“I’m afraid that I’m not the Phyllis you knew anymore,” Phyllis replied sorrowfully.
“No,” Charlotte smiled. “That is because now, you are in love. You love someone more than yourself and you fear for their reputation more than your own. That is why the opinion of others matters now.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Phyllis admitted.
“That is all right,” Charlotte smiled kindly. “The most important thing is not to lose yourself in this love. If it is not meant to be, if it is something that won’t make you happy, it takes a lot of courage to let it go, Phyllis. But you have that courage inside of you.”
“Just like you,” Phyllis smiled.
“We are both stronger than we know…”
“Thank you for being here, Charlotte,” Phyllis couldn’t contain her relief. “And for this talk. I really needed it.”
“I am always happy to put things in perspective, but I only told you things you already knew,” Charlotte pointed out.
The weight lifted from her chest, and a sense of relief washed over her. However, as she spoke, a sudden dizziness enveloped her, blurring the edges of the room. The flickering candlelight danced before her eyes like elusive fireflies.
Charlotte, sensing something amiss, reached out to steady her younger sister. “Phyllis, are you all right?” she asked, concern etching lines on her forehead.
Phyllis attempted to reassure her, “I’m fine, just a bit lightheaded.” Yet, before she could finish her sentence, the room seemed to sway, and her strength faltered. In an instant, the world went dark, and Phyllis succumbed to unconsciousness.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
Alexander was seated in his study, but nothing could occupy his mind. The letters of morning correspondence stood untouched on his writing table, and even his breakfast still lay on a tray that had been so tenderly brought upstairs by the skillful hands of Mrs. Kensington. Alexander felt no hunger. All he could see were the letters Phyllis refused to read and the flowers she refused to accept.
Angry and helpless, he didn’t even hear a knock on the door. It didn’t have the power to stir him from his thoughts. So, the intruder knocked again, with the same result. Slowly, the doors opened and the butler peered through.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” he said respectfully. “You have not called forth.
“What is it, Milligan?” Alexander asked, not lifting his gaze from the blank spot on the wall he had been staring at for the past fifteen minutes.
“Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, but this letter arrived with a seal of the utmost importance.”
Pulled out of his despairing reverie, he accepted the letter. The crimson wax seal bore the intricate emblem of urgency.
“That will be all, Milligan,” Alexander dismissed the butler, breaking the seal with a measured deliberation. Then, he unfolded the parchment and began to read, his countenance shifting as the words unfolded before them.
Your Grace,
I am writing to you in urgency, for my sister seems to be unwell. I know your presence will mean much to her. Please, won’t you come?
Lady Joyce Walford
It was short and succinct, and the message was clear. But Alexander had to read it again. Was Phyllis unwell? What had happened?
Alexander knew that he didn’t have a moment to spare. He rushed out of his study and headed straight to the stables. He had no time to ready the carriage. Besides, he thought he would be faster on horse. He knew the new abode of Phyllis’ sister, and he rushed over there immediately.
As Alexander rode through the picturesque countryside and the bustling streets of London, his normally composed demeanor was replaced by a palpable sense of unease. The rhythmic beat of the horse's hooves seemed to echo the pounding in his chest, matching the urgency of his thoughts.
Worry lines etched across his forehead as he played scenarios in his mind, each more troubling than the last. The vibrant hues of the countryside and the dynamic cityscape blurred into a kaleidoscope of anxiety as he pressed on, his steed galloping with a speed that mirrored the urgency of his emotions.
Navigating through the labyrinthine streets, Alexander’s eyes darted, searching for the residence that housed Phyllis. The bustling city seemed to close in around him, amplifying his sense of foreboding. Every passing moment fueled his anxiety, and the racing horse beneath him echoed the turmoil within.
The journey through London, usually familiar and routine, now felt like a race against time. Each fleeting second intensified his apprehension, making the horse’s swift gallop a desperate attempt to reach Phyllis before the imagined calamities unfolded.
Finally, he reached the house he had been looking for. He dismounted his horse in one effortless jump, and rushed to the door, knowing loudly. A butler appeared after several seconds, but before he could even begin to explain who he was and why he was there, Joyce’s voice echoed through the corridors within.
“Is it him?” Alexander could hear her voice, and momentarily, she appeared by the side of the butler. “Itisyou! You came! Thank heavens!”
