The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,89

again, to feel his arms around me, to kiss his lips. To hear him tell me that he meant every word in his letter. It didn’t seem real. How could I wait an entire day, or more, to see him? And to see Papa! My heart couldn’t contain all the excitement even now when the news was so fresh. I could only imagine how rampant my emotions would be after being left to flourish all day and night.

When we reached the house, we were stopped in the hallway by Mrs. Sedgwick’s voice. “Sherbrooke!”

Mama and I both turned at the sound. She walked with purpose in our direction, her blue skirts swaying with the motion. As she came closer, I noticed the glaze over her eyes and the pallor on her cheeks. “You will never believe who is in our drawing room.”

My heart leaped, and I exchanged a glance with Mama.

“Is it my husband?” Mama asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Already?”

Mrs. Sedgwick nodded, shock reflecting in her eyes. “How did you know?”

“I just received word this morning.” Mama squeezed my arm, as if to steady herself. The nearby bannister would have provided much better stability that I currently could. My lungs felt like two large rocks, heavy and unable to expand amid the wild pounding of my heart.

Mrs. Sedgwick’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “And Mr. Hill has come with him.” She eyed me carefully. “He has asked for you.”

I felt suddenly frozen, torn between running to him and hiding in my room again. What if he came to regret his decision? What if he begrudged me one day for lowering him in society? I shushed my fears. They had ruled me for long enough. At any rate, Mr. Hill’s mind was not easily changed.

“Why is he asking for you?” Mrs. Sedgwick continued to stare at me, likely noting the emotion that I had never been skilled at hiding from my features. “How are you acquainted?”

“I’m afraid that’s a question you must ask your daughter,” Mama said.

Mrs. Sedgwick appeared even more confused, but Mama seemed unable to stand still for a moment longer. She pulled me toward the open door of the drawing room, and Mrs. Sedgwick followed closely behind.

I saw Papa first, sitting on a chair near the window. His hair was much longer than the last time I had seen him, dark and coarse, just like the beard he had grown. His blue eyes filled with tears the moment they took in Mama, then me, and he stood, rushing forward to pull his wife into his arms. She cried into his shoulder, and he kissed the top of her head. She turned, waving me forward, and Papa hugged me at the same time, holding us both as if he never wished to let go. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice more gruff than I remembered. His eyes found mine, wrinkled at the corners, just as I had always known them. “My dear Tillie. Only a man like Mr. Hill could ever deserve to marry you. You both have saved me.” At the mention of Mr. Hill, my heart jumped. Amid the joy of seeing Papa again, I had nearly forgotten that he was here too.

I stepped away from Papa, rotating until I saw him. He stood near the pianoforte. How had it only been a month since I had seen him? It felt like much longer than that. His gaze met mine, sending warmth through my chest and all the way to my fingertips. He wore a green waistcoat and dark jacket, his golden brown hair styled neatly. His blue eyes were filled with all the emotion I felt, deeper than the sea and warmer than the summer sun that beat through the nearby window.

We both drew a deep breath at the same moment, and I watched as a slow smile formed on his lips.

Neither of us moved, though I was tempted to run to him that very instant. He looked so polite and proper, standing rather stiffly, as if he were restraining just as much as I was. He turned toward Mrs. Sedgwick, then my parents. “May I request the privilege of speaking with Miss Sherbrooke alone?”

Mama and Papa smiled as they retreated into the hallway. Mrs. Sedgwick’s brow furrowed with confusion, but she followed, her slow steps lasting an eternity.

With the click of the door, Mr. Hill filled the space between us in three long strides, stopping just in front of me. His hands cradled