Lizzy doodled two intersecting rings on the corner of the blank page of her vellum notebook, her thin gold band on her ring finger teasing her. She could take it off anytime she wanted. No one would have such bad manners as to comment on it. But she couldn’t bring herself to twist it off. Every time she went to do it, her fingers found some other way to occupy themselves.
She set aside her lap desk and strolled to the window. Beyond, the oaks encircling the yard had taken on hues of flame, theirleaves a vivid reminder that the August day Tuck departed had long passed, and autumn was encroaching.
In the end, she couldn’t muster the resolve to execute Jane’s scheme. No staged fishing trip to Southampton Water or a contrived accident. The notion of becoming a widow no longer held any appeal. She glanced down at her green walking dress, its hue reminiscent of fresh grass, a far cry from the somber black of mourning. The thought of Tuck meeting his demise—even a fictitious one—was too agonizing. Instead, she penned a letter to her family, explaining that Tuck had been summoned back to Baltimore for urgent and pressing business.
This new deception certainly complicated matters. When was he expected to return? Would it eventually cast her in the light of an abandoned woman, subject to society’s pity and scorn?
She exhaled slowly, her breath clouding the glass before she traced a heart in the condensation, then wiped it away.
That could be an issue for future Lizzy to deal with. For now, she needed to shake off the stupor that had gripped her for the past weeks. She used to drift off to sleep effortlessly, but now she tossed and turned until dawn, her reflection in the mirror revealing dark circles under her eyes, signs of exhaustion and what appeared to be a broken heart.
Her hand drifted to the concealed pocket nestled within the folds of her skirts, brushing against the folded parchment within. Surely she couldn’t bring herself to read it for the fourth time today. She ought to return to her desk and resume her attempts to try to complete the story she had pledged to him.
Should. Try.The words grated on her nerves like sandpaper.
With a low groan of frustration bubbling in her throat, she retrieved the letter. Who was she attempting to deceive? Herself?Of course she was going to read the words Tuck left her. The letter she’d found beneath her pillow when she returned from the pond trembling and tearful.
Dear Lizzy,
It feels weird to write those words. It feels weird to write words, period. I should be leaving that work to better people, like Jane or you. But I couldn’t leave without telling you a few things. First off, I never pushed you to come with me for a simple reason—and it had nothing to do with me not wanting you. It’s that I want you to always get to choose your path. Your future. Your destiny. I saw how your family used you like a piece on a chessboard—and I’m never going to do that.
But let’s say that at some point you wake up one day and think that you’d like to come. And you decide to enter the pond on one of those Druid holy days, and you appear in my time. I realized, how are you going to find me? I don’t live in Hallow’s Gate. Hell, I don’t even live in England, so what am I going to do to help you?
Well, I came up with a plan. If you ever do come, I want you to go to Ye Olde King’s Head. It still exists in my time. So, make your way there and approach the barkeep. You’re going to want to give them the numbers written at the bottom of this note. This will let them contact my sister Nora. I’ll have told her all about you. She will come. Bath isn’t far, especially in my time. And then she’ll figure out how to get you to me. Again, this isn’t to pressure you. If you want to hear me say I want to see you again? Please know I’ll alwayswant you, Lizzy. That’s never going to stop. You’re it for me. And if the time we had together is all I ever get? Then I’ll count myself luckier than most. But our marriage? It’s as real as anything to me. And I’m always going to be yours.
Tuck
Lizzy folded the letter back up and returned it to her pocket. She was well on her way to having every word memorized.
Footsteps echoed down the hall—Jane’s unmistakable pace. Lizzy recognized it by the swift, purposeful rhythm; her friend was never one to dawdle. Her movements resembled those of a songbird—nimble and precise.
“Hello,” Lizzy greeted as Jane entered.
Jane responded with a small yelp. “Goodness. I didn’t realize anyone was in here. The servants said Georgie would be out for a few hours. You’re haunting the room like a ghost.”
“I feel rather like one,” Lizzy admitted with a forced smile that felt more like a grimace. “How are you?”
“Tired. But happy. I have finished my novel.”
“Oh, congratulations.” Lizzy was relieved no envy cropped up despite all her empty pages impatiently waiting for her. Her own success wouldn’t come at the expense of her friendship. “How shall we celebrate?”
“The book is at a stage where it doesn’t feel real, so celebrations aren’t quite in order. All I can do is ponder the three to four plot points that are still very much amiss and endeavor to find a solution.”
“I can leave you to your thoughts.” Lizzy made to move toward the door.
“Darling. Stop.” Jane blocked the exit, a frown tugging at thecorners of her mouth. “You are behaving so small and skittish. What’s gotten into you?”
Lizzy parted her lips, yet for once, words eluded her. There were so many to say that it rendered the next sentence perplexing. Where to start? Everything seemed congested, akin to a river blocked after a storm.
Jane’s mouth spread into a slow smile. “It’s love, isn’t it?”
Lizzy looked away. “I’ve never used that word directly.”
“Does that make it any less real?”
“I had rather hoped that avoiding speaking it would mean everything might hurt less.”
“That’s a sweet, but ultimately flawed, idea. Come sit with me a moment, dear, I want to tell you a story. A real one this time.”
