Page 53 of The Baron Takes a Wife

He grasped that same lock of her hair and let it run through his fingers. He had won this round.

“I love you.” It felt so good to say it, even if he didn’t hear it back. “But I am trying not to control you. I’m trying to listen, Elena. It’s a work in progress. Like a coat.”

He had really just added that last part to try to make her smile again. She nodded, seeming beyond words at the moment. He wished he could take some of the grief and longing from her, the torture that not knowing wrought on her soul. He hoped the country air and the beauty of the estate could help convince her to stay, to put down roots. He felt a small burst of hope as he felt her turn her head as if to hide a smile against his shoulder.

“Like a coat again?”

“Elena, please, I have already admitted to my lack of poetic inclination.”

She nodded again, and as he pulled back to look at her, he saw a faraway look still in her eye. He didn’t think she would speak again, but she looked back up at him after a few moments.

“I thought about what you said. But I-I don’t know how to forgive myself.”

“I don’t think anyone does exactly.”

“How can I possibly be a confessor to myself? Give myself forgiveness? It sometimes feels impossible.” She said the last word quietly, and he felt her swallow.

David thought for a long time before he began. “Did you come across the story of the Fisher King in your perusal of Le Morte D’Arthur?”

Elena pulled back and shook her head. “In truth, I couldn’t follow the story, so I probably sat there for an hour staring at the same page. I was just embarrassed that you might think I could not read in English.”

She looked up so earnestly that something pulled at his heart in that moment, even as the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You sweet, beautiful madwoman. I will never think you are lacking because you cannot read Middle English. I don’t know if I can read Middle English.”

She ducked her head as if still embarrassed and leaned back against his shoulder.

“The Fisher King,” he went on, “in some versions of the story, was a king tasked with protecting the Holy Grail. You know the story of the Grail and Joseph of Arimathea?”

He felt her nod against his shoulder.

“The Fisher King also had a mortal wound. It’s always different who gave him the wound, depending on the story.” He didn’t think explaining all of the different versions of the story would help, so he quickly continued. “But the wound made his kingdom fall to wreck and ruin all around him as shame and pain consumed him.” As he went on, he began to play with the end of her hair, twirling one strand around his finger.

“When his grandson, Galahad, first saw him, it was said he had one question for the king, but he was afraid to ask it, and he lost his chance. It was only later that Galahad learned that if he had asked one question at the right moment, it would have healed the king and saved the kingdom.” He paused for a moment and reached for her hand before he continued.

“In most of the myths, the question was what was paramount, but I always thought it was the timing that was so important, almost equal to the question.” She leaned back to look at him, and he noticed a glimmer in her eye as the gold that rimmed her irises watered for a second, but her eyes stayed dry. Someday, she would trust him enough to cry in front of him. When the time was right.

“So?” she began softly.

So, he thought as he drew a breath and prayed that he would have the strength to let her go if that was what she wanted. “So, when the time is right, you will ask the question when it comes to you, and the answer will help heal your soul.”

Chapter Sixteen

Even though she knew almost everyone they were dining with, Elena was nervous about her attire for the evening. She wore a new gown that she could not quite name the color of. It was a deep, warm orange silk, unlike anything she had worn before. The word was more than orange, but she did not know all the different names for shades of color in English. With this gown, she was trying to say something to David, to herself, that she was looking for the answer, even if she couldn’t quite find the question yet.

She had been shaken by their argument several days earlier. Upon further reflection, she now saw she had been so hungry for information about her family, so stuck in her not knowing that she would have done anything Anatole had asked. That scared her deeply, and she was grateful to her husband for his help in pulling her back to herself. And yet, it felt like a chasm had opened between them since that afternoon, and she did not know how to close it. While they still shared a bed, they had not been intimate, nor had they conversed or laughed like they used to. He wasn’t cold or cruel, just more distant than before, as if the curtains were closed behind his eyes. Even more than his touch, she hadn’t understood how much she loved just talking to him until the past few days without their usual conversations. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned to Goliath, who was sitting at her feet.

“What do you think, Goliath?” she asked the dog.

“Spectacular.”

She saw her husband approaching in her mirror, but she did not turn around.

“You have a bad habit of answering for Goliath.”

“Yes, but I am always very complimentary. Goliath is a bit of a critic. May I enter?”

At that, she had to agree and turned around to nod, but at that moment, her breath caught. David was wearing a dark gray tailcoat over an olive-green waistcoat that somehow matched his eyes. The overall effect was so arresting that Elena felt her heart flutter, and she reached her hand to her chest as if to stop the traitorous organ. She was so struck that she had not noticed he was carrying two glasses in his hands, his cane balanced precariously against his chest.