She could feel his confused gaze on her skin, but she couldn’t meet it.
“Nora?” His voice broke, and so did her spirit.
“We cannot marry,” she said, shaking her head as if to convince herself that what she was saying was the truth. “We cannot marry,” she repeated pathetically.
“Why?” he demanded in an incredulous whisper.
“Because Beth—”
“Beth has nothing to do with this!”
“Beth haseverythingto do with this,” she cried. “How can I live my life and leave her behind? How can I move on while she is trapped in time like some perfect specimen?”
Thomas released a disbelieving breath and raked a furious hand through his dark hair. “So you will trap yourself in amber and resign yourself to a life frozen in time?”
“I—”
“This is madness, Nora! Surely you can see how irrational it is? Putting your life on hold, denying a chance at love and a future to remain by her side?” He stared up at the sky as if imploring a deity for assistance. “We can bring Beth to live with us,” Thomas said finally. “She will go wherever we are. Marrying me does not equate to abandoning her. She is my sister.”
Though the kindness of his words caused her chest to cave inwardly, she knew he was missing the point—that he would quite possibly never understand it.
“I will not shove my happiness in her face. Do you not believe it cruel to parade in front of her with everything she will be missing in her life? Marriage? Children?”
Thomas dropped to his knees and grabbed her hands too quickly for Nora to avoid it. “She will be an aunt. That will doubtless bring her immeasurable joy.”
Nora was overcome by the image of a round-cheeked little boy with ice-blue eyes…a girl with long, ebony curls. She squeezed her eyes shut and locked the dream away.
“I cannot marry you, Thomas,” Nora whispered, though her heart collapsed within her breast. She knew the moment she lost him when his eyes froze over like a pond in bitter winter. He rose to his feet with slow, deliberate movements and released her hand. Every part of her ached when he took two steps back from her.
“You mean youwill notmarry me. Nothing is preventing you except your own misgivings.”
Nora had to bite the inside of her cheek to stave off the tears threatening to spill over. “I cannot,” she reiterated.
“When will you see that there is more to you than Beth?” Thomas demanded through gritted teeth, looking as if he wanted to give her a shake to underscore his point. “So much more.”
Nora was silent.
Thomas hung his hands behind his neck and stared at the sky as if for answers or support. He pivoted on his heel to stomp away three paces and then he quickly spun back to her. “You are making a mistake, Nora,” he snarled. His voice was angry, but his eyes were wounded. “I love you, and I know you feel the same about me. You are denying yourself a future of security and affection and undying devotion in a misguided attempt at preserving your friend’s feelings. You refuse to trust me when I tell you Beth will be nothing short of overjoyed to have you as her sister. No one appreciates your taking her feelings into account more than I, but do not martyr yourself for them.” A tear slipped free and ran down the curve of her cheek. “I will not ask you again. If this is your choice, then we both must live with it; however, I will not stand idly by as you torture me with your nearness and waste away all the possibilities our future holds.” With that, Thomas stormed away, a rolling clap of thunder overhead following in his wake.
Nora remained unmoving, even as the sky opened up and a drizzle rapidly transformed into a deluge, the drops masking the torrent of tears she finally allowed to escape freely from her eyes.
Part II: After
Chapter One
London, Fall of 1823
The house was unbearably silent.
Too drained by grief to move, Nora could only stand in the center of the cozy library and stare unseeingly at the memories it possessed. She’d known returning to London following the funeral would be difficult, but she hadn’t anticipated the wall of grief that slammed into her as soon as she’d set foot inside the familiar foyer. The awful truth was, the Townhouse no longer felt like home without Beth there to light it with her smiles and fill it with her laughter.
The two of them had called this dainty Townhouse home for nearly a decade after both their mothers had finally agreed that they were well and truly on-the-shelf spinsters and available to savor the freedoms that status entailed. The Townhouse was procured and a household was established for them. They filled the rooms with an eclectic collection of both their tastes—Beth’s penchant for dusty antiques only ferreted out in the mostobscure of shops somehow meshed well with Nora’s flair for more modern textiles and papering. Their pride and joy became the refurbished library. What had once been the long, narrow dining room was converted to house their extensive and varied collection of books. Custom bookshelves were installed and rapidly filled through their many visits to shops like London’s renowned Thorpe & Son.
They rode in Beth’s family carriage so often that her mother complained (good-naturedly) that it was rarely available for her own use when she was in London. To their shock, a carriage and driver were soon hired for their household. They took short walks and picnics in the nearby Hyde Park, became members of the Duchess of Morton’s scandalous Reading Society, and enjoyed leisurely days in one another’s company. Their names quickly became synonymous; one was hardly ever without the other.
Beth never was presented at court, nor did she ever have her Season. For her part, Nora completed her one and only Season in London at her mother’s demand, but her heart was still so battered and bruised from the loss of Thomas that she hardly remembered any of it. She was relieved to return to Essex at the end of it and curl up with Beth once more in the library’s picture window where they could discuss their books.
Nora must have made an impression on Society despite her melancholic aura, however, because more than a handful of men called upon her at her family’s London home that year. To her utter shock and confusion, she’d even received two proposals of marriage. She’d asked herself if most men were that dense, or did they prefer their women practically silent and morose?
