I had come clean.
Tears spilled out, and I wiped furiously at them.
Augusta ran around the table and enveloped me in a hug and let me cry. “By Jove, Estelle! I cannot believe what you have gone through on your own.” She pulled back. “Wait. Is Estelle even your name?”
I sniffed. “It is. But Lewis is not. My real name is Estelle Lowry. Oh, Augusta, can you ever forgive me?”
She chewed on her lip. “I can—after a minute or two. I’m a bit bewildered at present. I am not sure what it means for your position here, or how it will affect myself or my brother. But of course, I will forgive you. I make a muck of my life every day. It would be a strange thing indeed if I could not forgive those around me who do the same. Not to mention your lie began before we were friends, and you did choose to tell the truth once you trusted me.” She gave me another tight squeeze and moved back to her seat. She picked up her reader and started fanning her face.
It was a good use of the book, since the only education we were getting to do today was about my sorry past.
Augusta glanced out the window and pushed to her feet. “Come. The two of us are taking a walk. I thought it was going to rain today, but it has held off thus far, thank goodness. We are in dire need of fresh air and exercise. Besides, I want to hear all about this brother of yours.”
I wiped my eyes and obediently followed her. I had been so worried what Augusta would think of me, but she was mercifully taking it in stride. I did not deserve her forgiveness, and yet, she had freely given it. She would never know what kind of gift she had given me. For so long, my pursuit of perfection had consumed all my attention with little reward. The pursuit of friendship filled up my aching parts and comforted me.
Today, I was not her companion. She was mine.
Chapter 33
Estelle
Augusta insisted on another walk in the morning, despite the damp ground from the rain that had muddied the earth the night before. I asked her to stop at the stables where I practiced greeting Duchess. Just in case. The memory of Atlas—his touch and his kindness—gave me a thread of hope—fragile though it may be.
Outside the stable, our steps making their way back to the house, I worked up my courage to ask the question pressing on my mind. “Do you think Atlas will forgive me?”
Augusta sighed and brushed a piece of hay that had attached itself to her skirt. “I used to think him quite predictable, but I cannot guess what he will do or say now. However, we can rely on his affection for you. Let us hope that will soften the news.”
When we returned to the front of the house, an unmarked carriage was parked in the drive. Had Abramson returned? Or perhaps, Mr. Briggs, Atlas’s solicitor? “Do you recognize the conveyance?”
Augusta slowed her step. “No. I wonder who it could be.”
The carriage door swung open, and a man stepped out. Well-dressed, with rigid posture, he swept his hat off his head, revealing familiar raven-black hair.
I stopped walking, gripping Augusta’s wrist for stability.
“What is it?” she asked.
The man’s head turned our way and confirmed what I already knew.
Reginald had found me.
Atlas
Briggs was right. The progress on the cottage hospital was well in hand. Not that I had any real purpose in coming other than to clear my head. Estelle had overlooked my mistakes too easily. She was a fool to do so. And an even bigger one if she still cared for me.
An adorable fool, that is.
A wry grin crossed my face as I entered my rented room at the local inn, remembering how she had asked me to hurry home. Her sincerity had broken through the barrier I had carefully rebuilt around myself after revealing my past to her. Her mention of horse riding had nearly collapsed it entirely. She might be foolish where I was concerned, but she was also the exact person I needed in my life. She made a second chance look desirable. Her kindness was changing me and how I felt about myself. Because she thought me good enough, it gave me hope that I could be.
Exhausted from little sleep, I threw myself on my bed. Kicking off my boots, I pulled at my necktie. Tumultuous thoughts had stolen my appetite, and I did not care to go down for dinner. I did not need food, but a friend. If only I had not turned my back on everyone, I might have someone I could turn to for advice. Or if Father were still alive. . . . I suppressed the sharp ache that came with the memories of my rambunctious youth and how he’d stepped in to prevent my folly.
I pulled on the chain around my neck, yanking the ruby ring free from beneath my shirt. One day away from Estelle and already I missed her. I tried to imagine her expression when I returned her ring. But would I have a promise to go with it? I loved her but still did not feel I deserved her.
A thought made me pull up on one elbow. Briggs was married. He might have some words of wisdom for me. I swung my legs over the side of my bed and hurried to the writing desk that doubled as a dressing table. I pulled out a sheet of paper and scrawled a message to him to meet me at Rosemont Court on the morrow, if his family could spare him. I would cover the cost of the train and carriage and make it worth his while.
On a whim, I selected two more sheets of paper. On the first, I wrote a letter to Mr. Thornbeck, explaining to the vicar how I had finally found my rescuer. She was far more wonderful than I had imagined. I told him of the immense joy I felt and thanked him many times over for his part in my recovery and my search. My hand betrayed me then, and I added a few unexpected lines. I told him of how I had fallen into sin before my injuries, and how even after I had changed, I could not make peace with my past.
Somehow, knowing he was a man of the cloth made me feel safe in my confession, and it unburdened me further.
