Footprints At Dawn (Book 2)

Chapter Thirty-Four

"There you are," I heard Nicholas say behind me the next morning, as I sat slumped over at the dining room table.

I had awoken several times during the night, restless, mind racing, realising I was leaving soon and still had things to do.

The first thing on my to-do list was write a letter to Rose, and with the tossing and turning driving me crazy, I had crawled out of bed early to do just that.

Ha. I had spent the last hour staring at a blank piece of paper, except for the words Dear Rose scrawled at the top of it in ink.

Nicholas wrapped his arms around me, feeling his hot hands burn though my thin chemise as he slid across my stomach. I couldn't help but smile, having flashbacks of the way those hands ran over my body the night before. He leant in closer to kiss my cheek, his lips continuing down to my neck, and the letter was long forgotten.

"I woke and you were gone," he said, swallowing hard, "and I thought... I thought last night was a just dream. But then I remembered it wasn't a dream, and I got scared that maybe you'd... left without saying goodbye."

"No..." I rose from the chair and faced him, and realised he was shirtless. God, I thought to myself, briefly distracted from what I was saying. "No, Nicholas, I would never do that." I wrapped my arms around his torso and never wanted to let go.

I felt him kiss the top of my head, before asking, "Are you writing?"

"Trying to," I replied, pulling away from him just enough so I could see his face. "I'm writing to Rose. I wanted to explain to her why I can't be a godmother to her child."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"I have no idea. That's why I haven't written anything yet. I don't even know where to start."

"You'll think of something. You have a way with words."

"I hope so. I have to. She deserves an explanation before I go."

"Before you go," he repeated, as though being reminded we couldn't stay in our little love bubble forever.

"What will you tell people? About where I've gone?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I don't know, Matilda. I don't want to tell them anything. I don't... want you to be gone." He sighed. "I suppose I'll... think of something," he said, repeating his own advice. "Perhaps I'll simply tell them you went back home to Hobart Town," he added.

"It's technically the truth." We were silent for a moment, not sure what to say next. "I suppose... I'd better get back to my letter, then."

He half-heartedly nodded. "I suppose... I'll go put on a shirt."

I nodded also before we turned our separate ways.

I sat back at the table and stared once again at the piece of paper, too distracted to write anything.

Fifteen minutes later I realised I hadn't even touched the dip pen. I had spent the whole time in a daydream, my mind racing with various thoughts. I glanced behind me and realised Nicholas hadn't returned from the bedroom. How long does it take to put on a shirt?

Giving up on the letter for the moment, I rose from my chair, turning to head for the bedroom.

Just as I was about to pass the fireplace, my eye caught sight of something on the mantelpiece - the painting of Nicholas, Teddy and I that Nicholas gave me for Christmas. I had sat it there next to the small portraits of Thomas and Mary Ellen after we had returned from Launceston.

I picked it up and studied us, our smiling faces. We were a little family. I was about to leave my family.

"You don't want to write the letter, do you?" I jumped at the sound of his voice nearby. I placed the painting back onto the mantelpiece and turned in his direction. He was leaning up against the bedroom door frame, shirt on, but unbuttoned.