During one playoff game, a forward on the Canucks got one in the net. Tuck had put his all into blocking, but it wasn’t his moment. While he was pushing himself off the ice, the scoring player, in his hurry to celebrate with teammates, plowed through the crease, knocking Tuck back on his knees. Normally, he could shake shit off, but that day? He was ornery. And that player? Hewas a showboating prick. Tuck had made like a bull and charged after him. The only reason he didn’t get off a truly good punch was because he got stopped by a lineman.
He had a sense of déjà vu right now. Henry deserved at least a bloody nose. But Lizzy must have sensed the fact that he was seeing red, because she caught his eye and gave her head a subtle shake.
No. That will make it worse. He wants to provoke you.
Instead, he used the tactic he’d perfected with his dad and made himself a statue, his face nothing but impassive granite, staring ahead. The strategy worked as Henry soon shuffled off. No doubt there was a kitten to kick somewhere.
“We must go pay our respects,” Lizzy said. “You’ll come with me, won’t you? I’m dreading this.”
“I’ll be there every step of the way.”
The next afternoon, Tuck was next to Lizzy and behind her parents as a servant at Cornelia Witt’s townhome ushered them into a crowded parlor. The gathering was dressed like a bruise; everywhere were black, gray, brown, or purple outfits. The atmosphere was subdued, yet an undeniable frenetic energy buzzed through the air. It was as though most folks present couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill amidst the unexpected news of death. Folks whispered, and tutted, and stared around wide-eyed, registering who was making an appearance.
In the center of the space sat the widow, dully staring out the window, as if outside was another reality, one in which her husband still lived and her life was as it had always been.
“I must go and speak to her,” Lizzy whispered to him. “I think it best if you don’t. It must all be feeling very raw, and I don’t want to remind her of any of my recent happiness. It feels cruel.”
“Understood. I’m very good at standing around and ignoring people.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Thank you for understanding.”
He stood by a potted plant as Lizzy approached Cornelia, giving her a quick embrace before taking a seat beside her. Cornelia took her hand and appeared to be present for a moment. She and Lizzy spoke for around five minutes, heads close together, before Lizzy nodded, they embraced again, and Lizzy took her leave.
For the rest of the hour that they were there, Lizzy barely spoke. They stood side by side until Tuck took to counting the seconds in his head before they could depart. It wasn’t until they were back in her room that he felt able to speak freely.
“What happened? It looked as if your conversation got intense fast.”
“I’d already felt guilty. After speaking with Cornelia, I am a wretch. She told me how happy her marriage had made her and that if I found even a fraction of the same joy with you, then it would make even the hard parts worth it. Cornelia said she’d always grown up imagining what it would be like to be a beautiful bride, and live a fairy tale, but not what to do if it came to an end. She hoped I had a long time before we concluded our story. And that I should never take anyone I love for granted for even a minute.” Lizzy began to pace, one arm wrapped tightly around her middle. “But we can’t ever presume we can just grow old together. Or that this strange, sad world is fair or makes sense.
“If we want to ensure you are back in time for the next chance at going home, we will need to leave within a few weeks. That will give us a little time to say goodbye.”
“But I don’t want to say goodbye, Lizzy.”
She wiped her eyes. “You can’t remain here. It was a happy idea, but it cannot practically work. What if your sickness returns? There is no medicine in this time to save you and I’ll be hanged to watch a doctor cover you in leeches when I know that somewhere else, you could live, but you were dying to be with me. I won’t do it; I can’t do it. It’ll be difficult enough to be a widow as a ruse, but I don’t want to know the pain of knowing you are truly gone forever. At least this way I can think that you are out there somewhere.”
“But—Lizzy—you’d be such great friends with Nora. You could—”
“I can’t live in your time. My place is here. I have my friends—Georgie and Jane. I’ll leave London and live at the Woodlands. And while Mamma is difficult, I can’t force her to endure the loss of a child. Thanks to you, no one will bother me about spinsterhood. I’ll be respectable even if I remain independent forever, and someday I’ll inherit Georgie’s estate. I have my writing. I haven’t been able to focus on it, but I want to; the fact that Jane was able to have success is motivating me to want to work hard.”
“You don’t want to be with me?”
“We will have a few more weeks. Then we must face reality. I want you to have your dreams, and I want mine.”
“What about the dream of you and me together?” he asked.
“That...” Her smile was sad. “That was make-believe, don’t you know? All the very best love stories end tragically.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The night lay silent, devoid of any stirring breeze. Above, through the shroud of clouds, faint glimmers of cold light pierced the darkness. The stars stood sentinel over Lizzy’s solitary stroll. As she unlatched the gate to the cemetery, the frigid metal protested with a loud creak, causing her to startle. Nearby stood the imposing mausoleums of the wealthiest families, their names all too familiar to her. Yet, she sought a more secluded spot, away from prying eyes. Her gaze settled on a simple hand-dug grave, its freshly disturbed earth marked by a modest stone. Dread filled her at the sight, but she pressed on, each step slower than the last, the crunch of gravel beneath her shoes echoing loudly in the stillness of the night.
Finally, she reached that darkest, shadowy corner of the yard. From underneath her black shawl she removed a single red rose and bent to throw it at the bare clumps of dirt. The name carved into the stone readtucker taylor rip 1812.
Lizzy startled awake, beads of sweat coursing down her back.
Tuck glanced up from her stepfather’s newspaper that he was reading beside her in the carriage.
“You okay? You’ve been twitching in your sleep.”
