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He loved her. Her soul soared at that simple, easily offered declaration. But the continued pull in his brow kept her feet firmly planted on the ground.
“Society would annihilate you over this. And, Gillian, I don’t have the standing to help you weather that. I have no standing at all. We’d both be sunk, and so many people with us.”
She swallowed against the thickness in her throat. “Is there no hope, then?”
He bent and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Few things are as hopeless as we fear they are.”
“But what if this is? What if we wait around for years, hoping, and in the end, it isn’t enough?”
“True hope isn’t passive. True hope inspires and motivates and drives a person to do everything possible to realize those hopes.” His hands slid to her shoulders, then the back of her neck, tipping her head up, bringing her eyes to his. “And because of that, I won’t give up. I will choose to believe, and I will do all I can to be with you again.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
He kissed her, slowly and deeply. And though she knew perfectly well this latest obstacle might very well prove insurmountable, she felt the tiniest ember of hope.
Gillian returned to Houghton Manor eager to see Mrs. Brownlow and to make certain her beloved benefactress had continued to improve. But she felt little enthusiasm otherwise for her return to the place that had been home to her for a third of her life. Scott wouldn’t be there, and she wasn’t likely to see him for a long time. Even then, there might not be a future for them with his standing being shaky and hers being undermined by the secret she wasn’t certain she could keep indefinitely.
Artemis and Charlie had made the journey with her to Houghton Manor but would be returning to Brier Hill the very next morning. A quiet handful of months spent alone in her garden wasn’t as appealing to Gillian as it had once been. Rather than peaceful, the prospect felt lonely.
She alighted from the traveling carriage with her mind weighed down. Even the glimpse of her garden was not enough to lift her spirits.
“Welcome back, Miss Phelps.” Her father spoke as formally and unfeelingly as ever. He was Mr. Walker greeting the household’s poor relation. Nothing more.
She had someone now who wanted her in his life, who hadn’t looked down on her because of her father’s situation. But that very situation might, in the end, keep her and Scott apart. She didn’t know whether to be sad or angry or to simply feel defeated.
“Please see that Mr. and Mrs. Jonquil have a bedchamber for the night,” she requested. “They will continue their journey in the morning.”
He dipped his head. Gillian walked past him into the house. Mrs. Millard assisted her in removing her traveling coat.
“Is Mrs. Brownlow able to have visitors?” Gillian asked.
“Yes, Miss Phelps, and she is anxious to see you.”
“I will go directly there.”
“Tell us how she is feeling,” Artemis said, also being divested of her coat. “We’ll look in on her as well if you think she is equal to it.”
The housekeeper took Charlie and Artemis to the guest wing.
Gillian set her feet in the direction of Mrs. Brownlow’s rooms, then summoned her fortitude and her flagging enthusiasm. Mrs. Brownlow needed to see that Gillian was happy to see her.
The door to the lady’s sitting room was ajar. Mrs. Brownlow was inside, seated near the fire with a book open on her lap. Her coloring was good. Her posture wasn’t stooped. Gillian was deeply relieved to see it.
“You look quite hale,” Gillian said from the doorway.
Mrs. Brownlow looked up. “Gillian, you’re back.”
She crossed to the dear lady and kissed her cheek. They had offered greetings and farewells in just that way for years.
“Mr. Sarvol was not able to return with you, after all.” Mrs. Brownlow looked disappointed but not critical. “He wasn’t certain he would be able to.”
“How did you—?”
“He wrote to me to assure me you had arrived safely and had been wholeheartedly welcomed.”
Scott had written Mrs. Brownlow a letter. Of course he had. He did not neglect people in need.
