The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood
Prologue
The woman was dying.
It was clear to see.
From the pallor of her skin—a sickly bloodless grey—to the sheen of sweat coating her brow.
Her hair was damp and tangled from the exertion of trying to stay alive and failing; with the exertion of trying to give new life and also failing.
Now she was fading away to nothing, like a wilting flower.
She, who had been everything to him, would soon be nothing at all, to anyone, ever again.
Perhaps it would always have turned out this way.
But perhaps it might not.
He clenched the bedsheet in his right hand, as hard as he could. Consumed by futile grief and rage.
His left hand held hers. Limp and cool. She had not stirred in he knew not how long.
With that thought, he raised his head from where it hung over the bedside and gazed at the window. Along the edges of the curtains, he could see a faint gleam of light.
A glance about the room revealed the candles lighting it had burned down to stubs.
Morning then. A new dawn. For one of them.
“Philip...”
It was the faintest whisper. He squeezed her hand involuntarily before he could help himself and leaned closer.
“Sarah.”
The word was a plea.
He could hear the fear—and worse, the tears—in his voice and he gritted his teeth. She should not have to hear the sounds of his pain. Not now.
The small limp hand gave the slightest squeeze back before relaxing into passiveness again.
He swallowed hard.
How could this be? How could the woman lying in the bed be the same one he had known? The woman he had laughed with, touched with tenderness, embraced with passion? Been embraced by in turn.
She was supposed to be full of life. She was supposed to be with him their whole lives. Wasn’t that what they had promised?
As long as you both shall live.
Promises could be broken. And ever so cruelly, too.
He choked back a cry.
“I’m sorry...” The words were so faint. He closed his eyes. He could pretend he had not heard her. Would that be best?
“I’m sorry...Philip.” Her voice was a little louder. He could hear the effort in her voice, and that more than anything else made him open his eyes and look at her.
She was looking back, from behind those beautiful iris-colored eyes, with an expression so sorrowful it wrenched his heart.
“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that, Sarah,” he said hoarsely. “I beg of you. Don’t.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then closed her eyes.
“I...” She drew a deep rattling breath.
Whatever she had been about to say, he would never know.
Her hand trembled in his and then went slack.
She was gone.
Now that he was alone, he let himself do what he had not before. Stretching out over the bed, he wept.