Page 73 of A Tempest of Desire
“It makes me sad to think it might have been horrible for him. I know what it is to think you’re going to die. I thought of all the things I meant to do. The dreams I abandoned. The ones I saw come true. Did the same thing happen to you, during the railway collision?”
He shook his head. “It happened too fast. I wasmaking up stories about my fellow passengers and in a blink I woke up on soaked grass and was being pelted by rain. For those who died, I very much doubt they knew Death was coming for them. I drew some comfort from that.”
Sniffing, she squeezed her eyes shut, wrenching out the remainder of her tears. She took a deep, slow inhale, and an even slower exhale. He must have recognized she was coming back to herself, because his hands moved away from her face and he rocked back a little into his crouch.
Ten days, she almost blurted.Ten days is all I can give you before the reality of my financial situation raises its ugly little head.
She realized she could give him any number, a hundred, a thousand, and he would be unable to accurately judge the significance. Only she would be aware of the numbers ticking away, becoming smaller and smaller until there was one day left and then none.
Perhaps like Death arriving unexpectedly, there would be some mercy in his not being aware of their time slipping away. He could enjoy each hour without realizing how few remained. It was a gift she could offer him.
“I’ve had many moments of sadness through the years, missing him, wondering what happened. Now I know. And there is relief in that. The last time I saw my father, he was going up in his balloon, smiling broadly, waving, and the last thing I heard was his laugh. He had a wonderful, deep laugh. I’m going to imagine he arrived at Heaven’sgate the same way: smiling, waving, and laughing. Thank you for finding the answer for me.”
“Ididn’t actually find it.”
“But you knew who would. Thank you for asking him.”
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case he didn’t find out anything. But I also knew he wouldn’t give up until he did discover something.”
“Those poor farmers. I suppose it would be frightening if you’d never before seen a balloon.”
With quiet contemplation, he studied her. “The sadness is going away.”
She nodded. “As I said, it’s been around over the years. It hit harder today, but it doesn’t linger. I mourned him. And I remember him.”
“I’ve been dragging you off to my residence every night. Perhaps tonight we should go to the Twin Dragons. Have a bit of fun.”
“I’d like that.”
He straightened. “I’ll see you at dusk.”
He never gave her an hour, a time. It was always dusk, dawn, midday, dark. He never looked at a watch or a clock, and she knew why now. “I’ll be ready.”
Bending over, placing his hands on either side of her chair, he leaned in and kissed her before striding from the residence.
Chapter 29
A few minutes later, as his carriage rumbled along, Langdon was grateful she’d agreed to go to the Twin Dragons tonight. He was on his way to an appointment with his father and when he was done with it, he wasn’t certain he’d be fit company, and he was hoping the chaos of a gambling hell might distract her enough so she wouldn’t notice his mood. Which he suspected was going to be quite dark indeed.
He’d awoken this morning feeling guilty that he’d shared his affliction with Marlowe and yet his family was still ignorant regarding his struggles. It seemed wrong that she should know what they did not.
And yet... nothing in his life had ever felt as right as telling her.
He hadn’t given his father a time when he would arrive at the residence. He’d merely indicatedthis afternoonwhen he’d sent his missive. Clocks were controlled by numbers. So many ticks, so many minutes, so many hours.
When Langdon had reached his majority, his father had passed his timepiece on to him and he had cherished it. He’d felt the sting of tears the first time he’d tucked it away into his waistcoat pocket. On occasion, he took it out, studied its face, and tried to determine how he could still use it for its purpose.
He’d been six when his father had sat him on his lap and taught him how to read a watch, how to use it to measure time. He tried to recall the lessons, thought if he could do that, he could teach himself what he’d once known. But thus far he’d had no success.
Perhaps Marlowe could teach him how to unravel the mysteries of time.
When she had stopped silently weeping earlier, he’d been able to discern she was contemplating sharing something with him and had decided against it. He suspected it had to do with the time left to them. He wished he could place it in an hourglass. He could comprehend sand sifting through from the top to the bottom, marking the passage of time. He could see the amount left.
Perhaps he should have a huge hourglass built in his back garden, have her help him determine how much sand would be needed to accurately provide a way to measure the minutes remaining to them. Although he couldn’t imagine not having her with him.
Why was she so opposed to his caring for her? He wasn’t a pauper.
The carriage pulled into the circular drive of his parents’ London residence, and he turned his attention to focusing on his meeting. Picking up the satchelresting beside him, he tapped it. He wasn’t nervous or anxious. He was, however, dreading the disappointment that would cross his father’s face when he learned the truth of his heir.
