“Of course not. That’s the thing, Sam—I agree with you. I honestly do.”
He stared at her incredulously, disbelief etched across his features. “Then why are you so angry with me? I’m not going to change. I didn’t before, and I won’t now.”
“I believe you.”
“Then come with me. Come to America and make a new start.”
It tempted her beyond reason, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to say yes. If Sam were still the ordinary newspaperman she had fallen in love with, she’d have gone without a second thought. But he wasn’t an ordinary man, and nothing could change that inescapable truth.
“No,” she finally said. “I’m sorry—you’ll never know how sorry I am—but my answer must be no.”
Silence descended, dark and oppressive, broken only by the relentless ticking of a clock on the mantel.
“That’s it?” he asked, despair shading his voice. “I leave and you stay?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Then I had better go.” Crossing the space between them in two long strides, he bent low to kiss her quickly, fervently, his mouth hard upon hers. “Good-bye, Ellie.”
Though she wanted very badly to run after him and take back everything she had said, she forced herself to remain where she was, dying by degrees, as he left the room and walked out the front door.
Pain bloomed in her chest, in the spot where her heart was meant to be, and it was so fierce and paralyzing that she could only breathe in short, shallow bursts. One day she would wake up, and the memories of this day would be gone, and she would think of her year in Paris, and Sam, without her heart stuttering almost to a stop.
One day she might think of him, and the look on his face just now, and she would not hate herself for it.
One day.
Chapter 28
The next day, Helena stayed in bed so long she gave herself a headache. It was nearly noon when Agnes came into her bedroom, yanked open all the draperies, and stood, looking quite fierce, at the end of the bed.
“It’s high time you got out of bed and stopped feeling sorry for yourself,” she announced. “I’ve asked the maids to run you a bath—do wash your hair, my dear, and give yourself a good scrub—and when you’re done, come down to the petit salon.”
“I don’t feel at all well.”
“Nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with you that a hot bath, a good meal, and a long walk in the sunshine can’t cure. Out of bed, now—and if you aren’t downstairs by noon I shall come back and fetch you. Understood?”
Agnes rarely assumed the mantle of grand duchess, but when she did there was no defying her. Helena knew very well that her aunt would drag her downstairs by the ear if need be.
“Yes, Auntie A.”
The bath did help her feel a little better, and then, when she went to find her aunt in the petit salon, she was given egg and cress sandwiches and a cup of hot tea, and only as she was finishing did her aunt begin the second part of her lecture.
“I never thought I would say this, but I’m disappointed in you.”
Helena promptly spilled tea all down her front. “How can you say such a thing? You know what happened at the vernissage.”
Agnes hadn’t asked what had happened between her and Sam, but she must have suspected. Helena badly wanted to confide in her aunt, but to speak of their quarrel aloud meant that she’d have to think about the look on his face when he’d left. About how much she’d lost when he had walked away.
“I wonder if you recall the letter you wrote, last year, when you asked if you might come and stay with me. You told me that you had been at the point of death, and only then had you realized how much you wanted to live. Do you remember?”
“I do.”
“Well, my dear, you’ve done a fine job of living this past year. I’ve kept my counsel and stayed out of your way, but I cannot stay silent now. You know how I can’t abide self-pity, yet here you are, nearly drowning in it. That’s why you are coming with me to London, to Rose’s wedding—no, don’t look at me like that. We leave on Wednesday morning, which gives you plenty of time to visit your friends and set their minds at rest. Poor étienne was beside himself when he came by yesterday afternoon.”
“Oh, no. I can’t stand the thought of his worrying.”
“Then go see him now. And sort things out with Sam, too. I was in the front hall yesterday when he left. Whatever you said, it cut him to the quick.”
She shut her eyes against the memory of Sam’s desolate expression when he had said good-bye, and focused on her aunt’s advice. Agnes was right. Continuing to wallow in self-pity wouldn’t help, and it wouldn’t repair her friendship with Sam, or suddenly propel her to the heights of fame and fortune as an artist. She couldn’t go back, she couldn’t stay where she was, so she might as well move forward.
“I suppose I should pack.”