To Heal a Heart

by Anthea Lawson

  “Not at all. In fact, I feel I am finally making things completely right.” His eyes were misty with unspoken emotion. “I would like to formally adopt you. I want you to be my daughter.”

  Eyes suddenly hot with tears, Caroline flung herself out of her chair and into his arms. The happy news acted as a key, unlocking the gate of her tears, so that she could not stop. A great flurry of emotions whirled through her, like the swirl of petals she had driven through earlier: she was alone, she belonged, she was brokenhearted, she was whole. It was as if everything she had been holding tightly inside had come loose and swept her away.

  Uncle Denby patted her shoulder, then offered his handkerchief when at last she drew in a ragged gulp of air and wiped her eyes.

  “I…thank you, Uncle. I am, as you see, quite overcome.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Now your waistcoat is damp.”

  “It is a negligible price to pay for your happiness.”

  “I have always been happy here. You know James and I always, always felt welcome.”

  He cleared his throat. “It is not the same as having the legal status of family, as being my daughter by law as well as inclination. I have given this a great deal of thought. With your brother now master of Somergate and happily married, I wanted to make sure you were provided for as well. As an heir of the Earl of Twickenham.”

  She blinked back more tears. “You know I can have no objection, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Reggie will be livid.” It was difficult to imagine her cousin being any more intolerable than he already was, but this news would no doubt enrage him.

  “He already knows, and has accepted the fact. Besides, I am the earl, am I not? Do not fret, my dear.” His voice took on a serious edge. “There is one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “If he stirs up any trouble for you over it, or behaves abominably, you must inform me. He will be embarked upon a career in India before he can turn about.”

  “I hardly think it will come to that.” Although perhaps she was putting her cousin in a better light than he deserved. Reggie had already proven he considered the earldom and all its benefits as belonging to him and him alone. When her brother, James, had inherited Somergate it had infuriated their cousin. He had gone to despicable lengths to try to prevent the estate passing to James, including threats, sabotage, and blackmail.

  “Well then,” Uncle Denby gave a satisfied nod. “I think we should host some sort of event to celebrate. Next month, as soon as it becomes official. Would a ball be too much, do you think?”

  “We are entering the height of the Season. I think a ball would be just the thing.” She leaned into him once more, breathing in his comforting tobacco scent. “And I am honored—beyond honored—to become your daughter.”

  As for Reggie, she would be on her guard. To what lengths would he go this time? She simply had no idea.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Welcome, Viscount Keefe.” Mrs. Culbert, headmistress of the Twickenham Boarding School, made him an impeccable curtsey, then turned her amiable smile to Caroline. “And welcome home, mistress. It was not the same with both you and Mrs. Farnsworth gone from London. But please, let me offer you a seat.” She hurried over and patted the back of one of the overstuffed chintz chairs in her office.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said, “but Viscount Keefe is eager to see the school. As I explained in my note, we will be giving him and my new secretary, Miss Briggs, a tour. Were you able to make everything ready? I’m aware you have a busy schedule.”

  “Oh, there’s that much to do, as you know. But this visit is a special occasion, with special guests.” The headmistress shot a glance toward the viscount.

  “Indeed,” Caroline said. “I will attend the next meeting of the staff. We can catch up on business then.”

  “Miss Huntington is still involved here?” Viscount Keefe asked the matron.

  Mrs. Culbert gave an emphatic nod. “We couldn’t manage without her. But let’s go on—I’m sure you’ll want to see the classes before the girls break for lunch.”

  Caroline stepped into the hallway, noting with approval that the school seemed as well kept as usual. She hoped the viscount would be able to tell that it was a superior institution.

  From a nearby classroom drifted the sound of young voices reciting conjugations. She smiled at the headmistress. “How is the new English teacher coming along?”

  “Miss Layton, such a dear. She was surprised to find we don’t use the cane or dunce cap here, and the notion the girls get regular baths and proper nutrition—well. It’s clear the poor thing has seen the worst of boarding schools, sad to say. But she’s more than happy to adopt our ways.”

  The viscount turned to Caroline. “I take it you have some unusual practices in place here?”

  “By unusual you mean that regular waves of typhus don’t sweep through, the girls are decently clothed and fed, and we adhere to certain standards of instruction? I am proud to say the Twickenham School is most unusual in that regard.”

  Viscount Keefe nodded. “It seems very laudable.”

  They spent the next hour looking in on the classrooms, where they were the object of many bright and curious glances. Some of the older girls giggled upon catching sight of the handsome viscount and had to be reprimanded, but overall Caroline felt the tour was going quite smoothly. The viscount asked a few questions about day-to-day activities, which she and the matron answered in turn. Pen, for her part, took it all in with wide eyes. Perhaps she was imagining what her life could have been like here, under different circumstances.

  “Where do you find your pupils?” the viscount asked Caroline as they returned to the stairs, where the transom window laid a fan of light on the polished wooden floor.

  “They find us, at least now the school’s reputation is established.” It was a fact she was inordinately proud of. “Given the state of most charity schools, children stay far away from them if they can. The workhouse, even begging on street corners, is considered a better alternative. But word is out that things are different at the Twickenham School. Now we rarely have openings. It’s the saddest thing, to turn children away.”

  “Thus your desire to expand the school.”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Culbert said, leading them up the stairway. “We are crowded as it is—not overcrowded, you understand, but more than full. And here is the dormitory.” She swung open a wide door.

  The clean scent of laundry soap hung over the rows of quiet beds, windows piercing the wall at regular intervals. Viscount Keefe strode over to peer outside.

  “I see you have a courtyard and garden.”

  The headmistress nodded. “Fresh air is very important.”

  “And the garden helps provide food for the kitchen,” Caroline added. “The school does what it can to sustain itself.” She shot a quick glance at the viscount, relieved to see approval in his expression.

  “Oh, and here’s poor little Livvy Brentwick.” The matron bustled to one of the far beds, where a small occupant, pale and dark eyed, watched the approaching visitors. “How are you feeling, love?”

  “Tired. And hot,” came the quiet reply.

  Caroline moved to the bedside and gave Mrs. Culbert an inquiring look.

  “Fever for the last two days,” the headmistress said, “but she’s recovering well. Over the worst of it now, I’d say.”

  “It’s tedious to have to spend days in bed, isn’t it?” Caroline smiled down at the girl and placed a hand on her cheek. A fever, but not raging, just as Mrs. Culbert had said. She took up a cloth from beside the washbasin, dampened it, and gently laid it across the girl’s forehead. “Is that better?”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  She pulled the covers around the girl. “Now you sleep and mend, Miss Livvy Brentwick.” Already the child’s eyes were half closed. They must have woken her when they entered. Caroline laid a finger to her lips and they departed the dormitory.

  As they headed for the foy
er Viscount Keefe gave her an appraising look. “So you are the school nurse as well, Miss Huntington?”

  “Hardly. I haven’t the knowledge or training. But Mrs. Farnsworth and I believe we need to care for these children’s bodies if we want to be effective in educating their minds.”

  “The dispensary project.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled up at him. How perceptive he was. “Not to mention that most of the lower classes go without medical care except in the most dire of circumstances—ones that often can be forestalled by proper treatment early on.”

  “An excellent notion.” They had reached the front door, and he turned to give the matron an elegant bow that made her blush. “I’ve enjoyed seeing your school. Thank you, Mrs. Culbert, for the tour.”

  “Thank you so much for coming, my lord,” she said. “And we shall see you again soon, Miss Huntington.”

  “Of course, and Miss Briggs as well. Good day.”

  They stepped out, the scent of lemon oil and the hubbub of just released classes replaced by the harsh smell of smoke and the racket of carts in the street.

  “Well,” Viscount Keefe said as they descended the steps. “I must say I’m impressed. Your school seems to be well run and there is no doubt it’s making a large difference in the lives of those girls.”

  She smiled up at him. “I think so, too. But there’s always more that can be done. The building we are hoping to use as the dispensary is just across the street. Would you care to see it?”

  “Of course.”

  Caroline nodded to Pen and the three of them paused, waiting for a break in the cabs and carts moving along the busy street. At length the traffic thinned and they started across.

  “Caroline!” Pen’s warning was shrill.

  Caroline glanced up, catching a confused impression of a horse and cab bearing down on her, the clatter of hooves too loud. She tried to hurry out of the way, but the driver veered, coming dangerously close.

  Her foot slipped on the slick cobblestones and she tumbled down, landing on her hands and knees on the hard stones. She tried to scramble up, knowing with a dreadful certainty she was too far from the safety of the curb. Too far. In the next moment she would be crushed by the weight of trampling horses, the cruel metal-bound wheels.

  She closed her eyes. For an instant the image of sunlight flooding through linen curtains flashed through her mind.

  Then strong hands grasped her, hauled her away from the oncoming cab and onto the safety of the sidewalk.

  “That cabbie almost made a mess of you. A bit too close for comfort now, weren’t it?”

  Caroline blinked up in surprise at the large-boned woman who had pulled her out of danger.

  “Take more care when crossing, miss,” the woman said, extending a calloused hand to help Caroline to her feet. Her voice was deep, her breath flavored with juniper. She brushed at Caroline’s skirts, then gave a nod. “You’ll be all right now?”

  Caroline swallowed. “I…think so.” She glanced up, looking for her companions. Pen had one hand over her mouth and was white as fresh cotton, while Keefe seemed frozen with shock, eyes wide and fingers trembling.

  “Thank you—so very much,” She fumbled in her reticule, wanting to give the woman something more than just words.

  “Ah, no need for that, miss. I’ve seen you before.” She pointed with her chin to the Twickenham School. “You’re to do with the school. That’s thanks enough.” She collected her abandoned basket from the pavement and settled it on one ample hip, then lifted her hand in farewell, turned, and disappeared back into the fabric of her own life.

  “Caro, Caro!” Pen caught her arm.

  “Are you injured?” Viscount Keefe’s voice was unsteady as he hurried to her side. “Be damned but that was a close call.”

  “I’m in one piece.” Her heart still thudding uncomfortably in her chest, her body trembling, she slowly began to believe she was safe.

  “The cab…” Pen’s voice was tight with fear. “It was Mr. Simms in the cab.”

  “But that’s impossible.” Caroline peered down the street and took a quick step back. “Why would he be here in London?”

  “I don’t know, but he is. How did he find us here?” The girl’s hand tightened painfully on Caroline’s arm. “He tried to run you down!”

  Viscount Keefe laid a hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “It’s a busy street and there are careless drivers aplenty. Anyone who steps off the curb is in danger—but attempted murder? Before all these witnesses? It hardly seems likely.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sure the viscount is right,” Caroline said. It had been frightening enough without imagining Mr. Simms was pursuing her. “There are many people in London. You could have easily seen someone who resembled the man. But it could not have been Mr. Simms. He went to Italy.”

  The girl shook her head. “I am not mistaken.”

  Caroline glanced once more down the street. There was no sign of the cab or its reckless driver. She could not believe Mr. Simms would be in London and commanding a cab with the sole intent of running her down. “Don’t worry, Pen. We’ll just be more careful crossing from now on.”

  Pen opened her mouth, seeming ready to argue, but Viscount Keefe cut her off. “There’s the spirit. Now, it would be best for everyone if I escorted you ladies home.”

  “No need. Truly, I am quite recovered,” Caroline said. “Please, come see the dispensary building. We are here, after all. It will not take long.”

  He regarded her, green eyes narrowed in concern. “As long as we do not keep you overlong. You’ve had a shock, and I daresay will need to recover from it.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, my lord.” She led them to the stoop of the empty building. “We’ll be quick, I promise.” She produced the key and unlocked the door. The viscount and Pen followed her inside.

  It was a quiet tour, with Caroline outlining her thoughts about the various rooms and what the dispensary could offer. Pen remained silent, but the viscount was encouraging. They paused in one of the south rooms where a stray beam of sunlight slanted between the dust motes.

  “What do you think, my lord? It’s an ambitious project, I know, but the potential is great.”

  He gave her one of his charming smiles. “I couldn’t agree more. I’d like to consult with my solicitors, Miss Huntington, but to speak candidly, I like your projects very much—and I admire your obvious passion for your cause. I would be pleased to assist you.”

  She smiled at him, relief and happiness smoothing through her. “That is most kind. It is a great honor to have your support and interest.”

  He took her hand and pressed it between his own. “You have had my interest from the moment I laid eyes on you, and you shall have my devoted support as soon as the legalities of my inheritance are taken care of. These matters take some time, I fear.”

  “Of course they do.” She refused to let herself be disappointed. “Your support speaks highly of your character, my lord. It means a great deal to the school.” She met his eyes. “And to me.”

  His smile broadened, and she felt warmth touch her cheeks as he held her gaze. Then he released her and reached for his pocket watch. “Oh dear, look what time it is. I must be getting you home at once. I’ve an appointment with an old friend I simply must keep.”

  “Of course.”

  “I do regret that I must rush off.” He held the door open for her and Pen. “If I may make so bold, Miss Huntington, may I ask for the pleasure of your company at the opera next week?” When she hesitated—out of surprise, nothing more—he added, “We can further discuss the school and dispensary.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said firmly, ignoring Pen’s raised eyebrows. It was definitely an invitation that suggested more than a simple business relationship.

  She discounted the frown gathering on Pen’s face. The girl would learn soon enough the intricacies of these kinds of negotiations.

  ~*~

  The next t
hree weeks passed in a whirl of activity. And if some nights found Caroline staring sleeplessly up at the bed canopy while memories of Crete and the man she had left there played through her mind, other nights she tumbled instantly into exhausted dreaming.

  Viscount Keefe had been very attentive. In addition to attending the opera, he had squired her to a musicale and an exhibit, and she knew the amount of attention he was paying her was inspiring speculation. Let the gossips talk. He was a fine man. She could do worse. In fact, she had done worse, not so long ago.

  She had been busy at the Twickenham School and with plans for the dispensary—finding workmen who could set about remodeling the building as soon as the funds became available and interviewing prospective physicians. Although none seemed as capable as the man who haunted her nights.

  Dear heavens, Alex Trentham was over a thousand miles away, and never going to be any closer than that. Her battered heart should have learned that lesson, but still she found herself watching the evening sky from her window, finding the band of color that was the exact indigo of his eyes, remembering his rare smile.

  She was not wrong to accept invitations from the viscount. He was going to sponsor the infirmary, after all. Admittedly, it was easier to forget Alex while laughing at some outrageous flattery of Viscount Keefe’s. His company was a relief in so many ways. He was charming, easy to talk with, and certainly more than pleasant in his features. He did not make her feel as though she were about to plunge into the heart of a storm—but that was a good thing. Long-term alliances were built on shared values and mutual esteem. The fact that financial matters were moving so slowly was certainly not his fault.

  He came to call on Saturday afternoon. Pen took tea with them, then excused herself to finish up some letters, and Caroline and the viscount went out into the gardens to stroll. Though small compared to the overwhelming verdancy of her brother’s country estate, Twickenham House’s gardens were impressive enough. A gravel path took them out through the rigid hedges of the knot garden, past a profusion of tight-budded lavender waiting for July, and beyond the yew break to her favorite part of the garden.