“Except it did happen,” she said softly. “It happened, and I never expected it. It happened, and it happened with Michael. I love him so much, John,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I kept trying to tell myself that I didn’t, but when I thought he was dying, it was just too much, and I knew…oh God, I knew it, John. I need him. I love him. I can’t live without him, and I just needed to tell you, to know that you…that you…”
She couldn’t go on. There was too much inside of her, too many emotions, all desperately pushing to get out. She put her face in her hands and cried, not out of sorrow, and not out of joy, but just because she couldn’t keep it inside.
“John,” she gasped. “I love him. And I think this is what you would have wanted. I really do, but—”
And then, from behind her, she heard a noise. A footstep, a breath. She turned, but she already knew who it would be. She could feel him in the air.
“Michael,” she whispered, staring at him like he was a specter. He was pale and gaunt and had to lean on a tree for support, but to her he looked perfect.
“Francesca,” he said, the word awkwardly passing over his lips. “Frannie.”
She rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. “Did you hear me?” she whispered.
“I love you,” he said hoarsely.
“But did you hear me?” she persisted. She had to know, and if he hadn’t heard her, she had to tell him.
He nodded jerkily.
“I love you,” she said. She wanted to go to him, she wanted to throw her arms around him, but somehow she was rooted to her spot. “I love you,” she said again. “I love you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No, I do. I have to say it. I have to tell you. I love you. I do. I love you so much.”
And then the distance between them was gone, and his arms came around her. She buried her face against his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. She wasn’t sure why she was crying, but she didn’t really care. All she wanted was the warmth of his embrace.
In his arms she could feel the future, and it was wonderful.
Michael’s chin came to rest on her head. “I didn’t mean that you didn’t need to say it,” he murmured, “just that you didn’t have to repeat it.”
She laughed at that, even as the tears kept flowing, and both of their bodies shook.
“You have to say it,” he said. “If you feel it, then you have to say it. I’m a greedy bastard, and I want it all.”
She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “I love you.”
Michael touched her cheek. “I have no idea what I did to deserve you,” he said.
“You didn’t have to do anything,” she whispered. “You just had to be.” She reached up and touched his cheek, the gesture a perfect mirror of his own. “It just took me a while to realize it, that’s all.”
He turned his face into her hand, then brought both of his up to cover it. He pressed a kiss against her palm, stopping just to inhale the scent of her skin. He’d tried so hard to convince himself that it didn’t matter if she loved him, that having her as his wife was enough. But now…
Now that she’d said it, now that he knew, now that his heart had soared, he knew better.
This was heaven.
This was bliss.
This was something he’d never dared hope to feel, something he never could have dreamed existed.
This was love.
“For the rest of my life,” he vowed, “I will love you. For the rest of my life. I promise you. I will lay down my life for you. I will honor and cherish you. I will—” He was choking on the words, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to tell her. He just wanted her to know.
“Let’s go home,” she said softly.
He nodded.
She took his hand, gently pulling him away from the clearing, back toward the wooded area that lay between the churchyard and Kilmartin. Michael leaned into her tug, but before his feet lifted from the earth, he turned back toward John’s grave and mouthed the words, Thank you.
And then he let his wife lead him home.
“I wanted to tell you later,” she was saying. Her voice was still shaky with emotion, but she was starting to sound a bit more like her usual self. “I’d planned a big romantic gesture. Something huge. Something…” She turned to him, offering him a rueful smile. “Well, I don’t know what, but it would have been grand.”
He just shook his head. “I don’t need that,” he said. “All I need…I just need…”
And it didn’t matter that he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, because somehow she knew, anyway.
“I know,” she whispered. “I need the exact same thing.”
Epilogue
My dear nephew,
Although Helen insists that she was not surprised at the announcement of your marriage to Francesca, I shall own up to a less clever imagination and confess that to me, it came as a complete shock.
I implore you, however, not to confuse shock with lack of acceptance. It did not require much time or thought to realize that you and Francesca are an ideal match. I don’t know how I did not see it before. I do not profess to understand metaphysics, and in truth, I rarely have patience for those who claim that they do, but there is an understanding between the two of you, a meeting of the minds and souls that exists on a higher plane.
You were, it is clear, born for each other.
These are not easy words for me to write. John still lives on in my heart, and I feel his presence every day. I mourn my son, and I shall always do so. I cannot tell you what comfort it gives me to know that you and Francesca feel the same.
I hope you will not think me self-important when I offer you my blessing.
And I hope you will not think me foolish when I also extend my thanks.
Thank you, Michael, for letting my son love her first.
—from Janet Stirling, dowager Countess of Kilmartin, to Michael Stirling, Earl of Kilmartin, June 1824
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
I have subjected the characters of When He Was Wicked to more than their fair share of medical misfortune. Researching the conditions of both John and Michael was complicated; I had to make sure that their disease processes made scientific sense, while at the same time revealing only what was known by medical science in 1824 England.
John died of a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. Cerebral aneurysms are congenital weak spots in the walls of blood vessels within the brain. They may lie dormant for many years or they may rapidly enlarge and then rupture, leading to bleeding in the brain, which can be followed by unconsciousness, coma, and death. Headaches brought on by ruptured cerebral aneurysms are sudden and explosive but can be preceded by a lingering headache for some time prior to the actual rupture.
Nothing could have been done to save him; even today approximately one-half of ruptured cerebral aneurysms lead to death.
During the 19th century, the only way to make a definitive diagnosis of a ruptured cerebral aneurysm was at autopsy. It is extremely unlikely, however, that an earl would have undergone a postmortem dissection; therefore, John’s death would have remained a mystery to those who loved him. All Francesca would ever know was that her husband had a headache, lay down, and died.