"No, there is no need. I am sure I shall be better in another day or two."
Beatrice plopped down onto the bed next to Lorelei. "You shall feel better even sooner," she said, all evidence of concern dissipated, "once you admit the real reason you are feeling so poorly."
Lorelei sat up until her back rested against the headboard. "I had expected a small measure of sympathy from you—"
"While I expected a large measure of common sense from you."
Lorelei sputtered. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You are ensconced in this bed, pretending you have a cold. I would say you are heartsick, except you are convinced your heart is immune to such ailments."
"I do not consider myself immune. In truth, I do all I can to prevent such ailments from occurring."
"Too late, it appears. Fortunately, you have caught it in the early stages, so it can be cured quickly."
Lorelei rubbed her chest absently, the spot where a dull ache had taken up residence. "I cannot believe there is a quick cure for this." It was hard not to wonder if the ache would ever cease.
"It should not take so long. We merely need to clear your mind of anything related to Desmond. That is the last time we shall utter his name." She dusted her hands as if she had just successfully banished him. "I also recommend you do not recall any of the moments that brought you joy." Beatrice added a wink. "And never, under any circumstance, let your mind dwell on every single one of those moments of passion."
"The cure seems exceedingly harsh," Lorelei grumbled. "Especially as I am the one who ended the affair. Why cannot I revel in memories at least for a short while?"
"Because, you ninny, the more you think about him, and what you enjoyed, the more you will want to see him again, to hear his voice, and feel his touch—"
"Cease!"
Lorelei wanted all of those things, and more. She had never ended an affair while feeling this way. Was it possible she had misjudged what she had experienced with Desmond? She had insisted on viewing it as yet another diversion instead of recognizing it for what it was—the chance for a long-lasting love she secretly desired but was too afraid to believe in.
"I suppose it is possible I made a mistake," she began.
Beatrice scoffed. "Impossible to imagine." She softened the rebuke with a fierce hug. "There are always going to be mistakes, Lorelei. Life is filled with them."
"I am well aware, as I have made my fair share. Yet you seem to believe the solution is to choose between which mistake is the most bearable."
"Or the most enjoyable." Beatrice grinned. "I know which I would prefer." Her expression became more indulgent. "You are accustomed to taking bold steps, even if they do not ultimately turn out the way you hoped. Why are you so fearful this time?"
"I am not fearful," Lorelei protested. "I just do not want to see love fade away, and then slowly die."
Beatrice studied her for a moment. "So instead, you made Desmond feel like a cicisbeo."
"A what? A chi—"
"I do not know how to pronounce it."
"What precisely is it?"
"A paid companion," Beatrice said, "but of the male persuasion."
Lorelei laughed. "Where did you ever hear such a word?"
"I have only read it, which is why I am not sure of its pronunciation. It is not a word that is tossed about in polite company."
Lorelei gave her sister a considering look. "I wonder if I should review your reading material. Particularly if it gave you the notion that I treated Desmond as a," she waved her hand, "paid companion."
"I did not say you paid him to be your companion. But your insistence on a brief affair after knowing his wish for a long-lasting love…particularly after seeing his parents, and what he was raised to expect. I wished you had treated your husband this way instead."
"You have become more outrageous by the moment," Lorelei said. "So I should have treated my husband as a paid companion—"
"Instead of marrying him. I could see then you were not wholeheartedly committed. It is no wonder the passion did not last. I wish I had said so at the time, for it has warped your notion of love, and marriage, ever since. To your detriment."
"It may be the only time you held your tongue," Lorelei teased. "I wish I could persuade you to do so now."
Still, she could not dispute her sister's words, much as she wanted to. Lorelei had been young, and susceptible to a whirlwind romance. Before she could entertain second thoughts, she was married, wishing she had never agreed to become a bride, spending her days and nights with someone she barely knew. Sadly, he cared little about getting to know her, to discover whether she liked pickles, or preferred salmon to beefsteak…
She sat back so she could look at Beatrice. "Perhaps this just proves I should only engage in a brief affair, because I am rash, and reckless—"
"Who better to explore love than you?" Beatrice laughed, as if she were speaking to a simpleton. "Lorelei, love is a daily adventure, one with no map. There is no recipe to follow, no guidebook to lead you where you think you want to go. The outcome cannot be determined at the outset."
"That is what makes it such a daunting prospect."
"Yes, but it is also what makes it so exhilarating. No day shall be precisely like the one before it. But there is always that underlying assurance that no matter what challenges arise, love will ensure they are bearable, and manageable. I can attest to that."
Lorelei grinned. "I am beginning to wonder if your husband's absence is what makes your marriage work so well."
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Fine, consider any marriage but mine. Desmond's parents. Our parents."
"Our parents were quite happy to go back to their research manuals and papers and what-not, leaving us to become the terrors of the nursery."
Yet there had been no lack of love or affection, between them as a couple, or for their unruly children. There were also the parents of the songstress at the musicale, making their marriage suit their needs even when they viewed the world so differently.
And Desmond's parents—it was easy to see how theirs was a love for the ages. They also shared a genuine friendship, a camaraderie. She could not imagine them politely discussing the day's events over dinner. No, they would be laughing and teasing, doing their utmost to entertain each other in every way possible.
Much like she and Desmond did. Or used to do.
"It seems my rash, reckless nature has caused me to rashly and recklessly throw away the very happiness I have been seeking."
Beatrice grinned. "Surely we can use those qualities to your benefit."
"I would hope so! Here is what I have in mind…"
"There sure is a lot of ivy everywhere," Martin commented, gazing about the room. "Any reason for that?"
Desmond merely shook his head. He was a bit too heavy-hearted at the moment to explain its significance. Seeing it made him miss Lorelei even more, which is why he should remove the blasted greenery. Yet he knew if he did, he would regret not having the constant reminder of something they had shared.
Not that she ever left his thoughts.