Page 24 of Now Comes the Mist

“My family never had a true home, you see,” he says quietly. “My ancestors were taken to America by force to work a land they couldn’t even own. But by the grace of God, the laws changed when I was a boy. The man my parents worked for was fairer than most and gave them land in exchange for all their years of labor, free and clear. They built a homestead, hired hands, and expanded their livestock. Everything I am, I learned from them. How to stand on my own two feet, how to surge on in a world that tells me I don’t belong …”

A lump forms in my throat as his gaze returns to me.

“And how to love. I was raised in the light, taught hope and faith. My mother told me to keep my heart open because there is always a chance for love even in this unkind world.” He lets go of one of my hands to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I can see us riding together across those plains, Miss Lucy. You laughing, with your hair flying out behind you. I’m happy to be going home soon … but I don’t want to go alone.”

Now that the moment has come, now that I have received my first proposal, I no longer feel the need to laugh nor the thrill I had imagined. Instead, I want to weep as dread rises in me, not from the terror of belonging to this good man, but from the guilt of knowing that I will refuse him. The realization that I have always known I would reject Quincey is sudden and sharp. As attracted as I am to him, as easily as I can imagine riding across the plains with him and waking up in his bed, I have never seriously considered saying “yes” when he asked me to be his.

I look up at his affectionate face and I know that I have been too free with him. I have encouraged him only to cruelly stamp out his hope, and that knowledge finally does bring tears to my eyes. I look away quickly to hide them, but it is too late.

“Miss Lucy, don’t cry,” Quincey says, shocked. “Have I upset you?”

I shake my head. “No.No. I am simply overwhelmed by your—” I pause, realizing he never actually asked the question. “Youweregoing to propose marriage to me, weren’t you?”

Quincey laughs his booming laugh. “You surprise me every time. Yes, little lady, I was.”

“Well, then, I am overwhelmed by your proposal.” I see his dawning realization that I will refuse him. “You are a kind and lovely man. Your smile, your laugh … Every time you’re happy, it’s like the sun is shining on me. I’ve enjoyed our talks and our letters—”

“But you don’t wish to marry me,” he finishes, his face solemn.

“I am so sorry to hurt you, Quincey, after I encouraged your attentions,” I whisper, aching with guilt and grief. “I have done you wrong, and I understand if it makes you think less of me.”

There is nothing but kindness in his eyes. “You could never do anything that would make me think less of you. I understand. Of course I do. I was feeling pretty guilty myself about taking you so far away from your home and your mother. I guess it was silly of me, thinking I could plant an English rose in Texas soil.” He winks and squeezes my hands, and I have the overpowering urge to throw my arms around him—not out of desire, but true affection and feeling for him. But I hold myself back, knowing that we are being watched.

“Mr. Morris, I believe thatyouare the true diamond in the rough and I am glad to know you.” Tears slip down my cheeks, for it is clear that as gracious and gentlemanly as he is being, my refusal has pained him. “Please forgive me. I want us to be lifelong friends, and I do want to see those plains someday … just not as your wife.”

He lifts my hands to his lips and kisses them. “Iknowwe will always be friends, Miss Lucy. And there is nothing to forgive.” He clears his throat. “Now, I think I ought to go back inside. I reckon dinner should be ready soon. Will you join me?”

“In a minute,” I say, and he nods, as understanding as ever, before leaving me.

I shiver despite the warmth of the evening, appalled by my own reckless manners and unguardedness over the past few months. In hoping to win Arthur’s interest—and, if I must be honest, to satisfy my own pride and vanity—I tricked someone into proposing without any real intention of accepting him. I bite my lip, thinking of the bitter disappointment Quincey tried so gallantly to hide. I feel the urgent need to sob and sob, to give in to my hysteria and heartache.

“Miss Westenra, are you unwell?” Dr. Seward appears, his expression still an odd mix of professional scrutiny and desire. He glances from me to the house, where Quincey has retreated.

“I need to sit down,” I say, and he places my hand on his arm and leads me to a bench by the garden wall. I sigh when I feel the coolness of the stone through my skirts. It reminds me of being in the still and quiet of the churchyard, and the memory calms me.

“Did Mr. Morris upset you?” Dr. Seward leans against a tree with his hands in his pockets. His posture is casual, but his tone is anything but. “Shall I reprimand him for you?”

“If you consider too much sweetness and lovely manners an offense, then by all means, please scold him thoroughly for me,” I say shakily.

Jack goes rigid and his hands slip out of his pockets. “He has spoken, then? He has asked you to marry him?” When I do not answer, he sits close beside me, facing the other direction so that he can look directly into my face. His eyes flicker to my left hand, which is still bare. “Lucy, tell me how you answered him. Tell me what you said.”

“Mr. Morris is a gentleman, and I will not betray his confidence.”

“Lucy, I beg you. I need to know if he asked you what I … what I wish to ask myself.” And before I even have time to process the knowledge that I will be getting asecondproposal of marriage within minutes of the first, Dr. Seward pulls me close to him. “I will speak now because I am afraid I will not get another chance tonight. Lucy, I’ve loved you for years. I always hoped to have your father’s permission, because he was such a kind friend to me, but there was no time.” His gaze darts between my eyes as though hoping to find an answer in one of them.

I bow my head and see the glimmer of my locket against my dress.

“I’m sorry to bring up a painful subject. But I know your father would have approved of this.” Dr. Seward’s voice rings with such genuine affection for Papa that it makes my heart clench. But of course, it says less about the doctor than it does about my father, who was loved by everyone who knew him. “Your mamma likes me, too. She has hinted to me before that she would not be averse to our union. Both your parents approve of this, my darling.”

The raw hunger in his voice catches me unawares. My mind reels as I try to imagine what Papa would advise me to do. But all I can think of is my father teasing me about Arthur.

Arthur, again.

I close my eyes, frustrated that I cannot stop thinking about a man who does not want me. Dr. Seward’s arms tighten around me as he waits for my reply, and that, too, reminds me of Arthur and the night he had held me like this, as though afraid I would disappear if he let go.

But he let go, I think furiously.He let go.

“I have my own property,” Dr. Seward goes on. “We wouldn’t live in the asylum where I work. I have a lovely house with a garden and a piano for you and a parlor where you and I can sit in the evenings. Can’t you see us there? Me reading aloud to you, and you laughing as we sip our tea?” I shiver as one of his clever hands toys with the pearl buttons on my dress. “And then I would carry you upstairs, my love, and I would make you a very, very happy woman.”

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