Once Beloved (20 page)

His hold on her loosened as he took in the landscape around him, awareness dawning in his eyes. He muttered a rough curse and moved a respectable distance away from her. She'd give anything to soothe his tortured expression.

“I'm sorry,” he blurted. “I shouldn't have taken advantage.”

She had to stifle a laugh, but his serious tone took her aback. Taken advantage of her? “Don't do that. If you took advantage of me, then it's safe to say I likewise took advantage of you. I wanted this just as much as you. And if you want more, I am willing. But we cannot be foolish and adolescent about this. We cannot continue this here. It cannot be now. We've risked too much already.”

“Then give me a time and a place.” He stood tense and stiff, his jaw clenched, as if he was struggling to keep himself in check.

“Tomorrow night. Near midnight, when I'm sure the house is asleep.” He wasn't the only one struggling with his desires. He wasn't the only one who needed more. Anticipation curled along her spine, strange and complicated. The clamoring of her body was a mystery to her, but she couldn't deny it. “I'll come to you.”

H
elena couldn't believe Gran's miraculous recovery. It was still painfully slow, to be sure, but, when they'd first arrived, she'd feared her grandmother wouldn't last the night. To see her, mere weeks later, sitting in in the parlor, humming softly as she read her Bible, felt much like a miracle. The sight closely resembled the Gran of her memories. Helena refilled a nearby vase with water and fresh flowers to brighten Gran's room, just as she'd done every few days for the past few weeks.

“Stop hovering and fussing, Lena. Come here and make yourself useful.”

Yes, that was the Gran she knew.

“Do you need anything?” she asked, automatically.

“Just come in. I have a thing to show you.” Gran pointed to the window seat at the far end of the room. “You recall that seat is also a chest? The key for it is under the flowerpot over there on the sideboard. I've been saving some things for you.”

Her curiosity piqued, she did as her grandmother instructed and found the window seat filled with leather-bound ledgers. More than two dozen of them, she estimated at a glance. “There are so many. Which would you like?”

“Find the most recent one. I think it's the right most one. You'll find the year on the first page. Should be 1840.”

1840. The year Mother passed the veil. Helena's insides clenched, and for a moment she felt ill. One of the regrets that would follow her to her grave was not seeing her mother before she died. She swallowed hard as bile flooded her mouth, and she had to blink back tears. As she searched, she heard Gran move to her side. The books darkened from right to left, fading as they grew older. She wondered how far back they went. More than that, she wondered how much this conversation would hurt. She lifted the volume on the right and looked at the first page to confirm the year.

“Do you know what those are, dear?” Gran was watching her carefully.

“It looks like a record book.” And then the memory clicked into place. “My father used to keep notes in such a book. He'd record profits and losses and special events. He used to write in one at the end of every week.” She could see him at the desk, bent over a book like this one, asking Mother to confirm various details as he wrote. Such a mundane task, and yet, looking at a random page, she felt her father's presence, if only for a moment.

“Not just him,” Gran explained. “Your mother did too. The Thortons have kept almanacs for generations. These are just some of the ones your parents made.”

“I remember Father checking these on occasion, especially when he was planning something, like whether to do the shearing early.”

“Aye, the rains and drought, the level of the beck, the conditions of the flock. All manner of farm facts. But your mother and father recorded much more than that. You should read them.” Pointing to the book in her hands, Gran said emphatically, “Start with that one.”

A tightness in her throat made it difficult to swallow, but she nodded.

“Go on, dear, and have a look. I need to go up and rest, but I'll see you for dinner.” Just before leaving the room, Gran added, almost so quietly she couldn't hear the words, “I should have given you those the moment you arrived.”

She went and kissed her sweet grandmother gently on the cheek. “You had much more pressing concerns. I'd much prefer to have you whole than to have a stack of musty old notebooks.”

“Just read it, dear. I hope it can . . . shed some light for you.”

She felt compelled to sit at her father's desk and spread out the ledger, its dry pages yellowed by time. The cover creaked as if it hadn't been opened in a long time. Most of the notebook held factual observations about the farm and the flocks, along with business records. Yet interspersed among all these statements were more personal and informal thoughts. Sometimes they were written as letters, never to be sent. She stumbled upon bits of poetry, some with a renowned poet's name underneath and others signed by her mother or left unattributed. She hadn't known her mother wrote poetry. She occasionally found news clippings and postcards tucked in. Her parents' voices came back to her as she turned the pages, glimpsing bits of their everyday life. Her vision blurred as she read one of her mother's brief poems about a lamb washed away by a flood. She had to close the book when fat tears landed on her arms, lest she damage the fragile pages. She sat back in her father's chair, her breathing ragged. But she couldn't ignore the pain and regret coursing through her. Regret for so many lost years without them. Pain that they were lost to her forever. How she wished yet again that her boys could have lived in the warmth of their grandparents' company. She would give almost anything to have that time back, to have her family welcomed into the Thorton circle. But those choices hadn't been hers alone to make, and neither her mother nor her father had ever given her an opportunity to reunite. It wasn't fair that she'd had to choose. It wasn't fair that there was no way she could ever make amends or obtain their acceptance. And it wasn't fair that she'd lost her beloved Isaiah anyway. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, soaking into her clothing, and she gave in to the sobbing she'd been trying futilely to control. She heard her own rough, gasping sobs and buried her face in her hands to stifle them, but nothing could stop the tide, and she let it take her.

She didn't know how much time had passed when Vanessa found her. The tears had finally stopped, as had the wrenching hiccups that resulted from her unchecked grief. Long shadows crossed the room, marking late afternoon.

“Has there been news, Auntie?” her niece said, fearfully.

“No, Ness, nothing like that. This is an old mourning that has been a long time coming.” Vanessa must have noticed her hoarseness because the dear girl went and got her a glass of water. Helena gulped it down gratefully. Even after finishing the drink, her throat felt parched. Her eyes were filled with sand and felt hot and swollen to the touch. She longed futilely for all the things she'd sacrificed and all the things she'd lost. Only thoughts of her sons, her sweet boys, gave her the strength to compose herself and attend to the needs of the house. What good was mourning a past that couldn't be changed? Her boys were worth the losses, the sacrifices. She couldn't regain the love and joy she'd had in her youth, but she still lived. And she needed to believe she could create a new future for herself, one that didn't involve hiding in the safety of her home. She needed to explore new paths.

B
y the time she entered Daniel's home that night, she was made up entirely of raw, exposed nerves. Reading the family almanacs had gutted her. That she still wanted to keep tonight's assignation spoke volumes because she wouldn't have thought herself capable of physical desire after such an emotional day. But she found herself drawn here, not out of lust, but out of a desire for his company. Strange that he, of all people, had become a person she trusted for solace.

“I feared you'd change your mind,” he said abruptly. Whatever he saw in her face made him reach for her and pull her into his arms. “Shh, love, I've got you.”

He sat her in front of the fireplace. Mugs of tea sat steaming on the table. He'd known she would come. For a while, he simply let her sit, absorbing the heat of the fire. No pressure, no expectations.

“It's been a topsy-turvy sort of day.”

“How bad? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, nothing of the sort. Too many memories. They haunt my every move.”

“You can still make new ones.”

“What I did . . .” No, she would not taint the memory of her life with Isaiah with any semblance of guilt or regret. “My marriage to Isaiah was the defining moment of my life. It made me. For the first time in my life, I knew what I wanted and chose to take my future in my own hands. I knew there would be consequences, and I accepted that the freedom to choose wouldn't be easy or idyllic. But it was worth all the consequences to follow my heart and grasp at my own happiness.”

“Even leaving your parents?”

“I would have left their home eventually, wouldn't I? And I never truly let go of them. Until they died, I sent them letters every month with news of their grandsons. I don't know if Elizabeth did the same, but I never received any responses. None. Their rejection cut me to my soul, but even worse was their refusal to acknowledge their grandsons. I would have loved for them to know my boys—for Father to teach them how to carve and how to fish—but if I hadn't chosen a life with Isaiah, I wouldn't have my sons. I wouldn't have had those glorious years with my husband. I wouldn't have the life I have known—one of love and purpose and joy.”

“How do you know you wouldn't have come to love my brother or borne him equally fine children?”

“I'd known you and your brother all my life. I admired him; he was a good man, respectful and hardworking.”

“So what was he lacking?”

“It wasn't a matter of lack. What I realized with my husband was that it was a matter of suitability. Seems like such a weak word, but Gordon and I didn't suit. When I met Isaiah, as improbable as it may seem, we fit. I don't mean anything crass or physical. I mean that we were uniquely compatible. He understood me, and I him. With him, I felt safe and encouraged and bold and true.” She'd known from the first moment they spoke to each other that she couldn't marry Gordon. Even if she hadn't eloped with Isaiah, she'd become too keenly aware of how out-of-joint she and her betrothed would be. They might have made a stable and respectable marriage, but they wouldn't have made each other whole.

“From the first moment we met, Isaiah made my heart soar. With him, I felt safe. With him, I felt I could be bold and honest. Your brother was always proper, always decent, and so was Isaiah. But your brother never showed that passion for life that I craved. I didn't even know how deeply that craving ran until I met my husband. I have no doubt Gordon is a fine husband, and I am so pleased he built a good life for himself, but I doubt very much that we could have had what I had with Isaiah.”

He listened so patiently and yet . . .

“Daniel, I'm sorry. This wasn't what either of us intended for tonight.”

“This night is whatever you and I wish it to be. The way you describe your marriage and your husband—I've never had that, never felt that with another person. You've given me tantalizing glimpses of the kind of love we read about in poetry. There's a pleasure in sharing these quiet moments with you, even if we never go further.”

She stood to face him, and the weight of his eyes on her made her heart race.
“I need you.”
She couldn't tell if she'd said the words aloud, but she felt them deep inside, her core tightening in response.

“Show me,” he whispered with eager conviction. “Teach me how to touch you, how to bring you to that point. I want to know everything.”

“This . . . what we're doing . . . this goes beyond . . . it isn't just . . .” She didn't know how to say what she wanted to say, but suddenly she wanted some sign that this was more than a tawdry night of sexual education.

“This isn't simply lust, is it?” she asked, feeling suddenly insecure.

“No, Helena, it isn't. I don't know what it is, but there is nothing simple or base about it.”

His confident response reassured her only slightly. She looked at him pointedly, but he refused to look down, refused to acknowledge the interest so obviously stirring again below his waist.

“It is not,” he repeated more firmly. “This isn't some rash, mindless coupling in a haystack. I want to keep you in my life.”

“That isn't possible,” she said, but this time, when he wrapped his arms around her, she didn't pull away. The beat of his heart beneath her cheek was strong, as she nuzzled into his embrace. They could still enjoy this companionship, however temporary. When his hand stroked along her spine, she arched her body against his. That was all it took to light the flame.

“Put out the light, would you?” she asked quietly when they moved to the bedroom. She didn't even look at her own body much anymore. She was no longer young and fresh, and her flesh bore the evidence of childbirth and age. Internally, her body tingled with anticipation and an intense need she hadn't felt in so very long, but she didn't know if she could go through with this if he could see all of her. The sensations felt exquisite, but her mind kept intruding.
Don't. What of your marriage? What of your vows?
She couldn't quiet her thoughts, but her body was equally insistent.
Now. Please. I need this.
Darkness might keep it all at bay, if only for a little while.

Daniel didn't hesitate as he snuffed out the candles. When he went to the window, he left the curtains partly open, just enough for faint ribbons of moonlight that made the bed linens seem to glow.

“Is that sufficient?” he asked, a low, disembodied voice in the shadows.

“Yes, it's enough,” she replied, moving gingerly in the direction of his voice, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. The dim remaining light would be sufficient to guide their way.

Once she'd passed through the beams of moonlight into darkness again, she slipped off her top and let it fall to the floor. Her eyes closed as shame and insecurity rose within her. His deep intake of breath was her only warning before his hand touched her waist above the band of her skirts. That small touch consumed her attention—the heat of his palm, the roughness of his fingertips, the gentleness with which he slid his hand around her. As he stepped closer, the warmth of his towering body radiated through her. All thought ceased as she reached for him and became a creature of feeling, consumed by stunningly keen need. Wrapping her hands around his thick shoulders, she pressed against him from chest to knee and pressed her lips against his. He responded with a passion that left her breathless. She couldn't say how much time passed as they explored each other; she simply wallowed in this overwhelming sea of pleasure, of want. Before long, she'd shown him everything she knew, everything she fantasized about, and he'd returned the favor.

 

“Helena! Come out to me, love! You must see this!”

She stared around the bedroom, disoriented by the gloom, and realized Daniel was calling her from outside. What on earth? The strangeness in his voice made her rush to don her shift and one of his jackets. He didn't sound alarmed, but his tone was one she couldn't recall hearing from him before. A mix of excitement and awe. What on earth could agitate him so?

The moment she stepped outside, she knew. Glowing ribbons of pale green, shifting from emerald to peridot, shimmered and rippled in the night sky, illuminating everything in a soft, surreal light. She stopped a few feet away from him, enraptured even more by his rapt expression, his eyes fixed on the heavens than by the lights themselves. “Aurora borealis,” she whispered. Decades ago, the first time she'd seen it, from her family's garden, she hadn't had a name for it. She knew now what it was called, and yet the words seemed less like science and more like an incantation. Shrouded by the fog and lights of London, she never expected to see this sight again. And Daniel appeared as delighted by them as she felt. She stared up, letting the breathtaking phenomenon wash over her.

“You are so lovely.” Daniel's words, low and close, seemed to come out of nowhere and took her breath away. He slipped behind her, and his arms stole around her waist, bracing her so she could tilt her head back even farther. She felt enveloped by the luminescent night. Could she truly feel the heat of his body behind her? Surely, that must be a trick of her imagination. She closed her eyes against a surge of emotions she dared not recognize. She had to be clearheaded, had to be reasonable. Just like the fleeting light show above them, whatever this was between them couldn't last. It was a beautiful illusion, but still an illusion.

“I must return to my family soon. The day after tomorrow appears to be our best opportunity to take the train from Leeds.”

“I can take you and Vanessa back myself next week,” Daniel said in a strangely diffident voice. Before she could respond, he continued, “I thought perhaps I could even stay in London for a time . . . if there was cause to do so.”

His suggestion immediately alarmed her, but she couldn't pinpoint why. His arms stiffened around her, and she could tell he'd noticed her hesitation. Gently, she said, “No, you mustn't. You're needed here. I couldn't, in good conscience, take you away from Lanfield at such a crucial time.” Before he could reply, she pressed one hand to his chest and admitted, “I am a changed woman from the one you met weeks ago. You cannot dream of how terribly I feared the future I saw unfolding before me. Every day it seemed I was sinking further into a quicksand of fear and immobility. Every day I came closer and closer to never leaving my rooms. Every day regretting how I was robbing my sons of so much life, how I was fading into a shadow.”

“You would have come to see your grandmother even if I had not crossed your path.”

“No, I don't know that I would have. I would have wanted to, certainly. But, that day, when you came to offer your cart and your company, Elizabeth almost convinced me not to leave London. I was already terrified, and she knew it. She knew all my greatest fears and made them plain. She wasn't trying to hurt me. I needed to know what to prepare for. But when she articulated all the chaos, the activity, the people, I really wasn't sure I could do it. It would have been easier to stay there, easier to control my environs and stay with my boys. But that wasn't what I really needed.”

“I agreed entirely with your sister that you shouldn't take such a trip. From the little I knew about your condition, I thought it would be too much of a strain and too upsetting for you to see her under the circumstances.”

“Your reaction ultimately convinced me to go. I needed to prove to you, to all of Marksby, that I could return undaunted and unashamed.”

“I expected you to be brought down a peg or two when you arrived,” he admitted, pulling away from her. When she turned to look at him, she could see the pain and guilt in his entire being, even in the dim lights.

“I know,” she said. “You were honest and direct about your harsh feelings against me, and you accurately predicted how people in Marksby would react. Your feelings weren't without cause. I don't fault you for them now.”

“By gow, I want you, right this minute, more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.”

“Here? Now?” She said it teasingly, but the moment she said the words, she was overcome by the desire to be joined with him in full view of the night sky. To meld with him as the beauty of the aurora borealis shone down upon them. Oh, yes, she wanted that.

“Lord, yes,” he whispered fervently, and he pulled her down to the ground with him unceremoniously. He yanked off the jackets they wore and spread both out on the damp ground, and then they celebrated the natural wonders of the heavens in stunningly creative ways, ways she'd never imagined. At one point, he coaxed her astride him, her back to his front, and then drew her down to lay upon his chest. Oh, the sweet majesty as they both stared up at the undulating skies, which matched the rhythm of their bodies, their skin slick and hot as the pleasure flowed over them in beautiful waves. The scent of earth and crushed grass and arousal combined with the visions above and his groans in her ear to shoot her to an unbearably intense zenith. Her screams must have been heard for miles.

 

“Dawn comes too soon, love. I am loathe to let you go.” Daniel said, as he stroked her hair. It was all the activity he could manage as the first threads of light wove across the sky.

“Gran is recuperating rapidly. Her heart is still weak, but she gets stronger every day. She keeps telling me to go, but I cannot. Now that I see her, it pains my heart to leave. Isn't that odd? I never, never thought I'd see this village again. Yet now, even with my sons, with my friends, with my work—all I have worth going back to—the thought of leaving destroys me.”

“You miss your boys?”