Page 87 of The Defiant One
She smiled. "That doesn't sound like a fit, Andrew — it sounds like a vision."
"A vision of what? Madness, I tell you. Madness. Lucien probably has a chain all picked out for me at Bedlam."
"Stop it."
"It's true, Celsie. I'm going mad, and there's nothing that you or anyone else can do about it except hide me away from Society until I'm ready to be committed so that I don't humiliate the lot of you."
"Hiding you away is the last thing I intend to do. You are the most fascinating, brilliant, incredibly intelligent man I know, and I will not allow you for one moment to deprive the world of what you have to offer it. Now, tell me some of the other things you've seen."
He slanted her a half-disbelieving, half-hopeful look from beneath his lashes. "It's nonsense, all of it. Bloody nonsense."
"Tell me anyhow."
"You really want to know, then?"
She smiled again. "I am asking, aren't I?"
"Oh, very well, then." And so he told her about being at the townhouse in London a fortnight earlier, and looking out the window only to see a string of amber moons glowing upon a shiny ribbon of grey. He told her about being at Rosebriar, near the village of Heath Row, and seeing the winking firefly roaring overhead the night of her ball. He told her about passing through Wembley back in April, and seeing thousands of people piled into a giant soup bowl with a field in the middle and yelling at the tops of their lungs. And he told her about a big, red, rectangular box, with two eyes in the front and rows of people sitting behind glass windows, and how it — and not any flight of brilliance or imagination on his part — had prompted his idea for a double-compartmented coach.
She listened in rapt fascination, eager to hear about every strange thing he'd seen and heard. Finally he ran out of words and turned his head to look quietly at her.
"So what do you think?" he asked. "I'm going mad, aren't I?"
She pursed her lips, thinking. "I don't know. I can't help but wonder if there's a purpose to these things."
"A purpose?"
"Well, yes. Maybe you're a modern-day prophet, Andrew. Maybe this is all allegory. Maybe God is trying to tell you something, or you have simply been gifted in a way that neither of us will ever understand. I don't know what to think. But I do know one thing: You ought to take advantage of everything you're seeing. Write it all down, catalogue each episode, try to find a pattern, try to use what you're seeing toward the pursuit of your own creations. I can help you."
"Help me?"
She grinned. "Well, you are not the most organized person in the world. If you leave all the paperwork, organization, and administration to me, you, my dear husband, can get on with your science."
Andrew stared at her incredulously. Dear God in heaven . . . have I been truly blessed? She's not going to turn away from me, then? She's actually going to remain at my side, help me through this, take what's bad and make it good? He shook his head, feeling as though the storm clouds that had been hanging over his head and future this past year were finally clearing away, allowing the first brilliant rays of sunlight to touch him from above.
And Celsie was that sunlight.
He reached out, slid an arm around her waist, and pulled her close, needing her strength, her optimism, her new way of looking at things — and the solid, living warmth of her that was his only comfort in the strange and confusing world his life had become.
"What a fool I've been for not telling you earlier," he murmured, feeling humbled and ashamed. "I was so afraid that you'd reject me if you knew the truth, that your admiration would turn to pity, and, well . . . I guess I found the idea faintly unbearable."
"The idea that I'd reject you, or that my admiration would turn to pity?"
"The former, of course."
She smiled. "Well, Andrew, if you were afraid of that, then I'd say you weren't as loathe to marry me as you might have thought."
"It's the madness," he said despairingly. "As much as I think I'd like to be someone's husband, I shouldn't be married to anyone. It's not fair to her. Not fair to start something that's only going to end in heartbreak. I'm a doomed man."
"Oh, no, Andrew. You're not a doomed man. You're a very gifted one, I think, blessed in a very special way, and you probably have more to offer this world than you can ever know — and more than any ordinary man of science could ever give." She pulled him close, gazing deeply into his eyes. "I don't know what ails you, and I'm not even going to try to guess, but I know one thing: Together, you and I are going to turn this little affliction of yours from the negative into the positive. And we're going to start right now."
Chapter 27
They left immediately for Rosebriar.
Oh, it was amazing, what confession could bring! Like the earth after a rain shower, Andrew felt cleansed. Reborn. He filled his lungs with clean, sweet air as Newton carried him swiftly along the muddy roads, and gazed about him with new eyes. Three days without sleep, yet he had never felt more alive. Three days of marriage, and a lifetime of hope before him. How long had it been since he'd appreciated the beauty of a hard blue sky reflected in the perfect mirror of a puddle? The winsome sight of a wagtail flitting before them? The joy of simply being alive? His future was uncertain yes, but he now knew he had one constant in his life: Celsie. With her by his side, he would not have to face anything alone, ever again.
As he watched her cantering along beside him on Sheik, his heart swelled and his loins tightened. Oh, how he would love to pull her off the fiery little stallion and into his arms . . . how he would love to plunder her mouth, her body, right here in a grassy verge, in a damp glade. She had given him back the world. She had knelt with him in the muddy street, shielded him from ridicule and speculation, and defended him with all the courage of a tigress standing over its wounded mate. As long as he had Celsie, he was invincible.
