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“Exactly. It was not so simple to time, and I misjudged.” She drew in an unsteady breath. “I took a lantern, crept out of my own home, and hurried up the path to yours. And there he sat in the moonlight, a single, white Christmas rose in his hand.
“It was twenty years since I had seen him, even in the dark, and I confess my heartbeat quickened. I don’t know what I meant to do, but he had seen the light from my lantern and said my name.Lizzie.”
She smiled softly, sadly. “No one else ever called me Lizzie. I couldn’t help it. I went to him, and I saw that he was in pain. But even so, he smiled at me, just as he had when we were young and foolish and so in love…”
A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek. She didn’t seem to notice. “He died with that smile on his face,” she whispered, “for me.”
With a hint of desperation, she raised her glass and drank. So did Griz.
Dragan said, “So you took the rose he had brought for you.”
“I have them all still, pressed between the pages of novels and other books I know William will never read. I no longer loved Sebastian—how could I? But I loved his fidelity over those twenty years. It mademefeel good.”
“I’m sure that’s what he intended,” Dragan said. “But without the guilt.”
She looked at him. “I did think that once he was dead, the guilt would vanish. There can be no more Christmas roses, no more to hide from my husband.” With a gasp, she finished her sherry and stood. “I did not mean to tell you all this. I have never told anyone and hope you will keep my confidence.”
“Of course.” Dragan, being a gentleman, had risen also. “But I think you did mean to tell my wife at least. To assuage that guilt.”
“It has not worked.” Mrs. Westley set down her glass.
“Because you are telling the wrong people,” Griz said gently. “It is your husband you want to tell.”
Mrs. Westley swung to face her, looking stricken. “I cannot do that to William! To me!”
“Some secrets can help one stay sane or independent,” Griz remarked. “Others can seep poison into something that is good and dear.”
Mrs. Westley stared at her for a long moment, and she was afraid she had gone too far. “You look too young,” she said slowly, “to have such wisdom.”
“I’m not wise,” Griz protested. “Just observant. And interfering. You know your own husband best and must decide for yourself.”
“As a mature woman, soon to be a grandmother, rather than as a young, spoiled debutante?” Mrs. Westley smiled quickly, “No, don’t answer that. Perhaps it is time I reconsidered. It is definitely time I left. But you are both welcome to join us, if not for luncheon, then later in the day, perhaps.”
“Perhaps we will,” Dragan said. “Thank you for the invitation.”
