Page 72 of Bluebell’s Fate

“Your arm! What happened?”

Wincing, Bell shook her head, her face pale and eyes filled with tears. “Later. We’ll talk later.”

Nathaniel’s head was spinning like it used to when he was a child on a twisted swing—the world blurred into a mess of colors before him. Bell limped along beside him as they made slow progress to the house.

“I’m sorry, Bell. This is all my fault.”

She strangled out some sort of laugh beside him. “No, Nathaniel. It’s not, and it never has been.”

Laudanum did nothing to dull the pain Nathaniel felt when he remembered his wife’s cries as the doctor set her broken arm. Nor did it help with his memory of her foot, covered in blood. She’d sacrificed so much to save him. She would likely carry at least some of those scars with her for the entirety of her life. As he watched her sleep beside him, all he could do was wonder at her bravery.

Miss Stone had returned the letter Bell had given her that very evening, swearing that if she didn’t get rid of it, she would be too tempted to read it. Nathaniel could no longer be as circumspect as his neighbor. Wilson hadn’t but closed the front door before Nathaniel had torn the letter open.

He’d been sick the entire time he read the scandal of his father and his aunt. It didn’t matter how much passion his Aunt Linda poured into their relationship. It didn’t matter how wrong she’d been to welcome his father’s advances; theirs was a story of tragedy.

Where each of their marriages had been those of convenience, rather than love, they had reacted poorly in different ways. His father pushed his mother away, keeping her at a distance, and ultimately betraying her in the worst way. His Aunt Linda’s short marriage had ended up with her as a widow, fragile and desperate. She’d been taken advantage of, and then left to deal with the consequences of her mistakes for over twenty years on her own.

Making this letter known to anyone else would only cause more damage to the rubble of a family they currently were. Nathaniel held the incriminating piece of paper up to the flame of the fire and watched it burn.

Then when it was nothing but ash, he dropped the last corner into the fireplace and, taking courage from his wife’s example, Nathaniel walked over to Cairnsby Hall to talk with his parents. They met with him in the study, both of them with solemn demeanors. “Mother, Father, it is past time I apologize for Edwin’s death. I did what I thought was best that day by running for help. Even now, I do not know what I could have done differently other than joining him in the river. I’m sorry for the pain his death has caused you.”

Nathaniel’s mother stood and pulled him into an awkward embrace. “You have never been to blame.”

His father coughed. “That is not precisely true. You recall that day, my dear. Ian told us the whole of what happened. It was Nathaniel that pushed Edwin into the river in the first place.”

With clenched teeth, Nathaniel breathed through his nose. “I did not push him in. We were in a scuffle, and he slipped.”

“Why should I believe you?” his father growled.

Nathaniel shook his head. “Is there a better reason for you to believe Ian? The only thing I can tell you is the truth. I refuse to take the blame for that day any longer. I’m sorry Edwin has died, I’m sorry for any part I had in it happening.”

His mother touched his cheek like Nathaniel was a young boy again, tears streaking down her face. “And I am sorry that we were so consumed by our grief that we didn’t notice yours. I will do better in the future.” She pulled him into another hug that he returned. A piece of his heart swelled. Healing would not come in an instant, but for his mother, it seemed there was hope.

She left the room, and only silence remained.

Nathaniel looked at his father.

“What do you want? I’m not like your mother; I’m still upset with you. And now you’ll have Ian’s blood on your hands as well.”

There was no reasoning with him. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just came to apologize.” Nathaniel bowed and turned to leave.

“Nathaniel,” his father called, “It has been a long day. I’ll think on what you’ve said.”

It wasn’t what Nathaniel had hoped for, but it could have gone worse. He’d done what he could, and even without complete acceptance from his parents, he left the burden of forgiveness at their door. He was finished feeling guilty.

Chapter Forty-five

It had been a long couple weeks in bed—but the length of time didn’t necessarily mean it was not well spent. Bell smiled a little to herself as Nathaniel carried her down the stairs to the parlor. She liked the way she fit in his arms, and until her foot was better, she was advised to keep her weight off of it while the stitches healed. She’d never imagined that she’d enjoy being housebound. Her mind—as creative as it had always been—had never been able to fathom how wonderful a small degree of helplessness felt.

Nathaniel had seen to her every comfort for the past two weeks, which included carrying her to wherever she wanted to go, writing her letters of correspondence for her, and even though she was perfectly capable of eating with her left hand, he attempted to feed her as well. She couldn’t imagine another taking his place now, which was quite a feat: Bell had imagined more than her share of heroes in the past. How had she not ever imagined Nathaniel? Everything from his gold-flecked, kind eyes to the healing gash on his forehead were the picture of an adventure she couldn’t wait to have.

Godmother had left to stay at Cairnsby Hall. Bell suspected it was as much to look after Ian as it was to make sure he and Nathaniel’s father behaved. She stole a couple hours every day to come visit Bell. Nathaniel quickly found a new schedule for himself. He commonly took those two hours during Godmothers visit to go upstairs to work, and to give the women a small amount of privacy. The swelling in his head had finally subsided, but the bruising that remained, as well as the stitches, were a constant reminder of that terrible day behind the cottage.

Nathaniel situated Bell on the settee as Wilson showed Godmother into the parlor. Her eyes were red and swollen. And she wore black. Nathaniel crossed the small room in two long strides and pulled his grandmother in for a hug.

Godmother sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “It’s not your fault, Nathaniel. I only wanted to let you know that he is gone.”

Gone.