by Anna Bradley
“I worked as a washerwoman while my stepmother became employed as a seamstress. I’m afraid that her health won’t allow much else.” Pleasant had noticed that Aine hadn’t been coughing as much as usual, but then, her episodes usually faded in and out. “My brothers are fifteen and eleven and work as chimney sweeps. My sister is only seven, so she remains at home and helps with the cleaning and light cooking.”
“Such difficult occupations for you all,” the countess said with a regrettable shake of her head. “I’ve been telling my husband that conditions for the working classes are deplorable. If only Parliament would take more care to notice the fact.”
“That might come sooner than they imagined,” Cornell murmured from beside her. “But then, that is something I’ll discuss with Lord Haverton a bit later.”
“There’s no need for that,” Xavier returned. “I encourage my wife’s interest in all things, politics included.”
“Very well.” Cornell wiped his mouth with his napkin as the soup was replaced with the second course.
Pleasant’s mouth watered as she eyed the baked fish, asparagus, and Yorkshire pudding with its flaky crust as it was placed in front of her. At this rate, she would snap the strings holding her stays together. But that didn’t keep her from picking up her fork and raising a mouthful of scrumptious food to her lips.
“In regard to reform,” she heard Cornell say. “You already know there has been talk of a rebellion within the guilds.” He paused. “Yesterday I was approached to join the cause.”
Pleasant saw Lord Haverton frown and lean back in his chair. “So the unrest continues to grow.”
“Indeed,” Cornell concurred. “And if something isn’t done quickly, then I fear Parliament will have a mess on their hands to clean up.”
The earl tapped a finger on the table. “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Cornell. I will see what I can do. The last thing the working class people need is any more turmoil in their lives.”
The last part of the meal was custard with orange cream. Pleasant was determined to steal the recipe from the Haverton cook to try and duplicate it for her family for it was Niall’s favorite dessert.
Afterward, the men chose to stay behind to enjoy a brandy, while the countess looped her arm through Pleasant’s and said, “Come, Miss Hill. Any new lady that comes into the house must see my conservatory. I’m quite proud of it.”
“I’d be glad to, Lady Haverton,” Pleasant replied, and she couldn’t help but risk stealing a quick glance at Cornell as she departed. Her chest warmed when she saw that his gaze was fixated on her retreating figure.
***
“I like Miss Hill,” Xavier said once the ladies were gone. “I daresay you seem to be quite enamored with your comely apprentice. Do you intend to make her an offer?”
Cornell couldn’t help but snort. “You’re rather presumptuous.”
“Just observant,” the earl countered. “It doesn’t take a scholar to discern you have developed quite a strong attachment to her. The question is what are you going to do about it?”
He stared into his half-empty wine glass rather than meet the other man’s gaze, where he might see the truth of his feelings, the likes of which he hadn’t quite sorted out himself as yet. “I’ve only known her for two weeks. Don’t you think it’s a bit early for declarations?”
“It’s not unheard of,” his companion murmured. “I knew the first time I met Althea that she was the one.”
“Be that as it may, such sentimentality is beyond my realm of expertise,” Cornell drawled. But then he recalled his reasons for coming here tonight. Pushing his pride aside, he looked to the earl. “I would, however, like to ask a favor of you.”
Xavier didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”
Cornell clenched his jaw and weighed his words carefully. “In spite of my reluctance to join the cause among the guilds, I had a guest the other night, Mr. Ottfield, who inferred that I might have made some enemies in spite of it. I know you can take care of Althea, but—”
“You’re concerned for Miss Hill and her family,” his half-brother finished.
Cornell didn’t have to say anything further. He glanced down at the floor as Lord Haverton guessed correctly.
“In that case, I will make sure that an extra patrol is set up to watch the residence.”
“Thank you.” Cornell rose to his feet. His brother did the same.
“I’m glad to assist in any way I can.” Xavier put his hands on his hips, his green gaze intent. “I’ve told you that numerous times upon your return to London. You’re my only sibling, and while I can’t very well offer you a title or demand that you are accepted in society, I can try to make up for past errors. I just wish that you would believe that I’m not like our father.”
Cornell reached out and set his hand on the earl’s shoulder. It was the first sign of respect that he’d ever offered, and he could tell it surprised Xavier. “I’m starting to,” he said quietly.
As they were making their way to the parlor, they overheard Pleasant and Althea laughing and chatting as if they were old friends, rather than recent acquaintances from completely different worlds.
As they came into view, Xavier murmured near his elbow, “If she had debuted in society, I have no doubt she would have had several offers of marriage during her first season.”
“More than likely,” Cornell concurred. “And suffered a fate worse than death by being attached to some idiot who spends all his time at the gaming tables or his club.”
For some reason, picturing that very scenario caused Cornell no end of frustration. He had to focus so as not to clench his fists and pummel this phantom husband for dishonoring her—and then claiming her for himself.
Pleasant paused beside him in all her glorious beauty, both inside and out, and a brilliant smile lit Althea’s face as she joined her husband. “You’re under the mistletoe.”
Cornell glanced overhead and had to smile as he looked back down at Pleasant. “We seem to be doing that a lot lately,” he teased.
She smiled. “Indeed, we have.”
He brought her within the circle of his arms. “We mustn’t disappoint our hosts,” he murmured, but when he would have kissed her, the butler interrupted.
“Pardon me. A Mr. Niall is at the door, urgently asking for Miss Hill.”
Cornell followed Pleasant as she instantly rushed to the door. When her brother spied her, his face washed in relief. “Pea, come quick! It’s Mama.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Niall had told them, on their rushed trip back in Lord Haverton’s carriage, that his mother had suffered a severe coughing fit and had fallen over unresponsive. Now, as Pleasant paced the room, still dressed in her finery, she waited for news from the doctor who was examining Aine upstairs, while the morale below was rather bleak. Fiona was sitting on Cornell’s lap, for after tonight, he was so much more than just Mr. Reed. She was clutching her rag doll, dried tears on her face. Connor and Niall were sitting near the fire, as quiet as she had ever seen them.
Finally, the physician, an older man with a bushy moustache, came back downstairs carrying his black bag. He shook his head sadly as he addressed the assembled. “I’m afraid it’s consumption.”
Pleasant covered her mouth with her hand as tears instantly pricked the backs of her eyes. Tuberculosis was a death sentence, yet, she couldn’t help but swallow the lump in her throat and ask, “Is there anything that can be done?”
His expression was grim. “I’m afraid it has progressed too far. At this point you must prepare yourself.”
She put a hand to her stomach, but she refused to break down in front of her siblings. She had to be strong for them, for they were about to lose their mother. “I see. Thank you, doctor.”
He nodded and took his leave.
Once he was gone, the shock of his prognosis began to sink in. While no one wanted to address the issue directly, Fiona, in all her innocence asked, “Is Mama going to die?”
Pleasant tried to speak, but her throat had closed up. Thankfully, Cornell turned Fiona to face him and said softly, “Death doesn’t always have to be sad. I fought in many battles where men I respected and admired were taken from this earth much too quickly, but then, I started to imagine that perhaps they were spared from something even worse.”
“What could be worse than death?” Connor sniffed.
He didn’t even hesitate. “Living a life in misery.” At this, even Niall glanced at him. Once he had their full attention, he continued, “Your mother has been suffering from this illness for quite some time. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to lie in bed for the rest of her life. So, do you really want her to stay here and suffer unnecessarily when she could find some relief from her disease?”
“But I’ll miss her,” Fiona said with a pout.
“As you all will.” He tugged on one of her red curls. “But that’s where the memories will continue to live on in your hearts. You will remember your mother when she was strong and lively.”
“Come on, Fi.” Connor walked over and took his little sister’s hand. “Let’s go see, Mama.”
Niall reluctantly trailed behind, but he turned his head and said, “You coming up, Pea?”
She nodded. “I’ll be right there.” Once they were out of sight, she started to breathe more rapidly and deeply than normal. She covered her face with her hands knowing the sobs were coming. “What am I…going to…do?”
A pair of comforting, warm arms surrounded her, and she melted into Cornell’s strength. She cried heavily for a short time, but then composed herself quickly enough. When she drew back, he lifted her chin gently.
“I can’t go back to the shop,” she whispered. “Mama is committed to finishing several more gowns and—”
“Don’t worry about me or the shoes,” he said quietly. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to work extra hours to complete an order. Take the time to be with your family.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Thank you.”
He rose to his feet. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
***
For the next several days, Niall and Connor didn’t sweep chimneys. They stayed close to their mother’s bedside, along with Fiona, and read her stories while she lay there and listened. Whether or not she actually comprehended what was being said, Pleasant didn’t know, but the contented smile on Aine’s face showed that at least she was happy to have her children near.
Pleasant, on the other hand, stayed busy sewing downstairs from dawn to well past dusk, creating fine dresses like the one she’d carefully folded and returned to its box, where it now sat tucked under her bed with the gold shoes.
She found that her eyes welled up with moisture several times, for she missed her stepmother sitting in this very chair. And while Pleasant wanted to give her family the Christmas that they deserved, she feared that was no longer a possibility. If it wasn’t because of Aine’s poor health, now that the boys weren’t working, the holiday season was looking rather bleak.
Already, their funds were starting to deplete, the cost for the physician’s call and the money she put aside for Aine’s burial taking the remainder of the advance Pleasant had received from Cornell. Anything else she made from sewing was going to cover the rent and what little food they could manage.
The only bright spot to Pleasant’s current existence was the daily visit from Cornell. The day after Aine’s episode, he brought some scones from the bakery. The next, he’d bought woolen scarves for Pleasant and her siblings. Each time he appeared, he brought something new, and Pleasant could tell that, although Aine’s health was a constant concern, they looked forward to these thoughtful gestures from him.
It was during one of these visits that Pleasant went upstairs to show her stepmother the carved miniature that Cornell had given her.
“Mama?” she said softly.
Aine slowly opened her eyes. When she saw Pleasant, she smiled, but didn’t speak. Her strength was quickly waning with each passing day.
She held up the small, wooden elephant. “Isn’t it wonderful? The others will be up shortly. We all have something different.”
When Aine finally spoke, it was soft and slightly raspy. “Mr. Reed is a…good man.”
“He certainly is,” Pleasant agreed.
“Do you…love him?”
Until then, Pleasant hadn’t allowed herself to fantasize about a life with Cornell, but now she found her lips curving upward. “I think so.”
“Then you…have my…blessing.” She paused, as if to gather her remaining energy.
“Shh. Don’t tire yourself unnecessarily.”
Aine’s eyes were fierce as she concentrated on Pleasant’s face. She held out a pale hand. “I may not have…given birth to you, but you have always…been a true daughter…to me. I love…you.”
Pleasant fought against a wave of growing emotion as she clutched Aine’s hand. “And I love you. Thank you for being a true mother to me,” she whispered. “I will always be grateful for the home you provided for me.”
“I fear that…I will have to leave you…soon. Take care of…the children.”
“You know I will,” Pleasant vowed, tears starting to course silently down her face. “As I always have. But I don’t intend for you to leave me just yet.”
Aine smiled and her eyes drifted shut. “Your father would have…been proud of you.”
Pleasant brushed a stray curl from Aine’s forehead and waited for her stepmother to speak again.
It wasn’t long before she realized Aine had closed her eyes in eternal sleep.
***
Mrs. Aine Hill was laid to rest on a Thursday, the twenty-first of December.
Other than Pleasant, her siblings, and Cornell at the graveside, the earl and his family had arrived to pay their respects.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The earl bowed respectfully to Pleasant.
“Thank you both for coming,” Pleasant said sincerely, but then she found her attention was drawn to Fiona and Louisa, who were huddled together a short distance away. It appeared as though they were inspecting her little sister’s rag doll.
“They seem to have attached quite easily to one another,” the countess remarked.
About that time, the girls ran toward them. Louisa addressed her father. “Papa, I’d like to give Fi one of my dolls. I honestly have more than I can play with.”
“That’s very kind of you, Louisa,” the earl replied with a smile.
“Pea,” Connor said from her elbow. “I’d like to show Freddy my tin soldiers sometime.”
“Freddy?” Pleasant couldn’t help but smile. Even though her heart was broken, it did her spirit good to see her siblings taking to the earl’s children so easily.
But then, she looked around for Niall and saw him standing alone, his back to the group as he stared off into the distance.
“I worry about him,” she told Cornell. “I don’t think he’s shed one tear during all of this.”
He rubbed her back in a comforting manner. “It happened rather quickly. He probably just needs some time to deal with his grief.”
Pleasant sighed. “I need to try and talk to him.” Cornell nodded his understanding as she excused herself and walked toward her brother.
“Niall?”
He didn’t immediately turn his head, and she thought he might not reply, but then he looked at her, and the pain she saw in his gaze was enough to cause an answering ache in her chest. “Coming to London was supposed to be easier than living in Ireland. It was a new beginning.” He turned his attention back to the city beyond the cemetery, where the sky was starting to thicken with gray clouds. “But it’s only been worse.”
Pleasant’s heart went out to him. No doubt, as the oldest of her siblings, at fifteen he thought he had to bear most of the burdens on his young shoulders. “Niall, Mama was sick before we even came to England. She’s been dealing with ill health since long before Papa died.”
&n
bsp; He turned to her, his earlier upset shuttered, his voice void of emotion. “I don’t care. I hate it here. I’m going back to Ireland.”
He brushed past her and ran off.
Pleasant let him go, feeling that perhaps Cornell was right and he just needed some room to deal with his emotions, but when night fell and Niall hadn’t yet returned home, she started to grow worried, especially after the snow that had threatened earlier began to fall in earnest.
Cornell had escorted Pleasant, Connor, and Fiona back to their lodgings, but now he shrugged on his greatcoat. “I’ll find him.”
***
Cornell wandered the streets, stopping now and again to ask about anyone that might fit Niall’s description. He had a feeling he hadn’t gone far, but it wasn’t until well past midnight that he finally gained a lead.
Reluctantly, he walked into a crowded, local pub and found Niall there, and looking three sheets to the wind. Cornell walked up to where he was sitting at a booth with two men who looked rather willing to take advantage of a young man’s naïveté.
“I think it’s time for you to go home, Niall.”
The boy lifted his head and squinted through inebriated, bloodshot eyes, a nearly empty mug of ale at his elbow. “I’m no’ goin’ anywhere,” he slurred. He waved a hand and nearly smacked one of his compatriots in the face. “I don’t feel like leavin’ my new friends.”
Cornell crossed his arms and glared at him. He didn’t want to be too hard on the young man after what he’d just endured, but he also had to see sense. He just hoped he might make this easy. “Your sister is worried sick.”
Niall slammed his fist on the table. “She’s no’ my mother! She can’t tell me wha’ t’ do!”
Cornell sighed. “So it’s to be the hard way,” he muttered. He reached out and grabbed Niall by his jacket collar and lifted him out of his seat. “You’re coming with me. Now.”
One of the men rose to his feet. “’E can’t leave jus’ yet.”
