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He laughed heartily. “Most especially me. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Thomas,” she said as tears spilled down her cheeks. “You saved me.”
“No, Aggie. You will save yourself.” He bent over his sister and gently kissed her cheek.
She touched the spot where he had placed his kiss and held her hand over it, willing it to stay. It was still hard to believe Thomas had died. She had not heard such love from him toward her in years. Agatha loved her brother, and her brother loved her—she was startled she had never realized his love in her adult years. It caused her great pain because the fault was all hers. She had pushed her family away. A lot of bridges needed mending.
A bell softly tolled in the distance and the mist began to rise.
“Goodbye, Thomas,” she whispered as she watched her brother fade into the darkness. “I shall never forget.”
Suddenly, she became conscious of her own bed. Pretty’s soft snores rose from her pillow. She opened her eyes to see Mrs. Stone sitting beside her. “Doctor Bells is here, my lady. Bentley is bringing him up now,” the old woman said.
“How long have I been asleep?” she murmured.
“Not long, m’lady. Maybe three hours,” the housekeeper said gently. “I have been sitting with you since I gave you the draught for your headache.
Only a few hours? It seemed like a lifetime.
