“Mr. Troutte says by the end of the week nearly everything should be completed.”
Her brother exhaled. “Can’t keep ’em waiting long.”
“We won’t.” She’d worked too hard, lost too much, to let anything stand in the way of McGale & McGale’s progress.
Fred clapped his hands together, the same habitual gesture of excitement he’d been making all his life. He beamed at her. “It’s truly happening, isn’t it?”
“It is.” For the past weeks, she’d done everything she could to secure the business’s future, including hiring the workmen for repairs, ordering and receiving the needed equipment, and staying vigilant in her bookkeeping so that their costs and profits were well monitored.
This was supposed to be the most thrilling time of her life.
Yet she was sluggish and fatigued constantly. Her siblings’ exhilaration seemed far away, barely glimpsed through a fog. She tried to join in on their eagerness, their good humor, and the sense of relief that at last McGale & McGale was no longer at death’s door.
She was here in Wiltshire, but her thoughts, her heart, those were both in London. In Mayfair, and that green-hued room that held the portrait of young Noel, his eyes playful but his arms wrapped protectively around his sisters’ shoulders. That room was the last place she’d seen him, and she pinned it in her memory to return to again and again over the solitary years ahead.
Cynthia strode up. “Someone’s here for you, Jess.”
“The business is yours and Fred’s now,” she answered. “I’m just here to help you two. Whoever’s come about McGale & McGale can speak to one of you.”
“Aye, but I don’t think this gent wants me or Fred,” Cynthia said. “He’s come a long way for you.”
Jess exhaled—she’d deliberately stepped back from being the figurehead of the business. She would help the operation grow and function, but it was no longer hers to steer. A month earlier, she’d wanted nothing more than to be in charge of McGale & McGale as it entered into a new stage of development. She hadn’t merely exiled herself from London, she’d deliberately exiled herself from joy.
“Go see him, Jess,” Cynthia said gently. “Only this once. He’s waiting outside the house.”
There was no harm in it this final time. “As you like.”
She headed toward the house, footsteps leaden. Perhaps it was Mr. Daley, come to see how his investment was progressing. Lady Farris’s capital had also assisted considerably, so there was a possibility that she’d sent her man of business to take a look at the construction.
Drawing nearer to the house, she saw a man waiting in the front garden. He was broad-shouldered and elegantly dressed and so spectacularly handsome that more than a few sighs went up—from men and women. There was only one man in the world like him, and a month ago, Jess had been fortunate enough to be sheltered in his embrace. She’d known his taste and his feel and, briefly, she’d known what it was like to have him care for her.
Joy and sorrow collided in her, leaving chaos in their wake.
There was caution in his dark gaze as she approached.
“Noel,” Jess said breathlessly.
“Jess.” He nodded at her, his expression giving away nothing.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She couldn’t begin to guess why he’d come. Perhaps he was on his way to Carriford . . . but no . . . that was in the other direction . . . so why . . . ?
Closer inspection of his face revealed a new gauntness, and there was dark stubble on his cheeks and chin.
“Are you well? Forgive me,” she added, “I’ve no right to ask, only . . .”
“I’m not sleeping,” he said, his eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder.
Pain on his behalf gripped her. “I’m sorry.”
His gaze found her face. “Why should you be sorry?”
“I don’t want you suffering in any way. You might not believe that, but it’s true.”
His look was piercing, going all the way into the deepest part of her. She tried to hold still for his perusal, yet she’d no idea what he looked for, or if he found it.
Agony twisted inside of her. She had this one chance with him before he turned and walked away from her forever, one chance to try to repair some of the damage she’d done.
“I am sorry, Noel,” she said. “For all of it. And I know that you might never believe that, but I will go to my grave cherishing my time with you.