An Evening at Almack's

by Sally Britton

  “No, dear,” Mr. Banbury assured her. “Families attend the theater and opera quite regularly, even the daughters who’ve not yet made their bows.”

  She looked at William, clearly still worried.

  “I concur with your husband, ma’am.”

  “As do I,” Leonard added. “You needn’t fear being judged poorly.”

  That set her mind at ease. She slipped her hand through her husband’s arm and, with a hand at Angelina’s back to guide her forward, moved to the front of the box.

  William turned to look at Felicity, fully expecting her usual laughing smile or at least a look of relief at seeing her sister and parents happily situated. Her expression, however, was filled with heartache. An answering pang sounded in his heart.

  “Felicity?” He spoke in little more than a whisper as he stepped to her. “What is the matter?”

  She took a shaky breath. “She is so ill, William. She grows worse every day.”

  Angelina had seemed paler. She also hadn’t spoken since arriving.

  “I am afraid for her,” Felicity added in a pained whisper. “I do not know how much more she can endure, but we’ve not finished her list. How can she bear to return home with wishes left unrealized?”

  There was something more in her voice than disappointment on her sister’s behalf, though William couldn’t put a name to it. He knew only that his heart went out to her.

  He took her hand in his, gently, kindly. “I am so very sorry for all you and your family are enduring. I do wish there was more I could do.”

  “You have helped so very much, William. What would we have done without you? We would not have managed hardly any of her wishes.”

  Had he offered nothing more than that? A resource to accomplish their list of undertakings? A one-time chum to tease?

  He, Felicity, and Leonard sat in the second row of seats as the performance began below. William struggled to focus. His thoughts spun over Felicity and Angelina and the contradictory things he thought and felt. He had, at first, happily agreed to help the sisters tick items off their list, finding it a welcome diversion from the boredom of yet another Season in Town, but that didn’t ring true any longer.

  Not ten minutes into the program, he heard the tiniest, almost imperceptible sound of trembling breaths. He required only a moment to realize the sound, that of quiet crying, came from beside him.

  He reached over and wrapped his hand around Felicity’s. She held fast to him. Her breathing did not grow calmer. Though she was neither sobbing nor wracked with emotion, her continued upheaval was apparent to him at such close distance. He dared not say anything, suspecting she worked very hard to hide her struggles from her parents and sisters. All he could think to do was raise her hand to his lips and press a quiet, gentle kiss there, before joining his other hand to his first, enveloping her hand in both of his.

  As the performance continued on the stage below and the other Banburys were distracted, William sat holding Felicity’s hand. He hoped he was offering her comfort. He hoped she didn’t pull her hand away, as he was finding in the simple touch a reassurance he didn’t even know he’d been longing for.

  Felicity shifted to the side of her chair nearest him and rested her arm against his. He tipped his head enough to nearly rest it against the top of hers.

  “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

  They sat that way as the first act continued on. William hadn’t the first idea what occurred below. His every thought was for his dear friend, of her sister and her struggling family, of the almost-forgotten feeling of home he experienced with Felicity nearby.

  The curtain fell, marking a brief intermission. Felicity sat up straight on the instant and, though he thought he sensed reluctance, slipped her hand free. Angelina turned back, looking at her sister over her shoulder.

  William took a sharp breath when he saw Angelina’s face. She looked beyond exhausted. She looked more than ill; she looked nearly desperate.

  “You must get her home,” he said to Felicity.

  In a flurry of activity, the family gathered their wraps and overcoats and made a mad rush from the box. Felicity looked back at William in the moment before stepping out. A single tear dropped from her eye.

  “I fear it is growing all too apparent what that family is shortly facing,” Leonard said.

  “I ache for them.”

  “And for yourself?” Leonard pressed. “You care about them. Losing Miss Banbury will be painful for you as well.”

  “I fear home will only ever be a place of mourning,” he said. How could he ever return there, knowing even more grief awaited him? Yet how could he sever the growing connection he felt to Felicity? Without her, he feared his grief would forever be attached to this heavy, heartrending loneliness.

  Chapter Seven

  William,

  Forgive my impertinence in writing to you, but I desperately need to speak with you. I would not ask if the situation were not dire. I will be taking turn after turn this morning in the little park where I first saw you weeks ago, hoping you can meet me there. Please come and speak with me. I need your help.

  — FB

  William dressed quickly and rushed directly to the peaceful little green. She was not making the endless circuits she’d said she would be but sat on a bench, back bent, head in her hands.

  He sat beside her. She’d struggled with her composure at the theater the evening before. He’d assumed upon spotting her in a posture of such dejection that he would find her in the same state of emotional upheaval, but when she looked up at him, it was not tears he saw, but the dark circles of one who’d not slept.

  “Angelina?” he guessed.

  “She is very ill. We do not know of a reliable physician here in Town who might look in on her and help us decide what is best to be done. You have been here every Season for years. Might you recommend one?”

  Though the request was phrased quite calmly and logically, she did not entirely hide her fear.

  The park was empty. He felt safe in reaching out to her a moment. He wove his fingers around hers. “I do know an excellent man of medicine and will gladly send him to look in on your sister.”

  “Thank you.” She breathed the words out in a whoosh of incomplete relief.

  He kept her hand in his. “What else can I do?”

  “I haven’t the first idea. At the moment, we are focused on discovering if we would do best to take her home directly or remain here and hope she can regain her strength.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “I hadn’t thought she would worsen so quickly.”

  He swallowed against the lump that formed at the all-too-familiar words. His father had said precisely that in the hours before his mother had passed away, to be followed by him mere days later. The quick descent into illness and sudden anticipation of loss dredged up a great many heavy memories.

  His mind screamed at him not to put himself through another experience like the one he’d endured a half decade earlier. A servant could be sent to fetch the doctor. Word could be sent in a day or two to see how Angelina was faring. He could keep his distance.

  He would do well to do precisely that. Yet he remained as the minutes ticked on, unwilling to abandon her.

  “I should probably return home. I do wish to be with Angelina, but . . .” She sighed.

  “You are worn thin. A moment’s respite is more than justified.”

  She smiled tremulously up at him. “You are very kind.”

  “I have been where you are,” he said quietly.

  “With your parents?” Redness rimmed her eyes, and she took a shaky breath.

  “Perhaps Angelina’s outcome will be different from theirs.” He offered the reassurance, though he doubted she truly believed the empty hope he offered her.

  “How have you endured it?” she asked.

  “Not very well, I’m afraid. I haven’t been home in years.”

  Felicity’s brow pulled low. “Because of them?”

  “Because they are e
verywhere at Carlisle Manor, everywhere in Lindsworth. Being there without them is agonizing.” He’d never told anyone that.

  “I wish you would come back.”

  That set him on his feet once more. “You are asking more than you realize. I cannot endure it. I can’t.”

  She stood as well, calmer than she’d been since he’d found her on the bench. “I’ve missed you these past years, but I understand. I’ll not press you to return.” Her shoulders set, and she assumed once more the resolute posture he’d come to recognize as hers. “Thank you for sending us your recommended physician, and thank you for your kindnesses these past weeks. You have given us, Angelina especially, a tremendous gift.”

  “You are speaking as if I won’t be seeing you again.” The idea left him as uneasy as the suggestion of returning home.

  “I do not imagine we will be in London much longer, and you are never home.” Her smile was sad but not accusatory.

  “I cannot,” he repeated.

  “I know.” She reached out and set a kind, tender hand on his face. “Think of us now and then. And please take care of yourself, William.”

  Before he could tell her that he worried more over whether or not she was taking care of herself, that he thought of her more and more often of late, she slipped away. He watched her go, his heart aching at the sight of her leaving him behind.

  What could he do? He knew avoiding home was not logical or likely healthy, but was grief ever rational?

  * * *

  Dr. Benton called on William that night. His heavy expression told William all he needed to know, but he asked for details anyway.

  “I’ve advised the family to return to their country home. Miss Banbury needs rest more than anything else.”

  “Will resting improve the state of her health?”

  “For a time.”

  That was not very reassuring. “Then you concur with the evaluation of the other physicians with whom they have consulted.”

  Benton nodded. “It is a wasting illness. Her coloring is poor, her energy fearfully low. She bruises far too easily, and those bruises do not fade as quickly as they ought. Though we haven’t a name for her condition, we do know what comes of it.”

  Poor Angelina. “Is there anything I might do for her or her family?”

  “I have made suggestions for ways they might make Miss Banbury more comfortable: obtaining the services of a maid to look after her, repurposing a room on the ground floor to serve as her bedchamber so she needn’t traverse the stairs in order to participate in family meals and such while she is able.”

  “Her time is short, then?” His parents’ time had been so short, there’d been no opportunity for those arrangements and discussions. He wished he could have done more to make them comfortable and make their remaining time together less heavy and difficult.

  “It is difficult to say just how short,” Benton said, “but, yes. I would be very surprised if Miss Banbury lives to see the end of the year.”

  Emotion immediately clogged his throat. No matter that he hadn’t been back home in five years and not often before that, he considered Angelina a dear friend, something of a sister. He cared about her and her family. He knew all too well the pain of losing a loved one.

  “Thank you for calling on them,” he said.

  Dr. Benton stepped to the door. “I only wish there was more I could do.”

  “A sentiment I understand well.”

  Long after the doctor had left, William’s mind fixated on that. What more could be done? Surely there must be something. He couldn’t save Angelina from the fate that awaited her, but he wished he could at least offer comfort or ease some of the family’s burdens. But which ones and how?

  He was still sitting at his desk, mind spinning, when Leonard called.

  “Yours appears to be a heavy mood.”

  William rose for the first time in an hour and paced toward the windows. “Dr. Benton has been to see Miss Banbury. His prognosis is a grim one.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” Leonard joined him at the window. “And the family?”

  “They are being stalwart, no doubt. They will be returning to Sussex shortly.”

  Leonard didn’t say anything further, but he watched William with a look of expectation. After a moment, William returned the expression with one meant to encourage his friend to speak his mind.

  “Will you be returning as well? I have no doubt having you nearby will be a reassurance to them. You can offer assistance and pay calls so they need not feel so isolated. And it will set your mind at ease, being able to see for yourself how the family, and the young lady in particular, is faring.”

  William shook his head. “I know how Miss Banbury is likely to be faring. That will be heartbreaking to watch.”

  “She is not the young lady to whom I was referring.”

  There was no mistaking his friend’s meaning. “I am deeply worried for Felicity. She and her sister are as close as twins. I suspect neither has a single memory that does not include the other. Losing Angelina will fracture her tender heart.”

  “And having you nearby will help her hold the pieces together.”

  William stepped away quickly. Leonard did not understand what he was asking. “I cannot go home.”

  “I think it is time you did—not merely for Miss Felicity’s sake, but for your own. Those ghosts loom larger every year you’re gone.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You won’t.” He held his hands up and forestalled the objection William was about to make. “I am not attempting to discount the enormity of stepping foot once more in your memory-filled home. I am only saying that I know you, and you are stronger than you think you are.”

  How he wished that were true.

  “You could not bring yourself to make that pilgrimage for your own sake,” Leonard said. “Make it for hers.”

  William rubbed at his sore and stiff neck. “I cannot walk through those doors alone. I know I can’t.”

  Leonard sighed, the sound putting William firmly in mind of a person rolling his eyes. “So invite your best friend to go with you. I suspect he can work it into his schedule.”

  William looked back, hope warring with fear. “You would do that for me?”

  “I helped you sneak out of that pub near Eton before the headmaster caught you, and you are questioning my loyalty?” Leonard’s look of censure was ruined by the laughter lurking in his eyes.

  William found he could smile. “We’ve had a few misadventures in our time, haven’t we?”

  “Let’s have one more,” Leonard suggested. “We’ll hie ourselves to Sussex, face down a few lingering ghosts, call on a local family of whom we’re very fond, perhaps scout out a pub of questionable reputation. I daresay we’ll enjoy ourselves more than we would if we remained in Town.”

  Perhaps it was time. “This won’t be easy.”

  “No. I suspect it won’t.” Still, Leonard didn’t sound as though he were backing down.

  “Felicity will need support—her parents as well. Angelina, I’m certain, will appreciate having someone call on her. Wasting illnesses are often compounded with loneliness.”

  “All true,” Leonard said.

  William released a tense breath. “You won’t let me talk myself out of this?”

  “I absolutely will not.”

  With that, William committed himself to making the soul-shattering journey he’d sworn never to make.

  He was going home.

  Chapter Eight

  Angelina was sleeping, comfortably situated in the repurposed east sitting room. They’d been home for three days, and all the family and staff were exhausted. Their one consolation was that Angelina seemed to have already improved. Her coloring was better. Her energy had increased. London had been taking more of a toll than they’d realized.

  If only Felicity could feel more at ease. Her sister was better, but she would never be whole. The coming weeks and months would be beyond difficult. Enduring it
all meant, in the end, she would lose her dearest companion and very best friend. Her parents were grieving as well. She couldn’t add her burdens to theirs, yet she didn’t know how much longer she could carry this weight alone.

  She put on her spencer, bonnet, and gloves and slipped from the house, needing some time away. Everything they’d done the last three days had been focused on preparing for Angelina’s deterioration. Felicity’s heart needed a respite, however temporary.

  Tears threatened as she walked the familiar paths of their neighborhood. She’d wanted so badly to give Angelina the Season she’d wished for. She wanted to be strong and unwavering in the face of their coming struggles. She wished she could save Angelina from what was coming. She was failing on all three counts.

  Her feet took her where they had so many times these past years: to the front drive of Carlisle Manor. How often she’d stood there, wishing William were home, willing him to step out and join her for a walk or a ride or simply talk with her. How deeply she had needed his friendship in the years he’d been away.

  She leaned her shoulder against the tall brick column that made up one side of the arch under which carriages passed on their way up the drive to Carlisle Manor. The iron gates were closed, as they had been for five years. Through their foreboding bars, she could see the grand house, so dark and forlorn.

  “Oh, William,” she whispered. “I wish you would come home.”

  He’d been such a wonderful mixture of friend and older brother when they were children. She’d fully expected that to continue being the case while they were in London, but something had changed between them. Her heart had grown far more tender toward him, attached in a far less brotherly way. She could not, however, fully decide if his sentiments had changed.

  If ever a lady was confused about a gentleman’s regard, she was. Yet she would happily endure that emotional upheaval if only he would return.

  “I miss you.”

  There was no answer, not even the quiet whisper of a breeze.

  Felicity would permit herself only a moment more to wallow in self-pity. She sighed dramatically and allowed her shoulders to slump more than was ladylike. She did not, however, indulge in what would, no doubt, have been a very satisfying bit of foot stomping. She was lonely and confused and worn to a thread, but she was not a child.