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The grief, the loss of what could have been, and the pain of loneliness were all seeping out of her in the form of tears. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts and feelings that she hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. She realized somebody was near only when she heard the rustle of skirts, then a gentle hand about her shoulders. Annalise turned her head and caught a whiff of orange blossoms. The comforting, familiar scent of her friend’s perfume.
“Caroline,” she managed through her sobs and placed her head on her friend’s shoulder. The sound of the door shutting beside her made her jump in reaction.
“It’s just the doctor, dear,” Caroline said with a squeeze to her shoulder.
“I need to—” Annalise made to stand, but Caroline held her down.
“What you need is to compose yourself. To calm your rioting nerves, or you won’t be of help to anyone.”
“But—”
“No,” Caroline said firmly. “Kensington and the other men have everything well in hand. Your husband is”—she paused as if searching for a word—“indisposed at the moment, and he won’t know whether you’re in the room or not. My chaperone is a few discrete feet away, making certain nobody else comes this way. Now, before he wakes up, we need you back to your usual self. Composed, collected, calm. We don’t know what he’s gone through, dear, and he will need your strength to rely upon.”
“My strength?” Annalise let out a short snort. “At the moment, I don’t have enough strength to keep me upright.”
“Exactly.” Caroline nodded in affirmation. “So you cry, you wail and yell if you have to, but do it out here. I shall help you. Then, and only after you’ve raged your frustrations, can you go inside that room. Now,” she said in a gentler tone. “Tell me how you feel?”
“How do I feel?” Annalise watched her friend with a weary expression.
Millions of thoughts rushed through her head. For one, she thought Caroline was too composed and calm in this strange situation. She was an unmarried young lady; she was supposed to be distressed or possibly even faint. Annalise, on the other hand, should be the one to take charge, be strong and collected. She should be the one in the room with her husband. She also needed to talk to Kensington and come to some sort of accord with him.
Yes, thoughts Annalise had plenty of. But feelings? She seemed to have none.
“I don’t know how I feel,” she said honestly.
Caroline smiled sadly. “The man you loved dearly, the man who then disappeared and was presumed dead, just came back into your life. It’s understandable that you feel confused.” She paused. “Do you feel as though you’ve betrayed him, having gotten betrothed so fast?”
Annalise shifted to turn fully toward her friend. “No. I mean, yes. Maybe.” She grimaced. “I did at first, but that’s not what happened. And it was he who betrayed me. He—” She bit her lip and shook her head. “It’s unimportant now. I don’t know how I am to act around him now that he’s back. I loved him, yes. But it’s been so long ago, and so much has happened since then. Even before he disappeared. I felt glad—I am glad that he is alive. I care for him deeply—”
“Loved him? Care for him?” Caroline frowned at her. “Has your heart changed, then? Are you in love with Kensington now?”
Annalise shook her head. “No. He has been a good friend, and I told you before, it was just an understanding. A mutually beneficial alliance of two friends, nothing more. But it doesn’t change the fact that before Blake disappeared—”
The door opened then, and Lord St. John stuck out his head. “Lady Payne, would you like to come in? The doctor has finished his evaluation.”
Annalise nodded and scrambled to stand up. Caroline also rose and steadied Annalise as she swayed.
“Thank you, dear friend,” Annalise said with a smile.
Caroline squeezed her hands, and Annalise entered the room.
* * *
Blake dreamed of her again.
Of course, he dreamed of her. There was nothing else for him to dream about. The rest of his life had been hollow, useless. What had he been doing all those years before he met her? Before he set his eyes on a charming debutante, standing by the wall of a crowded ballroom, fidgeting with her fan. Before he had followed her out onto the patio.
Thank God he had followed her. What if he’d listened to his stupid brain, which had whispered that she’d been too young, too innocent for him? He wasn’t ready for marriage, and ruining a young lady was not an option.
If he’d listened to his stupid mind and not followed his soul, what would he have dreamed about all those nights during captivity? If he hadn’t had her to look forward to, her to live for, would he even have fought to survive?
Cool fingers ran across his forehead again. A fleeting touch. But so tender, so soft, so full of hope. Hope that someday he’d return home, and her hands would be on him again. This time for real.
This dream was salvation. But it was also torture. Because once he woke up in the dank dungeon again, or in his cell on the slave-ship, or… where was he again?
His consciousness threatened to resurface, but he fought to stay in the state of slumber. It didn’t matter where he was. Wherever that was, the reality was too cruel. At times, he wished to never wake up from his feverish dreams, experiencing her touch, surrounded by her scent.
Lavender. She had always smelled like lavender and a fresh meadow after the rain. The only thing missing in this hazy dream was the sound of her voice. Oh, how he’d missed her voice, her musical laugh, the way she hummed under her breath.
