Lady Wild (18 page)
“Mama!” Ophelia cried.
Andrew’s heart slammed in his chest, not able to believe it, but when he slowed his thoughts, he saw that Lady Darlington was still breathing.
“Mama?” he asked gently, stroking his thumb over the back of her papery hand.
Lady Darlington’s eyes fluttered open.
But this time when her eyes met his, something was very different.
She was no longer present. The vital lady he had known had slipped away in the last moments.
Lady Darlington gave a small smile, not truly looking at anyone or anything. “Love you. . . My darlings.”
As if she was tired beyond measure, her eyelids fell at last, and her hand relaxed in his grip.
Her chest continued to rise and fall in shallow gasps.
“Mrs. Rourke?” Ophelia demanded, panic lifting the tone of her voice.
“It’s all right, m’dear,” Mrs. Rourke assured, standing at ease on the other side of the bed. She reached out and lovingly stroked Lady Darlington’s forehead. “She’s simply passing into the next world. Her spirit’s ready, but her body is a step behind.”
“Is she gone?” Ophelia asked, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“In a manner of speaking. But talk to her,” Mrs. Rourke urged. “I swear her soul is in the room, looking on us as she waits to go home to God.”
Ophelia nodded, even as the tears traced down her porcelain cheeks.
Andrew’s heart ached. In one day there was so much joy and sorrow, and he was unsure what to do.
His wife sat, tears filling her eyes, as the dearest woman in the world to them both faded quickly.
Suddenly—almost as if Lady Darlington whispered in his ear,
Just be here, darling boy. Just be here
—he knew there was nothing he could do but sit with his wife and love her.
Ophelia blinked and drew in a long breath. Even though she’d just been asleep, her whole body felt battered. She winced and stretched her shoulders slightly before lifting her head from the bed.
Mama.
A sick, fearful anticipation seized her insides. Had her mother made it through the night? Lady Darlington’s hand was in hers. Still warm and soft.
Ophelia exhaled. It was unbearable, the waiting. She longed for her mother to suddenly wake up, to spring out of bed and revel in London Town, but that wasn’t going to happen, and Ophelia didn’t wish for her mother to know any more suffering.
She uncurled her body and sat up beside her mama.
Each breath now came in a strange rasp, a throttle in Lady Darlington’s throat.
Andrew stirred in the chair behind her, perhaps awakened by the sound.
“Are you well?” he inquired, reaching out for her.
She savored the feel of his strong hand on her shoulder. Nodding, she couldn’t tear her gaze away form her mother. That frail body was now so small, so incredibly tiny. Ophelia bit down on her lower lip, willing herself to be strong.
Mrs. Rourke sat up from the cot that had been brought in last night after the wedding. Fully clothed, the lady patted her unruly, silvered coif. A deep yawn stretched her features before she took in Lady Darlington’s form. “Still with us, dear lady?”
There was no stirring to suggest Lady Darlington recognized the words.
Mrs. Rourke stood. “Tea, I think. I shall go down and prepare some. It will be good for you two to be alone with her.”
Ophelia heard, but couldn’t respond. Everything felt so strange, so unreal.
Mrs. Rourke paused at the door. “Perhaps, Lady Ophelia. . . Perhaps you should tell her it is perfectly acceptable for her to go now.”
With that, the older lady swept into the hall, leaving Andrew and Ophelia with her mother and the sound of her embattled breathing.
Tell her it was acceptable?
Ophelia wanted to rail against the very notion, but in truth, the suggestion struck a chord within her. Her mother needed to know her daughter would be well now.
“Ophelia?” Andrew queried. “Can I—”
She shook her head before he could finish. She needed to do this. No one could do it for her. She drew in a long breath. “Mama,” she said firmly. “Mama, do you hear me?” She waited a moment, but her mother remained unmoving, her mouth open slightly, her breath a rough rattle. “Mama,” she said gently but with purpose, “you may leave us now. Andrew is with me. I know you know how much we love each other, but it is time. If you’re waiting for my permission to go. . .” Ophelia swallowed. “You have it. Be at peace, Mama.”
She studied her mother’s face for any change.
That bone-chilling breath that shook then paused and shook again continued.
Ophelia closed her eyes. She didn’t know what she thought would happen.
“Tell me something about her,” Andrew said over the sound of her mama’s laborious breaths.
Ophelia kept her hand around her mother’s, and she glanced over her shoulder at her husband. Husband. It was a such a foreign but delightful word, even in their circumstances. “My mother and father loved each other very much, you know. They met walking in Cornwall. Did she tell you?”
Andrew shook his head. “Go on. I like to hear about Mama.”
Ophelia thought back to the story she’d heard time and again. “Well, Mama went for a very long walk in the rain, and she slipped along the cliffs. She nearly plunged to her death, but apparently caught hold of a tree branch. If you can believe the tale, my father just happened to ride by at the time, and of course, like a knight of old, he rescued her.”
Andrew laughed softly. “How terribly romantic.”
“Yes,” Ophelia agreed, a smile pulling at her lips. “They were. He asked her to marry him in less than a fortnight. And they were happy. Every year they went back to that spot to affirm their love for each other. A tree branch hanging over the cliffs looking out to the sea. Can you imagine?”
“Knowing Mama, yes,” Andrew said ruefully.
“Papa is buried there,” Ophelia said suddenly. They’d gone to visit his grave last year. She hadn’t thought about it in months, preoccupied with her mother’s illness. But it now was clear how perfect that was. “He chose to be in the spot they met, for eternity.”
Ophelia looked back to her mama, amazed at her parents’ love.
The silence hit her.
Ophelia stared at her mother’s quiet body. “Mama?” she called.
No breath this time. Nothing. Just still peace.
Ophelia’s breath froze in her breast.
“She’s gone, my love,” Andrew said quietly, reverently. “She’s gone.”
Ophelia sat silently, holding her mother’s hand, her eyes burning with the truth of it. Hot tears slid down her cheeks, matched with a shuddering sob. “Good-bye, Mama,” she managed through her tears, each word broken.
After a moment, her tears slowed, and she leaned forward. She rested her head against her mother’s now-quiet chest, savoring the feel of that safe harbor one last time.
The door opened, and the sound of Mrs. Rourke bustling in vaguely penetrated Ophelia’s grief.
Andrew whispered to the other woman.
Ophelia sat up slowly and wiped a hand over her cheeks. “She’s at peace. I know it.”
Andrew circled his arms around her shoulders and kissed her gently. “Yes. Without a doubt.”
Still, it wasn’t enough. There had to be something more. Surely.
Ophelia glanced to her wedding bouquet. The daffodils sat happily in the dim light, and she knew exactly what to do. Ophelia stood, picked one single daffodil and tucked it in her mother’s hands.
Just at that moment, the sun spilled in through the heavy curtains, bathing her mother in a soft ray of yellow. The daffodil just below her face gave her a strange, peaceful glow.
A sign. It had to be. A final farewell of love from her mother.
Ophelia was able to take a step back. Her mother had found her rest. And like the daffodil in her hands, Lady Darlington had found joy in a new and unexplored season.
EPILOGUE
Endings are merely beginnings.
-Ophelia’s Notebook
One Year Later
A brisk sea breeze swept in off the water and danced along the edge of the cliff. It teased Ophelia’s hair, whipping it playfully about her face. She drew in a refreshing breath and savored the salty tang invigorating her senses. It was a perfect day. The late-summer sun burned bright yellow against the azure sky, and the clarity of the day lit up the fields about them, leaving the thick grass a brilliant emerald.
Sheep, white balls of fluff, dotted the cliff side.
And there was no one and nothing for miles except the roar of the ocean crashing against the rocks below and Andrew standing beside her.
Just to her right, an oak, solitary and twisted by time and the elements, stood majestically under the onslaught of the wind. Underneath those sprawling branches, made lush by summer’s green leaves, was a small stone.
Andrew took her hand and led her the last few steps of their walk to the marker.
There, beneath the tree where they met, lay her mama and papa. In simple letters, the stone said:
Here lies a man and a woman.
Love was their guide and they knew joy.
Let love guide you.
It went against every tradition, this simple burial of a lord and lady. But it had been what her father had wished. And upon his wife’s death, his wish had been fulfilled when she joined him beneath the tree.
Ophelia’s heart sang with a strange, aching happiness. She missed her mother. She missed her mother every day, as she did her father. But in truth, they had never left her. While her parents were off exploring whatever was to come after the parting of the veil, Ophelia could feel them almost every day.
And she couldn’t have felt her mother more than this morning, the anniversary of her parents’ meeting. And something else. Something just as special.
Ophelia placed her hand on her middle and smiled down on her parents. Somehow, she was certain it was her mother’s doing.
“Andrew,” Ophelia ventured.
He lifted her gloved hand in his and kissed it. “Yes, my love?”
Suddenly, her insides fluttered with nerves. Soon they would flutter with something else. Thinking of her mother, she took her courage in hand. “We’re going to be a family.”
Andrew’s brows drew together. “We already are a. . .”
A slow dawning came over his face. He gaped for a moment, realization sinking in. And then he laughed. A sound of pure delight. “You’re with child?”
She nodded.
Andrew seized her in his arms and whirled her around. Carefully, he placed her feet back on the ground. “Do forgive me. You must be careful. You must take care of yourself. You must. . .”
Ophelia lifted her finger to his lips. “We must love. And that is all. After all, love is the most important thing.”
Andrew beamed down on her. “Yes, yes, it is.”
Holding on to her husband, Ophelia looked to where her mother and father were at peace. Love was the most special thing, because it never went away. Even now, all she could feel was love. And love was what she would always feel. Of that, she had no doubt.
Please consider leaving a review for this book.
Every review is appreciated!
Other books by
Máire
Claremont
Mad Passion Series:
The Dark Lady
(Book 1)
The Lady in Red
(Book 2)
The Dark Affair
(Book 3)
A Lady Undone
(Novella)
Christmas Anthology:
All I Want for Christmas is a Duke
Sign up for
Máire
’s newsletter to be notified
the moment the next book is out!
Click
HERE
