The hour was late, and Warwick Hall was cloaked in a blanket of stillness and quiet.

After returning from her cousin's flat, Rose had tucked Teddy snuggly into bed and regaled him with the first several pages of Peter Pan and Wendy, a charming children's story written by J. M. Barrie. Rose enjoyed how similar Teddy was to Peter, and how similar she had once been to young Wendy. Teddy enjoyed the pirates.

The little boy had fallen asleep to the sound of her voice, a hint of a smile on his cherub-like face.

At present, Rose was seated in the parlor, her legs tucked beneath her on the cushions of the sofa, her diary in her lap. The last entry she'd penned had been a couple nights after the benefit. Much had happened since then.

With elegant, looping penmanship, she chronicled the many details of her discussion with Daphne from earlier that evening.

...and once we'd finally put the topic of William Mercer to rest, Daphne gave me the most splendid news: Mr. Hughes has at last made her a senior editor! I knew she could do it, and I couldn't be more thrilled, but the look on her face as she told me was the most priceless bit of all. I am so very, very proud of her. If only her parents would share my celebratory feelings. But they do not know of her job, and for the sake of peace, comfort, and Daphne's sanity, they must remain in ignorance. It's really a shame. Daphne should be praised for her ambition and wit, not berated for...

The door to the parlor opened, and William strode through. He did not look at nor acknowledge Rose, and rather than approach her, he positioned himself before the wide front window, his back to her. Silent and unreadable, he stared through the glass at the night sky.

The pen in Rose's hand hovered over the page. She observed William's back with a cool eye, her expression impassive. Granted, she was more willing to offer an empathetic ear since her lengthy chat with Daphne, but that in no way meant she was going to attempt to bridge the significant divide between them. That was up to him. She would not speak first, nor would she make this easy.

William had broken something precious. Whether that breakage was irreparable depended entirely on his next move.

Several more seconds passed in much the same way: William's back to her accompanied by a tense, deafening silence.

Rose rolled her eyes. This was pointless. The expectation of William admitting he was wrong was as likely as snow in June. Why hope? It only led to disappointment.

She'd all but given up and gone back to writing when William finally spoke.

“Katya Poliatova,” he said.

Rose paused and closed her diary. “What was that?” she asked, her voice phlegmatic.

He turned around so that he was facing her and slid his hands into his pockets. “The other night, during our tiff in my study, you asked me if I'd ever done somethin' foolish at nineteen. If I'd ever loved someone I shouldn't have loved. You remember?”

Rose felt her eyebrow twitch. “Yes, William,” she stated. “I most certainly remember.”

His gaze shifted to the floor for a few seconds before rising to her face again. “Right. Well, the answer to both questions is Katya Poliatova.”

A woman's name. And it sounded Russian.

Rose set her diary aside. Whether she liked it or not, he now had her full attention. “Katya, you said? Who is she?”

“Who was she,” William corrected, a mournful quality to his voice. “Past tense. She passed on over fifteen years ago.”

His blunt words and rueful tone seemed contradictory to each other, leaving Rose uncertain whether she should offer condolences. After a few seconds of indecision, she simply said, “Who was she, then?”

“Katya was me first love,” he told her.

His answer caused Rose's breath to hitch. First love? Was William admitting that he'd once cared for someone?

Too taken aback to offer a reply, Rose sat in silence and waited for him to continue.

William's eyes took on a distant gleam, and he gazed past her at the far wall. With a pained expression, he swallowed and went on, “Katya was a beautiful, kind-hearted girl from Petrograd, Russia. Too good for me, in every way. Yet for reasons I never understood, she was as smitten with me as I was with her. Always smiling, she was. And she made me smile...every day. Her eyes were warm and golden brown, just like yours.”

Surprised by the comparison, Rose sat up a bit straighter, her heartbeat increasing in speed and intensity. “Like mine?”

“Aye, love. Like yours,” William confirmed. “Her smile, too.” He retrieved his cigarette case from his jacket pocket and began to fiddle with it. “Well, as ya might imagine, her wealthy Russian parents didn't take too kindly to a penniless Englishman courting their daughter. They heard about me da's reputation, and decided Katya was to have nothin' to do with me. So, they sent her brothers to collect her, but she refused to go back to Russia. Told them she planned to make her life here with me. They were furious, sayin' Katya was too young to be makin' such rash decisions, but she would not relent. Ultimately, her elder sister Anna remained here in their stead to watch out for her. I didn't care — I woulda agreed to anything, so long as Katya stayed. We were both only 'bout nineteen at the time, but I had it in me head that I'd spend the rest of my life with her.”

Such an emotional admittance from William inspired Rose to gawk in disbelief. Fully engrossed, she leaned forward on the sofa, her brow furrowed and eyes wide. “Yet the two of you never married,” she observed. “What happened?”

William took a deep, labored breath, as though he were preparing himself for a tremendous physical hardship. “Few months of happiness passed, then Katya fell ill. With consumption.”

“Good lord!” Rose gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “How dreadful. So, you were torn apart by disease, regardless of Katya's devotion.”

“Eventually, yes,” William conceded. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “While she was ill, however, I never left her side. No matter the risk. So long as she continued to breathe, I wouldn't leave her. I refused.”

“But, William…” Rose began, shaking her head in incredulity. “Consumption is highly contagious! You could have contracted it at any moment simply by occupying the same room as Katya!”

“So they told me,” William said, nodding in remembrance. “The doctors, the apothecary, her sister Anna... Everyone. Everyone told me. But I stayed at her bedside. Every day. Three months straight, holding her hand. Comfortin' her while she deteriorated. Talkin' to her while she…” His voice broke, and he trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a lengthy pause, he cleared his throat again and continued, “Talkin' to her while she forgot who I was. She died in my arms, unable to take a breath. Broke my fuckin' heart.”

Rose was stunned. Never had she thought William was capable of such deep-rooted and naked emotion. And more to the point, never would she have thought he'd share such emotion with her. Yet here he was, the sorrowful tone of his voice and the sadness that shone in his eyes proof that he was human enough to be vulnerable.

So much loss. First Katya to consumption, then Clementine to a bullet. In both instances, William had managed to escape, his health and life intact. Given the repetitive nature of his tragedies, it was plausible that survivor's guilt plagued him, along with his heartache.

“I imagine it did,” Rose murmured. There came a sudden unwelcome tightening in her chest with which she was intimately acquainted. The rogue feeling had harassed her often since August's death. “And Anna? The sister?”

“Contracted consumption. Died, three weeks after Katya.”

“My god…” Rose sighed, her hand on her heart. “Anna fell ill while you were spared.”

William's features twisted in pain. “Aye. Not right, is it?”

“What then? What did you do after Katya passed?”

“I went to war,” he answered, his voice taking on a hard edge. “I was shipped off to France, and I fired rifles at enemy soldiers, and I crawled on my belly through the mud, and I watched men die right in front of me. War hardened what was left of my heart after Katya's death shattered it. I changed. The man I once was, the man who loved Katya, he never came back to England.”

“Your sister mentioned a similar recount to me,” Rose offered. “But surely she was of some comfort regarding Katya's passing? Or your brothers, perhaps?”

William gazed at her, his eyes shining in the dim parlor light, and shook his head. “They never knew. About Katya. They wouldn't have understood…me lovin' a Russian girl. So, I never told them. Never mentioned what she meant to me. No one has ever known, save Katya's family. And they blamed me for Katya and Anna’s deaths. Claimed both women woulda lived, had they gone back to Russia. Their brothers swore to get revenge on me. And so they did.”

Realization rippled down Rose's spine like a gust of winter wind. “Clementine,” she whispered. “Katya's brothers killed Clementine.”

“A man they hired, rather, but aye,” William confirmed. “I was his target, but Clementine was standing next to me. The bullet hit her instead.” He looked at the floor, shaking his head in remorse. “Despite the fact that killing my wife was the worst punishment they could ever dole out, I knew they wouldn't be satisfied. I knew the Poliatova brothers would eventually send someone to finish the job.”

Rose gasped as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Suddenly, something William had said the day they'd met resurfaced in her mind. Something that, at the time, had baffled her: I know what ‘sestry’ means… I've known many a Russian man with a ‘sestra.’

“Dmitri,” she murmured. “You thought Dmitri Kuragin had been sent by Katya's brothers.”

“Yes,” William said. He nodded, his face pinched in regret. “I thought Dmitri had come to kill me, under the ruse of a refugee needing work. That's why I shot him. I assumed the ‘sisters’ he mentioned were Katya and Anna.”

Rose put a shaky hand to her forehead. “Of course you did…” she mumbled, more to herself than to William. “Given the circumstances, how could you not? Yes…it makes sense now.” She looked up at him, taking in his tortured expression. “All of this, you bore it by yourself. Everything that has happened. Katya, her death, her brothers' promise of revenge… You never told anyone, did you? Not even your siblings. Not even Clementine.”

“That's right,” William said with an absent nod. “I endured the grief alone. Vowed to take the story of Katya Poliatova to me grave.”

Rose was beside herself. The implications behind his confession were heavy and countless, and her heart hammered in her chest at the thought. “Then why tell me?” she queried. “Why do away with your long-standing vow by telling me tonight?”

He stared at her for a long beat. “Elton Willoughby,” he finally replied.

Eyes narrowed in confusion, Rose asked, “What about him?”

“Katya Poliatova is my most guarded secret,” William explained. “Elton Willoughby is yours.” He slipped his cigarette case back into his pocket and advanced a few cautious steps closer to her. “It's an olive branch, Rose. A peace offering to restore balance.” He shrugged, the gesture appearing helpless rather than flippant. “This is all I can do, love. Can't turn back time and make different choices. So, I'm givin' you the knowledge of Katya in exchange for my knowledge of Elton. My secret for yours.”

Rose blinked up at his solemn face, feeling as though she must be suffering from some sort of fever. “William... For the losses you've suffered, I am so sorry. Truly. I am. And I appreciate this ‘olive branch,’ as you so eloquently titled it, more than you know. To speak of such a trauma must have been very difficult, and I recognize that. However, none of this excuses your treatment of me.”

William stared at her, unblinking. “No. It doesn't.”

“I am not responsible for Katya's passing,” Rose stated, her throat tightening with each uttered word. “Nor did I dictate that you be sent to war. Nor did I cause the death of Clementine. I am not to blame for your heartache, William, yet you have treated me with hostility and contempt worthy of a great wrongdoing. I have not deserved it. And I feel that I am owed an apology.”

He cocked his head to the side, his expression unreadable. “D'ya recall what I said about apologizin'?”

She sniffed and her mouth twisted in an oblique frown. “How could I forget?” she questioned in return. “You said each time you apologize, you're giving away a piece of yourself. Like removing bricks from the wall of your house.”

“Aye. And?”

“And,” she stated with a pointed look, “it's ‘not a thing that you do’.”

“That's right, love,” he said, his chin tipping in a resolute nod. “It's not a thing that I do.”

He then strode over to the sofa and sat down beside her. With a gentle touch, he took her hand in his.

So startled was Rose by his actions that she couldn't find it in herself to protest. William had never chosen to sit with her before. Not once. There was always some sort of barrier that separated them: a table, a desk, him standing over her while she sat, or him lounging while she stood. But this... William choosing to sit next to her on the same piece of furniture? What was this bizarre behavior?

“I need you to listen to me now, Rose,” he said, his eyes more earnest than she'd ever seen them. “Ya listenin'?”

It was difficult to take a breath. She tried to inhale and the air caught in her throat. “Yes. I'm listening,” she murmured.

He squeezed her hand and held her gaze. “I'm sorry,” he said. “For all of it. For everything. You've been a loyal and ambitious employee. A confidante. A friend. A comfort to me son. You saved my brothers' reputations and stood up for Elijah, with no thought regardin' what you'd get in return. I've never met anyone like ya, Rose. When I look at you, I see Clementine's face with Katya's eyes, but you're nothin' like them. You're not like anyone. And I've done nothin' but push ya away and treat ya like you're expendable. It's shameful. Inexcusable. And for that,” his grip on her hand tightened, “I am truly and profoundly sorry.”

For an indeterminate amount of time, Rose simply stared at him. Stared, and pondered, and stared. Had she really heard an apology come from the mouth of William Mercer? It seemed impossible, but no, she was not asleep, or ill, or caught in a delusion. He had apologized. And if the knit of his brow and the tightened skin around his eyes were any indication, he meant it.

“William, I... I don't know what…” she trailed off, unable to articulate her dumbfounded thoughts aloud.

William released her hand, but remained seated next to her, his expression one of mournful comprehension. “Don't expect ya to forgive me, Rose,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Were I you, I wouldn't. But I'm hopin' for the sake of our continued partnership that you'll consider accepting my apology.”

At that, Rose found her words and arched an eyebrow. “Partnership? Ha. I will accept your apology if you start treating me like a partner. I mean it, William. From this moment on.”

He held out his hand. “Done. Ya have me word.”

Rose took his hand and they shook on the new terms. “Then done. I accept your apology.”

William let out a long breath, a mixture of relief and gratitude in his eyes. A hint of a smile graced his lips. “Glad to hear that.”

“I should thank you,” Rose said, recalling her surprise rescue the previous evening, “for sending Elijah to my aid. His timing and discretion couldn't have been better.”

William sniffed, an amused sound. “I didn't send him.”

“Didn't you?” Rose asked in confusion. “But he said you told him where I'd be.”

“Where, aye, but I didn't send him,” William reiterated. “Didn't have to. I barely had your name and the word ‘favor’ outta me mouth before he volunteered. Said, ‘anything for Miss Rose.’ The cab was his idea. Lad would jump off the Tower of London for ya, Rose. Earned yo'self a loyal friend in Elijah.”

“Well,” Rose murmured, her lips curving up in a smile. “Fancy that.”

“Elijah will be there every time you're out with Jimmy,” William vowed. “Every time. No matter where, no matter when, he'll be there keepin' watch. In case that bloody sot forgets to keep his hands to himself. Archie, too, I'd wager. Lad seems to think he's attached to Elijah's hip.”

Rose thought back to the evening Elijah had introduced her to young Archie, right here at Warwick Hall. “Archie seems a nice boy. Bit noticeable with that carrot orange hair.”

William smirked and nodded. “Don't worry 'bout that. Unless you're havin' a problem, they know to stay outta sight.” His face grew solemn again, and he saddled Rose with an earnest stare. “That is, so long as you think it makes sense to continue in this charade.”

“Pretending to court Jimmy, you mean?” she asked.

“Aye,” William confirmed. “You think it's too dangerous, we end it. You say it's over, and it's over. Partners, right? That's the deal?”

“Yes…” Rose said. The surprise of William's newfound willingness to respect her opinion caused a wave of vertigo to hit her. He was serious. He truly had meant what he'd said. Incredible. “That's the deal. Yes. And as much as I may dislike it, I do think it makes sense to continue. Jimmy doesn't guard his words around me at all. He was foolish enough to tell me, with almost no prompting, by the bye, that the combination to his father's safe is the birth date of a loved one.”

William sniffed a laugh. “Bless him for bein' such a dumb fuck,” he said. “That narrows the options down from countless to a handful.”

“Precisely,” Rose agreed. “And Mr. Gallagher is called out of the office nearly every day. Meetings, appraisals, auctions, surveying undeveloped lots, all manner of things. He seems to think nothing of leaving me there alone. I've already managed to attempt to open the safe with both Jimmy's and Mrs. Gallagher's dates of birth. Unfortunately, both attempts proved unsuccessful, but I will keep at it. I see Mr. Gallagher every day; he's bound to let something slip.”

“Mmm,” William mused. He reclined against the back of the sofa, his eyebrows slightly elevated. “That's excellent work, Rose. Once again, I'm impressed.”

“Thank you,” she said, quite pleased.

He was silent for a few seconds, his fingers laced over his torso. “No work tomorrow. It's Sunday. Any plans?”

Rose pulled a face. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I'm going to the pictures with Jimmy. I agreed to meet him at the theater at half past six.”

William nodded slowly. “Then Elijah and Archie will be there, too.”

“Splendid,” Rose declared in false delight. “Jimmy won't notice. He'll be too busy trying to canoodle with me.”

“There's some toff-speak,” William chuckled. “Gonna get up to some ‘canoodling,’ are ya?”

Rose wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not if I have any say in the matter. How grotesque. After all, I am a lady, and ladies wish to be wooed.”

“Wooed, eh?” William asked, smiling down at his interlaced fingers. “I'll keep that in mind.”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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