"I think about you. But I don't say it anymore."
—Marguerite Duras; Hiroshima Mon Amour
V.
Adam felt badly for not appearing more polite when being received by the servants, but he was quite certain Jack was on the verge of fainting. He had been sick in his chamber pot only moments before. He threw up nothing but whiskey, and Adam was certain his stomach was the better for it.
Once the servants had dispersed, Adam brought his brother back upstairs to what had been Jack's childhood bedroom. It was still quite how he left it, with shelves and shelves of books lining nearly every wall. Jack loved to read, and when he wasn't getting himself into trouble, he often became quite the moody reader.
Adam saw his brother into bed, lying him on his side to ensure that he did not choke on his own sick should he vomit again. He brought the chamber pot and its liquid contents over to the side of the bed next to Jack, holding his breath as he did so.
Jack was asleep in seconds, exhaustion overcoming him, and gentle snores began to escape his mouth. Adam did feel keenly for Jack, equal to the amount that his brother frustrated him.
Jack was the insurance, the spare son in case anything ever happened to Adam. His parents had treated him as such for so long that Jack had cottoned on eventually. He was always second best, and Adam often felt immense guilt because of it. Adam was meant to be the gentleman, the heir, and Jack was to wait in the wings, just in case. Second sons were bound for the church or the military as they would have no money of their own.
When Jack grew old enough to understand his options, his position in life, and their parents' views, he rebelled, as any headstrong teenager would do. Adam and Jack were very similar in that respect. They both thought with their hearts and not their heads. They often made decisions based on feeling rather than sense.
But Adam never pushed the boundaries as much as Jack did. Jack drank, he got into fights, he spent his nights occupied by countless women, and it had come to a head last night when he had found himself arrested. Adam had pieces of the story, but it seemed Jack had been in a compromising position with a pair of sisters, and they were discovered by one of their husbands. A fight had ensued, and a great deal of damage had been caused.
Adam knew that his parents would throw money at the problem, but he quietly hoped that a return to their childhood home would be good for Jack to find some purpose. He had a good education, a clever head on his shoulders, and he was a decent man when sober. Adam hoped he might even find a nice, respectable girl to help him settle down.
Adam left Jack's bedroom door open. He wanted to hear if he spluttered or threw up again. He thought about ringing for Mrs Hayes, but then decided against it. Mrs Hayes was the housekeeper now, and not their nanny. It was not her responsibility to keep Jack alive anymore.
Angrily, Adam cursed his mother. Cecily had never been the type of mother to sit at her child's bedside and worry.
Adam's bedroom was next to Jack's, and he purposefully left his own door open as well. His trunk had been brought up by the footmen, who had placed it beside the old one at the end of his bed.
Like Jack's, his own bedroom had not changed either. The bed, the tables, the lamps, the desk, the sofas ... it was all exactly how he remembered it, and he felt a sense of peace in returning. He went to his childhood trunk and opened both of the latches, lifting the lid up.
Nostalgia filled him as his eyes settled on his tin soldiers, his train set, his jacks, his chess set—what was that?
Adam's eyes found a piece of paper tucked down the back, and the moment he saw it, he remembered exactly what it was, and the exact moment he had put it there. He pulled it out and unfolded it, viewing the marriage certificate that Jack had forged, spelling mistakes and all, and he and Grace had excitedly signed all those years ago.
Lord, Adam had been in love with her. As much in love as a thirteen-year-old boy was capable of. A tight pain, like the feeling of a needle prick, began to startle his chest as such a specific, happy memory came to the forefront of his brain.
His head turned towards his window, and Adam found himself walking over to look out at the view. While he could only see the Ashwood gardens, the village was out there, not at all far by carriage. Was she there? Did she remember him? Could she see him in her memories just as clearly as he could see her?
Was she married?
Adam couldn't even comprehend the thought, let alone entertain it. He wouldn't allow himself to. It had been too many years ...
Before he knew it, Adam was opening his other trunk, the one filled with his clothing, his books, his stationery, and his letters. They had made a promise once, one of a few on that day, Adam thought bitterly, but one of them had been to write to each other, and Grace had kept that promise for a while.
She had written to him for a year. And eleven years after the fact, Adam had never been able to part with her letters. She had used different terms of endearment to address him each time she wrote, and all the way at school, knowing that Grace thought of him as her darling, or her sweetheart, it had helped to ease the loneliness he felt in being so far from her.
She wrote him diligently until her last letter had arrived. Why he wanted to subject himself to her words again, Adam had no idea, but he couldn't help himself as he opened the letter. The minute his eyes fell on the single name Adam, he felt like he was fourteen again, experiencing heartbreak for the very first time.
He wasn't her darling or her sweetheart anymore. It was just Adam.
Adam,
I am sorry to have to write this in a letter, but I must.
I don't want to write to you anymore. I am tired of it and I have realised how silly I have been this whole year. I have wasted my summer writing to you instead of spending time with people who are here and that seems ridiculous. You have your own life, and I am going to start mine without having an obligation to you.
I enjoyed being your friend when we were children, but it is time to grow up. You have your entire life ahead of you, and I no longer want to be in any part of it.
This will be my last letter. Please do not write to me again. I will not open it, nor answer it. I am moving on from you, and I suggest you do the same.
Grace
To say that Adam had been devastated had been an understatement. He had not expected such a letter from Grace, such a complete change in what their plans had been. Adam had been completely serious in his promise. He had fully intended to finish his education and return for her. He would have written her faithfully for years, for as long as it took to come back for her.
But his attachment had clearly been deeper than hers, and Adam had long resigned himself to that fact. He had spent a long time with a broken heart, and a long time learning to be alright, and to grow up just as she had told him to.
Adam had grown up. He had completed his education and had entered into society seamlessly, as any heir to one of the richest titles in Britain would. That part was his mother's forte, as was her engineering the eventual engagement between himself and Lady Sarah Ashley.
Adam was twenty-five now, and these matters were not supposed romantic.
"Adam, I am writing to Lady Ashley. Would you like me to enclose a note for Lady Sarah?" Cecily had appeared at Adam's door, and her eyes fell on his state disapprovingly. "What on earth are you doing? Ring the bell for a servant, Adam, honestly." She shook her head.
Adam ignored his mother's scolding, and honestly thought about her question. Did he want to enclose a note for Sarah? The girl was his fiancée. They had been engaged a few weeks now. He had left abruptly. He ought to say something, but what? Was it awful that he didn't have anything in particular to say?
"Well?" prompted Cecily.
"No, Mother," murmured Adam.
"I'll write something for you," Cecily decided. "An apology on behalf of your idiot brother," she seethed. "I am inviting the Earl and Lady Ashley, and of course, Lady Sarah, to stay for the winter. We need society in this village. It will give you and Sarah time to get better acquainted and we might start to make plans for a spring wedding. What do you say?"
Her question at the end of her speech was merely a formality. Cecily did not care one bit what Adam had to say. She would do what she pleased. But Adam did think it would be a good idea to better get to know Lady Sarah. They did get on. She was amiable, and indeed, very pretty. But Adam did want to like her. He would sooner sentence himself to a madhouse then to have a marriage as affectionate as his parent's.
Peregrine and Cecily Beresford were about as agreeable as syphilis.
"Mother, it would not kill you to nicer to Jack," Adam said, changing the subject.
Cecily's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth," she snapped. "He was coddled too much as a child anyway. All three of you were. I would never have dared behave in the way that he does. And neither would your father. He won't be getting a kind word from me until he cleans up his act." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off down the hallway.
Adam shook his head and swore under his breath as he began to put the letters into his old trunk, safely with their silly marriage certificate. He knew he ought to throw them into the fire, to be rid of them, but he couldn't. He had long resigned to the fact that he would rather have a few happy memories than none at all.
Adam's mind wandered to thoughts of the village again, knowing that at this very moment, she could well be wandering the street, going about her day. She wouldn't know that he was returned. What would she say? Adam stopped himself then. What would he say to her?
He was determined to be indifferent, but that did not stop the curiosity from bubbling to the surface. What did she look like now? Who was she now?
Would Grace know Adam if she saw him again?
It was almost like fate itself that pulled him from his bedroom, down the stairs and out into the grounds of Ashwood. Horses were among his father's favourite pastimes, and so he kept a myriad of fine stallions and mares in the Ashwood stable.
With the help of the groom, Adam chose a fast chestnut coloured stallion and saddled him, before setting off towards the village. As he rode, his mind raced with the possibilities of what he might find. None of which helped him to find the right thing to say to her that did not start with him shouting at her for breaking her word. Logically, Adam knew that he couldn't hold it against her. Grace had only been a girl, but their friendship, he was certain, had meant something to her.
Adam seemed to subconsciously find her house. He hadn't even really thought of where he was going, but he had found his way there all the same. It had tired over the years, weathered without repair. There were shingles missing and window frames that were rotting. A window upstairs was open, and Adam knew someone was home.
Adam had not dismounted and was about two hundred yards from the front door. As he stared at it, it opened, and a young, dark haired woman emerged.
Adam's breath caught so quickly in his throat that he nearly choked. Her long, charcoal coloured hair was down, wavy, and reached her hips. She was pale, and slender, and quite pretty. He couldn't quite make out her features from where he was, but it had to be her. God was taunting him with her standing there.
Grace started off down the street with a basket under her arm. Like a fool, Adam nudged his horse forward as he followed her. Grace walked to the next street over, and Adam kept up with her. She made her way past numerous little shops flogging their goods and was heading towards a forge. It was on the end of the street, pumping smoke up into the air.
What business did she have at a forge?
As Adam approached, slowing his horse down, he could see a large, burly man beating his hammer against an anvil repeatedly. He was assisted by a young man, a boy of about fourteen or fifteen. Grace entered the forge, and the blacksmith stopped his work immediately. His face softened when his eyes settled on her, and he received Grace into his arms.
Adam fell off of his horse.
Nursing what would be some nasty bruises, Adam was nearly sick himself as he watched the blacksmith kiss Grace softly. Oh God, he had contemplated the thought of her being married, but seeing it cut him to his core.
"Adam?"
Adam heard his name being called and his head snapped around to find a pair of concerned blue eyes.
"Are you alright?"
They were so familiar, but not the same shade of cornflower blue that could be found in the eyes of the woman over there kissing her husband.
Her hair was dark, and her skin was pale, and she looked so similar to Grace it was startling, but it wasn't her. It had to be her sister.
"Kate?" Adam recalled as he quickly climbed to his feet, brushing the dust off of his breeches.
She shook her head. "No, I am Claire," she corrected. "Kate is over there with her husband." Claire pointed to the forge, and Adam's head spun so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash.
Kate was looking at both Adam and Claire, allowing him to get a better look at her face. Like Claire, he could now see the differences. They were very alike, but she wasn't Grace, and a guilty feeling of relief washed through him.
"What are you doing here?" Claire asked. "Where did you get back?"
"About an hour ago," Adam said breathlessly. Lord, had he only made it an hour before he had gone riding into town. "Please, where is Grace?"
Claire looked up at him with a completely confused expression on her face. "Why, Ashwood House, of course," she replied, frowning.
It was now Adam's turn to be confused. "What on earth are you talking about?" he demanded to know.