Page 29 of Now Comes the Mist

“I did this even as a child. A doctor explained that it was my way of coping with grief. It began after my great-grandmother and my grandparents died, and it continues on even after the loss of Papa.” I take Arthur’s hand in both of mine, holding it tightly. “Mamma told you that I often sleepwalk to the churchyard where they lie. Even in the depths of sleep am I drawn to death. It is something that attracts me, a moth to a flame.”

“I see,” Arthur says quietly.

“I can’t stop,” I say. “And I am not certain I want to. It is a part of me and how my mind works. I want you to know so that you have a chance to take back your proposal of marriage.” My throat chokes on the words, but I look into his eyes with all the resolve I possess.

“You think that this makes me want to marry you less?” he asks, startled.

“Well, yes. What man wants a wife who thinks of death constantly?”

Arthur gives a low, gentle laugh and moves closer to me on the sofa. “I have no intention of taking back my proposal. I love you and I want you to be my wife.”

I search his eyes. “None of this disturbs you, then?”

“You are a woman who loves very deeply, and so death leaves a stronger impression upon you. I have said this before. Of course it occupies your mind, after the losses you have suffered.”

He is saying the right words. He is being kind and accepting … and yet I am unsatisfied. My wayward heart wanted him to know the truth and still love me. So why, then, this emptiness?

Arthur kisses my hand. “Have no fear. When you are busy with the wedding, running our household, and planning our first party in our home … and later, when you have your hands full with our children,” he adds, blushing, “you will forget all of that, I know.”

“I will forget all of that?” I repeat, dazed.

“Like a bad dream,” he reassures me. “You won’t ever think about death again with so much happiness ahead of us, Lucy. And I swear to you, I will make you happy.”

He does not understand me. I have told him what death means to me—something I long for, something that means freedom. And yet he thinks I can easily let go of my longing and melancholy in favor of inviting dinner guests, ordering cuts of meat, and wiping the noses of our beastly children. He does notseeme as I am, but then no one has, not even those who love me.

And he is looking at me with such devotion that I cannot find it in me to be angry with him. I have bared all. I have told him the truth and he still wishes to marry me, and I will delight Mamma and Mina when I become the wife of this gentle, trusting man. The thought does not bring much relief, the way a sip of water cannot satisfy a person dying of thirst.

But it is enough, I tell myself.This is enough.

Arthur kisses my hand again, the touch of his lips sending heat rippling down my arm. My frustration is already a kindling flame, desperate for escape, for some sort of release, and now it is a bonfire in my very bones. Without a second thought, I lean forward and kiss him.

“Lucy,” he mumbles against my lips. “Your mother … the servants—”

“Let them see,” I say fiercely, throwing my arms around his neck and drinking from his lips with greed. He tastes like both sugar and salt, heady and intoxicating. Vaguely, I realize that I have somehow maneuvered myself into his lap, draped across his legs like a woman of ill repute, but I hardly care. I am afire with want as I shift my weight on his lap, delighting in his low moan.

“Lucy, stop,” he whispers, though his arms are fastened tight around me.

“Come to me tonight,” I murmur, my lips still on his. A shiver of pleasure runs down my spine at the friction of our mouths and the contrast between his silken kiss and the rough scratch of his chin. I shift in his lap again and feel something rigid press into my thigh as he groans again. “Come to my room. I want you and I know you want me, too.”

“I can’t,” he groans, sounding pained, even as he goes on kissing me.

“I do not just imagine death, you know,” I say, moving my mouth to his ear and licking it like a greedy child sampling dessert. “I imagine what it will be like with you.”

His hand trails down my back tentatively. Ever impatient, I seize it and place it on the curve of my bottom, and he gasps even though several layers of clothing separate his skin from mine. I am drenched between my legs. I think of the forbidden books I found in Papa’s library, the ones I giggled and gasped over with Mina, and of a particular illustration of a woman in a man’s lap, facing him, both of them naked. I am ravenous to know how it will feel with Arthur.

“Come to me tonight,” I whisper again, moving myself against what has grown between us. It is granite hard, but it yields to me eagerly. I reach for it, needing to touch, but that is too much for Arthur. In one quick and powerful move, he lifts me off him and onto the sofa and flies clean across the room. But this time, I know that he wants me. I havefeltit.

I press my legs together, panting as I watch his shoulders rise and fall with his ragged breaths. I can’t help laughing at what we have begun … and what we will soon finish.

“Arthur?” I ask playfully. “When will you come to me, then?”

“I cannot,” he says, his voice strangled. “I will not.”

I rise to my feet. “Yes, you can. And you will.”

At the sound of my skirts rustling, he startles like a skittish horse and almost runs for the door. “I will not. Not until we are married.” He is still turned away from me, but from his profile, I see that his face is as red as that of a man who has been under intense labor.

I laugh in disbelief. “You cannot be serious. You want this as much as I do.”

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