Page 16 of Fair as a Star

Mark leaned closer, his posture protective. “You’re not alone.” His voice deepened. “And you are loved. Deeply loved.”

“I know that. I knew it then. But that’s the closest thing to what it feels like.” She bent her head back to her knees. “It’s been with me ever since. This weight. It’s why I had to leave last year.”

He hesitated for the space of a heartbeat. She could almost hear the wheels in his mind, swiftly processing the various implications of her words—none of them to the good. “What do you mean? Why did you have to leave?”

She was silent for a long moment.

He slid his hand over the curve of her spine. Gently, gently. “Beryl?”

She swallowed hard. “I’ve grown accustomed to taking a sachet of sleeping powder at night. It helps me to sleep when the sadness is at its worst. Two weeks before I left for Paris with Aunt Hortensia, I took several of them at the same time. The next morning, Mama was unable to wake me.”

Mark’s hand stilled on her back. Tension vibrated in his touch. “You weren’t trying to—”

“No. I didn’t want to die. I just wanted it all to stop. I wanted this to stop.” Her fingers dug into her breastbone. “I needed a reprieve from it, if only for one night. And the sleeping powder wasn’t strong enough in a single dose. I didn’t realize—”

“My God, Beryl.”

“I know. I know.”

“How did you—”

“Mama sent for Mr. Cooper, who managed to revive me. He told Mama—” She broke off. What Mr. Cooper had advised didn’t bear repeating. The vile man was gone now. She’d never have to see him again. “It doesn’t matter what. In the end, Aunt Hortensia decided it would be best if I went away awhile for a rest. For my nerves. Because I’d fallen quite to pieces. Not because I was with child or—”

“I never believed that,” Mark said fiercely. “Not for a single second. I knew that something was amiss, but I thought—”

“That I merely needed cheering up?” She offered him a weak smile. “Hence your amusing letters.”

He grimaced. “I was oversimplifying things, clearly.”

“They did help. I looked forward to them so much. Now I’m home, I don’t know what I shall do without them.”

His hand moved on her back. “I suppose I must resort to rallying your spirits in person.”

“I’m afraid they’re beyond rallying.” She regretted the words as soon as she uttered them. Regretted them, and hated herself for thinking—for feeling—as she did. In her worst moments, she was no better than the despicable creature described in the Provincial Medical and Surgical Gazette. “Forgive me. I must sound like the worst sort of self-pitying—”

“Not at all. I’d rather you were honest with me, than hiding your true feelings behind some sort of mask. You don’t need one with me. I hope you know that.”

“Oh, Mark. I don’t want to lay a burden on you.”

“Please do. It’s what I’m here for, to help shoulder the burdens of others. It would be my privilege to shoulder yours. I don’t like to see anyone in pain, you least of all.”

“I’m not any more important than anyone else.”

“You are to me.”

Her heart gave a queer double thump. She didn’t know why. This was Mark she was talking to. Her friend. Her soon-to-be brother-in-law.

“Tell me something,” he said. “This weight of sadness, is it truly always with you?”

She looked out over the water. It flowed steadily over the ridges in the riverbed and the low outcroppings of stone, rippling in gentle harmony with the summer breeze that rustled the leaves. “Not always. Sometimes it’s overshadowed by happier moments. But there never seem to be enough of those. Not lately.”

Mark graciously refrained from mentioning her upcoming wedding to his brother. “And you can tie it to no cause?”

“I’ve had it too long to believe it connected to anything. It’s a part of me. Something to be endured. There’s no getting rid of it.”

He paused, seeming to consider. “Have you tried—”

“I’m dreadfully fond of you, Mark, but if you ask me whether or not I’ve prayed over it, I’m going to pitch you straight into the Worthy.”