The Love Note

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  “Miss Duvall, are you calling me old?” Her stare held. “I’m not asking you to prepare me for a London stage—merely a few parlors among our acquaintances. Surely I’m capable of that much.” She turned her unblinking gaze on me, daring me to contradict her.

  I opened my cotton-dry mouth and closed it again. There was simply no way to be both honest and diplomatic in this moment.

  Her eyes glinted like sun against gunmetal. “You cannot expect to be impressed when I haven’t a proper warm-up or accompaniment.”

  Yes, a piano would drown out her voice a bit. “I suppose I ought to hear an official rehearsal then.” I forced a smile, to which she offered only a deepened glare.

  “So you shall.”

  I released my breath. I was staying—for the moment, at least.

  “Right, then.” Burke’s voice was jarring. “I’ll leave you to settle in to your new position, and I’ll send the porter after your trunks. I assume they’re still in the drive?”

  I nodded numbly, and the wretched man bowed and slipped out, closing me into this opulent old chamber with its owner.

  So this is what my grand dreams had come to. I had wrested my fate from the hands of no less than four men—five, counting Father—and spent years studying medicine, all so that I could squeeze talent out of this woman like water from a rock and be her glorified pillow when she fainted. Simply lovely.

  I looked up and she was still studying me. “Miss Duvall, there is one other reason I’ve asked you here.”

  “Oh?” My heart ricocheted. This could be a good turn, one that made everything fall into a sensible order, or it could be bad. Quite bad.

  “I assume you are able to remain discreet.”

  “Of course.”

  She looked away. “I’ve brought you here for my protection. You see, they are trying to be rid of me.”

  My jaw went slack. My utter astonishment was now complete. Experienced as I was, this position was completely out of the scope of my abilities in so many ways.

  I stepped carefully out onto the proffered limb. “And who might wish to harm you?”

  She frowned, gaze narrowing on me. “You think me paranoid.”

  “It’s possible that you have imagined—”

  Her delicate nostrils flared, eyes shooting a warning. “I don’t care for you, Miss Duvall.” The quietly arresting statement, hardly audible, stabbed me. Yet I had spoken the truth, and I could not regret that.

  “Please understand, Mrs. Gresham, it is certainly not a reflection of you or your sterling character, nor of your intelligence.”

  “Your attempts at flattery fall flat.”

  My heart began to wither as I gathered the direction this particular assignment was heading, but I forced poise into my spine. “I shall work to improve your opinion of me.”

  “Don’t.” She eyed me with open contempt. “It’ll only tire you. Simply prepare yourself to stand between me and those who have decided my existence is hindering what they want.”

  I glanced at my medical bag still slouched by the door where I’d left it as the waters of doubt rose higher. “Why hire a nurse? I’m not a guardian.”

  “My death is not what they’re after, Miss Duvall. At least, not my physical death. Come, sit.”

  I did. “Perhaps I’m not the most—”

  A scrape and a thump sounded below, drawing our gazes to the weakly glowing hearth. A hard look silenced me, then she pointed one slender finger at the fireplace.

  “She’s up to something, you can be sure of that.” It was the voice of Burke Gresham, climbing up the chimney from some distant room below. “She’s never allowed a nurse to attend her before, much less requested one, and I’ve half a mind to force the issue and find out her plan before she gains the upper hand.”

  Celeste’s tight voice sounded next. “And how will you manage that, Burke? No sanatorium will take her based on her exaggerated swooning spells and fictitious complaints.”

  “An asylum, then.”

  My throat cinched. I’d been inside such places, and a few moments as a visitor was suffocating. Years as a patient would be unbearable. As much as I despised all institutions, none were worse than asylums.

  “She’s mad, Cec. I’m telling you, she needs to be sent away, and the business left to me. One wild decision from her could sink us. Foolish woman, always scheming.”

  Yet not deserving of inhumane captivity. Animals were treated better than residents in those clammy places that echoed with wild cries. I couldn’t let this happen. Where was Gabe? He would set this to rights, but he was conspicuously missing from the gathering of Gresham siblings below.

  “You know Father would never commit her, and Dr. Tillman has already refused to recommend her. How ever would you . . .”

  More shuffling. “There is a way. We could be done with her before Father even returns from London, but it has to be handled right.”

  “But now that a nurse is here—”

  “That won’t last. You know that. She’ll make her miserable and that poor woman will be gone before two shakes. Then our way will be clear.”

  “How will you convince anyone she’s mad? Do you truly believe it yourself?”

  Footsteps sounded and the voices faded as they moved away. “Do you know anyone else like her? It’s unnatural. Suppose she happened to make a . . .”

  Then the voices were gone.

  My patient lifted a demur smile in the shadows. “And there you have it, my loving family.” She sipped her tea and returned it with a gentle clink to the saucer. “Do you still think me paranoid?”

  “You don’t belong in an asylum, I know that much.” Another thing I knew—my position was a dangerous one, a tenuous tug-of-war between my patient and her grown children, a delicate balance of remaining in this woman’s good graces and theirs.

  And me, with more truth than sense.

  “I’m delighted you think so. Now you must, as a certified nurse, convince everyone else of that. They cannot send me away if you declare me fit.”

  “I’ll say what’s true.” It was the only promise I could make, and I desperately hoped it was enough. Her silence stifled my confidence, stabbing it with memories of Mother’s precious life slipping through my hands so long ago. The harder I had clung, the more she wilted. Then she was gone, even while I held her tight in my childish arms.

  That familiar panic swirled up in me now.

  My patient looked out the window as she sipped her tea, unmoved by the lightning cutting through the dull gray sky. Low rumbles followed. “It seems a storm is approaching.” Another cube of sugar, then a stir. “I do hope you are prepared.”

  I wasn’t.

  Several silent moments passed, then Golda turned back to me, summing me up again. “Why is it you’ve never married, Miss Duvall? Have you found no respectable man willing to take you on?”

  This again. Always this. “I’ve not found a man I wish to take on. I’ve great plans for my future, and much I want to accomplish. There isn’t a single man of my acquaintance who might do anything but hinder those plans.”

  She leaned back in her Queen Anne chair, looking past me with a vague smile. “Well now, there’s Gabe.”

  Gabe? Sometimes it seemed the world had a binary vision—they saw people in pairs and felt compelled to match everyone who wasn’t wed. It had been this way when we’d last parted—I’d suggested Gabe and I write letters, and somehow that meant I was proposing marriage. My face burned at the way that had left our once-dear friendship. Was the entire world given to playing cupid and pairing people at random? Quiet and brotherly Gabe was no love match, and all we had in common was our unmarried state. Apparently, that was enough. “I beg your pardon, but there couldn’t be a more ill-fitting match.” I stood, flustered, and began pouring tea just to give my hands something to do.

  Golda’s eyes flashed a venomous shade of green and blue. Her body stiffened, displeasure radiating from her white face. My breath strangled me as footsteps thudded
on the rug. I looked up as a tall, distinguished man strode into the room, followed by the faint scent of cinnamon.

  My breath caught. I was dizzy. Suddenly tea was spilling everywhere, warming the front of my dress and splashing onto my shoes. I sprang back and righted the pot. There’s Gabe, she had said, and she’d quite literally meant, There is Gabe. For there he was, nicely filling out his trim suit, wild curls slicked into wavy submission, warm gentleness radiating from his face.

  four

  Two opposites often make a terrible combination that leads to explosive results. Worse yet is the combination of truth and poor timing.

  ~A scientist’s observations on love

  Gabe Gresham knelt beside me to help, blotting at the floor with awkward jerks of his broad shoulders. His nearness unsettled me and the air was thick with my foolish words. What was I supposed to say now?

  Golda rang a tiny bell to summon the maid, and the sound echoed through my skull. “Gabe, don’t touch that. I’ve sent for someone.”

  Oh, how terrible. How wretched.

  At close range, I could see his comely face had settled into lines of deep maturity and untold strength, but it still wore the freshness of youth—as well as unveiled traces of hurt. There was no wondering if he’d heard my blunder. I looked down as heat climbed my neck and needled my face. Golda rang the bell a second time, with more force.

  When I looked his way again, Gabe’s face warmed with a sad smile of instant forgiveness. What had I been thinking? I was here to fix, not destroy. And no one deserved kindness more than Gabe Gresham.

  I tried to catch his eye again and whisper an apology, but as usual, he kept his somber gaze down on his work. Mrs. Gresham, however, had absolutely no qualms about staring openly, and the heat of her gaze warmed through the top of my head.

  I rose and peeled off my damp apron, mind whirring, and Gabe took it along with the other ruined linens. I had the distant sense of loss as I handed the apron to him, as if I was forgetting something, but my scattered brain couldn’t land on what it was. Then Essie, the nervous little upstairs maid, hurried in to help, and I concentrated on not withering under the weight of my embarrassment.

  “Heavens, child, where have you been?”

  Essie cringed, bobbing two or three curtsies. “Sorry, ma’am. In the kitchen, ma’am.”

  “What’s the rule?”

  “The bell takes precedence.”

  Golda glared at the maid, as if burning her instruction into the poor girl’s skull.

  A few moments of silence passed as Essie knelt to clean, and Gabe strode to the window and peered around the faded drapes. “Sir Reginald will be a racer, Mother. His agility is unmatched and he’s practically built of muscle.” The words came out in his low, soothing voice and the tension disintegrated. What he did to skittish horses also worked on humans, apparently, with that deep voice working its way into the fibers of my tense muscles and loosening them. It seemed to do the same to his mother.

  “Oh?” A sudden lightness came over Golda like a curtain parted over a sunny window.

  “He’s bound for the derby next year, and he’ll make quite a fine showing.”

  The curtain parted farther as a smile touched her lips. “I knew from the moment I saw him he held such promise. What a magnificent creature.”

  How odd it was that the first benevolent words from the woman’s mouth since I’d arrived . . . were about a horse.

  Golda Gresham rearranged the little tea items on the table so that the napkin was perfectly centered between her beloved red cup and its saucer. “What about Saxon? How is he handling?”

  “Better, but aggressive since the new stallion has come. They could never share a pasture.”

  “Ah, but he’s a gorgeous creature. Simply stunning.” Her eyes shone. “Is he ready to . . .” Her voice trailed as she looked to me, as if suddenly remembering I was overhearing this business discussion. “Perhaps a new pot of tea would be nice, Miss Duvall, with something in it to soothe my headache.”

  I hesitated. “Should a nurse not remain with her patient?”

  She leaned near, taking hold of my arm, and spoke in a dangerously low voice. “Let us be clear, Miss Duvall. I do not enjoy your company, nor do I need a nursemaid following me about. You know the purpose of your employment here, and I’ll thank you to leave me to the solace of my own company when I request it.”

  Jaw tense, I bobbed a curtsey and turned to go with Essie. In the hall, the maid began to tremble and she blinked back threatening tears. “Sorry, miss. I’m such a ninny. Always afraid of being sacked.”

  I gave a shaky laugh. “Not a bit of it. You should have heard my blunder.” I unearthed the embarrassing moment I’d worked to bury in the last few moments.

  She threw me a pitying smile. “Don’t take it to heart, miss. That Mr. Gresham is a good sort. A fine gentleman and quick to forgive. He may not be the most commanding one in the house, but he has a strong heart and a fine nature. No one better, in fact.”

  The man in question appeared in the doorway with the pile of tea-stained linens and handed them to Essie, who blushed profusely. His smile was tender as he considered her. “You’re a peach, Essie.” He lifted her hand and kissed it with gentlemanly warmth, then he disappeared down the hall.

  Essie and I hurried down the servant’s stairs with the linens, breathless to the bottom. The poor girl’s face flamed as we reached the kitchen.

  “Now that we’re out of earshot, tell me, Essie—how have you been keeping yourself? I want to hear all about your adventures in love and mischief.”

  She laughed heartily, her charming overbite apparent. “Not much to tell, Miss Duvall. No love for me, no mischief.”

  I readied a fresh teacup and saucer as the fire warmed the water. “What came of the gent you spoke of when I was here before? Come, tell me everything.”

  She paused, her eyes clouding as if I’d poked some sleeping giant within. Her face mottled red again. “There’s no gent.”

  I pinched my lips together as regret soured my mouth. Of course there wasn’t—five years had passed and she was alone. “Forgive me. I thought there was someone who had caught your eye.”

  She stoked the stove fire again and slammed the door. “It hardly matters if I’ve never caught his, now does it?”

  I was suddenly aware, looking into the shining eyes of this young woman, of a fever pitch of desperation she wore when discussing men, and it softened me. “There’s nothing magical about romantic attention, you know. Truly. Sometimes it’s quite burdensome, if it comes from the wrong man.”

  Her eager eyes told me she’d welcome this burden—from nearly any man. “I thought I’d met the right one, but he up and left Crestwicke some years ago.”

  “Oh.” My heart drooped, but then a realization seized me and I lifted my gaze, blinking. “He departed? He’s gone, and neither of you spoke of your affection?” My words came tripping out in my excitement.

  She threw me a look, but my hope only grew.

  Perhaps there was a reason the letter didn’t seem to fit any of the Greshams. “Say, didn’t he used to bring you little blue flowers?”

  She shrugged. “Someone did, maybe him, but those forget-me-nots are as common as grass at Crestwicke, miss. Just look out the window.”

  Rolling fields spread across the yard, their grassy slopes lavishly dotted with the little blue blooms. Heavy clusters of them stood at the threshold of the cliffs, as if gathered to look over the water.

  “Perhaps you ought to have the courage to say something to this man of yours.” I caught up her hands in mine. “Think of it, Essie. Think of how romantic it would be to find out he’s felt the same way all this time. Imagine what it could be like between you.”

  A dreamy look clouded her face. “Aye, it would be the first stroke of luck in me sorry life. I’d best not do it though, miss. She wouldn’t like it.” She jerked her head toward the stairs and Golda Gresham.

  I pinched back a smile, assailed wit
h a sudden burst of plans and ideas. Just then the kettle whistled and she snatched it off the fire.

  First, the tea.

  I carried it all up to the sitting room through shadows that stretched up the dark walls and set it on the little side table. She watched from the reddish gloom until my skin prickled and I became overly aware of myself under her gaze. “Come here, Miss Duvall.”

  I obeyed.

  “That adorable little speech you made about not needing a man—I assume you meant it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” She smiled. “I’d hate to think that someone at Crestwicke might cause you to stumble from your lofty ideals. There is no one here to tempt you in that manner, is there?”

  I shifted in the dimness.

  “Pray, allow me to provide you with an answer. There is no one at Crestwicke, servant or son, who is a fitting match for you, is that clear? It’d be a shame for you to be sent home in disgrace, with your name tarnished across the medical community.”

  My heart pounded, chest tight. I curtsied and escaped to my room to change, but I couldn’t shake the tenor of underlying romance lurking in the shadows of this house. It was there, pulsing and sweeping through like a ghost, even if everyone attempted to stifle and deny it.

  Until now, at least. I dug to the bottom of my valise and traveling bag for the letter, but it was not among my things. Unease tickled my skin. I dumped out the bag and checked every crevice, then glanced toward the closed door between my room and Golda’s. She wouldn’t invade my belongings, would she? I clutched the empty bag, searching around the room.

  As I tied on a fresh apron, my gaze landed on my washstand, and a small paper propped there. I rose and went to collect the scrap with a single line scrawled: Meet me at the ruins if you can get away. Dusk. Well then, that would explain the lecture just now, if she’d seen this. I stuffed the paper deep into my valise, but the message had imprinted itself on my mind. I wasn’t sure what would be worse—snubbing Gabe on top of what I’d done or being caught alone with him at dusk.