20. Flowers

FLOWERS

N aomi couldn't sleep that night. Luke had promised to visit before he left—to say goodbye.

Four days had passed since she'd seen him.

He wouldn't break his word —his word mattered to him.

When she rolled onto her side, a tear slid down her face and dropped onto the pillow. She belonged with him. In his bed.

This wasn't fair. So much wasn't fair!

Father would think it was fair. As would Walter. They would believe she'd brought all of this onto herself.

She had ached for Luke for months, knowing he'd been in danger and hundreds of miles away, and now that he was here, he might as well be on the other side of the world. She hadn't been able to hold him or kiss him or even touch him.

Her body craved the satisfaction only he could bring, but she would be just as happy to simply talk with him. She wanted to tell him all about how Amelia thought she would be able to crawl the other day but then flopped onto her belly. She wanted to tell him about an interesting book she'd found in the Tempest library. She wanted to ask what he was feeling, what he was thinking. He'd been so closed off the other day. She wanted to be with him.

How long could she endure the emptiness of their separation? Could their love survive it?

She lay in bed trying to imagine some scenario where they could be together now. She refused to allow herself to hope for Arthur's death.

She and Luke could run away together, but that would eliminate any chance for her to reconcile with her sister and her mother. They had loved her for all of her life. Surely they hadn't stopped loving her because of one mistake? She hadn't lost hope.

Running away would also result in Amelia not knowing her grandmother, Lady Tempest. And what of Lucinda and Lydia if she took Luke away?

No. They needed to wait.

After what felt like hardly a few minutes of light dozing, the nurse knocked on her door and brought Amelia in for her breakfast.

Naomi must think of her daughter first. She tucked Amelia beside her and then simply lay watching those precious little cheeks work. When Amelia paused to simply stare up at Naomi, she found herself suddenly awestruck, utterly captivated by her child's gaze. It renewed in her a sense of life and hope. Motherhood was a miracle. Mama and baby stared back at one another in a magical moment of trust and love.

This baby.

Naomi would do whatever she needed to for this precious little life.

When the feeding was over, Nurse returned and whisked Amelia back to the nursery so Naomi could dress and break her own fast.

Downstairs, she drank her coffee and ate her toast alone. Her time here had been peaceful, but in the absence of Lucinda and Lydia's visits, Naomi found herself feeling lonely.

She had Amelia to keep her occupied, but if she was to remain at Galewick Manor much longer, she needed something else to do. Good heavens, she actually missed the chores she'd done with Ester. She missed discovering new repairs that needed doing and solving the simple problems that arose each day when she was managing her own household.

Lady Tempest had the management of Galewick well in hand.

Naomi pondered on how she'd entertained herself when she'd lived in her father's home. She'd assisted her mother. She'd spent time with Theodosia. She'd worked in the garden some, but she'd mostly been… silly.

She supposed she was grown up now.

With her coffee and toast finished, Naomi fetched a floppy bonnet from her chamber and changed out of her slippers into a pair of half-boots. She would seek out the Tempest gardener. Surely, he could suggest some way that she might be useful. She had planted late last year and managed to grow a few useful herbs and vegetables, after all.

And flowers.

She'd planted flowers in between the rows. They seemed frivolous, but she remembered learning from her family's gardener that they were actually incredibly beneficial in addition to being decorative. The practice of interspersing crop plants with a healthy variety of pungent herbs and flowers could decrease the presence of undesirable insects and even improve a garden's yield. It was almost poetic; just as a person needed beauty in the midst of trial, the useful plants needed the help of flowers to thrive.

When she stepped outside, a cool breeze floated over the lawn with just enough strength to swirl her gown about her ankles. A chill travelled up her spine, and with it, a sort of restlessness as well. Suddenly, the thought of toiling away in the garden lost its appeal.

She could simply go for a stroll instead.

Discarding her initial plan, and without any particular destination in mind, she found herself marching along a path that led to the edge of Tempest land where a rushing creek separated it from Crescent Park. It was only partially worn, she knew, as Lucinda and Lydia had described it when they'd admitted to walking over on a few occasions.

What would be the outcome if Naomi kept right on marching, across the bridge and up to the door, demanding to see him?

She had half a mind to do just that, but it was a considerable distance, and she'd need to feed Amelia again in an hour or so. Still, she picked her way along the charming little path and didn't stop until she heard the bubbling of the creek.

When she finally glanced up, her heart became whole once again. For there, standing on the bridge, silently watching her with eyes the color of the sky, was Luke.

Her Luke.

She paused only a moment to take in the relief she hadn't even realized she was seeking before striding purposefully in his direction. It was as though he'd been waiting for her.

The other half of her soul.

He saw her coming long before she'd realized he was there. He'd been staring down at the water as it swept its way down to the hill, berating himself for not leaving for London and yet also berating himself for not simply taking Naomi and Amelia away to somewhere no one would know them. Then, almost as though he'd summoned her with his imagination, she'd appeared.

Would there ever be a day that the sight of her didn't steal his breath?

"Good morning." He shoved his hands into his pockets. There was a time, brief as it was, when he'd been able to hold her, to reach for her, to cradle her in his arms almost whenever he wanted, and his body remembered that time even after months spent away from her. She had left an imprint on his soul, one which he could not easily discard.

He couldn't touch her. If he touched her, he wouldn't be able to let go of her.

"Good morning," she called, coming to a halt at the opposite end of the arched footbridge. "You haven't left yet, I take it." She was smiling at him, bright and open, and it settled something in him that he hadn't known needed settling.

He couldn't keep himself from grinning back like a fool—a lovesick fool. But then reality reasserted itself, and he remembered why he had been on his way to Galewick Manor in the first place.

"I promised I would say goodbye."

When she'd first approached, she'd done so in a lighthearted manner. Pacing closer now, she wrapped her arms in front of herself protectively. Luke hated for her to be uncomfortable, especially because of him.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

Her eyes flew open wide. "No!"

Neither of them made any move to go.

"Do you walk here often?" There were so many things he wanted to ask her. She belonged in his life. Now. Not months or possibly years from now.

"I haven't yet. I often bring Amelia outside for walks but this is too far for me to bring her. She's sleeping currently though, and I needed to get away…"

Luke hummed agreeably. Get away from what? a little voice inside his head chimed. Or perhaps who was the better question. "How is he? Arthur, I mean."

"He is… different." Which wasn't what Luke had been asking, but he was inclined to agree.

"Walk with me?" He crossed half the distance between them and offered her his arm. Surely he could control himself enough to walk a lady through the wilderness?

She only hesitated a moment before stepping forward and sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow.

Even through his shirt and coat, her touch affected him. And her nearness in general. Her scent hadn't changed.

"This is my favorite part of the property." He led her to the Blackheart side of the bridge and when he turned to walk her farther up the hill along the water, he adjusted his gait to match hers.

It reminded him of when he'd met her last spring. When she'd been tentative and innocent. When she'd flirted and neither of them had any other worries beyond the scope of the Season.

He pointed out a few bluebells growing along the edge of the path—"They were my mother's favorite, though Father never missed a chance to forget that fact. One year, he tried to convince her that she'd expressed a preference for violets, actually, and so, of course, she must be the one who was mistaken."—and in return, she described the garden she'd enjoyed while growing up in her parents' home. His heart beat at a normal pace and for the first time in ages, he felt… whole.

After a while, he noticed a familiar sound. "Do you hear it?" He drew her to a halt. A dull roar could be heard in the distance against the splashing of the brook.

Her brows rose and she grinned. "The infamous waterfall."

She tugged at him to keep going, and within moments, it came into sight. Crystal clear water slid over the edge, tumbling from the cliff above and crashing into an otherwise placid pool. Greenery climbed the banks, and rays of sunlight cut through the tree canopy to be caught and revealed in the mist at the base. It was exhilarating, breathtaking, and… he supposed, now with the benefit of hindsight, terrifying to imagine a boy of just six and ten rowing a boat?—

"It's a wonder your parents didn't lock you in your room for life."

"It doesn't seem nearly as daunting toward the end of the summer." He provided her with more details of the harrowing experience he'd entertained her with before but fell silent when they stopped at the edge. The thunderous sound of the water and the hiss of the spray was oddly soothing, and the air was cool and damp.

Squeezing his arm, Naomi leaned into him. After a moment, she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and allowed the gentle mist to land on her face.

Luke clenched his jaw to keep himself from kissing her.

He wouldn't ruin this. He needed this. Just to be with her.

"You are right, you know." She spoke without opening her eyes.

"I am always right, but to which of those occasions are you referring?" He bent down so he could hear her more clearly over the water.

She slid her gaze in his direction. "The day you brought Arthur back, I wanted nothing more than to walk into your arms and never let you go. I didn't care that his mother or the butler or his brother could interrupt us. I'd feared for your life and needed only to assure myself of your safety."

"I felt the same."

"But it is not our time." She locked her gaze with his and then narrowed her eyes almost ferociously. "Not yet. But it will come."

"It will." He squeezed her hand in agreement. He'd always considered himself a reasonable person before knowing her. "It damn near killed me not to claim you." Each day she dwelled in Arthur's home seemed to move her farther away from him.

"Until then, can we remain friends?" She tilted her head.

Being only friends with this woman, the notion was almost laughable. But he understood what she was asking. Could they be civil to one another and not cut each other out completely in the interim? Would he write to her? Would he continue to be a presence in her life until he could be more than that?"

He would be shipping out soon regardless. He couldn't deny her this. "Of course."

He needed her in his life. If Arthur lingered for years and it became too difficult… They would revisit it then.

She raised a hand to her breast and smiled sheepishly. "I need to feed Amelia."

These were the moments he wanted with her. The everyday occurrences that made up a life.

He turned them both and led her slowly back down the creek to the bridge. "I didn't expect to be away from the house for so long," Naomi admitted ruefully.

Luke absorbed the simple act of walking with her, the feel of her presence, the sound of her voice. Another memory he would draw on while he was away. They took several steps in silence.

"Arthur held her yesterday. It was odd. I wonder if it's the fever, but he seems like two separate people now. One moment, I see a flash of who he was before and then the next…"

Luke felt her shiver beside him and stopped. "Do you fear him?"

"He's too weak for me to fear him in a physical sense. But there is something… He is angry with you. He mentioned wanting the two of us to start anew, at Milton Cottage, and when I told him I would never—when I brought up the lesions—he asked if you had been telling me lies. What on earth does he mean by that? Is he delusional?"

Luke exhaled slowly. As of yet, he had no proof. What purpose would it serve for Naomi to know that her daughter's father had possibly betrayed their country?

Other than that of being honest with one another.

He would tell her what he could. "You know about the ambush."

"Yes… and that it had been Arthur's duty to assure the safety of that stretch of road."

Ah, his sweet, smart girl. Of course she wouldn't forget such an important detail of her husband's reported death.

"The pirates didn't wait even a few hours before killing off the other five who had been captured. These men were committing acts of treason against England, and if anyone lived to identify them, it's almost a certainty that they would face the gallows. When I returned in December, our sole mission was to recover the munitions that had been stolen. From us and from other divisions. They had one hell of a stockpile…"

Luke met her gaze. "Our unit's defeat last October wasn't the first. They'd been occurring for over three years. And, up to that point, none of the prisoners were ever allowed to live."

Luke trailed off as they arrived at the bridge. He didn't want talk of the ambush to take up their last moments alone together. "I feel guilty for keeping you from Amelia when she has need of you." He memorized her profile, so elegant and fragile. "But this time has been a gift."

She turned in time to catch him studying her. "It has been a gift for me, too."

He swallowed hard. He would wait—he had no choice. "I'll escort you to the edge of the gardens."

As they stepped onto the path on Tempest property, she asked the same damn question that had been haunting Luke for weeks now. "Why didn't they kill Arthur?"

Luke sighed. "I asked him that very thing. I wanted to believe he'd struck a bargain with them in exchange for his life, but rather than give me any sort of explanation, he flew into a rage—as much of a rage as a man in his condition could."

"Was he imprisoned when you found him?"

"He was in a hut, being… tended to ?—"

"By a woman," Naomi finished for him. She was coming to understand Gil's baser tendencies all too well.

"But there was no guard. He was not tied up." All he'd wanted was a damn explanation. He'd not been suspicious until Gil had responded by lashing back at him. "I have no evidence of anything, but the way he refused to answer any of my questions… He was uncooperative, defensive, and he kept insisting that he couldn't remember what had happened. Though, it very well could be the fever." Luke hated that he was even thinking these things.

They were nearing the outer trees of the garden and she slowed almost to a halt.

"He will have to give an explanation to the War Office, won't he? After they read your report?"

"I've yet to send it in." He forced himself to relax his jaw. "If he responds to them in the same manner he answered to me…"

Naomi was nodding slowly. He could see in her eyes that she followed his train of thought. Gil was ill. Very ill.

Luke let out a heavy sigh. "Hell, Naomi. If he's guilty, he deserves everything they throw at him. Men died. Good men. But if he isn't, I don't want him dying in prison." It was possible Gil would spend what remained of his life defending himself.

"And your upcoming mission?"

"Is to flush out the traitor."

The house had come into view and both of them halted. When she turned, however, she didn't draw away from him but took hold of both his hands. "I think that Arthur Gilcrest is very lucky to have you for a friend."

Luke stared down at their hands. Her cream-colored gloves contrasted vividly against his black ones. "If I find evidence of his guilt, I'll have no choice but to report it."

She squeezed his fingers and nodded.

Her daughter awaited her inside. Luke hated to tell her goodbye, but she was always going to be a mother first. He could only esteem her more for this.

And yet he wasn't ready to relinquish her.

"Will you meet me again tomorrow? At the bridge?"

"Of course."

"So, this is why my wife is not overjoyed at my return." The snarl in Gil's voice cut across the lawn in a startling accusation. Rather than release Naomi's hands, allowing her to step away guiltily, Luke held her fast and slowly turned to meet Gil's stare.

They had done nothing wrong.

His old friend, however, seemed to believe differently.