Page 47 of Bluebell’s Fate

She was a liar. She was not fine, but what else was she to say?

“I’ve sent for the doctor; he’ll be here soon.” Nathaniel’s voice cracked with emotion. Bell opened her eyes to a sight that snapped a piece of her pride clean in two. Nathaniel sat with his elbows propped on his knees, his fingers threaded into his dark brown hair with a white knuckled grip.

She reached out a hand to touch his arm. “Thank you for sending for a doctor, I think some powders would be helpful. There is no need to fear, it’s just a fever.”

Nathaniel’s tortured hazel eyes locked with hers. “Just a fever? Do you know what you just said?”

Bell closed her eyes. He was overreacting. She wasn’t that ill, but she understood his meaning. A fever could very well be quite terrible. His concern for her was endearing and achingly beautiful. Despite their differences, Nathaniel would always be there for her, she knew he would—like she knew the spring followed winter.

If only she could convince herself that his care was enough. His honor and responsible nature would be the attributes that would keep their marriage afloat. The problem that remained was…she wanted more. She wanted more than manners and respect, more than safety and prosperity from him.

Only his heart would be sufficient to truly make her happy.

She loved him.

The realization brought pain to her heart.

She didn’t know it would be a painful thing, to love. But it was. It hurt so badly, she wanted to take it away. For how could she survive loving someone who didn’t truly love her back?

She looked into his incredible hazel eyes. They were filled with tears.

“My brother died of a fever,” Nathaniel admitted with a crack in his voice.

Bell reached up and cradled his cheek in her palm. “I’m so sorry.”

He sniffed. “It was my fault.” He clenched his jaw tight as more tears leaked out. “We were playing down by the river in early spring, and he fell in. I panicked and ran to the house to get help. I should have jumped in after him.”

“It was not your fault, Nathaniel,” Bell whispered, wiping away his tears. “You did what you could.”

He shook his head, obviously not believing her.

Her heart ached for him. He’d carried this burden for a long time—years—though she didn’t know how many. But how to make him see his innocence? “Would you have wanted me to jump in after him?”

“Of course not. I’d not put you in that danger.” He looked at her like she was going mad.

“Nathaniel, that water was likely cold enough that if you’d jumped in after him, you would have suffered the same fate. Do not mistake wisdom with cowardice.”

Nathaniel didn’t answer but continued to mop her brow with cool water, his eyes a misty haze. Bell shuddered at the thought of him being gone. How glad she was that her husband was of a rational mind. She couldn’t imagine a world without him. He was needed; people like Nathaniel made things make sense. They moved things along and held stable even when their world shook around them.

So unlike herself.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t love her. She was so stuck in her own imaginings that he couldn’t connect to her in this realm. True love didn’t work that way.

For as long as she could remember, all the stories of true love she’d invented while roaming her woods led to a happy ending, an ending when a man and a woman overcame all the obstacles set in their way to be together. No dragon’s keep or mountain range could keep them apart, no meddling mother or pompous father would come out victorious. In all of her stories, there had been fairies to help the couple along, to smooth a path for their success. Was that what was missing? The fairies? Did true love not actually exist in the world?

No, she couldn’t believe that. Not when she fell asleep with Nathaniel whispering in her ear, begging her not to leave him. It broke her heart and gave her wings in the same breath. Maybe, just maybe, she could be his fairy. The one who paved a way to happiness for them both. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt to try.

Chapter Thirty

Nathaniel paced up and down in the corridor. He wanted to be back at Bell’s side to ensure she was really healing. But Bell had all but kicked him out of her room after two days of his hovering. Memories of Edwin on his death bed had been inserting themselves into Nathaniel’s brain since he’d known about Bell’s fever. He shook his brother’s image from his head. Bell was fine. It was just a minor fever. She was napping.

He’d taken a much-needed bath and shaved the days’ worth of hair from his face. He felt like a new man, and he suspected very little of that feeling came from the opportunity to freshen up. No, he was overcome with the freedom from guilt that came with Bell’s reaction to his story about Edwin’s death. Nathaniel hadn’t meant to tell her. But now that he had, and after seeing her reaction, he felt lighter, freer, forgiven.

She didn’t blame him. He hadn’t realized he’d held himself hostage over his twelve-year-old decision to find help for his brother. With Bell’s assistance, he’d been able to move toward forgiving himself. But she refused to allow him to coddle her any longer.

The village doctor had been in and out for the past two days, but he’d concluded that the illness needed to run its course. This sickness was different than it had been with Edwin: she remained lucid when she was awake—it was beyond relieving. Bell even wanted to go for walks and take tea in the parlor, but Nathaniel couldn’t risk it. He’d stayed by her side, keeping her company and watching for symptoms of the fever returning. But those signs never came. Instead, she’d been peppering him with questions about his childhood and school years, which he felt increasingly free to answer, even the painful ones. Thanks to her illness and their undistracted time together, they could now converse as well as best friends could be expected to.

But now what should he do? He’d completely abandoned his schedule the past few days to be with Bell, only being forced from the room at times by Sutton so she could help Bell freshen up. He felt he ought to be anxious to go about his tasks, but spending his days with Bell had shifted his perception. Life seemed so fragile and short. Why would he bury himself in ledgers when he could be spending time with his wife?