by Daphne Bloom
“Ugh.” The thought of going through another Season about makes me sick. “No, I am not doing this again next year.”
“Then accept Julia,” George says. “Let’s set a date for the next meeting and be done with it.”
“No,” I say. “At least not yet.”
George rolls his eyes and lets out a long sigh. “Why? What are you waiting for?”
“Not until I talk to Lily.”
“Brother—”
“I’m sorry, George,” I say. “Father can disinherit me if he wants, I don’t care. I’m going to propose to Lily. If she rebuffs me, then I can ask Julia.”
George shakes his head and thinks for a moment. “I suppose there’s no way I can talk you out of it.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Well, be quick about it,” he says. “Go and come back before Father knows what you’ve set out to do. And Julia won’t wait forever. If Lily says no you’ll need to snap up Julia before someone else does.”
“Fine,” I say just to get George off my back. Even if Lily says no, I have no intention of marrying Julia. If I can’t marry Lily, I don’t see me marrying anyone else.
A commotion outside the room catches our attention. When George opens the door, we can hear Alice screaming. George is gone in a moment, flying down the stairs before I even reach the end of the hall. I feel a terrible urgency in my chest—what could have Alice screaming so?—but I’m careful with my steps down the stairs so as not to cause more problems for myself.
When I get low enough, I see Alice collapsed to her knees and George trying to comfort her.
“What’s happened?” I ask.
“It’s young Master Timothy, my lord!” Helen, the maid, says as she runs up the stairs past me. “He’s had an accident.”
“What?” I hurry down the stairs as best I can. “George, Alice, what’s going on? Is he all right?”
George picks up a telegram from the floor. Alice must have dropped it. “He took a tumble from his horse. Nanny Carter says he’s well, but she bade us return at once.”
“Why?” Alice wails. “Why would she say that if he wasn’t dead! If he were fine, she’d tell us to stay here.”
“No,” I say. “I’m sure the boy is just injured and she knows you will want to be by his side. If things were worse, I’m sure she would have said something.” Of course, I’m not sure of this at all. I can’t imagine learning of a child’s death by telegram. But there’s no sense in speculating right now.
“George. George.” Alice paws at George, seemingly unable to collect her thoughts. I fear the poor dear is going into shock, something I saw many times during my tour in India.
“Take her upstairs,” I tell George. “Have the servants pack so we can return home immediately. All of us.”
“What’s going on?” Mother asks as she enters the room, quickly followed by Father. George picks up Alice and carries her to one of the other rooms.
“It’s Timothy,” I say, letting George concentrate on his wife. “He’s had a fall from his horse.”
Mother’s hands go to her cheeks and Father’s face turns ashen.
“Oh, my dear boy!” Mother exclaims.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say, “but we should return home, now.”
“Yes. Yes, of course!” Mother says, and she calls for the butler and the housekeeper as she makes her way up the stairs to make the arrangements.
I turn back to Father and see that his eyes are red and rimmed with tears. “I never…never thought it would happen again…”
“Father,” I say, gripping his shoulder. “We have to be strong for George. For Alice.”
He looks at me and his sadness is suddenly replaced by anger. “Didn’t I tell you! Why couldn’t you just do as you were told!” He rips his shoulder from my grip and storms off.
I feel a pain in my chest but try to ignore it. I know Father is only worried about Timothy, scared for the worst. He’s not truly angry with me…
I’m only lying to myself. Father is angry, but he’s allowed me the opportunity to find my own wife because we never thought anything would happen to Timothy…not now. Not while he was so young. Father is now regretting the patience he has shown me. He sees history repeating itself. He’ll never allow me to marry Lily now.
But I can’t worry about that at this moment. We need to get home to Timothy. Make sure he’s all right.
I pray he’s all right.
Chapter Seventeen
Lily
“Do you remember when you were a little girl,” my father says, “and I would string together daisies and make you a little flower crown?”
“Yes,” I say. “I still have one of them.”
Father looks at me quizzically. He is lying in his bed, propped up by a few pillows. He is thin, his skin papery, his pallor pale. But the doctor says all of that is normal after such a long period of unconsciousness. I am in a chair beside his bed, holding his cold hand in mine. I notice that his fingernails have grown a bit long. I should trim them.
“How? The last time I made a daisy chain for you was years ago.”
“I pressed them between some heavy books,” I explain. “It’s hanging on my dressing table mirror.”
He smiles. “You always were a clever girl.”
“Am I?” I ask. “I thought I was always saying or doing the wrong thing. I’m always getting disapproving looks from Mama and my sisters.”
“What do they know?” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You are a very unconventional girl, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t clever in your way.”
I look away, thinking about how Henry said something very similar. He also said something about loving me? No, it couldn’t be possible. I must have misunderstood, as I usually do.
Oh, poor Henry! The fall in the garden hurt him so terribly, he blacked out from the pain. I wonder how he is doing, if he was able to use the tea and concoction I sent over. I’m sure he would never want to marry me, but I like to think that we are at least friends, and I wouldn’t want my friend to suffer.
I can’t help but believe that Albert caused Henry to fall. He denied it vehemently of course, and Henry said nothing of it, but he could hardly say anything. As soon as he was taken away we left to return home, to Papa. I’ve heard nothing from Henry since, but neither have I written him. I know I should, but I’ve been terribly distracted by Papa, to inquire about his health at least.
“Where is your mind at, my dear?” Papa asks.
“Hmm? What do you mean?”
“You have that faraway look that always tells me when you are deep in thought. What was it this time? Which flowers are in bloom or what you should plant next?”
“I do need to transfer my new dahlia from its little pot to the garden. I have the perfect place set aside for it. You should see the blooms, Papa. They are the most unique color, something between red and orange, with a hint of pink I think that gives them the color of…well, fire is the only way I can describe it.”
“That sounds lovely,” he says between breaths. He breathes hard sometimes, as if he just ran up a flight of stairs, but he has not left his bed.
“Should I fetch the doctor?” I ask him, starting to stand, but he squeezes my hand to hold me back.
“No. I’m so tired of being poked and prodded by that man. I’m fine, just a bit tired.”
“I should let you rest, then,” I say, but still he does not let me go.
“No, stay. I enjoy your company. Your prattling has a very soothing quality to it.”
I give a small smile, remembering that Henry said something similar once. That he enjoyed listening to me talk on and on about my flowers.
“There you go again,” Papa says. “What are you thinking about that keeps pulling your attention away?”
“Just something a friend once said. It’s nothing.”
“What friend?” Papa says, and I realize I’ve said too much. I don’t have any friends.
“Henry,
” I say, picking at a loose thread on the comforter, “Lord Pembroke’s son.”
“Really?” he asks, his face lighting up. He pushes himself up a little straighter. “Why didn’t you tell me? What is he like?”
“He’s nice,” I say. “But he can be grumpy. He was injured in India and still suffers pain. I made him some lavender tea to help him relax, and an herb-based concoction to rub on his back for relief.”
“That was very kind of you,” he says. “I’m sure he appreciated it.”
“I think so,” I say. “He gave me a cutting from his mother’s dahlia as thanks.”
“The one you were just telling me about?” I nod. “That’s wonderful! I knew you’d meet someone if you put your mind to it.”
“He’s only a friend, Papa,” I say, trying not to grow annoyed. “He’s the son of an earl, he can’t marry me. He needs a countess.”
“You are a countess,” Papa says. “Are you not my daughter?”
I say nothing. He knows I’m not suited to the life of a countess. Why he continues to insist that I am is baffling to me.
“How did you leave things with him?” Papa asks.
I shrug. “Fine, I suppose. He fell on our terrace and the pain caused him to lose consciousness. He had to be carted away. Then I returned home and haven’t spoken to him since.”
“You didn’t need to come rushing back home to me!” he says. “I’m doing much better. You should have stayed and tried to encourage a proposal out of him.”
I look away and try not to cry, hurt that he would chastise my affection for him. Does he not know that I would much rather be here by his side than begging someone in London to marry me? But I fail and tears begin to escape my eyes.
“Lily, what’s wrong?” Papa asks, rubbing my back.
“You have no idea what it’s been like,” I say, hiding my face in my hands as a crying fit overtakes me. “I’ve been so afraid!”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“Of you dying!” I say. “Of me being left uncared for.”
“But I didn’t die. Everything worked out in the end.”
“But you could have,” I say. “What if you had died and I had been without a husband? I’d have been left with nothing. I’d have to live with Constance or Elise and rely on their husbands for support. How could you do that to me?”
Papa sits back, his hand falling from my shoulder, and he looks away, shame on his face. I pull out a handkerchief from my pocket and blow my nose and dry my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have—”
He raises his hand. “No, you are right, my dear. You are right.”
“I…I am?”
“Life can be quite uncertain. I thought that I had plenty of time left in this world. Plenty of time to see you find a good husband. But that was merely wishful thinking. While I have no desire for you to give up on finding a suitable husband, the idea of you being left destitute is perhaps cruel on my part.”
I say nothing for fear of interrupting his train of thought. Of course, everything he is saying is merely things that I have been telling him for years. But I suppose he had to come to the conclusion himself, stubborn man that he is.
“If it hadn’t been an apoplexy, I could have been run over by a carriage or thrown from a horse. There are many ways a hale and hearty man such as myself could have his life snuffed out. And it is my duty as a father to make sure my children are well cared for after my demise.”
My heart is racing in my chest. Can Papa not come to the point more quickly?
“I am not going to give you your dowry right now,” he says. “But should the worst happen, I will make sure that you have an inheritance of your own to take care of you.”
“Oh, Papa!” I say and I jump from the chair, hugging him about the neck. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”
He chuckles and pats me on the back. “There, there, girl. Everything will be all right.”
I sit back down and wipe the tears—tears of joy this time—from my eyes. “Thank you, Papa.”
“Be a dear and send for my solicitor, will you?” he asks me. “Have him come as soon as possible so that I can make the adjustments to my will.”
“Yes, Papa!” I say, jumping back up from my chair. “I’ll do it right now!”
“And!” he says, gripping my hand. “I want you to invite this Henry Pembroke for the weekend. Have him come see me. I’ll not have you giving up on finding a husband.”
“Yes, Papa. Of course,” I say. “I’ll write to him right now.” I kiss Papa on the cheek and then fly from the room. I’m in such a cloud of happiness, I don’t even realize that I’ve passed Albert until he grabs me by the arm, forcing me to a halt.
“Lily!”
“What?” I ask him, wrenching my arm away.
“Where are you going?” he asks. “Why didn’t you hear me?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was distracted. Papa has asked me to summon his solicitor. He wishes to make an adjustment to his will.”
Albert raises an eyebrow. “He does, does he?”
“Yes. He’s going to leave me my dowry after all.”
Albert’s face reddens as if he had been slapped. “Well, isn’t that…so kind of him.”
“I knew he wouldn’t abandon me,” I say. “He wants me to invite Henry Pembroke to visit as well. Isn’t that wonderful?”
His smile drops away at this, and I know I’ve misspoken. I shouldn’t have mentioned Henry. I’m not sure what to say to correct the situation, so I turn away and rush down the hall and down the stairs. I find a footman and ask him to send a message to Papa’s solicitor immediately. Of course, living in the country, it could be a day or two before the man is able to make an appearance. I then head back up the stairs toward my room to send a letter to Henry.
“What has you so happy?” Mama asks me when I meet her on the stairs.
“Papa is going to leave me my dowry in his will!” I tell her.
“Really?” To my surprise, Mama sighs with relief. Her eyes close and she leans against the banister behind her. “Darling, you have no idea how many times I asked him to do that.”
“You have?” I ask, surprised. I thought that Mama’s only plan for me had been for me to marry. I didn’t know that she would give me her blessing to live independently should it come to that.
“Of course,” Mama says. “All I want is to see you provided for. And I think almost any husband would be better than that dreadful Albert.”
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” I say, and once again I am near to tears for joy.
Mama reaches out and puts her hand to my cheek. “Oh, darling, things are sure to look up from here.”
I nod and take her hand as we walk up the stairs together. She turns to go down the hallway to see Papa, and I turn in the opposite direction to go to my room. I’m about halfway there when I hear a door slam behind me.
“Call the doctor!” I hear Albert yell. I turn around and see him running toward the stairs. Mama is standing in the hallway, stunned.
“What’s happened?” I ask, but Albert doesn’t respond as he flies down the stairs, yelling for a footman. Mama looks at me, her hands to her cheeks, frozen to the spot. I take a step toward her, and then another one. I’m running down the hall, past Mama, and through the open door to Papa’s room.
My heart seizes. Papa is where I left him, but even from the door, I can see that something isn’t right. His hand is dangling off the bed and he is slumped to one side.
“Papa!” I yell as I run across the room to him. I think he must have had another apoplexy, but when I touch his hand, I can sense that something much worse has happened.
“Papa!” I scream. I turn his face to me, but his head just hangs there, limply, and I know he’s dead.
“Papa! No!” I shake him, but I know it is useless. I sink to the ground and hold his cooling hand to my forehead.
“Oh, Papa…”
I feel Mama’s
hands on my shoulders and hear her crying as well. She falls to her knees behind me and wraps her arms around my chest.
Papa…how could you leave me like this?
Chapter Eighteen
Henry
“Look, Uncle!” Timothy says as he totters around the morning room with his leg in a brace, leaning on a little cane, “I’m just like you now!” I smile, but my heart breaks to see him in such a state.
“Darling, do sit down before you wear yourself out,” Alice chides as she holds her daughter on her lap.
“Ugh, Mama!” Timothy whines. “I’ve been sitting for weeks. I’m so bored! Can’t I go outside?”
“No!” she says, and I can see the terror in her eyes. She worries over the boy constantly, and her daughter as well. She barely lets them out of her sight, and the exhaustion is clear on her face, which is drawn with dark circles under her eyes.
Timothy groans again as he flops down into a chair and throws his cane to the ground before crossing his arms in a huff. I walk over and pick it up, feeling little pain myself. The stretches and massages had been working so well, Father paid an exorbitant amount of money for Dr. Patel to stay with us for a few weeks. It wouldn’t do for either me or the doctor to travel to and from London several times a week for treatments.
Dr. Patel is doing as much as he can before he must return to his practice and other patients. The improvement has been life-changing. I’m not sure if I will ever be able to live without a cane entirely, but not cringing in pain every moment of my life has done wonders. He’s also provided massages and exercises for Timothy, and he thinks the boy will make a full recovery.
I hand Timothy the cane, which he takes begrudgingly. “You must be careful. You don’t want to end up as lame as your old uncle, do you?”
“No,” he says. “I just want to go outside.”
I send Alice a pleading look of my own. “I think a bit of fresh air might do the boy some good.”
I see a quick flash of panic on her face, but she does her best to push it away. “Of course,” she says through a choked voice. “Just a short walk around the garden.” She nods out the window. “Where I can see you.”
