Chapter Fourteen

***TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE***

A girl should never be out of her home past sundown unless she is accompanied by a chaperone. It is in the dark that monsters and ghouls will come out to do their worst.

- Victoria Wainwright, "Cultivating Women of Substance"

"Penelope," I involuntarily gasped. "Ethel must have been confused. I'll get Elizabeth."

I only half turned before Penelope stood and said, "There's no need for that. I did, in fact, come here to see you."

I swallowed the rising bile and turned to face her again. Her gloved hands were folded demurely in front of her. She wore a nearly identical mourning dress as I did, with a high lace collar where her milky skin was just barely visible.

"Oh," I muttered. I sat on the nearest chair and Penelope sat back down as well. Her face was expressionless so I couldn't read whether she would laugh or attack me. "What can I do for you, Penelope?"

"Well," she began, "I've been meaning to visit you since I saw you at your mother's funeral. I'm so sorry for your loss, by the way. But I had no idea you were in New York, you see. I want to apologize – sincerely – for the way I acted all those years ago. We were children then, I feel like. I'm sure you know, but I suffered a terrible… accident. A trauma like that really changes a person. It made me see how terrible I was to everyone. I was able to make amends to those whom I hurt – that is, everyone, but you."

Her voice, I realized, had no remorse to it. Nor did her face. I remembered shortly after Elizabeth's fake death the wailing Penelope had done in this very parlor. It was quite some show. This, however, was a much less drama-filled visit. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Absolutely no emotion was put into this. I wasn't sure what her reason for this visit was, but it certainly was not to apologize.

I had been silent for too long. I realized Penelope was waiting for some type of response.

"I see," I sputtered out.

"Do you accept my apology?" she asked, leaning forward as if she were about to gobble up some juicy gossip.

"Penelope," I slowly began, my eyes, I could tell, were ablaze with the thrill of what I was finally going to be able to tell her, "you should know… well, Henry and I–"

"Yes," she said, looking down to her hands in her lap. "I know." I could swear I saw her smiling. "Henry told me yesterday."

Air was knocked out of me. No! This was not fair! I wanted the satisfaction of telling her, and seeing the look on her face. For once, I had won – not her.

"Well, as long as you're aware–" I began.

"You can't honestly believe he'd actually leave me for you, do you? We'd both be ruined and – let's face it, we both know Henry so well – we both know he wouldn't leave me in the state I am. God, I can see the headlines now: 'Henry Schoonmaker leaves grieving wife for little Holland girl.'" She looked up now and there, unsurprisingly, was the deep spark of evil in her eyes.

"He doesn't care about all that," I told her. "We'll be gone before all that anyways."

She gave a deep laugh. "Not if I have anything to do with it. I will never sign those papers. You'll never have him, little Diana."

She stood then, but I stayed seated, showing she had no power over me despite the fact that my blood was boiling under the surface. It took everything in me not to reach up and slap that perfect, flawless cheek.

"You've never had him," I managed to say in a low, calm voice.

"These rings beg otherwise," she said, twisting her engagement and wedding band on her skinny finger. "I'll be seeing you around, Diana." She walked towards the door where, like magic, Ethel appeared and gave her her hat. Penelope turned one last time to me and said in a completely false tone, "It was so lovely to catch up, Diana."

And then she was gone.

I returned to the kitchen where I was met with anxious eyes.

"Who was it that needed you? Everything is alright, I hope," said Aunt Edith.

"It was Penelope Ha- I mean, Schoonmaker," I answered, sitting down once more in front of my now-cold soup. I had lost all appetite anyways.

Elizabeth placed a quick hand over mine. "What did she want?"

Whatever joy I had in me before her visit was now gone. I was in no state to announce my engagement – that is, if I am truly engaged anymore. I could not tell either of them the full truth of the meeting without telling of my supposed engagement.

I shrugged. "She apologized for everything she'd done before I left."

"Well, good," Aunt Edith said. "It's definitely warranted. That girl was awful to you – to both of you."

Elizabeth nodded. "She's changed so much though…"

They each went on for a bit about how different Penelope was. Could it really be that I am the only one who sees through it all? So I said nothing, allowing them both their delusions.

"Oh, Diana!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "What was it you were going to say before Mrs. Schoonmaker visited?"

I wanted to punch my fist through the wall at Penelope's married name. Elizabeth didn't realize, though. She probably didn't even know what she'd just said. After seven years, it was probably just habit by now.

"I don't remember," I said, eating my soup that was now absolutely tasteless.

That night, I debated whether or not I should even go to the Schoonmaker greenhouse. Whether I wanted to face it or not, Penelope was right – she could just refuse to sign the papers, therefore denying Henry and I our chance at the one dream I had held so dearly for nearly a decade. Why didn't I think of this before? Maybe I was too swept up in the serendipity of it all to think logically. For a brief second, I had truly believed Penelope had changed. I should have known. A person like Penelope doesn't change.

But I decided I should go that night. I would tell Henry that we were deluded to believe he and I could ever truly work out. I didn't know if I should tell him what Penelope had told me. It wouldn't make any difference, after all. Penelope would find some way to distort his mind into believing she was, again, a helpless victim; a damsel in distress. She was right – we both knew Henry terribly well. Despite what he may have said about leaving her, if she threatened to kill herself, he would stay. He wouldn't be able to look at himself if anything dared go wrong.

Penelope, of course, would never really kill herself. She loved herself far too much for that. Plus, with me being back in New York, it gave her a new toy to test out her malicious plans that she has probably been planning all this time. I did not doubt the validity of Henry's statements about her right after I left: her pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage, the deep depression she sank into… maybe even the remorse she felt about what she had done. But that was years ago. She was back to normal now, and her visit only further proved that.

Thankful that I was wearing black, I was able to easily sneak out my window and down the trellis and out onto the street without anyone noticing me. I had told Ethel that I was going to bed early and that I would dress myself into the nightgown so I wouldn't have to worry about her coming up to an empty room.

Though it was late, I felt that there were more people out wandering the street than usual. I kept my hat and head tilted down to hide my face from anyone I may know. I took back roads and alleys when I was able to keep away from the busier streets.

Finally, I came upon the Schoonmaker mansion on Fifth Avenue – the same one from only a few days ago where Henry kissed me in the pouring rain. The house was dark, marked only by a dying light in a hallway – coming from the kitchen in the back, I assumed. I knew Henry's room faced the street and was on the second floor of the sprawling mansion. Or maybe now he had moved to his father's room on the third floor. I didn't know where Penelope slept, and wondered if maybe she was looking out one of these windows at me. At that thought, a shiver ran down my spine and I hurried along around the side of the house where the greenhouse sat, in all of its sparkling glass. The moon was reflected on the ceiling. As it was a full moon and a clear night, the inside of the greenhouse was lit up.

And there he was.

Henry stood inside, looking out across the lawn. I was late, I knew. I had taken too long deciding whether or not I should show that it must have been an hour later than he had asked. In the summer heat, he was wearing a thin linen shirt rolled up to his elbows and simple black trousers. His hands were stuffed into their pockets while his face had an anxious expression. He probably began to wonder if I was coming at all. But he had waited, hoping.

When his eyes found my dark shape in the shadows, his expression immediately changed to that of recognition and immense love.

I walked slowly towards the greenhouse, feeling utterly unprepared for what I had to tell him. He looked so happy to see me, yet I was about to break him.

He opened the glass door and, before I could even get one word in, he kissed me. With both hands cupped on either side of my face, he kissed me eagerly and passionately. There was a feeling of desperation there, and I kissed him back just as desperately because I didn't know if I would ever get the chance to kiss him ever again after what I would say.

But the kissing didn't stop. Instead, his lips massaged mine into opening and from there, the kisses only intensified in desperation. Oh, how I had longed to feel his lips on mine again. Every night in Europe, I had dreamed that we were together again. Now, that dream had become a reality. I didn't want to ruin it; not yet.

Just let me have this one sliver of happiness, I thought, accepting the rising heat growing within my body as Henry led me away from the door and further into the greenhouse. Somewhere in the middle, I recalled, there as a bed for the gardener. A bed that Henry was no doubt leading me to. As we stumbled, I could feel Henry's hands on my back, fumbling with the buttons to undress me.

This isn't right, my conscience was telling me. He is a married man.

I paused, remembering that Penelope was only a short walk away in the house. Henry took this to mean he should kiss my collarbone and neck instead. I was huffing from breathlessness. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to draw enough courage to tell him this would be the last time I would ever see him. But the feeling of his soft lips on my jaw and his hands loosening the dress were interrupting my thoughts.

"Henry," I breathed, trying to get his attention to stop.

It worked. His hands paused, as did his light kisses. He brought his face up and I met his eyes. His beautiful, dark eyes. Eyes that were once such a mystery were now as easy to read as a book in afternoon lighting. He was looking at me with such a fierce love, I knew I could never bring myself to say goodbye to them. Not yet, at least. So instead I kissed him again to extinguish my inhibitions.

He moaned my name into the kiss and we fell back onto the bed. I gasped for air and he kissed my neck eagerly. It was then that I saw something in the shadows escaping out the back of the Schoonmaker mansion. No, someone. I recognized the small, lithe frame immediately. Penelope.

I gasped in surprise but Henry took it to mean something different and uttered a low, small chuckle.

I was terrified Penelope would see us, and then I would truly be ruined forever. Regardless of Mother gifting me the Gramercy house, I could never come back to New York again.

But she never even glanced toward the greenhouse. The way she moved, with no hesitation and at ease, I could tell she had done this countless times before. And with her black dress and hooded cape, she did not intend to be noticed by anyone.

She's having an affair, I realized.

With a grin, I turned back to Henry's glowing face in the moonlight and fiercely kissed him. Maybe things weren't so dire as I had previously thought. All I had to do was catch Penelope in the act and then I would have enough leverage over her to make her sign those divorce papers.

"I feel it's kind of poetic, really," I said, entwining my fingers into Henry's. I had my back pressed close to his bare chest.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just look at where we are," I said. I motioned with my free hand. "The first night I got to know you – truly know you – was right here."

"And I, you," he replied, placing a light kiss on my moon-drenched shoulder.

"And here we are, still sneaking around and meeting secretly in the dark… while you belong to another." The last part came out just a little quieter.

"That won't be an issue for much longer, my dear," he said comfortingly. He dropped my hands and instead put it around my waist, pulling me tighter to him. "The lawyer said he could have the papers drawn up in two days. And you and I will be sailing for Europe before the week is out. Everything will be alright."

He took my sudden tenseness to mean I was anxious about him being divorced and what that meant to either of our reputations. Instead, I was worried of him ever getting a divorce. How was I supposed to catch Penelope? I couldn't just follow her around all day, everyday. She's too smart; she would know.

Before my mind could swim with too far, Henry nudged me.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. I have been silent too long.

I blinked my long, dark lashes rapidly and sighed. "I'm just tired," I lied.

"You should sleep, then. I won't bother you," he said.

I broke away from his chest to look him directly in the eyes. "I don't want to sleep. I've waited far too long for this moment. Let me enjoy it a while more."

He tucked a loose curl away from my face and pinned it behind my ear. His hand lingered on my neck while his thumb brushed my swollen, lower lip. His features were soft in the dim moonlight, he almost appeared as if he were in my imagination.

"I'll never let you go again, Diana," he whispered. "My true bride."

I had to look away from his perfect aristocratic face before I melted into a pool of butter. I kissed his open palm.

"How did it go today for you?" he asked then.

I had nearly forgotten that Mother's will was read that same day. It felt like lifetimes ago now.

I took in a sharp breath. "Well, Elizabeth got the oil company and the majority of Mother's estate. And I… well, she gave me Gramercy."

"What?!" Henry shot up, exclaiming. The sight of his bare chest nearly drove my heart to explode.

I sat up as well. "I'll be the first Holland to live in that house who isn't the head of the family." I almost laughed at the thought. For my entire seventeen years in that house, I wished for nothing more than to escape, yet here it was, given to me in its entirety.

"So… does this mean you want to stay now? In New York?"

I hated to hear it, but there was a hint of hope in his voice.

"I don't think I could live here, Henry. This place, these people…" I shook my head. "We could never be free here."

Speaking those words terrified me. I knew he viewed New York as more of a home than I ever did. In a split second he could leave if he so wished. He could turn his back on me and return to his broken marriage, perhaps even fall in love with Penelope.

But the look in his face told me otherwise.

"I don't care where we are," he said, speaking softly. "It can be Paris or London or Moscow – as long as I am with you, I am home."

I shifted to look at him closer. "Are you sure?" I asked, trying to read his thoughts. "I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do, and I know you've always loved this city."

"Diana," he said, exasperated and clasping his hands on either side of my face, "this is what drove us apart in the first place. What don't you understand about this? I don't care about all of that if I don't have you by my side. I've felt like a ghost these last seven years – not truly alive, but just going through everything. You, Diana…" He kissed my forehead. "You make me alive, my dear. I don't care where we go. If you're not happy in New York, then we'll leave. You want to live in Paris? We will live in Paris."

I shook my head fiercely. "No, not Paris."

Henry's brows furrowed. "No? Wasn't that what you wanted all those years ago?"

The air suddenly felt much hotter and I had to back away from his body beneath the sheets.

"Diana?" He was sensing my unease and tried to inch closer. "What's wrong?"

I turned my back to him, gripping the sheets tightly in my fists, fighting off the terror in my memories. I could feel his eyes burning a hole in my back, wanting to ask questions, but unsure which ones to ask. Finally, I felt a warm, comforting hand on my back.

I always knew this moment was going to come. He had the right to know, and to know what he was getting into. Would he still love me the same way after I tell him? Will he ever look at me the same away again?

You have to tell him, Diana.

Something fell onto my hand and I realized I was crying. I began shaking from fear, both from having to tell him and having to relive the memory to tell him. I had done well not to think about it for a long time, and live like nothing happened that it was like ripping open a sealed wound.

"My love," Henry said. He forced my shoulders around to look at him. "Tell me what you're thinking."

I'll never forget his eyes then. They were filled with panic and worry that I had to look away for fear I might be too afraid to tell him my darkest secret – a secret I had never spoken about before; a secret I could barely admit to myself.

"I lived in Paris for a considerable amount of time," I began. I had to speak slowly since my voice was so shaky. "Long enough to find a job tending a bar, similar to Cuba. I had an apartment – nothing big, just a bed and a sink to wash up in. It wasn't a life I dreamed of living, but I wasn't here and that was good enough for me. Men at this bar…" My eyes fluttered, trying to keep the memories away. "You put a few drinks in a man and they begin to believe they are capable of anything. They see themselves as God placed upon this earth and all they see is theirs to claim. Of course, the owner was always around and didn't take too kindly when these men would become too rowdy, so he would toss them out when they often became too much. I think he may have had an affinity towards me because he always kept a closer eye on me than any of his other female workers. Oftentimes he would walk me to my apartment at night just to see I got home alright."

Henry was feverishly searching my face, trying to see where this story will go. He had taken my hand into his soon after I began talking and I slipped it out now, feeling too hot and claustrophobic by his touch.

"There were days, of course, where he didn't work and instead left the running of the bar to his nephew, Pierre." I sucked in a sharp breath, the image of Pierre coming to my mind. I almost felt like retching right there on the spot. I took several deep breaths and was grateful Henry remained quiet, allowing me to collect myself enough to continue.

With a voice filled with venom, I continued, "Pierre was not the man his uncle was. He was loud and drunk every time I saw him and, instead of discouraging brash behaviors in the customers, he encouraged it. He would… lay hands on us inappropriately… and laugh and call us his 'little vixens.' Women would risk losing their jobs by not showing up for work whenever they heard Pierre was coming in. He would join the men drinking but would become much, much worse than them as nights wore on since he never had to pay for his drinks. Of course many women, including myself, had complained to the owner about him but he always brushed it off, saying, 'Boys will be boys. He'll grow out of it.'"

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting multiple drops fall down my cheeks and onto the bed.

Please, please – don't make me do this, I begged in my mind. He'll only see me as broken.

But I had to. I couldn't stop now, not now that I've started. Henry deserved to know, if he truly wanted to marry me.

"Each night Pierre worked, he always focused his attentions on one girl in particular with a new one each night. Often, I would never hear or see her again. For years, I was lucky enough to never have been a chosen toy of his. I became used to the inappropriate gropes and comments by the customers and Pierre. I thought… I thought it was manageable. I believed I could handle it."

I continued on, replaying the dreaded deed in my mind. I no longer knew what words flew out of my mouth. I was sucked back into Paris and saw it all play out again as if I were a ghost in the shadows instead of inhabiting my own body.

I had been told the night before while the owner walked me to my apartment that Pierre would be coming in the following day.

"You're a strong girl," he said in a thick French accent, "I don't doubt you can handle Pierre."

Hearing this news only gave me slight unease. I had been handling Pierre and his antics for long enough to know how to evade them. Pierre hadn't chosen me yet – perhaps he didn't want to. Tomorrow would be no different.

I got into work the following night and Pierre was already there with many empty glasses already surrounding him. From his red cheeks and loud, slurred speech, I knew it could only have been him drinking there so far. When I walked in, I could feel his eyes follow me the length of the room. I put on my work apron as I did everyday and went to clear the empty glasses away from his table. The girl I was taking over for was clearly too afraid of Pierre to clear them away herself. I had gained the reputation of being quite possibly the only girl Pierre hadn't fixated on; therefore I was usually the only girl who would ever service him.

"You're not new, are you?" Pierre asked in French as I began taking away glasses.

"No," I answered curtly, not wanting to talk to him, or any man, in such a state as he was.

"How long have you worked for my uncle, little vixen?" he asked in French again.

"Three and a half years," I answered in English, hoping this would deter him. Very few people in the area knew English.

"Ah, an American!" he exclaimed in English as well.

Damn him.

I had hoped he didn't know the language, so as to stop the conversation there, but that plan was now gone.

"You have been here for this long – why have I not seen you before?" His accent was so thick and he was so drunk I had a hard time distinguishing his words. I could only shrug in response. I tried to walk away then but he grabbed my arm so fiercely, I nearly dropped all the glasses in my hands. "What is your name, girl?"

I could feel my face go white. It was the question he always asked the girls he chose.

I could have lied. I could have just walked away. But some stupid part of me believed I could handle him. I had for this long, what could happen now?

"Diana," I said before swiftly turning away.

Throughout the rest of the night, I could feel his gaze on me. He didn't say or do anything else, aside from ordering drink after drink. Foolishly, I thought I was in the clear, but that night I would learn why his chosen girls never came to work again.

By closing, Pierre was belligerent. His words became harder and harder to understand but, miraculously, he was still able to stand.

I said my goodbyes to the other ladies and left the bar, sighing in relief that Pierre hadn't done anything else. It was only moments later that the bar door behind me exploded open and Pierre tumbled into me.

"Diana," he slurred, his whole being reeking of whiskey. I was shocked he remembered my name this far along into the night. "My little American vixen."

"It is late, Pierre," I replied in English. "I wish to go home."

"Home? Bah!" he exclaimed. "Come have a drink with me. You won't regret it."

"I'm sure you're presence would be better appreciated in the morning. After a bath." I tried to speak in as vile a tone as possible. In his state, I doubted he would remember anything in the morning so I didn't have to fear retribution for being rude from the owner.

He stepped closer again, wrapping his hands tightly around my waist.

"Oh, come." He fake-pouted. "You don't mean that. I could make you a very happy woman."

I tried to wrestle out of his grip and step further away. Eventually, I did.

"I can promise you, you will not, sir," I replied. I took a few more steps away. "Now, goodnight."

I turned my back, but what I said must have angered him. He ran to me, grabbing my arm so tightly I yelped in surprise and pain. He pulled me along further on the street. It was nearly dawn and no one was there to help.

"Now listen here, Diana," he said, spitting in my ear, "I'm sure you enjoy your job here, yes? One word from me to my uncle of your insubordination and you are out on the streets. Do you hear me, madam?"

Maybe he would remember this in the morning. Should I really risk it all? If I missed even one day of work, I wouldn't be able to afford my rent.

"What do you want?" I asked. "I can't give you any money."

"No, no," he said, pulling me further and further away from the main street and my apartment. "I want you."

"Me?" I asked. It wasn't until he led me down and abandoned alley that I caught his meaning. I pulled against him suddenly, my blood feeling like fire.

"Don't fight it, little vixen," he whispered, pressing me head-on against the building's stone wall. A jagged edge of a stone was protruding into my cheek, already drawing blood. "You will enjoy it. All women do. I've never had an American before." He leaned in close as I struggled against his heavy weight. Even in his drunkenness, he was a thick, burly man. Something warm and wet touched my cheek then. By the strong smell of alcohol, I knew it was his tongue. "You're going to be delicious."

"Please, please," I begged, tears stinging my vision. "Don't do this. I'll do whatever you want."

He snarled. "Good."

He began kissing my ear but when I tried to turn away, his hand grabbed the back of my hair and held me, painfully, in place. His kissing quickly changed to a hard bite and I yelped in pain again.

"You'll be quiet," he hissed. With the hand still in my hair, he yanked my head back suddenly and, with his other, grabbed my throat tightly from behind. "You will enjoy me, little vixen. They always do."

He squeezed my throat tightly, making me gasp for breath. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears and became hyper-aware of every inch of my body, simultaneously being crushed by his weight and the stone wall.

His grip released just as spots began to appear in my vision. I was relieved for only a moment until a new horror arose. His vile hands began roving over my body, leaving trails of shivers wherever they went. I knew what was to come, and only longed for it to be over and done with. I tried to think of something, anything, to take my mind away from the horror that would ensue. And that's when Henry came to mind. I tried to recall his dark, worldly eyes and sharp, chiseled jaw line that only men of his status seemed to have. I tried to bring back the sound of his voice and the shape of his lips as they said my name.

But only lonely blackness greeted my mind that night. As Pierre began lifting my skirts, my lips trembled and I tried to call out for help but no sound came.

There was a split moment where his weight lifted off me and I could breathe fully. I could try to escape. I could try to run – go back to the bar, and find of the girls to help me. But that was hopeless. Not only would Pierre surely be able to catch up to me before I even left this alley and possibly make things even worse, but those girls were long gone by now.

That moment of being able to breathe quickly ended with one shove of his body into mine. And with that one shove, all fight left me. Fighting him from then on out would be pointless. With one sharp, shooting pain, it was all over.

I could feel the world around me go numb with each subsequent thrust. My body, once hyper-aware, now went slack. I was nothing. Empty. I simply ceased to exist. My mind went silent and I figured I was dying. So be it. Let me die. Let me wither away and become dust. There was nothing left of Diana Holland anymore, only a ghost where I stood in that alley that night.

From the darkest depths of my mind, I heard Pierre say, "I told you you'd stop fighting and enjoy it."

His breath was quick, and I knew from experience with Henry that this would be over soon. Pierre's thrusts became more and more desperate, shoving deeper every time. Then, with a loud grunt and twitch of his body, he finished. He backed away, fixed his pants and adjusted his hair. My skirts fell around me and, aside from a few minor tears and streaks of dirt from either him or the wall, it appeared as if nothing had occurred. But every inch of my aching body told me otherwise.

"I'll be seeing you again, my little American vixen," Pierre said with a wink.

Then, with a drunken stumble or two, he was gone.

I stayed there for what felt like hours. My body may not have broken, but something inside of me did that night. The sun wasn't even risen yet before I finally left the alley and went back to my apartment.

"I didn't leave my room for two days. I didn't know if I could. The pain as so bad, I could barely leave my bed. I'd gotten bruises on my neck from his fingers wrapping around my throat and my thighs from when he…" I closed my eyes, coming back to the room with Henry. "I felt like I couldn't breathe for days. One of the girls from work visited me to make sure I was alright after a couple days of not showing up to work. She saw the state I was in and knew what had happened without me saying a word. She helped me bathe – as I couldn't find the will or strength to since the ordeal – and cleaned my cuts. She fed me and made sure I was alright, at least physically, before she left.

"The thing is… while she was there, I knew she was trying to help me but my mind became even more flooded with the memories I was trying so hard to forget. After a week of wallowing, I tried to go back to work. But on my way in, through the window, I could see him. The sensation of his hand gripping my throat came back as vividly as if he was doing it right then. I immediately turned around, bought a one-way ticket to Southampton, gave the rest of my cash away as a partial payment of rent, and left that day. I haven't been back since."

The silence that followed was deafening. I kept my eyes low the entire time, too afraid to see his face. I wouldn't have been able to bear it. The look that I knew to be in his eyes would tear me in half. He said nothing for ages, nor did I. I didn't know if I even wanted him to say anything. I thought of two outcomes, and neither was desirable. Either he despised me and ordered me to leave his sight because I was now soiled goods, or he viewed me as damaged and would do everything in his earthly power as a mortal man to fix me. I didn't want to be seen as something that needed to be fixed. I didn't want to look into his eyes everyday and see his pity for me laid bare. It would only remind me of Pierre and that night in the alley. I wanted to move on, away from it all. Not drown in it daily.

"Diana," he finally spoke, saying my name so quietly and as if he were gasping for air after being underwater for some time.

I took the risk and glanced up at him. There, I was shocked to find, I saw neither disgust nor pity. Instead, there was only pain.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. "What do you need from me right now?"

His reaction was far from anything I had expected, and I was so shocked that I couldn't find words at first. Tears filled both our eyes and I launched myself toward him, pulling him into an embrace. After a second of surprise, he wrapped his arms around my small, bare body.

"Diana?"

"Thank you," I said through a deep, shuddering breath.

He backed away. "For what?"

I took his warm, soft hands in mine. "For… everything. For not being angry; for not seeing me as broken; for not asking questions."

Henry sighed before answering. "I am angry. I'm furious at the bastard who would ever hurt you." He cupped my face delicately. "I would go there now and kill the man if I could." His fevered voice told me everything he said was true, and I drew my eyes down. "But I won't, if only for your sake. I never want us parted again, and I would never dream of bringing you back to that hellhole with me. And as for seeing you as broken… my dear, you are far too strong-willed to ever be broken. You are still as perfect in my eyes as the day you stole my hat."

"I think you mean the day you proposed to Elizabeth," I recalled with a small laugh.

He smiled, his perfect white teeth glowing in the moonlight. "Yes. That."

"So…" I gulped. "You still want to marry me then? Leave everything behind for me?"

The hand cupping my face drew me into him and he placed the lightest kiss on my lips.

"The thought never wavered in my mind," he said.

I smiled and kissed him back.