“Let her get some space Eliza,” he chastised ruefully. His eyes met and held Jemima’s for several moments. He didn’t speak. He didn’t feel the need to, and knew from the look in her eyes, that Jemima understood. His eyes met and held those of his future sister-in-law’s in a silent communication that held a wealth of understanding.
Jemima’s lips quirked in a ghost of a smile that was so brief, he wasn’t sure he had seen it. After several moments Edward returned the smile full force and took her gently into his arms.
“Thank you for coming back to us,” he whispered, for her ears alone before he placed a gentle kiss on her cold cheek and released her, sliding an arm around Eliza and hugging her close to his side in jubilation. He was as stunned and confused as everyone else, but was eternally grateful to see his future sister-in-law alive, even if she was painfully thin and freezing cold.
“I don’t know how I did,” Jemima whispered back, glancing at Peter who had moved closer to slide his hand across her back. “I don’t understand any of it.”
She was aware of someone else standing at her elbow and she turned to stare up at him.
“None of us do, Jemima,” Dominic croaked, his own voice hoarse with emotion. “But I have never been one to question fate. Come here,” and he didn’t wait for her acquiescence. Despite their short acquaintance, he drew her into his arms just as gently as the others. His eyes met and held Peter’s in silent question for several moments, only for Peter to shrug. Eventually he released his hold, allowing Peter to move closer once more.
“Hey, what about me?” Sebastian’s voice trembled. He grinned at Jemima and hauled her close. “I refuse to be left out of such a defining moment of everyone’s lives. I deserve a hug too.” His voice was a mixture of disbelief and wonder.
Blinking against the sting of tears, Jemima’s wobbly smile evaporated as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Sebastian immediately released her and frowned as she turned, one trembling hand reaching out for Peter, who immediately grasped it and pulled her against him when she began to sway.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Peter muttered, sweeping her effortlessly into his arms. “You are so cold, and you must be starving.”
He didn’t wait for the others as he swept down the corridor, easing her carefully through the doorway and into the main body of the house.
Jemima couldn’t find the energy to protest, and rested her head weakly against Peter’s broad shoulder as he carried her through the house and up the stairs. She was nearly asleep by the time Peter deposited her gently on a bed that stood in the middle of a bedroom.
Battling the blackness, Jemima was vaguely aware of a flurry of activity within the room. It took all her remaining energy to open her eyes as the soft mattress dipped beside her. She wasn’t surprised to find Peter staring gently at her. The tenderness she saw reflected back at her warmed the deepest parts of her heart, that she had once considered frozen forever.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered softly, summoning the strength to place a trembling hand against his chiselled jaw. She studied the changes in his face since the last time she had seen him.
Although still a rich mahogany, his hair was tinged with grey at the temples, giving him a mature, yet debonair look. There were dark circles beneath his beautiful dark blue eyes, indicating his rest hadn’t been peaceful of late, or frequent enough to sustain him. There were deeper grooves bracketing the firm lines of his lips, and more creases beside his eyes than she remembered. But it was his eyes that conveyed the most. There, in the shadows, was an inner torment that disturbed her: a glint of some deeper suffering that would remain with him throughout his life. She wondered what he had meant earlier when he whispered, “You’re alive.”
“Can I ask you something?” she whispered, suddenly needing to know as much as he could tell her.
“Of course - you can ask me anything,” Peter answered honestly, unable to resist placing a tender kiss on her dry, cracked lips.
“Why did you think I was dead?” She saw the instinctive flinch he wasn’t quick enough to hide and waited, knowing somehow that he had believed her dead, and this was the cause for the hidden shadows in his gorgeous eyes.
“You can’t remember?” The thick slashes of his brows drew downwards as he studied her.
Jemima shook her head slowly. “Nothing.” Her gaze locked with his. “Tell me.”
Peter shook his head regretfully. “I think you should get some rest first, and some
thing to eat before we go into all of that.” He raised a hand when she took a breath to protest. “I will tell you my darling, of course I will, but we need to make you more comfortable first. When you are feeling a bit better, I will tell you anything you need to know.” At that moment, Peter couldn’t deny her anything – except the truth. The memories were too raw. He needed time to understand the latest twist before he could put the events of the past few days into any logical order.
Their brief moment of privacy was shattered as Eliza entered, closely followed by two maids.
“Now, Jemima and I are the same size, so we will need another dress,” she informed one of the maids, “oh, and the essentials. Could you ask Lady Isobel if we could impose on her good nature?”
All too soon a veritable army of maids and footmen arrived with buckets of steaming water, and a tin bath.
Within moments, Peter found himself unceremoniously shooed out of the room, and the door closed in his face. His last sight of Jemima was of her sitting on the side of the bed, holding a hand to her head. He cursed, staring at the wooden panelling on the door for several moments, before reluctantly turning on his heel and heading in search of the others.
With startling speed, Jemima found herself stripped and sitting shoulder-deep in the luxuriously warm water, watching her tattered and very smelly dress being eaten by the flames in the hearth, listening to Eliza bustle about the room, all efficiency and maternal fussing.
“That was the only dress I had,” she informed her sister ruefully, wondering what she was going to wear now.
“Isobel, Dominic’s wife, is sorting you out a couple of dresses to wear,” Eliza stated matter-of-factly as she began to help Jemima wash her hair. “The doctor has been summoned and should be here shortly, and Cook is preparing you a tray of food.”
Eliza’s actions were so mundane that Jemima found herself struggling to mentally keep up with her sister’s constant flow of chatter. Tiredness began to creep up on her as the wonderfully scented water in the bath began to soak the grime away, and soothe her aching limbs. Giving herself over to Eliza’s care, she submitted to the maid who was tasked with washing and then combing the wild mass of her hair, and listened as Eliza told her about the assorted family members currently residing at Havistock Hall.
Eventually, curiosity won through and as soon as her hair lay in neatly combed waves about her shoulders, she placed a gentle hand on Eliza’s, stilling the flurry of movement.