do come visit if you have a mind to—and despite the descriptions above, which, really, would put any sane person off. Cook might be mad, but she does make the most divine lemon tarts, and Battlefield is Battlefield so we must all put up with him, and I am scatterbrained, but I will make every attempt to appear solemn and serious and … well, I do wish you would visit.
Yours,
M.
The last bit was written in a very cramped hand because she had run out of paper after all that. Megs smoothed the letter, remembering that day in winter and how happy everyone was and how she seemed to miss something. She’d already known she’d wanted a babe by that point, but there was something more that she’d needed when she’d written this letter.
The door to Godric’s room opened.
She looked up, not bothering to hide the letter in her hands.
Godric paused on the threshold, arching his eyebrows mildly at finding her in his room going through his personal possessions. “Good morning.”
“You kept them all,” she blurted out.
“Your letters? Yes.” He strolled in and closed the door to the room. He didn’t seem put out by her riffling through his secrets.
Which made her feel guiltier, of course. She hadn’t kept all of his letters—just the most recent ones, and those she’d tossed in a drawer at Laurelwood. “Why did you keep them?”
“I liked rereading them.” His voice was deep, and she shivered as if it were rasping over her spine.
She looked away, concentrating as she carefully folded the letter and placed it with the others. “Do you think of Clara?”
The question was too personal, too intimate, but she waited, breath held, for his answer.
“Yes.”
“Often?”
He slowly shook his head. “Not as often as I used to.”
She bit her lip, closing her eyes. “Do you feel guilty when you make love to me?”
“No.” She felt him come nearer, standing near enough that the warmth from his body reached out to her. “I loved Clara deeply and I will never forget her, but she’s gone. I’ve learned, I think, in these last weeks, to set aside what I felt for her so that I can feel something else with you.”
She inhaled, her heart beating wildly, not entirely sure she wanted to hear this. “How … how can you reconcile it, though? The love you felt? It was real, wasn’t it? Strong and true?”
“Yes, it was very real.” She felt the press of his hands on her shoulders. They were warm and steadfast. “I think had you not come into my life I would’ve stayed a celibate hermit. But that didn’t happen. You did come,” he said simply, a statement of fact.
She opened her eyes, twisting to face him. “Do you regret it? Do you hate me for forcing you to give up your memories of Clara?”
A corner of his mouth tipped up. “You didn’t force me to do anything.” He looked at her, his dark eyes grave. “Do you feel you’ve betrayed Roger?”
“I don’t know,” she said, because it was the truth—her feelings for Roger were in a muddle. She saw the wince that Godric tried to hide and she felt an answering pain at having caused him hurt. But she soldiered on because he’d asked and he deserved the truth. “I want—wanted—a baby so terribly and I think he would’ve understood that. He was a joyful man and I think—I hope—he would’ve wanted me to be joyful even after he died. But I haven’t brought his murderer to justice.” She gazed up at him, trying to convey her confused emotions.
“I told you I’ll find a way to make Kershaw pay and I will,” he said, iron hard. “I promise I’ll help you lay Roger to rest.”
“I don’t want you going back into St. Giles,” she whispered, stroking one finger along his jaw. “I owe you too much already. Everything you’ve done for me. Everything you’ve given up for me.”
“There is no debt between you and me.” He smiled. “I voluntarily chose to move beyond my grief for Clara. Life is by necessity for the living.”
She stared up into his dark eyes, something kindling and glowing in her breast, and she longed in that moment to tell him. Tell him that she suspected that she was carrying his child. Carrying life itself.
But she remembered with a shock what that would mean: she’d promised him that she would leave when she became pregnant.
She didn’t want to leave Godric. Not yet. Maybe never.