22. Closure

CLOSURE

I n the weeks that followed Luke's departure, Naomi protected Luke's love safely in her heart. And beneath all the sadness of watching Arthur's decline, the smallest light of hope burned deep inside of her.

She determined, however, that she would fulfill her duty to Arthur. By caring for him, by standing by him, and by allowing him time to know his daughter.

And in watching him wither away, she was not alone. The entire household, his mother, his brother, even the servants endured the process along with her. A few cousins and aunts came to visit. Lady Tempest insisted they had come to lift his spirits. She referred to Arthur's illness as the ague, and Naomi supposed that it sounded less ill-omened than malaria.

The disease teased them all. Arthur would hover on the precipice of death for days on end and then the fever would break, and for a day or two, he'd seem almost normal.

On one occasion, Arthur's mother mentioned the possibility of Amelia having a younger brother or sister. Naomi's response had been a pointed glare, and Lady Tempest did not bring up the subject again. Because although no one mentioned Arthur's unspoken affliction, the abscesses that appeared almost overnight and sometimes putrefied were a daily reminder that he had ruined himself with his licentious behavior.

She would do what she could to provide comfort, but aside from assisting him to drink or eat, reading out loud at his bedside, or bringing Amelia for short visits, she was repelled by his touch.

Days passed into weeks, spring turned to summer, and although nearly all of London society retreated to their country estates, life at Galewick Manor remained relatively unchanged.

Crescent Park, however, sat mostly empty.

Lady Lucinda, having taken up residence with her husband at his estate near Scarborough, found time to write occasionally, but she seemed to have her hands full adjusting to all the duties that came with her new title. The Duke of Blackheart and his wife had left shortly after the Season ended to tend to a situation concerning the duchess's niece—leaving Lydia to return home quite alone, without any of her siblings to keep her company.

Naomi was more than happy to spend time with her, and the two of them did their best to fill the gap in each other's lives. Lydia had become a dear friend, and with her visits, she brought a glimpse of life outside of the deathwatch inside of Galewick. She also, on occasion, brought correspondence from Luke with her.

His letters did not read like love letters but more like those of a friend.

But she knew.

He was safe. He was alive.

The two of them would wait.

Without Lucinda's more boisterous company, Naomi's friendship with Lydia strengthened. Of course, after their visit last December, Naomi knew the Cockfields were well aware of Naomi and Luke's attachment. What she had not realized was that their knowing came without judgment.

Lydia brought books to share, fashion magazines, and she'd knitted the most beautiful blanket for Amelia. In private, Naomi referred to her as Amelia's aunt.

Only in private.

It was over the course of one of Lydia's visits, the second Tuesday of September, when everything truly turned.

"Mrs. Gilcrest." One of the maids peered into the nursery where Naomi, Lydia, and Amelia were sprawled out on the floor. "Mr. Gilcrest is asking for you."

Something in the servant's tone darkened the mood of the cheerful little chamber immediately. Naomi met Lydia's gaze. "I can send for Amelia's nurse." She wasn't sure how long she would be unavailable to her daughter.

"No. I'll stay with her." Lydia's eyes held the same compassion Naomi had seen so many times in her brother's. "You go. Amelia and I shall keep one another entertained."

The three of them had spent many an afternoon doing just that, and so Naomi knew Lydia had Amelia's schedule and little habits memorized.

Naomi nodded and rose. "Thank you."

It was unlike Arthur to ask for her. In fact, for the past week, he'd not had the strength to talk hardly at all.

She'd known he was fading away, had bid farewell to him as a husband long ago, and yet death was the final ending. When she arrived at his chamber, a nurse held the door open wide for her in invitation. "He's been asking for you, Missus."

Naomi crept inside slowly, quietly, but he must have sensed her presence for he turned and met her stare.

"You came." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I wasn't sure you would."

"How are you feeling today?" Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he merely wished for her to read to him or…

"It's time."

She could almost make out the shape of his skeleton beneath skin that held little elasticity or color. Dry lips twitched into a ghost of a sheepish grin. Eyes that had once sparkled with life stared back at her with the ultimate resignation.

"Shall I send for your mother?" It ought to be awkward, being alone with him. But today, he did not seem to be under any illusions as to the realities between them.

"No. I needed to speak with you first."

Naomi hesitated only a moment before dropping into the chair she'd grown all too familiar with at the side of his bed. "Of course."

She had never seen death occur before. She'd viewed her grandmother's body when it had been laid out in the parlor of her mother's home. And her father's sister, as well. She swallowed hard and took one of Arthur's hands in hers.

"I've wronged you." His words hung in the air between them.

Naomi absorbed the statement. Was he asking for her forgiveness?

"It's going to come out when the solicitors begin divvying up my worldly goods."

Naomi shook her head. "I don't want anything of yours?—"

"No." He managed to hold her gaze. "Our marriage."

Ah, this. "You never signed the certificate." Even now, it was difficult not to be angry with him over this.

Wrinkles appeared in his forehead as he stared at her. "I was going to."

"Was any of it real?" Arthur didn't understand her question. "Luke asked his brother to investigate. There is no record of our marriage in Gretna Green. But we stood together, you and I, and took vows." She'd wanted answers to this ever since he'd returned but hadn't wished to stir up more trouble than was necessary. She hadn't thought it would help anything to expose Gil's duplicity. "Our daughter would have been illegitimate. How could you do that to your own flesh and blood?"

"Debts." He pinched his eyes closed. "I had intended to meet with your father. And then I was going to…" And then his eyes opened. "What do you mean that she would have been illegitimate ? Did you forge my signature? Of course you did. Because you thought I was dead."

"I forged nothing." Naomi sat up straight and met his stare. "At the time of Amelia's birth, I was, in fact, a legally married woman. Luke and I wed by special license before he returned to the front."

Remembering the sweetest ceremony in the world calmed her heart. On the chilly evening of December first, Luke's last night in Hull Crossings, Naomi and Luke had solemnly taken their vows of marriage, making certain all was legal and documented properly. They'd done so to protect her baby and her reputation. But Luke had also been emphatically insistent that he wanted to.

Blackheart and Mrs. Cromwell had been the only persons present, to act as witnesses, and the vicar of course. Not even the twins, who had been tucked up safely at the inn, were told. Their marriage would only have become known to their solicitors and families if it became absolutely necessary. Luke had promised Naomi a very public wedding, with all the fanfare she deserved, after he'd returned from the front and at the end of her mourning.

He chuckled softly. "Luke is a good man. I never could live up to that bastard." That ghostly smile hovered on his lips again. "He will be a good father to Amelia, a good husband to you."

Naomi did not argue or deny any of it. She merely nodded.

"I'm sorry," Arthur rasped into the quiet. "For not being the man I pretended to be. You deserve better. You did all along. At least in my death, you will have that."

"We were happy for a time, you and I." She found it surprisingly easy to comfort him. She was still hurt and angry, of course she was, and she no longer believed that Arthur Gilcrest was a good man—but it would do no good to inflict more pain upon him in this moment, not for her or anyone else.

"Tell him I'm sorry. I pretended it was my due. I pretended—" A fit of coughing took hold of him, cutting off his words. She immediately lifted the glass to his lips and trickled a few drops of water into his mouth. She'd done it dozens of times, but there was an almost ritualistic meaning this time.

When he settled back onto the pillow, eyes closed, Naomi thought perhaps he'd lost consciousness. His chest rose and fell, almost imperceptibly. But he was still here.

"I never meant…"

She jumped when his voice broke the quiet again, as he squeezed her hand. "What?"

"I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Just needed the money… Needed something to send you… But I couldn't stop them from burning…" He let out a soft wailing sound of despair.

Naomi froze. He was talking about the ambush. He had been the traitor. Luke had been right in his suspicions.

A lone tear squeezed out from one of his eyes and slowly trailed down the side of his face. "I deserve to go to hell. I deserve it, Mimi, but I'm afraid." Torment highjacked his voice. He was dying. He was afraid. And he was utterly helpless.

"I forgive you." It wasn't her place to forgive him for the lives his actions had cost but, in this moment, she was simply a woman watching another human face eternity. "Luke forgives you."

He shuddered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so…" He exhaled and fell still. His chest did not rise again.

Naomi's chin began trembling. He was gone.

It was over.