Widow in White

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Rain Stopped

Laura had never expected Richard to be the one to break their arrangement. Somehow, she had always thought she would be the one to end it. The first day after his proposal, she went about numb and shocked, hardly daring to look him in the eyes. She felt abandoned. Lost. Rejected.

On the second day, she came to her wits once more, and attempted to persuade him to change his mind. But he was firm and gentle, and she knew it was impossible. She must leave him. Or marry him.

She thought she had already decided. She should have told him then that no, she could not marry him, they must part ways. But she found she could not. She could only leave the room to pace the terrace outside, her mind revolving around the choice: leave or marry.

He would treat her decently either way. She knew that now. But that didn't mean they would always be as happy as they had been the past six months. That didn't mean she should marry him. There had been nothing in his proposal — in any of his proposals — to suggest he loved her. And despite everything, despite all her experiences, her beliefs, her own feelings, she did not think she could marry a man who did not love her.

The week passed with Richard making no further attempt to persuade her, and Laura still unable to decide. She did not want to leave Richard. She had grown fond of him. Fonder than she wished she had allowed. Fond enough that she could not do as she thought she must and leave him — not without hurt.

On the last Wednesday, she woke with a feeling of dread hanging over her. When she came down to breakfast, Richard greeted her with an apprehensive good morning. It was not a good morning. It was a grey, drizzly, unexpectedly chilly morning, and as the day passed the clouds grew blacker and the rain heavier. In the early evening, the servants lit the fires in the dining room and drawing room though it was only the first week of September. Richard asked her again at dinner what she was choosing, and again she was able to give him no reply. After the meal, she went into the drawing room and sat by the fire and tried, futilely, to come up with the courage to tell him she was leaving. She must leave. They could not marry.

He gave her perhaps half an hour's contemplation before he followed and sunk down into an armchair. It was dark outside now, though not more than eight o-clock. Richard met her eyes once and then looked away.

"Have you decided?"

"I can't decide."

He looked at her again, then at his watch. "At midnight, I will decide for you, my— love."

Laura could not tell if it was merely an endearment —said before often enough— or something more. She stared into the fire, watching a splinter of a log blacken, crinkle, and fall with a hiss of sparks.

"I want to promise you one thing," Richard said. "Regardless of whether you are my wife or only my... ex-mistress, I will always be your friend. And that means that if you are ever in trouble of any kind, I will help you the moment you ask."

"I know." She didn't need him to tell her that. Richard was everything kind and helpful. Even if the time came when she could not call him friend, she would never hesitate to rely on him. A strange, full-body relief came over her, and with it the impulse to throw herself into his arms. She suppressed it. She could not marry him.

She could not leave him.

The rain continued to drum outside. At one point, Richard got up and went upstairs. It was black outside when he came back down, a dressing gown over his unbuttoned shirt and the fuzz of dark hair on his chest visible. Laura looked away.

"It's past eleven," Richard said and sat down. A few minutes later, a maid brought him a nightcap of spiced warm milk, and he offered Laura a cup. She laughed, because it seemed so normal and normal seemed so strange, and refused it.