VOLUME 1, CHAPTER XVII.
BESIDE THE SEA
The weekend visit at Hove stretched into a week of stolen, wintry bliss. Daily, Marcus and Edris walked the promenade, the wind whipping their raincoats as they dodged the spray. Marcus, ever the creature of habit, never missed Bundle's exercise, leading the tiny Pomeranian through the salt mist while his mind grappled with the silence Edris maintained. He had asked for her heart, but she had yet to give her answer.
Edris watched him, noting the contrast between the man beside her and the boy she had lost. Lionel was a portrait of shallow, youthful beauty; Marcus was broad-shouldered, deep-chested, and graying at the temples. Yet his grip was iron, his intellect a "caveman" force that both intimidated and drew her. She saw the burden of his silence—the sudden lapses into deep thought she attributed to his writing, unaware they were the weights of a continent's safety.
"I fear going back to Wengen," Marcus admitted one evening as they battled a tearing northeast wind near Shoreham.
"Fear? You, Seton?"
"I will have to watch you in the arms of younger men," he said, the words bitter with honesty. "I won't be able to bear the sight of them flattering you."
Edris laughed, though her eyes were soft. "After Lionel, do you think any 'young man' could hold my interest? You have a vitality they can't touch, Seton. You are... amazing."
The four days that followed were an intimate sanctuary. They abandoned the garish Metropole for simple meals in the flat, tucked away from the "parasites of society" they both detested. They sat in the glass shelters on the promenade, watching the gray, misty sea, two souls suspended between the past and an uncertain future.
The breakthrough came on their final night in Hove. They sat on the large cretonne settee, the firelight casting long shadows across the red carpet. Marcus's arm was around her waist, his heart heavy with the recurring thought of the "barrier."
"I know you like me, Edris," he sighed. "But the age... it's a gulf."
"I never think of your age," she whispered. "To me, you are youthful. And I have grown to... to like you more than I can say."
"But not to love me," he said, his voice trembling.
Edris turned to him, her gray eyes wide and honest in the dim light. "You are mistaken, Seton. In these last few days, I have found that I reciprocate everything. I love you, dearest. More than just a little."
Marcus gasped, a sound of pure, shattered relief. He pulled her to his chest, imprinting a long, passionate kiss upon her lips—their first. In that moment, the Architect's world was rewritten. The broken hearts were joined; the "Good-night, Seton" became a soft, "Good-night, my beloved."
The following day, they traveled to London and then on to Stagsden Hall, the Temperley estate in Leicestershire. As the big blue open car climbed the hill toward the General's house, Lord Simba, the magnificent brindle Great Dane, bounded across the lawn to greet them.
General Temperley and his wife welcomed Marcus with open arms. "At last, she's brought you back!" the General cried. Marcus played the part of the family friend to perfection, hiding the secret fire that now burned between him and their daughter.
Over dinner, the plans for Wengen were finalized. The General's health prevented the parents from traveling, but Mrs. Temperley smiled at Marcus. "Edris will be quite safe in your hands, Seton. You were so good to her last season."
"I shall look after her with my life," Marcus promised, his eyes meeting Edris's across the silver and crystal.
They set the date: December 20th. Christmas in the Alps. After dinner, Edris slipped away to her white-enameled room—its walls covered in Swiss landscapes—to lay out her new ski-ing kit: the breeches, the heavy boots, the waterproof gloves.
Marcus, supposed to leave the next morning for "urgent business" in London, found he couldn't tear himself away. He stayed an extra twenty-four hours, and they spent the afternoon walking Lord Simba through the silent, winter woods toward Theddingworth. There, beneath the skeletal trees and far from the eyes of the world, they shared embraces that promised a lifetime.
On the horizon of their lives, the sky seemed clear. But the Architect knew that in the world of shadows, a clear sky is often the herald of a storm.