Page 139 of A Curse of Hope and Shadows: Part I
When Dimitri turned to exit, Thomas was already gone.
He cursed under his breath, and raced out after him, after her, ignoring the stares of the servants in the kitchen, busying preparing the next round of drinks for the ball still performing above them. He dove out into the rain, side splitting, burning with the memory of his father’s boot to his ribs.
It was all right. He was fine. He could shoulder it all, shoulder everything, as long as she was safe—
The wind struck him in the chest, tearing through his hair. Only the faint notion of cold reached him, eclipsed by his desperation, his need to find her.
And he would. He had to.
He raced through the grounds, left open, staring into the gloom for any sign, any glimpse of her. She could not be far ahead. Where would she have gone?
He checked the stables first, but they were swimming with stablehands trying to soothe the horses and settle them in their stalls. Adeline would not have come here.
The bandstand? The workshop? The greenhouses?
He sprinted to every building, every nook and cranny, every scrap of shelter. He even checked down by the stream, in case she’d taken shelter beneath the boughs.
But he could not find her.
Too late, he realised he was searching in the wrong place, that Adeline would have fled as far from the Manor as she could possibly go.
She was going home.
Adeline’s thin layers were soaked through. Wind and rain lashed at her hair, bit at her skin. Mud streaked her arms and legs as she crouched at the stones in front of her, and clutched at the writing like she’d once clutched at her mother’s skirts.
Georgia Elsing, Beloved Wife and Mother.
None of her warmth resided in this grey slab, and Adeline wondered once more why she had bothered to come at all.
Because you didn’t feel like you had anywhere else to go.
Not her house, where the children could see her shame. Not to Marie’s, or another friend’s, for she had burnt all those bridges long ago.
And not to Dimitri’s arms, because she wasn’t allowed to want them.
Whore.
So she can come here, to this grey, dark place, feeling less alive than the bones beneath her.
“I can’t do it, Mama,” she whispered, her voice a ghost against the howling wind. “I can’t be you. I can’t be brave and strong for other people, every day for the rest of my life, when I… when I…” She took a series of hard, ragged breaths. “You only had to be without Papa for six months. I’ve been without you for two years. And I’ve been trying really, really hard, to be the person everyone else needs me to be, but it’s too much, and it’s not fair. I hate you for leaving. Ihateyou. How dare you go and leave me to do everything by myself, when I need you. I need you, Mama. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this, how to make it go away. Tell me how to live without you. Tell me how to live withouthim.Tell me how to appreciate what I have left, and make those beautiful children enough for me. Because they should be. But they aren’t. They aren’t…”
I’ve failed them,howled the thought inside her.I have failed my brothers and sisters by not loving them enough. I’ve failed Mama by not having her strength. I’ve failed Papa by not being able to provide for them. I’ve failed Dimitri, because I promised to stay with him, but I can’t.
And yet, if he found her now, if he came to her when she needed him the most, if he’d seen past her desire to flee, she would tell him everything.
I need you, I need you, I need you.
Stay. Stay. Stay.
The gate to the churchyard banged open, screeching in the wind. Adeline turned her head, half hope, half dread—
And saw Thomas standing on the path. He came towards her carefully, as if she were some kind of wounded animal that would bolt if he came too close, too suddenly.
He took off his cloak, and draped it over her shoulders.
“I went to your house, first,” Thomas said softly. “Your brother thought you might come here. He wanted to come himself, but didn’t want to leave the children—”
Adeline could think of nothing to say to that, only her gut twisted with remembering that Elliott, too, bore the burden of being a parent far too young, and that she had not thought of him, that she was being selfish and self-indulgent and—
