“Arthur wished to walk in the sunshine, and we were fortunate enough to meet up with Major Cockfield in the garden. He collapsed coming back.” Naomi didn’t want to lie but neither did she want to reveal that she’d spent the morning alone with Luke. He was the man she loved.
Naomi settled an arm around the older woman’s shoulders. For all Lady Tempest’s rigidity, she’d suffered greatly over the past year. First, believing Arthur to be dead, then the joy that he hadn’t perished after all. And now this: watching him slowly die before their very eyes.
“He shouldn’t be out here.” Her voice wobbled.
“He insisted.” Naomi found herself embellishing now. “And you must know how persuasive and stubborn your son can be when he wants something.”
This brought a tremulous smile to the countess’s lips. “True, true.” She tore herself away from Naomi’s arms in order to oversee the servants as they lowered Arthur into the chair. Naomi stepped back and watched until all but she and Luke had disappeared inside.
She was not surprised at his grim expression. He’d taken a vow of sorts just before they’d been beset upon by anxious servants. They would not be walking together tomorrow.
“I think I must depart right away.” His honor dictated this. If he remained at Crescent Park, there was no guarantee that they could, in fact, be just friends with one another.
But he loved her.
“I love you, too. In case you didn’t realize that.” Surely, he knew. But sometimes a person needed to hear the actual words. “And I’ll stay with Arthur until the end. But I won’t stop loving you.”
More than anything, she wanted to feel his arms around her. He was returning to the conflict, and there was always the possibility that he wouldn’t return.
“You are the best part of me.” Several feet separated them, but Luke’s words washed over her like a soothing balm. “Where there is love, there is hope.”
She nodded.
He stepped forward just then, took one of her hands, and bowed formally.
He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and simply held them there, far longer than could ever be considered appropriate while Naomi stared down at the back of his head.
She allowed herself to run her fingers through the thick sandy strands. Her throat constricted and she swallowed hard before answering.
“Then there will always be hope.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the weeks that followed Luke’s departure, Naomi protected Luke’s love safely in her heart. And beneath all the sadness of watching Arthur’s decline, the smallest light of hope burned deep inside of her.
She determined, however, that she would fulfill her duty to Arthur. By caring for him, by standing by him, and by allowing him time to know his daughter.
And in watching him wither away, she was not alone. The entire household, his mother, his brother, even the servants endured the process along with her. A few cousins and aunts came to visit. Lady Tempest insisted they had come to lift his spirits. She referred to Arthur’s illness as the ague, and Naomi supposed that it sounded less ill-omened than malaria.
The disease teased them all. Arthur would hover on the precipice of death for days on end and then the fever would break, and for a day or two, he’d seem almost normal.
On one occasion, Arthur’s mother mentioned the possibility of Amelia having a younger brother or sister. Naomi’s response had been a pointed glare. Because although no one mentioned Arthur’s unspoken affliction, the abscesses that appeared almost overnight and sometimes putrefied were a daily reminder that he had ruined himself with his licentious behavior.
She would do what she could to provide comfort, but aside from assisting him to drink or eat, reading out loud at his bedside, or bringing Amelia for short visits, she was repelled by his touch.
Days passed into weeks, spring turned to summer, and although nearly all of London society retreated to their country estates, life at Galewick Manor remained relatively unchanged.
Crescent Park, however, sat mostly empty.
Lady Lucinda, having successfully landed a title over the course of the Season, took up residence with her husband at his estate near Scarborough. Even more surprisingly, the Duke of Blackheart had also married. His duchess was something of an unknown, however, and would continue to be such until the newlyweds returned from their holiday on the continent.
Lydia, however, had returned quite alone and become something of a Godsend to Naomi. She had become a dear friend, and with her visits, she brought a glimpse of life outside of the deathwatch inside of Galewick. She also, on occasion, brought correspondence from Luke with her.
His letters did not read like love letters but more like those of a friend.
But she knew.
He was safe. He was alive.
The two of them would wait.
Without Lucinda’s more boisterous company, Naomi’s friendship with Lydia strengthened. Of course, after their visit last December, Naomi knew the Cockfields were well aware of Naomi and Luke’s attachment. What she had not realized was that their knowing came without judgment.
Lydia brought books to share, fashion magazines, and she’d knitted the most beautiful blanket for Amelia. In private, Naomi referred to her as Amelia’s aunt.
Only in private.
It was over the course of one of Lydia’s visits, the second Tuesday of September, when everything truly turned.
“Mrs. Gilcrest.” One of the maids peered into the nursery where Naomi, Lydia, and Amelia were sprawled out on the floor. “Mr. Gilcrest is asking for you.”
Something in the servant’s tone changed the mood of the cheerful little chamber immediately. Naomi met Lydia’s gaze. “I can send for Amelia’s nurse.” She wasn’t sure how long she would be unavailable to her daughter.
“No. I’ll stay with her.” Lydia’s eyes held the same compassion Naomi had seen so many times in her brother’s. “You go. Amelia and I shall keep one another entertained.”
The three of them had spent many an afternoon doing just that and so Naomi knew Lydia had Amelia’s schedule and little habits memorized.
Naomi nodded and rose. “Thank you.”
It was unlike Arthur to ask for her. In fact, for the past week, he’d not had the strength to talk hardly at all.
She’d known he was fading away, had bid farewell to him as a husband long ago, and yet death was the final ending. When she arrived at his chamber, a nurse held the door wide for her in invitation. “He’s been asking for you, Missus.”
Naomi crept inside slowly, quietly, but he must have sensed her presence for he turned and met her stare.
“You came.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“How are you feeling today?” Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he merely wished her to read to him or…
“It’s time.”
She could almost make out the shape of his skeleton beneath skin that held little elasticity or color. Dry lips twitched into a ghost of a sheepish grin. Eyes that had once sparkled with life stared back at her with the ultimate resignation.
“Shall I send for your mother?” It ought to be awkward, being alone with him. But today, he did not seem to be under any illusions as to the realities between them.