Wolfolk held him tightly in his arms, which at first Caroline thought was a way to comfort him. Wolfolk himself looked pale, his eyes only on the boy. Then he looked up at Caroline helplessly.
“He was just a few feet away....” he said, his voice sounded raw, as though it hurt him to talk. “I could have gotten him out of the way of the horse if I moved faster.”
Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat. It was terrible to see them both this way.
“Shush,” she said. “No need to worry about that now. We need to get him to a doctor.”
He nodded and tears filled his eyes. “I was so close…” he repeated.
Caroline squeezed his arm as the cab clattered down the street.
Alexander realized how well he remembered the sound from battle when he heard it again: bone and cartilage shattering together when the horse hit the boy.
After that, Wolfolk heard nothing. He saw the boy fly through the air and then ran to him. Then he pressed the boy tightly in his arms.
If I keep a close enough hold on him, perhaps he won't die.
That was ridiculous, he knew. But the thought thrummed in his head in time with his battering heartbeat. And somehow, it helped him move forward.
Hold him close, so he won’t die.
Caroline appeared. He wasn’t sure where she came from, but she pulled him towards an empty cab. They stopped in front of a tidy house on the street, and an older man with silver hair pulled the boy from him, taking him inside. Alexander hadn’t wanted to let him go. Caroline took off the boy’s dirty shirt and smoothed his forehead after the man set him on a table.
Caroline's hand moved over the boy's forehead, gently wiping away dirt and perspiration. How was she so calm? She murmured soft reassurances to the boy. Alexander couldn't make out what she said, but it was tender. She would have been an asset on the battlefield, he marveled. He knew firsthand how few people could keep their head in a crisis and how rare it was. A stern-faced nurse wearing an apron marched in, and he and Caroline were pushed out of the room.
There he sat, his arms achingly empty, in an absurdly polite room outside the doctor’s examination room, Caroline next to him.
The boy couldn’t die. He simply couldn’t. He wanted to shake the doctor by the shirt collar and tell him that.
If he died, it would be his fault. He’d been right next to him. He could have stretched his arm out and pushed the boy out of the way, but he hadn’t been quick enough.
His throat burned.
He hadn’t been quick enough.
He couldn’t be the cause of another’s innocent’s death. It simply couldn’t happen. Because if it did, then it wasn’t a fluke, it was something worse. A pattern. A part of who he was.
He exhaled shakily.
Next to her, Alexander slumped in his seat.
She wanted to ask if he was all right but she kept quiet. Now that she sat down, she thought she may collapse. She could barely raise her head. She ran through a list of things that needed to be done. The boy’s mother would have to be contacted immediately, as well as the Stanwycks. Nelly and the guests needed to go back to Howsham.
“We must send notice to Lord and Lady Stanwyck immediately,” she said, thinking out loud.
Alexander nodded a moment later, as though it took him a few seconds to understand what she’d said.
“I will do it,” he said. For the first time since the accident, he looked at her instead of staring into space.
“His leg is bad,” he said, voice breaking. Tears filled his eyes. “I was so close. I could have pulled him out of the way.”
“Shush,” she said, turning to him quickly. “You probably saved his life by being there.”
Tears spilled out of his eyes and down his cheek. She had never seen an adult man cry before. His handsome face crumpled. He wiped his hand over his eyes. “I should have gotten to him sooner.”
Despite her fatigue, she moved off her chair and crouched directly in front of him so he had to hear her. He looked at her helplessly.
“You did the best thing you could. You grabbed him and brought him here. You cannot be blamed for his injury.”
He looked so serious, so bereft, she almost couldn’t recognize him. His expression told her he didn’t believe her.
“It’s not enough,” he said. Another tear rolled off his chin, and he hung his head.
Caroline grasped his hand in hers and held it tightly. She wanted to take away his pain. How could he blame himself?
Just then Sutherland burst into the physician’s office. “Good lord, what’s happened?”
Sutherland’s entrance blew fresh air into the room and seemed to wake Alexander from his trance-like state. He wiped his chin, and Caroline moved away from his chair.
“The doctor is examining him,” Alexander said. “I’ll ride to Howsham and inform Lady and Lord Stanwyck of the accident.” He met Caroline’s gaze momentarily and then swept out of the room.
“I need to check on Nelly and the girls,” Caroline said.
Sutherland smiled in a surprisingly kind way. “Miss Featherton and the girls are fine, although understandably upset. Is the boy’s mother a guest at Howsham?”
Caroline shook her head. “No, he is a child of Lady Stanwyck’s sister. I believe she is traveling in Europe.”
He nodded sadly. “I can wait here for word if you’d like to take the girls back to Howsham. You are probably better equipped with stemming their tears.”
Caroline nodded at Sutherland in a grateful way. He was surprisingly helpful. It was a side to him she hadn't yet seen.
“That's very kind of you, sir.” Caroline paused. “Did you witness the accident?”
He shook his head, looked down and tugged at his gloves.
“Only after the boy was hit. A terrible thing to view.”
She nodded. Tears suddenly blurred her vision.
Her heart hurt for Wolfolk now that he was gone.
Alexander regretfully told Lord and Lady Stanwyck of the accident after he raced back to Howsham. Lady Stanwyck gasped and turned ashen, and Stanwyck himself paled as he told them the news. It was decided that Lady Stanwyck would sit vigil in the doctor's office while the boy was in surgery to save his leg. She left immediately for the doctor’s home.
After she left, Stanwyck poured he and Wolfolk two large glasses of brandy.
“You look like you need this more than I,” Stanwyck said as he slid the glass across his desk to Wolfolk.
Alexander said nothing. His thoughts churned over and over, replaying the accident and thinking how he might have pulled the boy out of the horse’s way at the last moment. He took his glass.
“The boy spoke to me just before the horse hit him, you know,” he told Stanwyck, who had drained his brandy in one long swig.
“What’s that to do with anything?” Stanwyck asked, setting the crystal glass on his desk.
Alexander said nothing for a moment.
“He was right in front of me when he got hit,” Alexander said finally.
Stanwyck sighed. “That’s a terrible thing to have to see.”
Alexander shook his head. “He was right in front of me. Had I moved faster, I could have gotten him out of the way.”
Stanwyck looked at him quizzically and poured another glass. “I’m sure if you’d been able to, you would have pulled the boy to safety.”
Alexander threw back his glass and welcomed the warm burn down his throat.
“I was too slow.”
“Don’t be daft. You couldn’t have known the horse would bolt.”
Alexander set his glass on the table, listening to the clink it made.
Stanwyck smiled gently. “All accidents can’t be prevented. Even by war heroes like yourself.”
Alexander laughed hollowly. “Some war hero. You should tell the boy’s parents that his injuries are my fault, and I will pay for any medical care or help he needs.”
Stanwyck’s face erupted in anger. “I will say nothin
g of the kind. Are you mad? I will not let you take the blame for a senseless act of God. And no sane person would blame you either.”
Alexander felt something start to unravel inside him. He knew Stanwyck wouldn’t understand. Stanwyck had always done the right thing in life. He never hesitated.
Alexander rested his forehead in his hands. Stanwyck couldn’t understand because he hadn’t been there. Alexander saw many soldiers lose limbs in the war. He couldn’t stomach that the same may happen to the boy before he had even grown. The thought made him ill.
“He may lose his leg,” Alexander said, his voice breaking, not meeting Stanwyck’s eyes.
“It’s terrible. But you can’t blame yourself.”
Alexander almost laughed and looked at the floor.
“Sometimes there’s no one to blame.” Stanwyck poured Alexander more brandy in his glass. “Here, drink this. Do not take offense, but you sound like a mad man. Then go and spend time with the children. See how well they recover. Children’s resilience is a miraculous thing.”
Alexander sneered in a way he knew was bitter and unpleasant. “I’ve likely just mangled a child, and you want me to go out and play with others?” he said, downing the last of his brandy.
“No, you blasted fool, I want you to stop blaming yourself for an accident that was not your fault.”
Alexander stood up and threw the crystal glass to the fireplace where it shattered, ringing in Alexander’s ears.
He tried to slow his rushed breathing.
Stanwyck looked back at him.
“The boy’s accident was not your fault. Just like your wife’s death was not your fault. You stoke these miseries with bitterness and they eat you up inside.”
Alexander walked out of the office. His chest felt hollow, as though a rough wind could push him down.
Stanwyck didn’t understand at all.
23
Late that afternoon, Alexander sat in his bedchamber and watched white clouds skitter across the sky. In the garden, the children, as well as Nelly and the girls gathered on the outdoor deck below. Alexander breathed in the fresh air and angled himself so he couldn’t be easily seen by anyone below. Right now, he couldn’t bear being too close to the children.
One child chased another in circles, and several others gathered around a small basket in the garden. Caroline—tall and calm—stood in the middle of everything. In Lady Stanwyck’s absence, she took charge of the girls and escorted them to the garden to embroider and mind the younger children. In a flash of nursemaid genius, she’d had a groom bring the barn’s latest batch of kittens to the garden so they had something to distract them. Between that and Jezebel the squirrel, any leftover tears dried remarkably quickly.
“Look at how pretty this one is,” Alice said, picking up a gray striped kitten and holding it next to her face. The other girls laughed as it squirmed from her grasp.
“It doesn’t like you,” one of them said.
“Of course it does,” she replied and laid back, placing it on her chest and petting it.
Caroline made sure none of the kittens were manhandled and that the children were occupied. The accident seemed miles away. Most of the children sat in the shade, petting the animals.
Something scratched at his bedchamber door. Alexander, without thinking, stood up, walked to the door and opened it. It was Louie, of course, wanting to come in and lie at his feet. He scratched the dog’s ears and gazed down at the garden from the window. The dog looked up at him with his big, liquid eyes and settled on the floor. For a moment, Alexander marveled at his blind loyalty. How foolish Louie was to attach itself to him when it had a perfectly good owner in Stanwyck.
“Why do you follow me?” Alexander said. “Your life here is damnably perfect.”
Down on the porch, Caroline bent down and tied the laces of a young girl’s boots. Her hair looked the color of dark honey in the sunshine.
She was lovely, but more importantly, she was a lovely person inside: kind, sensible, and honest. A wave of regret and emotion stirred in his chest. Life was so uncertain. The dog sat up and settled his broad head on Alexander’s knee. The gesture touched him anew, and he cried harder. On the heels of his tears was something else. It was a new feeling. He had not felt it in a long time. But it was new and stirring, and he wanted to nurture it, not turn it away. He knew it was his only chance.
Caroline.
He had been too blind with his misery to see it.
He saw her showing a child how to hold a kitten. That was strength, he realized. Not might, but kindness. He had always believed that men, including himself, were strong, but now he saw that nurturing the weak was real strength.
Why had he never seen this before?
She had been right in front of him all along.
Lady Stanwyck returned several hours later, exhausted and famished, but with the welcome news that the boy was still alive. He’d survived his surgery, and the doctor hoped that he reset the boy’s leg well enough to heal so that perhaps he could walk again someday. But they would have to wait and see.
“That’s wonderful,” Lord Stanwyck said when she told them the news. Lord Stanwyck, Caroline, Nelly, her mama, and the rest of the children were in front of the fireplace, drinking tea and cakes. Caroline had not seen Wolfolk all afternoon.
“Thank goodness,” Mrs. Featherton said to Nelly. “See? I did not think he was very badly injured. I have a good sense about these things.” She smiled with satisfaction.
Lady Stanwyck hugged her children and then stood up and moved to her husband, smoothing her hair. Her pretty eyes had small, tired pouches under them.
“He is not out of the woods yet. We must pray he heals,” Lady Stanwyck said and leaned into her husband’s outstretched arm.
“You look fatigued. Why don’t we have your maid draw you a bath?”
She nodded wearily, and her maid scurried upstairs.
“Does this mean we can have our engagement party?” Nelly asked her mother, loud enough for all to hear. Caroline winced at the girl’s timing.
“Nelly…” she started to say.
“Of course!” Nelly’s Mama replied, sending Caroline a sharp look and grasping the girl’s hands. “There’s no reason for mourning. You shall have the nicest engagement party this summer!”
Caroline saw Lord and Lady Stanwyck exchange brief, concerned looks.
“Perhaps we should wait and see how the boy does,” Caroline offered, trying to find a compromise between Nelly and the boy’s injury. “It would be a bad omen for anything to happen during your party.”
Mrs. Featherton scoffed. “We cannot wait too long. And we only have another week here in the country.” She paused to reframe her argument. “Perhaps a party will raise the boy’s spirits?”
She had found a way to make her daughter’s party not entirely about Nelly.
“Perhaps,” Caroline said. “We need to tell Wolfolk,” Stanwyck said, and looked at Caroline. “He is reading in the library. Would you? I’m sure it will be welcomed news.”
Caroline saw her gesture to her and nodded.
The library in the Stanwyck home was an airy, comfortable room with tall windows letting in swaths of late-afternoon sunshine. It was much more welcoming than most libraries in other great homes she’d seen. Books lined the shelves along the walls, and in the center of the room, two long floral loveseats faced each other so that people could comfortably sit and read.
It was one of her favorite rooms.
Four large vases containing flowers from the garden sat on each of the side tables of the loveseats, so it was easy to feel quite private when one was tucked away on the couch, reading.
Wolfolk was seated in such a spot, half hidden by a vases’ purple and yellow flowers. She saw his long legs sprawled next to the loveseat as soon as she walked in. She almost stopped, but that was silly—though he intimidated her still.
“My lord,” she said as she walked past the flowers. His face was pale but was still s
tartlingly handsome. His somber expression made her want to back away from him. But she forced herself to approach him.
“Lady Stanwyck has returned with news about the boy. His surgery is finished and he is resting. The doctor reset his leg, but we won’t know if he can walk for a while.”
Those dark eyes met hers. As always, she felt their weight.
She stood awkwardly while he looked at her.
“He’s alive?” He asked. His voice cracked, as though he hadn’t spoken all day.
Caroline nodded and smiled.
Impatience shot through her. In what way was this not good news? “Did you hear me? Are you not somewhat pleased?” She said finally.
He blinked at her once. And nodded. “Yes,” he said. His face looked somber as ever. “But a boy is still hurt and may be crippled.”
That was true. She had no answer for that. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but she didn’t. He wouldn’t listen anyway. He was intent on punishing himself for something. When she first met him, it had been his wife. Now, it was the boy’s accident. She could not make him less miserable. She decided there was no use trying.
Instead, she sat down on the loveseat opposite his.
He stared at her. Fiercely.
“Are you cross?” she asked.
His brows drew together. “I’m concerned about the boy.” He sighed and set down his book on a cushion. “I have been told I look angry since I was a boy. It is just how my face is.”
She wondered if she could make him smile.
“That’s too bad. It’s not a bad face. Except for that expression.”
He gave her a blank look. “It’s the only one I have.”
She shifted her weight on the cushion. “Do you know I was afraid of you when I first met you because you looked so angry all the time? Now I know it is just your face.”
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