Page 72 of The Girl Out of Time
“My mouth is sealed.” She drew her hand over it.
He smiled back. “Thank you.” He beheld her face one last time, trying to remember every feature, every twitch, every laughing wrinkle.
“Before you go,” she called as he turned to walk away. “Do you think this is a frog or a leaf?”
He looked at the painting.Mamanhad the right to be upset about it. “A leaf. Certainly.”
“Thank you very much, kind sir.” She nodded her head. “I wish you a pleasant walk.”
“I wish you …”I wish you were still here. I wish I’d known you.“A pleasant day.” He nodded back in farewell and walked down the road, waiting until she packed up her supplies and left before he rejoined Emmeline.
She didn’t say anything, only held his shoulders. He was grateful for the silence while he gathered his thoughts.
“Thank you,” he finally managed.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m happy I could do it.”
He cast another glance toward the house.Mamanhad already disappeared inside, but knowing she was there … every emotion he could place a name to swirled and gathered into a ball in his chest. He never thought he’d see his mother—and yet, he did, and he was ecstatic, but also crushed from knowing she wouldn’t be there when he got back. He was nervous, scared from knowing what awaited her—but also calm, soothed from knowing she’d had a good life beforehand.
Emmeline pulled him into an embrace, and after a moment of surprise, he hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“I’m sorry I can’t get you to your father,” she said. “But I’m glad you got to see her, at least. Before you leave.”
He sighed and sunk his fingers into her hair. He’d never forgetMaman. And he’d never forget Emmeline, either. “Thank you.”
***
Emmeline sat in front of her vanity table, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. After being fussed over since the early hours of the morning—by the duchess, Louisa, and a handful of ladies’ maids—she’d finally been given a moment to breathe before she left for the church.
She’d had a whole of five minutes to herself today, and yet, she’d never felt lonelier.
She glanced at the empty stool next to her, upholstered in a spotless cream brocade. Her mother should be sitting there; she’d take her hands, and they’d talk about those secret things mothers and daughters talk about before a wedding. Then Mother would fix the floral wreath in her hair, even though it needed no fixing, and kiss her on the cheek and tell her everything would be wonderful.
Father would be waiting in front of the church and take her down the aisle. He’d pat her hand and kiss her forehead and tell her he was so proud of her, and he loved her so much, and she’d tell him the same.
Her eyes burned, and she watched a tear slide down her reflection’s cheek, tickling her neck.
They should be here. Brendon and Tristan should throw petals in the church and run around guests and be general nuisances; her parents should stand beside her, so they could bask in her happiness, and she in theirs.
Perhaps all of this felt so hollow, so devoid of happiness, because they weren’t here.
Or perhaps, the reason she was missing themwasthat hollowness. Yesterday, Theo had met his mother for the first and only time, and Emmeline was so happy she could help him, but also so envious. What she’d thought a momentary reaction turned into a thorny, nauseating ball of regret and confusion in her belly, chasing her to today. Her wedding day.
She closed her eyes.I don’t know what I’m doing. Papa, what would you tell me?
The door behind her opened, and a familiar—if unexpected—form appeared at the edge of the mirror. Emmeline turned. “Theo!”
He dawdled in the doorway. “I’m sorry, am I disturbing?”
“Not at all.” She walked to him. “I thought you’d left already.”
“I missed today’s coach.” He turned his head to the side. “You’re crying.”
She wiped her eyes. “It’s just—you know. Big day.”
“Yes. It is.” He lowered his eyes. “I wanted to wish you all the best.”
A lump formed in her throat. Something was wrong with all of this, and it wasn’t just the absence of her parents.
