Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

D r. Edward Morris was not a man to give or hold false hope. His life experience had taught him over the years that things rarely went the way you wished them to go. It was better to prepare for the worst. As he watched Lord Darnley disappear into Miss Selwyn’s room, he sighed. It could not end well. He could see, as clear as day, that the man was in love with the ailing woman he’d just cared for.

The doctor had experienced a great love once himself, but it had ended badly. He had sat at countless bedsides and watched lovers, young and old, slip away from each other. He knew that love was not an enduring thing the way the poets described it. Love could go as quickly as it had come.

He turned to walk downstairs, his heart heavy, when he heard a voice behind him in the hall.

“Mr. Scott.”

He froze. He would have recognized that voice anywhere. He heard it in his memories — the deep ones that he kept locked away. Memories too painful to look at regularly, but they resurfaced when he slept. His heart knew what his mind would not admit — that voice was still everything to him.

He turned slowly and saw her standing ten paces away. She was both the same as she had always been, and different entirely. Her hair was white now, but it still hung loose around her shoulders. He could see the faint whisper of her freckles against pale skin, and her vibrant eyes looking out from sharp cheekbones. She was wearing a plain, grey gown. Her arms clasped a shimmering shawl around frail shoulders.

“Mr. Scott?” she repeated, a question in her voice this time.

He stepped toward her slowly, hesitantly. “Cecelia?” Even as he said her name, he could hardly believe she was there.

She hesitated a moment, and then nodded. He saw a sheen of tears in her brilliant eyes. He took a step closer .

“You changed your name,” she said simply. “You are Edward Morris now.”

“The chief of medicine at my school in Germany was prejudiced against highlanders,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My friend was from France, and suggested an English derivative of Maurice…” he trailed off. None of that matters, he thought desperately. All that matters is her, standing here before you.

He looked around himself at the lavish surroundings. “Do you know the owner of this house?” he asked.

“I am the owner,” she said. She was shivering, ever so slightly. She drew the shawl more tightly around herself. “It was one of the prizes I won when I agreed to marry a cold and distant husband instead of you, Edward.”

So there it was. She is not going to settle for pleasantries. After all these years apart, she knows we do not have time for anything but substance. He wanted desperately to know the answer to his next question, but he was terrified as well.

“Your husband…” he drew a breath. “The Lord of March Manor. Where is he today?”

“He has been dead for fifteen years,” Cecelia said, her face a mask of emotion. “It is only I here now.”

In a rush of realization, the doctor remembered all his conversations with Lord Darnley about the lady in the manor who was alone and ill. He remembered his own counsel that the matter was likely one of loneliness. She must have lived alone here all these years, he thought.

“I thought I would never see you again,” he said brokenly. “You wrote telling me you were marrying some wealthy gentleman, and then never responded to any of my letters. There was nothing I could do.”

Her face showed confusion for the first time. “You did not write me,” she said. “I would have kept your letters, every single one. You only wrote the one time, and it was so short and cold. I thought you had not need of me anymore.”

Edward thought of the hours he had spent composing letters, hoping and praying they would convince Cecelia to run away with him. Telling her of all the wishes he had for their future. He had sent every last one but received nothing in response.

“I wrote,” he said. “You must believe me.”

There was a long, slow pause. Then Cecelia raised her eyes with understanding. “My parents,” she said quietly. “They must have intercepted your letters. They must have guessed that communication with you would ruin my chances at a marriage they approved of.”

The doctor crossed the remaining distance between them and caught up his love’s hand in his own, feeling her gentle touch after all those years apart. “I never stopped loving you,” he said hoarsely.

“Did you ever marry?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Are you married now?”

“I never did,” he assured her. “I couldn’t. I always came so close to the moment with other women and could not get over the thought of your face. There was no room in my heart for forever love with anyone but you.”

She shook her head, the tears breaking free from her eyes now and pouring down her cheeks. “I know that I married,” she said, “but I can claim a forever love with you just the same. I never did love my husband. I tried — I really did — but he was not a kind man.” She looked down at her hands. “ Truth be told, even if he had been a kind man, I think I would have spent my last days pining after the one I loved.”

“How did you know it was me?” he said. “I was in the room with Miss Selwyn the entire time I’ve been here, and I did not see you once.”

“I knew it was you weeks ago, when you first came to the manor,” she said softly. “I was in the garden and I saw you speaking with my nephew—”

“Lord Darnley?”

“My sister’s child,” she said, nodding. “I have never had one of my own. He is a good lad. I saw him there, talking to you about my health, and I knew in a moment it was you. I wanted so desperately to run out of the arbor and into your arms, but fear held me back.”

“What could you have been afraid of?” he asked, relishing the comfort of her nearness again after all those years. He thought of the last time he’d seen her, bidding her goodbye before his long journey. She’d been but a girl then, wide-eyed and full of hope.

“I could not imagine you forgiving me,” she said. “I thought that if I revealed who I was, you would meet me with derision and anger.”

“I would not have been angry,” he said. No, that was years ago. Angry and betrayed and confused. But even with all that, Edward knew the truth. If at any point Cecelia had walked back into his life, he would have taken her back. He loved her too much to do anything different.

“Or indifferent,” she said. “I could not have borne it if you were indifferent.”

“I could not be indifferent to you,” he said softly.

She raised her eyes to him, her face desperate.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have given in to them. It wasn’t right. I wish I could go back and do it all over again. I would follow you out of England. I would live in a hovel by your side forever rather than wasting all these years—”

He caught her up in his arms, holding her close. “You do not need to apologize,” he said. “Only tell me again that you love me. I have waited a lifetime to hear those words from your lips once more.”

“I love you,” she said, looking up at him with an expression of peace and trust. “And I always will.”

Suddenly she froze, looking over his shoulder at something behind him. He turned and saw Stephen standing in the hall, a basin and towel in his hands, speechless.

Edward’s mind raced. He could only imagine what the other man might think, finding his aging aunt here in the arms of a tradesman. He released Cecelia from the embrace, but kept her hand in his.

“Lord Darnley,” he began, haltingly. “I don’t know what to say—”

“Aunt Cecelia,” Stephen interrupted, his eyes going quickly to Cecelia as though to ascertain that she felt safe. “Are you well?”

“I am,” Cecelia said quietly. She turned and smiled briefly at Edward. “You may well be surprised at the sight of me here with Dr. Scott — I mean, Dr. Morris. He is an old friend of mine.”

“Scott.” Stephen looked sharply at the doctor. “You are the Scott she has spoken of before? You are the second son of the baron? ”

Now it was Cecelia’s turn to look surprised. “How do you know about him?” she asked. “It is impossible.”

“You mentioned a Scott on one of your hard days,” he said slowly, coming forward to join them. “And I must confess that I learned the rest from a source I am not proud of. Miss Selwyn found an old diary of yours and, in an effort to discover the root of your illness, showed me the contents.”

Edward could only imagine the contents of that diary. Cecelia had always been a writer when they were young, sending him letters brimming with description and heart. He imagined that she had written even more honestly in her own private diary, and that the fulness of their sad love tale would be transcribed there.

“I had no right,” Stephen went on. “I can only say that I read the words in an attempt to help, not to harm.” He cleared his throat and set the basin aside on a table. “In all honesty, I was drawn to what you wrote because I related to your struggle. I have a similar situation with my own parents.”

Edward didn’t know the man at all, but he could see that for someone as esteemed as Lord Darnley, it would be quite unconventional to choose a lady’s companion as his bride. He was intrigued, but still more focused on his lost love at his side. She was gripping his hand tightly and hanging on Stephen’s every word.

“Please,” Stephen said gently. “Say something, Aunt. Have I betrayed your trust?”

Cecelia looked at Edward with a sad relenting in her eyes. “Perhaps in another lifetime I would feel angry at your incursion into my private life,” she said slowly, “but standing here, with the one I love returned to me at last, I cannot summon the necessary feeling. All I can think is that I am glad of your honesty, and I am thankful my Dr. Scott has returned at last.”

“It is a strange thing,” Stephen said, looking at last to the doctor. “All this time I wanted you to diagnose her from a distance, and you were more right than you knew. You guessed her condition without ever seeing her.”

“I guessed her condition because her absence years ago nearly drove me to madness,” Edward said, his heart seizing at the memory. “I know what it is to wilt away because of loneliness.”

Stephen’s face became unreadable. He looked down at his hands. “I don’t want that to happen to Ruth,” he said. “I am afraid that I have waited too long; that she will slip away without my having a chance to tell her I love her.”

Cecelia came forward and clasped her nephew’s hand in her own, looking back at Edward with a smile that melted his heart.

“Love will find a way,” she said. “I did not always believe it, but I see now it is true. You are not alone, Stephen. We will stay here with you until she pulls through.”