Something Old by Rebecca Connolly (autobiographies to read txt) 📕

London so soon after finding this connection between them would cause a strain as they tried to find their way again. Thomas wished he could have assuaged those fears, assured her that it would be fine and all would be well. But the truth of the matter was that he was afraid of the very same thing.

Here in Cornwall, they were away from their habits and from Society, had no expectations of each other or anyone else, and could be completely themselves. They were free from proprietary standards, from the standards preventing them from the relaxation they craved, and that forced them to conform to the image that Society demanded of them. Had they been returning to Rainford in Hampshire, they might have been less reluctant, as the countryside there would still be better suited for the life they’d begun to lead here.

But London…

Seeing Rosalind and her husband would, of course, be a pleasure, and he knew it would be good for Lily to see her sister again after so long apart. Rosalind was far more outspoken than Lily, but the two had always been close, and the separation had undoubtedly been difficult for his wife. He could not be certain, but he thought it entirely likely that Lily had confided in her sister about the state of their marriage and her personal feelings on the subject.

Losing such a friend, such a confidante, could not have been easy. Of course, she would have quite a different sort of thing to confide now. He hoped.

They had been silent over breakfast this morning, and silence had not accompanied their meals for weeks.

That terrified him.

But he had not contributed to the conversation, either. He’d felt choked by the prospect of departure, of an end to their grand adventures together, of removing themselves from a place of such beautiful beginnings without certainty of continuing in them. He’d had no words to give his wife, as he had no words for himself, and he felt lost at sea in a boat without oars; riding the tide until a solution presented itself, unable to do anything but wait.

Wait and see. Wait and hope. Wait…

He’d had enough of waiting in his life, but what could he do now?

If he felt so insecure about his position, his wife could feel no less. Surely they could stand together in this, take everything in stride and decide for themselves that nothing would change. Their love was strong and could see them through. They would not go back, only forward. Surely that was possible.

Footsteps drawing near brought him out of his thoughts, and he smiled in anticipation. That smile faded when Mrs. Penrose approached and not his wife.

He exhaled shortly. “Have you seen my wife, Mrs. Penrose? The carriage is ready, but she is not.”

Mrs. Penrose smiled a sad smile. “I believe she is in the music room, sir. Loathe to depart.”

“So am I,” he admitted without shame. “But we will return as soon as we can, I have no doubt of that.”

“Then we will anticipate your news and prepare the house for your arrival,” the housekeeper replied in her usual calm way, her eyes creasing with the same warmth in her smile. “Perhaps you’ll have time to find a butler while you are in London.”

Thomas grinned at that. “I see no need to bring a London butler to a Cornish house. I’ll give Mr. Morgan authority to hire one if he sees fit, provided you approve of the man. I trust your judgment in the matter.”

“You’re a peculiar sort of master, Mr. Granger.”

“If I never hear another compliment today, that will do just as well.” He nodded at her in acknowledgement and thanks. “I’ll go to Mrs. Granger now and see what I can manage.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thomas set off down the corridor, taking a moment to look around him just as he had when they had first arrived and explored the place. The high ceilings with their detailed plaster work, the dark wooden beams, the simple elegance that lent itself to immediate comfort… Pendrizzick had become an escape and a home, not simply a place they had lodged in during their stay in Cornwall.

He’d already sent a letter with an offer to Mr. Tremellion for the place, which he had not related to his wife yet. When he had confirmation of the closing on it, he would tell her. The fear of disappointing his wife, should the offer be refused, was too great to loosen his tongue.

The sounds of the pianoforte began to trickle down the corridor, and he recognized the song immediately. It was the song Julia Roskelley’s cousin had sung for the gathering that night when everything had changed for Lily and him, the song that had opened their hearts and given them courage to reach for each other.

“A Sprig of Thyme” it was called, and he would never again hear it without immediately finding himself in a garden in Cornwall with his wife in his arms.

He couldn’t take any time for granted now, no matter where they were or where they would go. The time they spent together would always be precious, given he knew all too well what it was like to have time without her. She had cried to him about not wishing to waste more of their time, and he had told her they wouldn’t. That they had time. That he was there.

But did they have time? Was he truly there? When they were in London, would he still be there? Would they have time there and then?

He slowed his step as he neared the music room, a wave of coldness washing over him. London, with all its diversions, could take them apart again. But could doing so bring further moments like the one they had shared in Lily’s garden a few days ago? Could separating during the day bring their evenings and nights to greater heights and more tender connections? Would he be able to remain the man he was becoming when the friends