately, nothing could have prepared him for the letter that actually awaited him.
He begrudgingly arrived midday, surprising the staff. They had not been told of their true master's summons, lest he not show. But more surprising still was the sense of urgency he felt as he made his way to his son's rooms upon arrival.
Thankfully, the doctor caught him in the hall first.
"Colin is fine – I apologize for not thinking to include that in my telegram." Neville kept his voice low and level as he led his brother to the library, where he had left the letter (and where Mrs. Medlock was waiting for them.)
The library had always been Archibald's private paradise. As they walked through the large oak doors, the smell of old paper mixed with smoky firewood, the crackling of the logs the only sound in the dead room. He felt like he was being dragged to sit beneath the window that faced the side lawns; but he would have gone willingly, had his timidity not forced up an invisible defense.
"We really should not be here unchaperoned," he said, though his tone betrayed his indifference. He figured to say the right thing would ease his conscience, should they be discovered.
"After all those days in the valley, you decide now to care for propriety?" A laugh floated to his ears, disturbing the heavy atmosphere.
"Besides, Archie, you make it sound so naughty!" with a blush, "I simply wish to talk to you about something is all," Lilias exclaimed, alighting upon the damask cushions.
He studied her face, her eyes, her hair glowing in the late afternoon sun that was pouring in from the grand windows behind them. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, pulling her close as he kissed her; but he would not dare such an act. They were just friends, and she may scorn him; and he could not bear the thought of spoiling such friendship.
As a distraction, he focused instead on her words. She was going on about a ball being held, and asked him to procure an invitation.
"It shan't be too hard for a man of your standing," she insisted.
"But, why?"
"For me, of course?" She looked at him from beneath her thick lashes, a small pout pleading him to accept such a reason. But he was stubborn, and she relented, "Rose is forcing me to be more social. She insists I make my debut this season, and figured this party would be a good introduction for me. Unconventional, but attractive to the right crowd."
"And why do you want me there?"
"Because I want no part of the men Rose believes to be suitable for me."
She took his hands, sighing after her confession. Archibald tensed at the contact. It was something she had done before, but the privacy of their current location made him perceive the encounter more intimately.
"So I would love for you to be there to keep me company."
She wants my company?
"I can only endure so much of men who see me as nothing more than a conquest."
Always one to be bold.
Archibald smiled at her last comment, wordlessly reminding her that he did not condemn her candid discussions of disdain for the type of attention she was far too accustomed to. "Then I will be sure to come, if only to put my name at the top of your dance card."
Gasping, "that will never do!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. She pulled him up as well and placed his hands upon her, indicating she wished to dance with him.
Archibald shook as he led her to the centre of the room. He knew how to dance, but was out of practice. Lilias did not care, though. She laughed as he twirled her about, seeming to genuinely be enjoying herself, his embrace.
"I expect at least half my dances that evening to be with you, Lord Craven." She curtsied grandly as they parted.
...
The night of the festivity began rather mundanely, and Archibald's maudlin façade assured nearly all the guests would stay far from him. Even his brother was off somewhere, probably chasing after some woman.
"Good evening, sir." A rather tall man had come up beside him, a young woman with vibrant red hair on his arm. She looked at him with only as much scorn as he was used to, but her companion was much friendlier.
Archibald introduced himself on formality, shaking hands with the other gentleman.
"A pleasure, my Lord," with a polite nod he returned the introduction, "I am Lieutenant Albert Lennox, and this is my fiancée, Miss Rose MacLaren."
Hearing her name, Archibald was hardly surprised that she did not extend her hand to him. She just continued to fan herself rather frantically, then turned up her nose and said, "now where has that foolish girl run off to," her words dripping with disdain and impatience.
A peacock. That's what Lilias typically called her.
Almost immediately after Albert excused the two of them, Archibald felt a light tap upon his arm.
He let out a quiet chuckle as he was met with round, grey eyes upon turning around.
"So, hiding from your sister now, are you?"
"Oh, why must you tease me so," Lilias whined, hiding behind her fan in feigned timidity.
"I simply heard that dances would begin shorted and figured it would be polite to make the acquaintance of the first gentleman on my card in advance of him whisking me away." Her expression served as a discreet reminder that no one was aware of their friendship. So he played along, offering the same introduction he had given her sister and "her handsome Lieutenant," as Lilias had referred to him.
As the waltz commenced, Archibald lost himself in her eyes. The rest of the party faded away as she smiled and giggled and danced with him – she was truly happy to be seen in his arms, in the middle of the dance floor; and he was awestruck.
The evening eventually came to a close in a wave of exhaustion and elation. For Archibald, nearly the whole night had been spent with Lilias in his arms, by his side. Every spare instance she had, she found her way over to him, much to the dissatisfaction of her sister. He felt the stares on him all the time, but they did not bother him. He dared to fancy that the men were simply jealous that he had captured the heart of their darling debutante.
If only he truly did have her heart.
It was no secret to the guests that she enjoyed his company, but they were friends. He could not permit himself to forget that.
In the hall on their way out, Lilias managed to push him into an empty room, hushing him as she closed the door. Outside, Rose's voice called to her lover, asking if he had seen "the little one."
Archibald shook his head in reproach, but she just batted her eyelashes back at him, reminding him that she loved teasing her sister so, loved showing the "epitome of high society ladies" that she would never conform to her standards.
"I had a very pleasant evening, Archie," she said, uncharacteristically quiet, "It could have been dreadfully dull. I am so glad you were able to be here."
Here at the party or here in the abandoned drawing room, he was not quite sure. He was, however, sure of how radiant she looked in her light blue dress, jewels shining in her hair. The moon was rising, sneaking in through the slits of the not-quite-closed curtains.
And sure was he too of the beat in his heart – loud enough for her to hear, no doubt – droning fast and heavy as she placed her hands gently upon his lapels.
He did not care if she could hear for that matter, as the world swirled around him. The din in the hall silenced as she pulled him down closer to her and brought his lips briefly to hers.
In less than a second they had parted, and Lilias looked terribly flustered, even in the low light. Despite the darkness, her eyes were wide and cried shame for her behavior, audacious even for her.
She seemed frozen, her voice lost. Anticipating an apology he did not want to hear, he allowed himself to act on impulse.
Where such courage came from he knew now, but in an instant Lord Craven heard himself say "this will never do" and felt himself kiss her once more.
He abandoned himself to her, intoxicated by the ease with which she responded. He knew she felt the same as him: comfortable and content. This was so right.
It was tentative and chaste and far too short, but Archibald cherished every second of their kiss. She seemed so small in his arms, yet fit to him so perfectly. Even as they resigned themselves to propriety again and took an unintentionally synchronised step apart, each knew the other felt no regrets regarding their actions.
The noise in the hall truly had ceased now, and they tried to sneak back unnoticed.
Unfortunately, a certain younger brother and elder sister spied them immediately. Albert laughed and Neville looked more impressed than anything, but Rose was positively scandalised. She marched over, her heels resounding violently with each step across the now-empty entrance. She practically dragged Lilias away from him, their hands parting.
Funny. He had not even noticed that their hands were interlocked until such occurred. Nor had he taken note before now the blush spreading across Lily's cheeks and down to her bare shoulders.
Neville brought Archibald back to reality, giving him a pat on the shoulder whilst they both watched the company take their leave.
Lilias offered a last glance and a small wave, and then they were gone.
Now, they really were gone.
"...or I could find a reputable school to send her to," Neville was explaining.
"No." Archibald cut him off harshly, "The girl is Lily's niece – she will come here."
"And, Mrs. Medlock," turning to his housekeeper, "please order the child some white clothes. They'll no doubt have done her up in black, and the last thing this house needs is another reason to be filled with despair," Archibald reassumed the station necessary to entitle him the last word on the matter.
And so it was fated that the Master of Misselthwaite Manor would finally return to his position at the head of the family – at least for the time being. And his first duty was to be to inform the staff of the expected arrival of his niece, Mary Lennox.