Page 48 of Atone, Adonis

Fred could have said so many things then. But he only held out his hand and this time Thomas took it. At the feel of his oldest friend grasping his palm he felt something in his chest shift, some closing of the chasm between past and present that was unbearably painful.

For once, though, he did not look away, just in case there was more Thomas had to say. There wasn’t, and at last Thomas allowed Fred and the physician to assist him into the carriage. The door shut behind him with a final, wooden thud. The horses moved forward. And all Fred could do was watch them go. His chest felt constricted. His face went hot. His heart—his fucking heart—hurt. Thomas was trusting him to do better, to be the person Julianna needed. He didn’t know if he could do that, could be that, but by Christ he would try. He’d promised both of them he would.

Even if it terrified him. Even if he wanted to get on his horse and ride back to France where he could at least pretend this life and all the consequences of his actions here didn’t exist. Instead he turned back to Sedgewick Manor where Julianna stood in the doorway watching him. He’d known where she was for that entire conversation. He always knew where she was, his eyes tracking her in every room they’d been in together these last weeks.

Now they were finally alone. And he wasn’t certain either of them knew how to handle it.

Hawthorne Hall

May 25, 1860

The Earl and Countess of Chester are most cordially invited to an evening gathering in aid of soldiers and families affected by the late Crimean War.

The night will feature music, readings, and a charitable auction, with all proceeds to benefit those widowed or invalided by the conflict. Your presence would be an honor to the cause and a great encouragement to our community.

With deepest respect,

Lady Isobel Hawthorne

Chapter

17

The house was too quiet. Julianna noticed it the moment she stepped back over the threshold. Sedgewick Manor had never exactly been a cheerful place—but now, with Thomas gone, it felt somehow even more emptied out and tomb-like to her. No Mrs. Sykes quietly tending her brother, nor the physician’s tread on the stairs. Most of all there was no coughing. No terrible, tearing sound to always be listening for.

She stood in the great hall with her gloves still on and her cloak still buttoned at her throat, listening to the absence of her brother. It veritably roared in her ears.

“Would you like some tea, my lady?” Gilbert asked.

She turned her head. He was standing at his usual discreet distance, hands folded in front of him, his expression grave but composed in the way it always was. Julianna had begun to suspect he’d been hired for that facial expression alone.

“No. Thank you.”

“As you wish. I will send word down to the kitchen.”

She turned then. “Is it already made?”

“The chef has begun preparations. She assumed with Mr. Farrow’s leaving you may wish a repast.”

Everyone, she thought, probably knew Thomas had a bed in Torquay before she did. Even the chef. “Actually—” she heard herself say. “Tea would be nice.”

“Very good, my lady. Where will you take it?”

She looked around. There were a few more habitable rooms now in Sedgewick Manor, but every one of them felt redolent with either Thomas or Fred and, for the moment, she did not want to be steeped in memories of either man. She just wanted, needed, space.

“The morning room,” she said finally. “And would you ask Cook to prepare something plain for supper? Nothing too elaborate.”

“Of course, my lady.”

She went to her own chamber, shut the door, and sat on the edge of the bed without removing either her bonnet or her gloves. Thomas was gone. The thought lodged like a stone in her chest.

And worse still, while she felt guilty that Thomas had gone to a sanatorium, she also felt relief. She had, in fact, felt relief first. Relief that she might be spared the burden of his care and the storm of his temper for even a short while. The realization made her feel slightly sick.

She unfastened her gloves finger by finger and laid them beside her on the coverlet. Her hands looked oddly bare without them. She pressed them into her lap and stared at the linens until the pattern began to blur. And then she put her head into her hands and she cried.

A knock sounded at the door. “My lady? Your tea is in the morning room.”

That was one of the maids, but Julianna didn’t even know her name. She ought to. As mistress of the house she truly ought to, but she only knew Gilbert and Clara the chef, and Mrs. Sykes, who had now gone away with Thomas. She wondered if Fred knew everyone’s name, here in Sedgewick Manor and in all the other houses that belonged to him too.