Immature love says: I love you because I need you. Mature love says: I need you because I love you.

-Erich Fromm

8 months later…

The day was unbearably hot. Lounging in the partial shade offered her by the blossoming willow tree; Annabelle glanced at her sweating glass of lemonade, the blades of grass clinging to the droplets, desperate for relief. A cool breeze whispered past—thankfully; Annabelle slowly lying back as if the gentle draft were arms easing her down.  Closing her eyes, she let it wash over her as a long sigh stole from her lips.

It had been a good day; the word no longer holding its normal definition. When fits of panic failed to seize her day and fiery nightmares claim her night, Annabelle thought it a blessed day…there had not been too many of those.  But slowly, by and by, their appearances were not as rare as they were since—

She shook her head. No. She could not think of it. Blinking her eyes, she forced back the tears, her conscience reinforcing her resolve,

She would not cry.

Had tears not consumed all her days for the past eight months?  On occasion did not too fits of silent madness in which she would remain in bed all day, wordless, staring at empty walls painted with melancholy memories and unlived dreams? 

But not that morning—

That morning, she did not wake in suffocating screams; sweat dampened sheets clinging to her shivering frame while she frantically called his name. That morning she did not grieve upon realizing that the man lying beside her, smiling with glinting blue eyes was a mere hallucination, a phantasm.

No. That morning, there had been warm rogues from the sun shining onto her face; the calming song of the wind hushing through the trees, carrying within it the gentle melody of the birds, waking her for a blessed day.  A good day.

While she had not cried, the confusing emotions remained, waiting patiently for her to waken as they had every day since the fire; Annabelle not able to fully comprehend the events of that cursed day. Although Milton had shared with her his last discussion with Nathaniel in which Nathaniel voiced his concern that Mrs. Hawkins might become dangerously violent; that being his reasoning in having persuaded Annabelle into taking Logan to the park, anger seared within her still. Why had he been so damned stubborn? Why did he not let Milton stay, or Richard? Did he not think of her, and of Logan?

Annabelle squeezed her eyes tightly, her heartbeats pounding harder with each question. And in heaving a trembling sigh, the last question cruelly surfaced—did he even truly love her?

But stop! She mustn’t think in that manner!  In sensing the familiar descent to infinite depression, her conscience rebuked her bitter half, readily offering the only words that ever cooled her nauseating rage,

“I have always loved you Annabelle.”                                                          

And he had. Surrendering her eyes to black, Annabelle swallowed the knot in her throat, letting his words surround her; his gentle voice a calming whisper. Of course he had loved her. Had he not confessed that love against her lips each morning? Did he not prove that love to her with ever glance, every whisper of a touch, every smile...God, that beautiful smile. Annabelle drew in a sharp breath—

She would not cry…

Turning aside, she curled into herself, smoothing her hands over the green blades of grass with furious restraint. There would be no tears, because he had indeed loved her. But then, as always, bitterness emerged waging the last of its rancorous war; a single thought lingering behind like a dying ember,

 If he loved her so much, how could he have left her all alone?

God. Once more facing the clear skies, Annabelle braced, feeling her chest cave within her. Damned thoughts! Trembling uncontrollably, her heart quivered as a blur of tears threatened to afflict her. But she wrestled back this breathless panic; strengthened by her conscience who offered her one single truth,

He didn’t…

Indeed.  Gradually, the shivering ceased, her breathing gaining its normal rhythm. And in clinging on to the words of her better half, bittersweet warmth rippled through her. How could she think such an abomination? Nathaniel hadn’t left her alone. What of Logan, whom she adored more each day; every one of those days in which he grew more and more like his father? She laughed lightly. No doubt the stubbornness was that of Nathaniel.

And then in closing her eyes, Annabelle delicately smoothed her hand over her swollen abdomen. She smiled. No, he hadn’t left her alone at all. He’d left her with the undeniable growing proof of his love. 

Letting her hands fall above her head, Annabelle haled in the sweet summer air when—

“Pardon me Miss but Mr. Hamilton has arrived. Shall I have him pass?”

Annabelle’s heart fluttered as she regarded her elderly maid, “Yes Emily, please do,” she sat up, adding, “Only if you can manage to pry Logan from his arms.” Annabelle giggled; certain Logan no doubt claimed his uncle’s affections at that present moment, only a sheer miracle negating that fact. But truthfully, Annabelle could not blame Logan. Since moving to the Americas, there were no familiar faces. Seeing Richard would be good.

No sooner did Emily depart than did someone clear their throat, “My dearest Countess.”  Annabelle’s breathing constricted upon hearing the familiar tone. Lifting her sights, she met glinting green eyes filled with genuine happiness.

“Richard,” her voice wobbled terribly, shy tears wanting to claim her eyes to which she excused herself, “I suppose half a day of no crying is better than nothing at all.” Chuckling back the tears, Annabelle motioned for him to sit beside her.  Regarding her friend of whom without she couldn't have survived those treacherous months, she said, “Forgive me, I would stand and properly greet you but it is becoming quite a feat with each passing day.” She stroked her blossoming love that seemed to acknowledge their uncle’s presence with tiny fluttering kicks.

Richard seated himself by Annabelle, embracing her as best he could. Releasing her, the normal pleasantries were exchanged as they delved into light discourse of his travels, his family’s welfare and all other proper conversations before he smoothed a hand over her stomach, “And how are you fairing Countess? You are looking increasingly radiant.”

Annabelle’s smile wavered. She discerned what Richard truly questioned, his concerned eyes betraying his lighthearted demeanor in addressing the matter. He wanted to know if nightmares plagued her still, if the days of suffocating desperation still haunted her. After all, had it not been him who comforted her when for those first months she woke in fits of pure rage and anger at Nathaniel’s loss?  But while Annabelle could not lie about the prior day nor make promises for the future, she remembered that morning. Yes, she had not cried that day…

And so she smiled, “You flatter me Richard, but yes I am faring well.”  And in wishing not to pursue the topic any further lest it crumble her resolve to watery affliction, Annabelle tauntingly added, “Though I must say, you are looking terribly exhausted!”

Pausing, Annabelle then recalled one last word in his inquiry, that of ‘Countess’. Swallowing deeply she added, “And I do wish you would refrain from addressing me as Countess. Neither I nor Logan have any ties to that title…not anymore.” her voice breaking.

She would not cry…she would not cry….

Richard nodded, gathering her evasive intent.  Squeezing her hand gently, he said, “My apologies Miss Frost.” And after an awkward pause he settled back, thankfully dismissing the matter, “And do forgive my unkempt appearance. It was a rather arduous trip but thankfully I needn't return.” He announced gleefully.

She truly hoped it was. She couldn’t bear for Richard to continue the difficult trek across the Atlantic all on accounts of recovering whatever he could of Lord Hamilton's estate, however impossible it was. He felt guilty for not having been able to save Nathaniel and felt he owed her. For Annabelle, had theire been a debt, it was settled the moment Richard ran into a burning Hamilton Hall, nearly losing his own life.

Annabelle shuddered. God, how agonizing had been those hours in which she knew not of Nathaniel nor Richard’s wellbeing all the while flames burned fiercely through the night. Hours where while inwardly she was broken, for Logan’s sake she stood firm. But fortunately, and tragically, the following morning when Hamilton Hall no longer remained; soot, ashes and piled planks in its place, Richard was recovered in the back gardens, few bruises and burns afflicting him but nothing too severe; not severe enough for the quantity of blood staining his garments.  No one knew how he ended there, theories ranging from a disoriented plunge brought on by desperation or his having escaped before the house collapsed and having himself collapsed from smoke inhalation. But Annabelle did not care for reasoning, just that at least he was safe though sadly Nathaniel—

No! Quelling the thoughts, Annabelle centered her attentions on what remained of Nathaniel fluttering within her. She rubbed a hand over her stomach.

Richard smiled. "You'll be happy again," he told her.  "You won't ever suffer what she made you go through again."

She…

Annabelle leaned in, placing an understanding hand on Richard’s arm, “You can say her name Richard. I’ve long rid Mrs. Hawkins from my heart.” And that was true.  It had been some time since thoughts of Mrs. Hawkins plagued her. On occasion the woman would make her appearance in nightmares; Annabelle tirelessly seeing her in the shades of the night but after fostering hate for far too long, Annabelle realized it was such hatred that fed the ghost of Mrs. Hawkins, offering her shelter as she lurked in the shadows. Thus with furious determination, Annabelle banished the woman from her soul until the spaces between her emergence steadily widened to nothingness.

Sweeping her gaze about the open fields, she sighed. "And I am happy here. I cannot imagine myself anywhere else.”

Grinning, Richard’s green eyes glimmered, “Neither can I.” He leaned in as if sharing a grand secret and whispered, “That is why I transferred the deed into your name." 

Annabelle gasped. “You didn’t Richard—you couldn’t! No, I won’t allow it."

Looking over her shoulder toward the house, Richard grew increasingly pleased. “It has already been done,” he affirmed with a piercing certainty to which Annabelle huffed, intending to complain but was cut off. “Besides, Logan seems to love it here and no one in my family knows of my properties on this side of the ocean. You are free here Annabelle, completely and utterly free.”

Meeting his gaze, Annabelle made very attempt not to cry. How could she allow him to do such a thing? Had he not done enough? But defeated, Annabelle reluctantly accepted that no measure of refusal would ever change his mind and after a moment of stubborn silence, she sighed,

“I have become quite attached to it, as has Logan…which reminds me, where is Logan?” Annabelle wondered aloud, curious that Logan wasn’t still raptured by his uncle’s appearance, demanding his every attention. Only something grand could ever rob those affections to which Annabelle grew increasingly suspicious. An arched brow lifted. The last time that ever happened, she walked back to the house to find Logan on a pony!

Richard blushed, a palpable mischievousness behind his coloring.  Good heavens, he couldn’t possibly mean…

“Another gift Richard?” she teasingly scolded, “Truly! I cannot fit another pony into the stable and amphibians are simply out of the question.”  She laughed, knowing how very much Richard loved doting on Logan. Heaven help her if the baby turned out to be a girl.

Richard’s lips twisted playfully, “Perhaps, my lady,” he rose, offering Annabelle much needed assistance, “you should take a look for yourself and then reprimand me if it is not to your liking.” Straightening, Annabelle narrowed her eyes mockingly but equally curious “What on earth did you get him?” Lord only knows what Richard had concocted to outdo his past gifts…

But then, flushing deeply with an even wider grin, Richard bowed slightly, and in walking past, drew near her ear, murmuring warmly, “A settled debt.”

What? Bemused, Annabelle spun wildly, protest ready on her tongue when—

Dear God….

The ground beneath vanished as did the world around her…

Around them.

 There were no words. Even if there were, how could she possibly speak when she could hardly breathe? Because it was impossible… because though she’d dreamt it a million times, it couldn’t be true—

But it was…

Annabelle shook her head—no, she was going mad, surely she was going mad! It had to be her mind prevailing upon all common sense because it couldn’t be that he walked toward her, the glorious sun blessing him with its light. God...

Eyes wide in painful disbelief, Annabelle wanted to run to him, to press her heart against his chest and feel his heartbeats beneath her fingertips for proof but God, with her breaths locked in her chest, how in heavens could she move?  The sight of him instantly blurred as the long restrained tears, the ones she had refused to cry that morning, burst ungracefully from her, an aching sob rending from her. It couldn’t be real—

But like the passing breeze, her better half whispered,

Is that not Logan in his arms?

Yes, but what prejudice had madness? Would it not fabricate the very heavens if properly employed? Had she not woken that very morning to his ghost beside her? And had he not vanished when she closed her eyes and opened them once more?—

Annabelle shut her eyes tightly. He would be gone. Certainly upon opening them, he would evaporate, misting into nothingness as he had done that dawn. But waging a fierce battle against her confusion, Logan’s muffled sobs drew closer. God please…

And suddenly, in the passing wind, a familiar masculine scent drifted past, begging for her eyes to open. Annabelle stiffened, whimpering prayers afflicting her lips. She prayed; she begged God for his infinite mercy because if it was all a dream, how could she ever waken? Surely she would die…

Tremblingly hauling in the scent, Annabelle obediently fluttered her eyes open, instantly meeting blue eyes sparkling down at her with uncontrolled tears—

Damn dreams! Cruel, vicious dreams! Shutting them once more, tighter, for longer, Annabelle urgently clenched her skirt; quivering passionately. This time—Lord, this time he would be gone….

But then a warm hand breezed onto her stomach; the sound of a familiar voice breaking with emotion, “Look at me Annabelle,”

No! She wouldn’t look! She wouldn’t—

“Annie,” his sweet breath tickled her nose as he then whispered the words that fully besieged her, “Please.”

Oh God—every fiber within her dissolving, Annabelle exploded into frantic irrepressible tears, ragged breaths tearing through her shaking body; her knees giving way beneath her.  Instantly strong arms of which for months she longed for, only feeling their tender embrace in dreams, caught her; pressing her close and closer still.  Desperate kisses raining over her face, her hair, her lips, Annabelle wept as silent confessions of love saturated her skin. Annabelle clung to him helplessly, urgently, manically; frantic hands roaming madly; wanting, and needing to feel him because dammit he was real! It no longer mattered how many times she opened and closed her eyes, he would be there! With full abandon, Annabelle returned each affection, each kiss and passionate feel, falling deeper. Gasping, she inhaled his scent, absorbing him into her being.

He drew back, Annabelle whimpering in protest, clinging urgently to him. She dared not let him go, she wouldn’t ever release him. With excruciating, raw passion, held onto him, finding no more strength with which to stand; begging, “Tell me this is real,” her tears slurring her words as she searched his face trembling hands “Nathaniel Hawkins, you lie to me if you must but please tell me.” her whispering voice a mixture of doubt, hope and sheer desperation as she confessed, “because I’ve dreamt of you— God I’ve laid alongside you countless nights begging for sweet death so tell me this is real! Because if you are death coming for my soul then take it for it is yours, it is yours—“She moaned, no longer able to breathe, “Please…”

And there, as the world and the heavens held its breath in wait for his answer…

Nathaniel said nothing instead taking her lips in a deep, possessive kiss, fully absorbing her; once and forever banishing all uncertainty.

*

Nathaniel kissed her.

With trembling lips, he sought and absorbed the rare treasures of her mouth, inhaling her every exhale, drinking her every whimper and sob. Agonizingly he pulled away briefly, for a slight measure of a moment. Not because he needed air, no. Hell, he’d rather suffocate then part from her lips.  But he surfaced from the ardent need to brush his quivering hands against her damp, flushed cheeks. To bury his fingertips in the soft curls cascading down her back. To gaze into those gleaming green eyes and promise with wholehearted certainty, “I am here my love,” he pledged onto her tear stained lips, “ask me to lie and I will but not of this, God never of this.”

And in swearing his oath, Nathaniel took possession of her mouth once more, desperately, continually, frantically, forgoing rhythm and perfection.

Overcome with black obsession, fire seared his veins as he fought the furious urge to take her—to lay her gently upon the blessed earth and love her until her tears of joy became those of pleasure and God forgive his shameless desire but it was not merely a bodily want. His body burned with that of a spiritual need to join with her until his tears saturated her skin. To bind himself to her in the most sacred of ways under the holiest of light; to love her until reaching the highest of heavens where under God they would be as one name and one body; one mind and one soul.

But for the moment, suppressing the need, Nathaniel pressed her closer, inhaling her fragrance when he felt it—

All in heaven. His legs vanishing from beneath him; Nathaniel descended gradually, his trembling hands smoothing down the curves of the girl that was now a woman swelling with his seed. God help him. Resting his head against the shelter of their child, his heart staggered; a hollow thump bumping against his nose. Dear God!

Lord, he thought he had been prepared. After months of willingly detaching from reality and succumbing to day long hallucinations of Annabelle lying beside him where then for hours he would stroke her stomach; he thought he had been ready.

After months of waiting in darkness for Richard to arrive with thorough narrations of her growing form to which Nathaniel would beg; desperately and ungracefully plead for Richard to repeat his words for a second time, then again and once over until the vision of his words was clear in his mind, Nathaniel swore he could endure it. But this—his breathing hitched; feeling his child move against him, he never expected it to be like this. And in gripping her tighter, feeling the movements of the culmination of their love, Nathaniel wept. Damning masculine pride and cursing societal proprieties, he wept because though he did it all for them, this was more than he deserved.

Rising, he collapsed onto her lips once more. Yes, explanations were needed and equally owed, but Nathaniel surrendered wholly to selfishness and kissed her because God, after walking the fine line between love and madness for so many months, waiting desperately for all inquisitions to end, she was finally in his arms.

There would be time for apologies, time to explain that their separation was entirely his fault from plot to fruition.  Time to confess that all the while Hamilton Hall burned; Milton waited in the gardens under the shelter of the night for Nathaniel’s escape; that though his injury was unforeseen, thankfully Richard’s actions were wholly planned.  But most of all, there would be time to declare that while facing certain death; her face was all he saw. And after torturous months of hiding, waiting for the enquiries into his death to cease; of traveling across the seas in cargo; for her, he would do it all over again. 

Yes, there would be time. But for that moment, Nathaniel could not bring himself to do anything besides kiss her deeper with ardent need while murmuring his devotion, his love, his obsession upon her lips. It was all he could do, because dammit only death; true, cold, black Death could ever pry her from his arms again.

And for that moment, as Nathaniel held her to him, his seed quickening within her; he could only declare that he loved her; deeply, painfully, brutally. Proclaim that she was his in every way possible. She had always been and would forever be his.

 And there, together, they surrendered to the beauty of a life free of secrets and lies.

To the beauty a life bound simply by love and that of a promise fulfilled.

                                                                                                                                                           Fin.

**

Annabelle and Nathaniel's story was just that, their story. And while a tragic ending would have been equally fitting,this is how they wished for their story to be told. It was true love, nothing more, nothing less.  And in the end, their love conquered all. 

I can't begin to thank all of you because this has been such an amazing experience and to have all of you to share it with...there are no words. Okay, I'm tearing up right now.... :)

If you enjoyed this story, you'll love my other, The Awkward Love Song of Abigail Archer.

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<3Thank you for reading.