Something Old, Rebecca Connolly [ebook reader for laptop TXT] 📗

so easily it could have festered into bitterness. He’d never have suspected Lily capable of such things, but he could see her sister Rosalind becoming so, and they were related, after all.

It was dreadful that he had taken so long to come. Shameful, in fact, though he found himself less willing to castigate himself for it than he might have been before. He could not look back, nor live wreathed in shame and guilt any further. He had to look forward to move forward, and he was determined to live his life loving Lily as fully as he was capable.

All else would fall into the proper place after that. Whatever its proper place was. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. Only Lily mattered.

Only loving her. And love her he would, if she would let him continue to do so.

A familiar stretch of beach in the distance suddenly caught Thomas’s attention, and he hastily pounded on the roof of the carriage.

It pulled to a stop shortly, and Thomas hopped out, undoing his cravat quickly and tossing it into the coach with his hat and gloves.

“Sir?” the driver called down as Thomas shut the carriage door before unbuttoning his shirt at the neck.

“Drive on to Pendrizzick,” he instructed with a grin. “I’ll walk.”

The driver reared back in shock. “Eh? ’Tis a might ways on, sir. This be Pendrizzick lands, but tha’ house be far distant.”

“That’s all right,” Thomas assured him. “I’ll make my way.” He stepped back, nodding eagerly before turning toward the beach and almost running headlong for it. Almost.

He could not rush this, could not deny the building up of his excitement and his yearning, and certainly could not present himself to his wife and Pendrizzick without letting the ethereal air of Cornwall fully seep into his lungs and his being.

A walk along Dandrea Beach in the direction of Pendrizzick would be just the thing to remind himself of the man he wished to be. Not a pretended man, or some version of a gentleman playacting a commoner, but the heart and truth of Thomas Granger, the man who adored his wife, disliked Society, and found joy in purpose.

He had been that man for a short time here. With the help of his wife, he could become him again.

It was a short but steep walk down to the beach itself, but Thomas managed it well enough. The loss of his starched cravat did wonders for his mindset, and his ease in apparel lent itself to a similar relaxation of his mind. The wind off the sea ruffled his hair in its own untamed way, and his coat rippled against it like the sail of a ship, somehow steering him rather than forcing him back.

Was Cornwall conspiring to bring him to his waiting wife? Was she still waiting?

It had been a few weeks, so she might have adjusted to the idea of living alone at Pendrizzick. He had no doubt that his wife had loved him, but he would admit, to his shame, that he was less certain of her present feelings for him. Had he sinned against her goodness too much for recompense? Could she ever love him as she once had done? Would they be able to find their glimpse of heavenly madness once more? Did something more wonderful lie ahead? Could it?

Thomas inhaled deeply, the glories of the air reaching deep into him before being gently expelled again. The rolling sound of the waves made him smile, memories of leisurely strolls hand in hand with his beloved reminding him what awaited him, accompanied by the echoes of laughter dancing over the sound of pounding horses’ hooves as races along the beach disturbed the perfection therein. A gull cried in the sky above him, soaring up over the cliffs from the sea, circling almost aimlessly.

The setting was as much a return to all that was Cornwall as anything he could have hoped for, and it welcomed him with all the warmth of home. Now all he needed was Lily.

All he ever needed was Lily.

He hummed a laugh to himself, the simple truth that should have ruled over everything in his life now ringing clear as a bell within him. He paused to look out at the sea, smiling at what could be the beginning of contentment returning to his being. Turning back, he started on his path once more, only to stop a few paces in.

Across the beach, walking in his direction, was Lily.

Her dress, the color of bluebells on the moors, whipped madly around her legs in the wind, her dark coat billowing out behind her. Her hair was down except for small sections that had been pulled back, fastened or plaited to keep away from her face. Her cheeks were rosy, either from the walk or the sea air, and her lips were curved in a serene smile as she looked out to sea.

She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Swallowing, he continued toward her, watching her closely, eager for her reaction, whatever it would be. Her fingers toyed with the stem of some wildflower, occasionally drifting to brush the delicate pink blooms at the end, though she did not seem aware of any of it.

Did he dare call out to her? Did he wait for her to see him? Should he stop and let her determine the tone of this meeting?

His feet would not stop, continuing steadily in their course toward her, apparently more set than his mind on the matter.

Then her face turned towards him, and her eyes widened, her fingers pausing in their absent fiddling. Her smile faded as she gaped, and he slowed his step, though he did not stop.

“You’re here,” Lily said, her soft voice barely reaching him over the sound of the waves.

He nodded, smiling just a little. “Yes.”

She continued toward him, almost wary. “Were you coming to the house?’

“I was,” he assured her. “I saw the beach from the carriage, and I… I fancied a walk before I