Chapter 7
Oceans Apart

James took a deep, fortifying breath as he dismounted from his horse and strode up the walkway to the front of the house. He'd stayed up nearly the whole night, turning it all over in his mind, thinking about how to approach it in daylight, the order of people to visit. But in the end, he'd known the blessing he'd wanted first.

The footman opened the door of McGonagall House as he swept briskly up the front steps, then took his coat and gloves with a bow. Crossing the entrance hall, turning a corner, he found himself immediately faced with the woman herself: part mother, part aunt, part friend.

"Good morning, Your Grace!" A playful smile spread across her face. "To what do we owe this morning visit?"

He looked over Lady McGonagall's shoulder to see Lady Violet Evans, standing in greeting. "Your Grace."

His chest fluttered as he felt just how real this was all becoming. "Can we…sit down?"

Lady McGonagall swept her arm toward the sofas arranged in the middle of the room and sat down next to Violet, with James taking the gestured seat opposite them.

The two women looked at him expectantly, and he leaned forward on his knees and clenched together his trembling hands. "I intend to speak with Lord Orion," he began, and he saw two pairs of eyebrows raise simultaneously. "But I wanted to speak with both of you first."

Excitement shone in their faces, though they fought their smiles.

"Well, out with it!" Lady McGonagall prodded him. "I've only been waiting all morning!"

James chuckled, then gathered his wits and looked up at Violet. "Lady Evans, I—I would like to marry to your daughter"—she beamed, squealing softly as she brought her hands to her mouth—"though, not the one that you may think."

The two women froze, staring at him in suspense, but he'd prepared himself for defending his decision.

"I've spent much of my life unhappy," he started. "I've felt lost, and I—I've doubted whether I could ever live up to my father's name. When I came back to sort my affairs, I thought I would be gone again in a week. But being here, meeting her…I—I must admit it took me by surprise. At first I assumed she was a prim young lady barely out of leading strings, not to mention the cousin of my best friend and the younger sister of the lady who dear Minerva"—he arched a brow in her direction—"tried to set me up with from the start."

She beamed back at him.

"I knew Lily was opposed to marrying, knew she wanted to pursue other things in life, and so I thought romance with her was not an option. But in so removing it, we found something far greater. We found friendship."

Lady Violet gasped softly, bringing her hand to cover her mouth as tears gathered in her eyes.

"Lily and I…well, maybe you all could see it before we could. Or at least before I did. But the truth is that when we were meant to be putting on a ruse, we simply enjoyed each other's company so much we could not stay away from one another." He smiled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I have never been a man that much enjoyed flirting, or chatting, or, indeed, talking at all," he confessed. "But with Lily…conversation has always been easy. Her laughter brings me joy."

Violet's eyes were wet when he met them with his own. "To meet a beautiful woman is one thing, but to meet your best friend in the most beautiful of women is something…entirely apart. I only regret that it took the prince coming along for me to realize I did not want Lily to only be my friend, I wanted her to be my wife. I want her to be my wife. And as her husband, I want to give her all that she's always wanted to experience: travel, access to academia, a chance to be a scholar. If you'll let me ask her for her hand."

Choking back her cry, Violet reached across the coffee table between them and covered his hands with hers. "Yes," she said through her smiling tears. "Of course, Your Grace—"

"James," he corrected softly.

She inclined her head. "James. I have never seen Lily light up the way she does around you, and I know if William"—her voice choked, tugging on his heartstrings—"were here"—Minerva wrapped a supporting arm around her shoulders—"he would say the same: it would be an honor to have you marry our Lily."

A grin broke across his face, and Lady McGonagall stood up, saying, "Come here, boy." He obliged her, standing for a hug, and felt his throat tighten as he heard her soft whisper, "Your parents would be so proud."

"Thank you, Lady McGonagall."

Violet placed an affectionate hand on his arm, and he broached the last uneasy topic of this whole thing. "I…should speak to Petunia and break things off properly."

She nodded. "You have my blessing, of course."

"I'll call shortly, on my way to the Black's?"

The smug smile on her face told him that she could tell he was in a hurry, but the way she immediately agreed also told him she didn't mind.

Something was off; Lily could sense it in the way her mother kept anxiously looking toward the door and giving distracted responses as she pretended to fiddle with her needlework. It was making Lily rather nervous, and between that and Petunia's determination to play an hour straight on the piano, Lily was hardly able to focus on the book in her lap.

Could her mother tell? Even worse: did she somehow know? That Lily had snuck out of the house, violated all of society's rules, and done unmentionable things with a man? Was she merely waiting for ruin to knock on the door and announce itself?

Her eyes closed as fleeting memories rushed across her mind, replaying James's hands on her skin, mouth on her neck, fingers—

A knock on the door made her start in her seat.

The footman announced, "The Duke of Peverell, ma'am," and her heart leapt into her throat as Petunia's music abruptly stopped and Violet jumped to her feet, clasping her hands in apparent glee.

Lily had seen James walk through that door many a time by that point, but something about this time, more than any other, took her breath away. Maybe because she'd had her hands in that hair and her tongue in that mouth, or maybe because she'd heard the moans he'd made as he fell apart under her hand, or maybe because he'd broken barriers—truly seen her, as no one else, let alone a man, ever had—but just then, as she traced the light stubble darkening his jaw, the inky hair tousled across his forehead, the hazel eyes that locked on hers, she thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

His face remained as inscrutable as ever. "Miss Evans."

She stood and returned his polite bow with one of her own. "Your Grace."

He greeted Petunia and her mother in similar fashion, seeming to share a suspiciously long look with the latter, and then he said, "I was wondering if I might speak with Miss Petunia."

What? His gaze was fixed on her sister, though she saw a muscle twitch in her jaw, and when she looked over at her mother, it was to see Violet beaming as she looked at Lily and made a discreet shooing motion toward the door.

That was the moment she knew: James was here to propose—just not to her.

Tears rose hot and fast behind her eyes, and in her rush to leave, she forgot her book and had to double-back to get it before quitting the room for good. The entire time—all three times she walked past him—he didn't look at her; in fact, if Lily didn't know better, she would think he was trying not to laugh.

Humiliation, sickly familiar, rose in her throat as she ran up the stairs and shut the door behind her, chest heaving. The last words he'd spoken to her the night before echoed in her mind. Do you trust me?

She'd told him she did. But had he ever really given her a reason to?

James chewed his cheek, trying to suppress his smile, but such was a difficult feat when Lily was concerned. Especially when she flushed like that when she was flustered, and especially when Violet kept looking at him like they shared a secret. Which, he supposed they did: Lily may not know it yet, but before the day was done, she would be betrothed.

Well, assuming she said yes, but after their thinly veiled conversation the night before, James had every reason to believe she would.

As the door finally closed, marking Lily's exit, James gestured toward the sofa Lily had just vacated, and sat a comfortable distance from Petunia, hands once again clasped between his knees, though this time he had no tremble to stifle.

"Miss Evans, I need to be honest with you."

Her face, at first arranged in smug expectation, wrinkled in confusion. "Of course, Your Grace. You may speak freely."

He swallowed heavily, then told her, "I know that you and I were…pushed together from the start. And you are lovely, Petunia, truly. But…"

Her face hardened, and somehow that was the push he needed to say what he needed to say. "I…don't remember my parents, but Lady McGonagall tells me they married for love. I've ran from a lot of things in my life, and I've made plenty of irresponsible choices, but…one thing I always promised myself was that if I married, it would be for love. To honor them."

She blinked rapidly, looking down at her lap, and James was momentarily stunned, not sure he'd ever seen an unintended display of emotion from her.

"I'm in love with Lily," he said quietly, and her eyes snapped back to him, wide in surprise. "I…didn't expect it, and Lord knows I didn't plan it, but…I love her. And I want to marry her, and take her traveling, and introduce her to scholars, and—"

He couldn't read the look on Petunia's face, couldn't tell if he was making things worse or better, so he cleared his throat and changed course. "I'm sorry. I felt that I needed to be honest with you before—well, before spoke to Lord Orion. Or Lily."

Petunia nodded stiffly. "It was honorable of you to do so, Your Grace."

Hearing her dismissal, he took his leave, trying as hard as Violet not to smile.

A loud knock boomed, and Lily impolitely shouted, "What?"

"My lady?" the footman's voice floated through the door.

Lily sighed, heaved herself off the bed, and opened the door, making a determined effort to use a more polite tone as she asked, "Yes, Humboldt?"

"Your presence is requested downstairs, Miss."

"I'm not feeling well," she lied.

Humboldt shuffled awkwardly. "I'm afraid Lord Orion Black insists, Miss."

Shoulders slumping, knowing she couldn't take out her frustration on dear Humboldt, Lily nodded and followed him forlornly down the stairs.

Sure enough, Orion was pacing in the drawing room amidst a tense-looking Violet and a confused-looking Petunia.

"Ah! Lily!" He grinned, then took both of her hands in his own. "I have wonderful news."

She looked askance at Violet, whose frown turned into a smile. "Oh, how quick—"

"Indeed! The ink is hardly dry." He squeezed Lily's hands, dark eyes twinkling down at her. "Your father would be so proud—Prinzessin Lily."

Petunia dropped the glass she was holding with a shattering clatter, but Orion was the only one to react, looking wildly over his shoulder toward Petunia. Lily, for her part, felt numb.

"Orion!" Violet exclaimed, looking horrified. "What have you done?"

He frowned at Violet, perplexed. "What have I done? My duty, Violet. The Prince has asked for Lily's hand, and I have given it—"

"It was not your hand to give!" Violet shrieked.

Orion scoffed and said plainly, "Of course it was, Violet, we both know that."

Lily wasn't sure she had ever seen Violet so angry, positively bristling around the edges.

Still feeling like none of this was real, Lily somehow managed to gather enough of her voice to say, "I don't want to."

Orion looked down at her in surprise. "You—well, Lily—"

"I don't want to," she repeated, more strongly this time. "I don't love him, I don't want—"

"That doesn't matter," Orion spoke over her, grabbing her shoulders gently. "Marriage is not about love, Lily, it is about station, and rank, and ensuring you are provided for in a good family. And you will be, you'll"—he chuckled in disbelief—"you'll be royalty, Lily, what more could you ask for?"

She wrenched away from him. "You know," she spat. "You know what I want, what I have been begging you for. And if you won't listen to my mother, then you should at the very least do as my father would have done, and let me have a say in who I marry!"

Orion glared at her. "Lily—"

"I'm not your daughter!"

For the first time, Orion raised his voice, "No, you're damn well not! Because if you were my daughter, you wouldn't have these fanciful whims of whatever it is you want to run amok and do instead of your duty, and you certainly wouldn't be acting like an ungrateful brat upon having your future secured to a prince."

He stepped closer to her, speaking low, though the room was silent enough they could all still hear him. "And if you don't think I tried to persuade the Prince to prefer my own daughter, you're a fool."

Violet's glare shot daggers at his back, but he didn't turn around to see it; he only snapped, "The betrothal will be announced in the morning," before striding away.

Lily waited only until the clang of the front door confirmed his departure, and then she fled for her room.

He paced across the entrance hall of The House of Black, running his hands through his hair. He'd just missed Orion when he'd arrived, and he'd been pacing for nearly an hour now, driving himself crazy with anxiety. More than anything, he just wanted this conversation over with so he could go to Evans House—to Lily—and tell her what he'd been desperate to tell her since the night before.

Orion burst through the double doors with all the energy of a hurricane, stopping only when he noticed a body in front of him.

"Oh—James."

He inclined his head. "Sir. I was hoping to speak with you."

"Oh." The man exhaled a large breath and then asked, "Can it wait?"

James shook his head. "I'm afraid it can't, sir."

Orion sighed—"Very well, then"—and waved for James to follow him into his study, where he went straight to his liquor cabinet and began pouring two glasses of brandy.

James took an eager sip; his nerves could use it.

"And what is it that couldn't wait?" Orion asked, a polite smile now on his face.

He rolled the glass in his hand, then sucked in a deep breath. "I've come to ask your blessing for a hand in marriage."

Orion's eyebrows darted up, glass freezing halfway on its path to his mouth. "Well, that's lovely news, why, that works perfectly, Petunia will be delighted, I'm sure—"

"Not Petunia's," James corrected, steeling himself for the pushback he expected. "Lily's."

Orion gave him a puzzled look. "Lily's?"

James nodded. "Yes."

The face staring back at him suddenly looked oddly pitiful. "Well, I'm surprised to hear it, to be sure, but I'm afraid you're too late, lad, I've already signed her over to Amos."

His heart fell through his body as the earth seemed to tilt on his axis, jilting James from the blissful anticipation that had filled his day to something numb and impossible, and all he could do was ask dumbly, "What?"

Orion nodded, taking a long pull of brandy. "Contract's been signed, the announcement will be made in the morning, the Queen's already starting on preparations for mid-January. Just came from Evans House myself actually, delivered the news." He shook his head, frowning at his glass as he rambled, "Didn't exactly go over well, Violet's none too pleased with me, though I can't imagine why, and Lily—well, that girl will make a formidable Queen someday, to be sure, but in the meantime she could do with showing a little respect—"

James had heard all that he could bear; slamming his glass down on Orion's desk, he stormed through the door.

His body moved as if in slow motion, throwing his leg over his horse, steering the way home, and striding through the echoing, empty halls to a room he hadn't been in since his return, a room whose contents were covered in white sheets—a room that had belonged to his parents. And it was there, for the first time in as long as he could remember, back sliding down the door, face buried in his hands, that he cried.

No one came looking for him, but then, James didn't expect them to. He was used to being alone, had gone through his whole life alone, and had been the one who trained his staff to leave him alone in the first place. But now, having thought he had miraculously found someone to share his whole life with, being alone was more painful—more empty—than he could bear.

After his tears had ran themselves out, he pulled himself to his feet. Just as he was used to being alone, he was used to its ancillary: running.

If his staff was surprised at his barking orders to pack the house and prepare for an early morning departure, they didn't show it, at least not to his face. Then again, he figured they probably weren't surprised. Hadn't it always been not a matter of if, but when? This was who he was: a titled, wealthy, run-away rake. This was why he never fell in love: so he'd never have to be hurt. This was what he would always be: alone.

But even in the depths of his despair and self-loathing, he knew there was one last thing he needed to do. Hands shaking, heart aching, he pulled pen and paper toward him, and began to write.

"My lady?" Mary sidled into her room. "Cook's sent up another dinner."

"I told you, I don't want it."

She felt hollow; numb, enraged and yet unable to process how her whole life had just been stolen in an instant.

Mary set the tray on her vanity, then approached the bed. "I know, but I had to bring you this. It was left for the morning, but I thought you'd want—"

Her eyes snapped from their unseeing gaze out her window to her maid, face drawn and pale as she held out an envelope with Lily's name written in a hand she would recognize anywhere. She stared at it, absurdly afraid to touch it.

"My lady?"

Lily sighed, shaking her head. "I know what it's going to say. I'm honestly just surprised she hasn't come in here to gloat—"

Mary grabbed her arm as she sat next to her, dark eyes darting worriedly. "What are you talking about?"

Lily stared back. "Petunia. The Duke spoke with her alone, I assumed it was to propose. And then when Orion—well, one for each of us, right?"

Her voice cracked, but she didn't hide her tears from Mary, who was shaking her head and rubbing her arm soothingly. "No, no, my lady. The Duke came to end his courtship with Petunia."

She blinked at Mary. "What?"

Mary chewed her lip. "I…I believe he meant to ask for your hand"—her heart stuttered back to life—"from what I heard your mother telling Lady McGonagall."

"Lady McGonagall's here?"

"Yes. Or, she was. Lily, she was furious. She was heading to the House of Black herself and was going to come back to speak with your mother. I'll try to listen."

Lily's throat closed—if a contract was signed, her fate was sealed, no matter what choice words Lady McGonagall had to say—and she could only nod.

"Do you want this?"

Wordlessly, she took the letter from Mary's hand, and though her heart was threatening to burst from her body and her hands shook, she opened it the moment the door closed.

My dearest Lily,

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I am leaving London and heading back to the Continent. Forgive me for not having the strength to say goodbye. The truth is, I have never felt for anyone what I feel for you, and if I saw you now, I do not know that I would be able to make myself leave. But I also cannot stay and see you be married to someone else. I love you, Lily. I am so sorry I did not tell you sooner. I will regret that for the rest of my life, wondering what might have been if I had put my fear aside and simply confessed that I was falling for you from the start. Since the night we met, you have consumed my thoughts and filled my dreams. You, Lily Evans, are the most incredible woman I have ever known, and I feel lucky beyond measure to have had you in my life, even for as fleeting a time as it has been. I miss you already, and I think I will until the very end.

I wish you a lifetime of happiness. You deserve the world.

All my love,
James

Sobs swept her body, so intense the tears could barely keep up, and she hardly noticed when Petunia and her mother found her curled upon herself, James's letter held aloft so as to not be ruined, heart in shattered pieces that would never fit back together.