16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

“ A nother.” His empty glass rattled as he put it down, ungodly loud in the empty bar.

The barkeep gave Will a pitying look as he refilled the whisky. “A bit early for customers. I thought everyone was at the church for the wedding.”

The knife that had been stuck in his gut since he’d left Adelaide twisted and pushed deeper. “Not everyone,” he grumbled as he threw back the liquor and relished the burn that clawed down his throat, around the blade in his belly.

He’d taken the cart and Phyllis with him on his slow trek through town, the clatter of wheels over cobblestones making his insides churn. Paper banners and flags hung between the buildings on the narrow streets, and vendors sold flowers to the well-dressed villagers. He watched a girl tie a handkerchief over her hair like a veil, then chase a boy down the street, begging for a kiss. When the donkey slowed, finally digging in her hooves and refusing to take another step, he relented and found the deserted bar at the end of the high street.

As the only one not celebrating the new countess, he would wallow in that feeling for a few hours at least, keep the bartender company before his long, lonely journey to Saltford.

He thought he knew jealousy before, when he heard of other boys matriculating at Cambridge, when his friends married and started families, but nothing could compare to this. Handing this rare gem of a woman to a man who didn’t even know the legions she contained, the passion she was capable of, was torture beyond anything he’d thought possible. This jealousy had thorns, and it sliced his flesh as it twisted and swelled, pushed his lungs and ribs aside so all he could feel, seeping from his bones, was jealousy.

Loving her without having her must be the worst pain imaginable. Surely there was worse pain, ones he prayed he’d never experience, because this left his insides raw, made him want to lie down in the streets and scream to the heavens for mercy.

Because Adelaide Kimball wasn’t his. A woman he hadn’t known existed a mere week before.

The trivet in his bag seemed to take on additional weight as he slung it off his shoulder and onto the wooden floor, and he considered the labor he’d put into crafting it, in extracting every ounce of beauty he could, the life he poured into its creation. But it was still cold, unmoving. Where had that fire gone, the sweat and passion pulled from his soul? Had it simply disappeared into the ether? Or was it contained somewhere within, encased in hard, unfeeling iron?

Perhaps the fire that burned between Adelaide and himself remained somewhere in the universe. Love like that didn’t turn to cold, lifeless stone.

Ah, Christ. He never told her he loved her. He hoped that, as she walked down the aisle to have another man put a ring on her finger, she knew.

“If you’re not here for the wedding,” the barkeep said, interrupting his maudlin thoughts, “what brings you to Barrington?”

“The bride.”

He hummed knowingly, as though he could understand the turmoil Will was experiencing. “You’re a friend of hers?”

“No, I’m in love with her.”

The man froze and stared at Will for a long moment before pouring him another whisky, then one for himself. They lifted their glasses together, tossing the contents back and hissing in unison before he fixed Will with a narrowed stare. “Does she know that?”

He motioned for towards the bottle. “I never told her.”

The barkeep shook his head. “If you’re in love with her, why aren’t you in the church now, taking her for yourself?”

Why wasn’t he? “Because she deserves better than being married to a village blacksmith.”

He harrumphed. “Shouldn’t she be the one to decide what she deserves?”

A series of shouts rose from the street, followed by rapid footfalls. The barkeeper scowled, then rushed to the door and threw it open. “Oy, Barney! What’s happened?”

“The bride took off running,” a boy, presumably Barney, called back. “She’s lookin’ all over for the man she loves.”

Will spun on the stool and nearly tumbled to the ground before scrambling to his feet. He crossed the room in three strides and threw himself, blinking, into the street. “The bride!” he shouted, gasping for breath. “Who did she say she’s looking for?”

The boy—the same one who’d been dodging kisses earlier, if he wasn’t mistaken—stared at him. “Some bloke with a donkey named…” He screwed up his face for an interminable moment, then broke into a smile as he remembered. “A bloke named Phil!” He gasped then pointed. “Are you Phil?”

Will choked back a sob. “Yes—I mean, no, but yes—”

Barney grabbed Will’s hand and tugged, pulling him up the street and shouting, “Look! I’ve found Phil!”

Before he could correct the lad, Will was being dragged up the high street, stumbling to avoid stepping on the heels of the child half his size who possessed a remarkably forceful grip. Soon a motley parade of onlookers, mostly children, joined them, chanting, “Phil! Phil! Phil!” as they climbed.

He froze when he saw her, her fiery golden hair a gleaming beacon, her ethereal white gown surrounding her in a gossamer cloud as she pressed her hand to her brow and peered into a shop through the darkened window.

Before Will could even find words, Barney took matters into his own hands and lifted Will’s hand like a hunting trophy. “Oy, miss! We found your Phil!”

At the moment their eyes met, a bolt of electricity shot through him, stronger than any lightning strike. Her mouth worked before settling in a tentative smile, then she raised her hand and waved.

He didn’t remember starting to run, only the instant they collided, when he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. He felt her laughter, her tears, her kisses on his cheek, his neck.

When he reluctantly set her down—after she protested that she couldn’t breathe—he cupped her cheeks. “You didn’t marry your earl.”

She gave him a watery grin. “I didn’t.”

“For me?”

Her brow furrowed for a moment, and he nearly panicked. “Yes and no,” she said. “I did it for me. I couldn’t marry John when I didn’t know if… if you might love me.”

Her words struck him square in the chest and pushed the air from his lungs. “Adelaide, I’m sorry. I should have told you how I felt earlier. I love you, but I don’t know how to be enough for you.”

“No, Will.” She shook her head. “I always thought I was too much. Perhaps together we’re…”

“Perfect.” He kissed her then, and once more.

But her small hands pressed against his chest, putting space between them. “I’m angry with you. You let me go.”

“I didn’t think—” He broke off and gestured towards the chapel, where people were milling about and others coming their way, no doubt to gather gossip on the runaway bride. “I can’t offer you what you wanted, the name recognition and protection you need to write.”

She shook her head, clapped her hands on his shoulders, and held his gaze. “I don’t need anyone else to give those things to me. I am enough as I am. And everything I am wants you.”

His legs trembled, and he feared he might collapse to his knees at her feet. Perhaps that was where he should have been all along. “Marry me, please. Adelaide, will you be my bride?”

She stepped away, her brows furrowed. “ Marry you? Will, we’ve known each other for less than a week. I need more time.”

He laughed, feeling so light he wondered if he might float away. “How long will it take?”

She made a show of thinking, pressing a finger to her chin. “A year? Perhaps two?”

Will grinned as his future materialized in his mind. Years of laughter and her warmth. A family. The jagged edges of his heart snapped into place, their missing piece found at last. “I can’t wait that long.”

“Six months, then, and not a moment longer. Do you agree?” She stuck out her hand to shake, and he took it, kissed it, then lifted her and spun her around.

“There are so many people we’ll have to talk to, to explain all this,” she said, pressing her palm to his chest, just above his full heart. “But before we do, tell me one thing.”

“What’s that, love?”

She gave him a wicked grin. “Who is Phil?”