Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

E liza's dreams plunged her into the dark recesses of her past, dragging her back to the oppressive corridors of Mrs. West's Academy for Young Ladies.

The air in the dream was thick with the scent of musty old books, stale perfume, and the faint odor of dust—a scent she had grown to despise during her years there.

She was younger, a teenager again, with a little more weight on her frame and none of the grace she had been forced to acquire in the years since. The other girls were laughing—always laughing. Their cruel giggles echoed in the long, narrow hallway as Eliza stood alone, her hands nervously clutching the too-tight bodice of her plain, ill-fitting dress.

"Look at her," one girl whispered loudly enough for Eliza to hear, her voice dripping with disdain. "I do not think that dress was meant to fit a whale."

The comment was met with a chorus of mocking laughter, and Eliza felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. She tried to shrink into herself, to make herself smaller, but there was no escape from their taunts.

"Maybe if you stopped eating so many sweets, you wouldn't burst out of your clothes," another girl sneered, her eyes glinting with malice.

"Be careful, Eliza," a third girl chimed in, her voice sickly sweet. "You wouldn't want to break another chair. How many has it been now? Three? Four?"

The girls gathered around her, their circle tightening as they closed in, their laughter growing louder and more vicious. She wanted to run, to hide, but her feet felt like they were glued to the floor. She was trapped, just like she had always been in this place.

The scene shifted, as dreams often do, and suddenly she was in the classroom, seated at a wooden desk that felt impossibly small beneath her. The teacher, a stern, thin-lipped woman with sharp eyes, prowled the aisles between the desks, her cane tapping against the floor with each measured step.

"Eliza Huxley," the teacher's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Stand up."

Eliza's heart sank. She had been hoping to avoid notice, to get through the lesson without drawing any attention to herself. But, as always, her hopes were dashed. She rose slowly, her hands shaking as she clutched her worn textbook to her chest.

The teacher eyed her with thinly veiled contempt, her gaze sweeping over Eliza's form as if she were inspecting a piece of rotten fruit.

"Recite the passage we studied yesterday," she commanded, her voice cold and devoid of any warmth.

Eliza swallowed hard, her mouth dry. The words were there, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, but the fear and anxiety that gripped her made it difficult to summon them. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a stammered, incoherent jumble of syllables.

The teacher's eyes narrowed, and her grip tightened on the cane. "Is this how you repay your aunt's generosity? By not paying attention in class? Useless, lazy girls who cannot even bother to learn their lessons."

Eliza's eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back, determined not to cry in front of everyone. She knew what was coming next, and she braced herself for it, even though nothing could truly prepare her.

"Hold out your hands," the teacher ordered, her voice ice-cold.

Eliza hesitated for only a moment before extending her trembling hands. The first strike of the cane was swift and merciless, the pain searing through her fingers and up her arms. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but the pain was overwhelming. The second strike was even worse, and the third brought tears spilling from her eyes.

The teacher's expression remained impassive as she delivered the punishment, her cane coming down with a measured, practiced force.

"Perhaps this will teach you to pay attention in the future, Miss Huxley," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "Now, sit down, and try not to be such a disappointment."

Eliza collapsed back into her seat, cradling her throbbing hands in her lap.

She felt small, insignificant, and utterly alone.

Anthony had been dozing lightly in the chair beside Eliza's bed, his body exhausted but his mind refusing to rest.

The storm outside had subsided, leaving the night eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackling of the fire in the hearth.

He had spent hours by her side, watching over her as she slept, his guilt gnawing at him with every shallow breath she took.

Suddenly, a soft whimper broke the silence, drawing Anthony from his light sleep.

He opened his eyes and looked over at Eliza, her face contorted in distress, her brow furrowed, and her lips trembling as if she were struggling against something in her dreams. Her hands clutched the sheets tightly, and he could see the tears slipping from the corners of her closed eyes.

"Eliza," he murmured, leaning forward in his chair, concern tightening in his chest.

He reached out and gently stroked her face, his thumb brushing away the tears that traced down her cheeks. "Shh, it's all right."

But her distress did not ease. She twisted slightly, her body tense as if fighting off some unseen tormentor. Another soft cry escaped her lips, and it was filled with a pain that cut Anthony to the core. He could see that whatever nightmare had her in its grip, it was something that she could not escape.

"Eliza, it's just a dream, darling," he whispered, his voice tender as he tried to soothe her. "You are safe now."

He continued to stroke her face, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, trying to bring her some measure of comfort. Her skin was soft beneath his touch, but it was also warm—too warm. He could feel the heat radiating from her, still wracked by fever. His heart ached at the sight of her suffering, and he wished more than anything that he could take it all away.

"Please, Eliza," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You are all right. I am here."

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her forehead in a gentle kiss. Her skin was damp with sweat, her breath quick and shallow. She was still caught in the nightmare, her mind trapped in whatever horrors the past had inflicted upon her.

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

"I am here, my love," he murmured against her skin.

The words slipped out before he could stop them, but he did not care. It was the truth, and he wasn't going to hide from it anymore.

Her fingers twitched in his grasp, and for a moment, he thought she might wake, but she remained lost in the dream.

Anthony squeezed her hand gently, his heart breaking as he watched her struggle.

"I will never leave your side again," he promised, his voice thick with emotion. "You will be all right, Eliza. I swear it."

He did not know if she could hear him, but he needed to say the words. He needed to make that promise—to her, to himself. He had failed her before, let his own fears and anger drive a wedge between them, but he wouldn't do it again. He wouldn't let her face this alone.

Anthony held her hand tightly, his other hand still stroking her face, willing her to find peace, to let go of whatever pain was haunting her. He could see the faint lines of stress beginning to ease from her expression, her breathing slowing, the tension in her body slowly releasing.

"That is it," he whispered. "You are safe. I am here."

He kissed her hand again, lingering there as if the contact could somehow communicate his earnestness. His lips brushed over her knuckles, his heart swelling with the fierce need to protect her, to be the man she deserved.

"I will not leave you," he repeated softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I am here, and I am not going anywhere."

Slowly, Eliza's breathing evened out, the lines of distress on her face softening as the nightmare began to fade.

As the morning drew on and the room grew quiet once more, Anthony continued to hold her hand, his thumb gently caressing her skin. He watched her sleep, the tension finally easing from her features. She looked so peaceful now, so vulnerable, and it only affirmed what he felt.

Whatever it took, whatever fears he had to face, he would stay by her side. He would protect her, care for her, and ensure that she never had to face another nightmare alone.

Eliza's eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the room casting a soft glow around her.

For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or why her body felt so heavy, so drained. The unfamiliar weight in her chest made her breathing shallow, as if she were emerging from a long, dark tunnel.

Her gaze drifted across the room, trying to anchor herself, until it landed on the figure sitting beside her bed. Anthony. He was unshaven and his eyes were darkened with exhaustion.

He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face tight with worry.

"Anthony?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

The word felt foreign on her tongue, like it had been a lifetime since she had last spoken it.

His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers. Relief washed over his face like a wave breaking on the shore, softening the hard lines of his features.

"Eliza," he breathed, as if her name were the only thing that mattered in that moment. "You're awake."

Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing she remembered was the storm, the pain in her ankle, and the overwhelming feeling of being trapped. Now, here she was, in her own bed with Anthony by her side.

"What… what happened?" she asked, struggling to make sense of it all.

"You were caught in the storm," Anthony explained, his voice thick with emotion that he seemed to be trying to control. "You hurt your ankle, and you were out there for hours. I found you and brought you back. You've been feverish for days."

Eliza tried to process his words, but it was the concern in his eyes that held her attention.

This was the man who had avoided her since their wedding day, who had spoken to her with cold detachment. And yet, here he was, sitting by her side, looking at her as if she were the most important person in the world.

"But… why?" she asked, her voice trembling with confusion. "Why are you here, Anthony?"

Anthony hesitated, his gaze dropping to the hand he still held in his. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as if he were struggling to find the right words.

"I… I couldn't bear to lose you," he finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "When I saw you out there, when I thought you might not make it… it scared me, Eliza. More than I can explain."

Her heart fluttered at his words, but disbelief still clung to her thoughts.

"So, you stayed by my side?" she asked, still trying to understand.

He leaned closer, his grip on her hand tightening as if he needed the connection to ground himself.

"I had to make sure you recuperated," he confessed, his voice rough with the weight of emotions he was barely managing to keep in check.

Eliza studied him, afraid to hope that he meant what he was saying, that this wasn't just another fleeting moment of kindness.

"You had to?" she echoed, her voice barely audible. "Anthony, you're not making sense."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair—a gesture she had seen him do countless times when he was frustrated or deep in thought.

"I've been trying to protect myself," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice taking her by surprise. "I thought if I kept my distance, I could control things… control myself. But when I saw you hurt… everything changed. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you."

Eliza's heart ached at his words, but she still didn't understand. "What does this mean, Anthony? Are you saying you… care about me?"

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with guilt and something she could only describe as fear.

"I don't know how to explain it," he said, his voice rough. "But yes, Eliza. I care about you more than I've allowed myself to admit."

"I don't understand," she said, her voice trembling with the effort to keep her emotions in check. "You've hurt me, Anthony. You made me feel like I was nothing to you."

"I know," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "And I am so, so sorry, Eliza. I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance, by not letting you get too close. But I was wrong. So wrong."

Eliza's eyes filled with tears as she searched his face, looking for any sign of deception, but all she saw was raw honesty. It was almost too much to take in.

"But what changed? Why now?"

He hesitated, his hand tightening around hers as if afraid she might slip away.

"You were right. I have indeed been a coward," he finally said, his voice filled with self-loathing. "I have been so afraid of what I'm feeling, of what it means… that I pushed you away. But I do not want to do that anymore."

Eliza felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"I've wanted this marriage to work from the beginning," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her. "Perhaps I didn't admit it as soon as I should have, but I can't do it alone, Anthony. I need to know that you want this too."

"I do want it, darling," he said, his voice filled with a determination she had not heard from him before. "I want to try. I know I've hurt you, and I know it won't be easy… but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make this work."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.

"You pushed me away. You said things that…"

He edged closer and took her hand, "I know. I have behaved abominably towards you. You were absolutely right to call me a coward. I was indeed afraid of telling you I cared, because then, it'd become something real. Or that eventually, you would see through me and see what a fraud I really am."

His eyes fell down in shame as he finished.

Eliza frowned, "You're not a fraud, Anthony."

"I feel like I am. Ever since Charles' death. I… I turned to the easy pleasures because I wanted all the pain to stop. And then it became who I was. But after I met you… Well, the second time around, at least," a small smile formed on his lips as he recalled, "After our little ruse… I was unable to manage the emotions you stirred within me."

He looked up at her, "But now, as I saw you in that storm… I realized you had woven yourself too deeply in me for me to ignore anymore."

"Ignore what?" she asked, her heart pounding in anticipation.

His smile grew, and he leaned in, planting a soft kiss on her cheek.

"That I love you, darling," he said, "I know I have treated you terribly. But if you find it in your warm, beautiful heart to forgive me, I promise I shall make it up to you every single day."

Eliza bit her lip, her head still light from the fever.

"Frankly, I am a bit too tired to forgive you at the moment. And you deserve to simmer a bit," she teased with a smirk and he chuckled, "But I believe I can be convinced."

"And how may I convince you, dear wife?" he asked with the same teasing tone.

"You know exactly how, Your Grace," she winked and his smile widened still; a warm spread over her heart as she watched him.

"I shall begin as soon as you are recovered, my darling wife," he said and kissed her hand gently.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them charged with unspoken words. Anthony took her hand again, studying it for a moment as if he were memorizing the feel of her skin.

"Thank you. Thank you," he murmured into her skin.

Then, with a tenderness that took her breath away, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"You need to rest," he murmured, his voice tender.

Eliza nodded, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes closing as exhaustion began to take over. "For everything."

Anthony stayed by her side until she drifted back to sleep, his hand never leaving hers.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, Eliza could not help but feel cradled by hope.

And at last, things were finally starting to change between them.