Chapter 28

Six Months Later

Rome, Italy, 1821…

"Fair Elizabeth?"

Sighing, she tipped her head in the direction of his voice like she did every morning when he found her sitting alone in a chair by her bedroom window.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like some breakfast?" Spinelli asked, clearly hoping this morning would be different from all the rest.

"I'd just like to be alone," she said quietly, her eyes settling on the garden. It was still recovering from a fairly harsh winter, the branches and bushes so dry and brittle. "Leave the tray if you must."

From the corner of her eye, she watched his shoulders slump, cringing when he frowned heavily as he slid the silver tray onto the empty table by the door, just as he did every morning.

It wasn't fair of her to be so cold to him when he'd only done what he was supposed to. His patience and understanding of her heartache had prevailed in the most trying of circumstances. He held her as she crumpled in the carriage, sobbing the entire way out of London, and he'd followed behind her as she paced and ranted in a field somewhere in North France. Not once did he raise his voice or speak tensely, and he never complained when she cried or placed blame in all the wrong places.

Spinelli had been the best friend she'd ever had, and she resented him for it -, all because he took her away from the man she loved.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words so soft they died the moment they left her lips.

"Please, eat something," he begged, leaving her door opened as he left her room.

She knew that meant she would have a visitor soon; one who would sit beside her or kneel on the floor, telling her stories, funny anecdotes as he silently pressed her to eat. And she would, because his words were so kind and his demeanor so relaxing, and not long after, she would get sick, her stomach churning with the unknown.

It was no wonder that Elizabeth had become a fragile and sensitive woman in the last few months, and she hated that she was all but bedridden, forbidden by doctors to do anything but sleep and draw -, mostly sleep.

She hadn't been this way upon arriving in Rome. No, she'd made peace with the severity of her and Jason's situation somewhere during her travels. Her heart ached for her husband; to have her hand in his, to hear his voice, to have his warmth beside her as she slept, and she told herself that he would come soon after she was settled.

Jason had been vague about his life in Italy – not that she was surprised. He was not the kind of f man to boast of his riches, but even Elizabeth was taken back when she arrived at his estate and found all but a castle bestowed to her. His land went on for miles and miles, farther than she could see, and though Spinelli had offered to show her all that the Viscount was worth, she refused.

In fact, she hadn't seen most of the house, sticking only to the necessary rooms;. tThe parlor on the first floor by the entrance, but she hadn't been there in well over a month, and the kitchen, when she actually felt like sneaking out something to nibble on late at night. She'd ate a handful of times in the dining room, and even with Spinelli and others as company, she found it painfully lonesome.

She refused to see the garden, except from the window, and she refused to step into Jason's study, though her stomach fluttered with the possibility. Though it was tiny, he appreciated her father's, as well as her own, adoration for books, and she wondered if he had them from floor to ceiling like she often heard people of his stature did. The idea thrilled her, and she often fantasized about them lying in bed and reading all day, even if it meant they had to be terribly lazy.

It didn't feel right to see the house -, the sprawling estate with its hallways and rooms and wings -, without Jason. Even at his parents' home in London, he'd showed her around, and though she hadn't seen it fully in his eyes, until he learned what drove him out of the home, she had seen it with him, and she wanted that same experience here.

At first, Spinelli chalked it up to stubbornness, and he gave her time to settle into a bedroom, but – not the master's – she wouldn't dare go near Jason's without him -, and she knew he was growing frustrated with her stilted way of living.

Honestly, she had all she ever needed in her bedroom. There was a well-equipped staff at her fingertips, willing to do whatever she needed. She had the best art supplies at her disposal, the softest of sheets, the fanciest of clothes, and she didn't want any of it.

They were not her husband, and they sure as hell couldn't replace him.

"You looked tired."

Her eyes swung from the window to the doorway, and she'd be lying if she said her heart didn't leap the tiniest bit at the sight of Johnny O'Brien. He'd been here the day the she arrived, explaining he was Jason's oldest friend in Italy,, and that he couldn't believe Jason had gone off and found a wife as lovely as she was. At first, she couldn't understand why Jason had never mentioned him, but she soon realized, and so much of his life in Italy was undefined.

The man was funny and brash, often inappropriate, making Elizabeth blush with the things he said, but he never failed to bring a smile to her face. She liked him mostly because they instantly became important to one another; she as his dearest friend's wife and heim as Jason's oldest friend, the one who had welcomed him into his new life after he'd fled London.

She felt guilty for wanting to be around him more than Spinelli, but she couldn't stop herself from feeling as though he'd taken her from Jason, even though nothing of the sort had happened. Mostly, she supposed it hurt to be around him. He was a reminder of the short-lived romance she'd had with her husband and how it had been taken away, and everyday that Jason didn't come home, Spinelli was a reminder that he may not because of what had happened in London.

Thankfully, though he could tell the situation was stressful and no one was sure of when or if Jason would be returning, Johnny never asked questions. At least not in front of Elizabeth, and if he knew the truth about Lucky and her father and Richard, he never showed it.

"I'm not," she murmured exhaustedly, smiling faintly as he grabbed the tray of food from the table and crossed the room.

"Hungry?" he asked, pulling up the stool that he kept next to the dresser. He sat down and rested the silver tray on his knees.

"Not really," she sighed, shifting her eyes back to the window.

The mornings were always the hardest, waking up and realizing that Jason wasn't here, that he hadn't come, and her stomach ached nearly all day until dinner, when she seemed to find the tiniest glimpse of hope in those around her. They all wanted Jason back as badly as she, and that was usually enough to suffice her worries. Wherever her husband was, he knew he had all of this waiting on him, and he wouldn't leave all these people hanging.

"The butter is fresh," he said, tearing off a piece of toast and popping it into his mouth. "It tastes good."

"You just like watching Maxie churn it," she teased quietly, rolling her eyes at the thought of the loud and boisterous blonde.

She reminded Elizabeth of Carly with more attitude and grace, and her name – Elizabeth just couldn't understand why her mother had named her something so masculine,, though it fit. She was always running with the boys, and one day Elizabeth had caught her wearing a pair of trousers as she went about house business.

Johnny really loved that.

"The way she holds that wooden stick," he groaned, grinning widely.

"Oh, Johnny," she laughed tiredly, waving her hand at him. "Must you always make things so-"

"Must you always ask if this is how I do things?" he interrupted, holding up a piece of toast. "Besides I think you like it. I keep things exciting around here. Why else would Jason keep me around?"

She cringed noticeably at her husband's name, but took the toast and bit into it eagerly to cover up. The butter instantly melted in her mouth, and even though her stomach was turning, it tasted good.

"I know that – that you miss him, Elizabeth," Johnny said seriously, his face hardening. It was strange to see the man suddenly so reserved. He focused on keeping her happy, and to hear him speak of Jason this way was unnerving. "He won't stay away unless he has to, which isn't very comforting…I – I hate to see you so sad all the time. Everyone in this house does, and we hate that we can't make you happy, when really you should be-"

"I am," she cut in, chewing intently. She swallowed hard, the toast rough in her throat. "I am happy to be married to a man who has all but given his life for me. And I am happy that I'm here, in Italy. I love this house. I love this country." Shrugging exhaustedly, her eyes filled up with tears. "But it's nothing without him."

Sniffling, she closed her eyes, refusing to break down in front of him again. He'd seen this side of her far too many times. "I don't even miss my father. I just want Jason. What kind of daughter am I?"

"One who loves her husband," Johnny replied, handing her his handkerchief when she started to cry. "Now, that's enough of this sappy stuff, Elizabeth." He scratched his chin as he arched his brow. "Did I ever tell you about the time Jason wrestled TThe Bear?"

"The what?" she cried, holding a hand to her mouth.

"It wasn't a real bear," he corrected, chuckling under his breath. "Everyone just called him that, and that was the day that Jason almost picked a fight with someone he couldn't beat."

He hesitated until she nodded for him to go on as she nibbled on her toast. If she couldn't have her husband, this was pretty damn close.

**********

Frowning, Elizabeth stretched her legs over the bottom steps, taking in the last moments of the sun's heat. She didn't do this often, but Johnny encouraged her to get out of her room for a little while, and she found herself sitting on the staircases, paper in hand, failing to sketch anything of real relevance. She kept her focus on the front windows near the doors, her heart lifting with every rustle and footstep outside.

Sadly, she'd learned the sound of Jason's feet all too well when they were in London. How heavy and exhausted he sounded as he moseyed about the house when he was upset with her, and how light his steps were when they were – well, she blushed at the thought. Here, the steps were lighter, airy even, as if they were trying to remain quiet and unnoticed. She supposed that had a lot to do with how Jason kept his home.

Spinelli's were the softest, and she imagined that had something to do with how he was always interrupting Jason in heated moments or tripping over himself. Like now, he barely stepped into the foyer without tripping over the edge of the rug.

"Dinner is almost ready."

"Thank you," she murmured, bracing herself against the banister as she pulled herself to the feet.

He moved nervously to her side, holding out his arm, and she slipped her hand through it, giving him a polite smile as she settled to her feet. "I really am sorry, Spinelli."

"You miss him," he shrugged, helping her down the few stairs to the landing.

"We all do," she sighed, squeezing his arm. "I know how pathetic I must appear. I'm not even really living anymore, I guess." She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's like I'm frozen – like I'm back to who I was before he came…"

She trailed off as he pulled her hesitantly towards the dining room, and normally she would have bucked, but tonight she wanted the company. Johnny kept her companystayed with her all afternoon, talking her to sleep, and she almost felt better, rejuvenated even, and she told herself she wouldn't lose hope until he did.

It was hard for her to explain to everyone how Jason changed her life, but maybe they already knew.

After the murder, she found herself stuck in a slow routine, everyday the same with the no surprises. Jason brought life back to her, even if it was in the most exhausting and frustrating of ways, and he reminded her that she could have everything she ever wanted, and that she wasn't faulted forever because of her mistakes.

And she just didn't know how she could go on without him beside him.

The toughest part of the last few months was not knowing where he was and if he was alright. She believed that by now her father was free and most likely on his way to Rome, but she had no idea what to think about Jason. He would have done anything to free her father, and it was selfish, but all she wanted at this point was her husband. She was glad that no one knew her thoughts because they were horrid for a daughter who once loved her father more than anything.

Sometimes she feared what would happen should her father arrive. Would she embrace him? Be overwhelmed with joy that he was free? Or would she resent him? See everything that it cost Jason to send Jeffrey?

It was all so exhausting. She was tired of thinking and worrying and wondering, and all she wanted was to curl up into a ball and pretend that none of this had had ever existed.

"What's for dinner?" she asked timidly, poking Spinelli in the arm when he failed to answer. He continued to look over their shoulders at the door, his brow furrowed. "Spinelli? What is it?"

"One moment," he apologized, pulling her arm from his, and crossing as he crossed the room to the front door. His posture straightened, his neck craning , and his neck craned as he unlocked the door and opened and pulled it open. "I'll be…" His voice trailed off as he shook his head and looked over at Elizabeth.

"What is it?" she asked, crossing the wide foyer. She pulled her shawl tighter as she neared the door, the chilly spring air making its way inside. The sound of the wheels against the dirt road was the first thing she heard, above the wind, above Spinelli's voice, and anything else. "It's a carriage!"

She stepped outside, drawing her shawl around her as much as she could, her heart tightening when as the carriage made its way up to the house. This wasn't the help coming in from town or some random visitor – she could see that much in Spinelli's eyes.

"Do you think…" She hurried down the front steps to of the house, crossing the yard, and racing towards where the dirt road stopped, her heart pounding in her chest.

She could hear Spinelli behind her, followed by Johnny, both of whom were encouraging here to slow down and not exert herself, but it was too late.

This was the carriage.

She could feel it in her bones, her shaking hands, and her swelling heart. Jason had come home to her just as he promised. He'd done his damnedest and nhow they would be together.

"Elizabeth, wait," Johnny begged, stepping up beside her, his hand settling on the small of her back. "You don't know-"

"I do," she interrupted, her eyes widening as the carriage wheeled to a stop in front of her. She trembled all over with excitement, her eyes welling up with tears. She sucked in a breath as the driver slid off the front bench, nodding politely as he hurried around to open the door. "It's him, Johnny. I know it is."

"Oh, God," she murmured, a tear slipping down her cheek as Jeffrey stepped out. He looked rougher than she remembered; a scratchy beard and hardened face. Prison had clearly put years on his life, but now he was free.

It was like a dream to see him standing before her in his normal dress – part of which, what she remembered most. All that was missing was his doctor bag and pearly grin.

"Papa," she whispered, vaguely aware of how Johnny's arm tightened around her waist. Her father stepped forward, but she remained frozen, her eyes on the carriage.

Moments passed like hours, and Jeffrey was the only one who stepped out.