“I suppose that his escape was a blessing, then,” she said decisively.
“Pardon?”
“Well, if Gerome had not escaped, then there would be no hope for reconciliation or forgiveness. If he had killed me, then he would have hanged for it. This way, there is the possibility of happy conclusion.”
Ewan laughed. “See… remarkable.”
“I think it is more that I am attempting to convince myself,” she admitted. “Whilst I remember, what happened to Mr. Booth? I suppose we owe him something of an apology, though it will pain me to do so. He was innocent of these threats, but he was a vile man prior. His innocence does not change that.”
“Ah, so you are human,” he teased. “Never fear, you do not even have to see Mr. Booth if you do not wish to. He has returned to the employ of Lord Averson with his reputation bolstered and is to stay on at his Scarborough residence for the foreseeable.”
“I suppose that is fortunate for him. And his wife?”
“She is to stay with him. Your father has also offered them a small sum of money, so that they may live in some comfort,” he explained. “He did not know about Isobel’s existence, but I told him of her warning to you, and your father duly rewarded her. Not Mr. Booth himself, I hasten to add.”
“And you say that I am your dearest love?” She looked up into his eyes, registering his surprise.
He smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You are, my love. I did not know before, but yesterday made me see clearly. I have avoided happiness for so long for fear of losing it, but I cannot deny my feelings for you.” He dipped his head shyly, before lifting his gaze again. “I love you, Henrietta. I am sorry it has taken me so long to realize it.”
Her heart swelled. “And I love you, Ewan, though I will not call you Ewan often. I much prefer the way my Lord Marquess irks you, and one should always tease in a marriage.”
“I think you may be too fond of teasing,” he replied, his face beaming with happiness.
“Perhaps,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Now, I had a thought whilst I was asleep, which I hope you will agree to.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Go on…”
“Well, as you and I did not have the most orthodox of starts to our marriage, I was wondering if we might have a party of sorts at Nightingale. To us, it would be a wedding—a true one, borne of love and affection. To others, it would simply be a celebration. What do you say?”
“Will you wear a grass-stained dress again, with your hair in tangles?”
She chuckled. “Would you have me any other way?”
“I would not, my love. I truly would not,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I think a wedding sounds like a wonderful idea. I should like to kiss you at the altar and not run from the church this time. Moreover, I would like to see you smile as we commit ourselves to one another, instead of cry.”
“Oh, there may well be tears,” she warned. “But they will be the happiest of tears.”
“Then we shall make it so.”
A knock at the door distracted them from their cheerful reverie, bursting the bubble of their quietude. A moment later, Tabitha’s face appeared around the doorway. Without waiting for permission, she burst into the room and threw herself upon her daughter, cradling her in her arms.
“I was so worried!” Tabitha shrieked. “Your father told me what happened, and I have not been permitted to see you until now. Can you fathom it? Why, I almost beat that Ronscales fellow about the head with the morning paper for denying me entry. But here you are, awake and well. Oh, you cannot understand how glad I am. My dear, dear girl.”
Henrietta wrapped her arms tight around her mother and held her close. She smelled of rosewater and anise, the aroma familiar and nostalgic. Nothing more needed to be said between mother and daughter, for their mutual relief was tangible.
“You must never do such a dangerous thing, ever again,” Tabitha said, as she pulled away. “I do not know how I might have coped without you.”
“You do not need to, Mama. I am here, as you see me.”
“And have you heard what your foolish father has done?” she muttered. “Why, I have half a mind to live elsewhere until that vile man is gone from our home.”
Henrietta smiled. “He must be forgiven, Mama. It will take time, but if he is worthy of it, then he will earn it. Papa must earn some forgiveness too, for the errors in his youth.”
As if summoned by the mention of his endeavors, Aaron entered the room, looking suitably sheepish. Henrietta could tell that he had garnered an earful from his wife for deigning to accept Gerome into their house. No doubt, he had done so without consulting her first. A palpable tension bristled between them as her father approached, though Henrietta felt only gladness. They had all survived, and that was worth being joyful about.
“You are awake,” he said plainly. “I am pleased to see some color in your cheeks.”
Tabitha tutted. “No thanks to you and your useless men.”
“Tabitha, my love. I—”
“Don’t you ‘Tabitha, my love’ me. I will not hear a word of it, not until I decide to forgive you for this,” she said firmly. “You are fortunate that you have such a lenient daughter, for she has decided to side with you. I cannot comprehend why, but she has always been headstrong. Another trait of yours.”
Henrietta grinned, flashing a conspiratorial look at Ewan. “It is good to see you, Papa.”
“And you, my dearest girl,” he replied, relief visibly washing over him. “How do you feel?”
“As though I am on the road to recovery.”
He nodded. “That is splendid news. And the physician has been to see you?”
“He has,” Ewan chimed in.
Aaron cleared his throat. “Well… uh… speaking of physicians. I have something that I would like to tell you, Henrietta.”
She frowned. “Oh?”
“An acquaintance of mine happened to be visiting York, and I rode to meet with him this morning. His name is Dr. Arnold Fischer, and he is one of the most noted surgeons in the country. I spoke with him at great length, and I have persuaded him to tutor you in private at his facilities in London, upon the methodologies and practice of medicine. Although, you are not to speak of it to anyone. Once your studying with him has come to an end, he will personally vouch for a place at one of the educational establishments, in the hopes it will increase your chance of being accepted.”
She gaped at him in disbelief. “This is a trick? I died on the bridge, and this is heaven—it must be!”
“It is no trick, my dear girl. I realized that I have not been as kind to you as I ought to have been, nor I have shown any form of support towards your hopes.” He coughed awkwardly. “However, Lord Peterborough and I have spoken about these hopes of yours, and he persuaded me that they were not as outlandish as they may have seemed. Indeed, the only reason I rode out this morning is because of the discussion we had last night, whilst you were sleeping.”
She looked to Ewan, her eyes wide with admiration. “I do not know how to thank you—either of you.”
“Make something of it,” Ewan said. “Be remarkable, as you already are.”
Aaron nodded. “Yes… do not let it go to waste.”
“I will not,” she promised. “I will make you all so proud.”
“Which is infinitely better than bringing shame upon your house,” Ewan teased with a mischievous wink. “It will be your name that achieves this, not a borrowed one. I am certain of it.”
“I hope so. I really hope so.”
Ewan pressed his hand to his heart, showing her his love without saying it aloud for her parents to hear. She smiled back, pressing her own palm to her heart, returning the love in kind.
How could such good fortune have befallen me? Are you sure this is not heaven? It felt too good to be true, and yet, it was all very real. All the pieces were slotting into place, paving the way towards a happiness she had never expected.
So
mehow, despite hardships and unexpected circumstances, she had ended up with a husband she loved dearly, and a means to pursue her dreams of becoming a physician. She would study under the private tutelage of one of the country’s finest surgeons, and she would become one herself, in the years to come. With Ewan at her side, and love in her heart, there was nothing she could not do.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
Prologue
Balls were impossible places to find peace of mind.
James Campbell, the Duke of Durham, had quite possibly met every marriageable miss within the entire city of London, and it was only a week since the official London Season had begun. He watched the dancers with a certain boredom that came of too much perfection.
His gaze rested on each dancer in turn. It seems an odd complaint. They each spend so much time on dress and hair with the intent of presenting a visually-pleasing spectacle, that more often than not they neglect what’s important.
Was he too particular? He saw Melanie Rothchild look his way and suppressed a shudder. Melanie was everything he loathed about these affairs, and unwittingly he had met her eye. He was duty-bound to nod in her direction, knowing it would only set her toward expectations.
Expectations of young girls were things to be assiduously avoided in his world. He was now beholden to ask Miss Rothchild to dance, and he’d already had that honor once. To do so again would be tantamount to announcing an engagement.
“Excuse me, you are the Duke of Durham, are you not?” The young man standing at his elbow seemed obsequiously out of place among such finery. Not a servant, or at least not obviously so, he was dressed in a plain, well-cut blue jacket, and — shockingly — wore trousers considered fashionably acceptable only during daylight.
Not one to stand on propriety, James smiled all the same, especially when saved from making a spectacle of himself on the dance floor. “I am, sir. And you are?”
“A messenger only, Your Grace. I am most regretful to interrupt your festivities.”
“At Almack’s with dinner about to be served? Such can only be construed as a blessing.” Gesturing for the man to precede him into a private alcove, James asked, “Come, let us find a quiet corner to talk. What message is so important that it could not wait until morning?”
The man took several folded papers from inside his jacket. “I am afraid it is bad news, Your Grace. These papers will explain all.”
“Bad news?” The Duke took the documents, noting the seal as that of his partner, the man who had charge of his entire fleet for the American venture. Feeling somewhat uneasy, to say the least, he broke the seal on the packet and examined the letters, growing more and more agitated as he moved from one page to the next.
“A hurricane,” he said, at last, feeling the room pitch and sway about him, as though he himself were trying to stand in such a gale. “Is it, as they say, the entire fleet gone?” He couldn’t breathe. He’d been against the idea from the start. One didn’t send the entire fleet on one trip. He’d been talked into the venture, and now it was as precisely as he’d feared.
“I am most regretful to tell you that this is indeed the case. The young man bowed. “Lord Collins should have outlined the matter to you enough in the papers presented.”
James rattled the papers at the messenger, knowing full well that he was placing blame on the wrong man. “He more than outlined it. He also made it disturbingly clear that my partner, Mr. Fortesque, was responsible for a rather sizeable loan toward the building of additional ships, but that I had been signed as the holder of that note. Is that not also the case?”
The young man nodded, his voice coming somewhat hoarse as he replied. “I am afraid that is the case, Your Grace.”
“Speak up, man. Do not be afraid to speak plain. According to this, I am a pauper now, am I not?” James threw the papers upon the floor and sank into a chair.
“Not a pauper, Your Grace. You still have, according to the terms of the loan, your estate and the house near the port—”
“Little good that will do me, with no ships arriving in that port again. Where is Fortesque in all of this? Tell me that, will you?”
The boy shuffled his feet, not quite meeting his gaze. James recognized him as being the younger son of the very man who’d sent him. He wasn’t accustomed to playing messenger boy but had in fact been training to take over his father’s business interests someday. “Dead, Your Grace. He heard the news same as you and he…”
“Do not finish, boy. I can guess the rest.” James got to his feet and paced the small room, thankful that space was empty and that the others at the ball were already at their dinner, such as it was. Almack’s was not known for its fine dining. “Quit looking at me so. I am not going to kill myself. It is a cowardly thing to do. Just give me but a moment to think.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the boy said, looking only marginally relieved.
“I am done with this incessant Season. Send word to my man, to pack up the London house. We will leave for Hull in the morning. I will make a few stops first, but I want him to be ready to leave when I get there. Though I suppose I cannot afford his salary either right now, can I?”
The Duke ran a trembling hand through his hair, thinking rapidly. “Lord Collins will be at his club, I suppose?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Right. I will see him first. In the meantime, I best make my excuses.” James laughed then, though the sound was rather mirthless. “There is not a maiden in the place who would have me now. A title without wealth is an empty thing, is it not? Though I suppose in my dreams, there is one who is beautiful inside and out and will care little of how many pounds I can claim per annum.”
“Your Grace?”
“Never mind, boy. I am fine.” The Duke turned to the messenger. “Or I will be. Be off with you. We both have our tasks before us, do we not? So it is, the world changes, all in one moment. The only thing left for us is to move forward. Onward and upward, boy, in the noblest of fashion!”
Chapter 1
Helena’s harp reflected the sounds of the storm.
She sat next to the window, aware of the driving snow and the way the wind rattled the panes. Her hands flew over the strings, eliciting the symphony in concert with the violence outside. She ignored the ache of fingers as she reached up, to the highest notes, trying to find the pattern of falling snow, the soft tinkle of it raining against the glass.
But the music did not satisfy. She could not capture what she thought it might have been. There was no music for the way the blizzard raged. She sighed and shifted so that her forehead lay against the glass, her skin instantly growing cold as she stared out into the driving snow.
Why am I so unsettled tonight?
The wind blew so cold and fierce against the window, that Helena could see her breath on the thin layer of ice that formed on the inside pane. She winced at the squeak her forefinger made while she drew figures on the frost. One was a giant of a man, standing beside a woman — perhaps her? — since this was her fantasy. She gave the man a hat and debated the bonnet for the woman. How she hated the floppy things she usually wore and longed for something small and neat.
But you can never wear such things, not if you do not wish for the world to stare.
Using her thumbnail to scratch at the ice crystals, she tried to fix the hat, but it was
n’t looking right. But then art had never been her strong suit, much as Papa had paid for tutors to try and ease her fumbling attempts at landscapes. Besides, her thumbnail was too thick. She needed something thinner for the fine detail.
She thought a moment and unfastened the brooch from her dress. The five rubies that made up the heart of the flower glinted dully in the dim light from the window. She brushed her finger over the fine tracery of stem and leaf and wondered for a moment at her mother who had left her such a fine thing.
And laughed a little to think she would use such a thing for an artist’s brush.
Helena grasped the rose in her hand, using the point of the pin on the back to draw in the more intricate details of the hat upon the head of her frost woman. With such a fine instrument, she was able to add a feather with a certain realism that pleased her, though it was hard going to only affect the ice upon the window and not to leave marks upon the glass underneath.
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