by Diane Gaston
‘Yes, Uncle Garret,’ she replied.
He straightened. ‘I will check on you later, so don’t let me hear you’ve given Mary any trouble.’
‘Yes, Uncle Garret.’
He walked out of the room and down the back stairs, trying to decide if he should set off towards Rydal Water to find Miss Tilson and Pamela himself. He was not at all confident Miss Tilson could walk the whole distance. If the gig could not find her, she might succumb to the cold. Garret had seen soldiers die of the cold in the mountains in Spain. The men who’d kept walking stayed alive.
Garret tried to quell his worry. When had he before felt this frantic? Or cared this intensely? In the army he’d learned not to become too close to anyone; too many were killed. When a child, he’d learned not to care so much; it hurt when caring was not returned. But Pamela and Ellen—and Miss Tilson—somehow had made their way into his heart.
He was going after the gig.
Garret was in the doorway to the hall when he heard a carriage and shouting voices. The door opened and Pamela dashed in and ran for the stairs. Miss Tilson was helped in by one of the maids. Mrs Dodd followed behind, muttering, ‘You’ve caused a great deal of trouble.’
Garret’s impulse was to snap at Mrs Dodd for her cruel remark and take Miss Tilson in his arms and carry her to her room, like he carried Ellen. He did not do either, though. Instead he held back, remaining in the doorway, watching the maid help her up the stairs.
He closed his eyes and said a prayer of thanks that he’d ridden to the lake instead of the quarry where he’d been bound. Even as he’d turned his horse on to the road to Rydal Water, he’d told himself he should go to the quarry.
Then he’d heard the screams.
He reached them seconds before seeing Miss Tilson disappear under the water trying to reach Ellen. It was easy to become tangled in the reeds and be unable to rise again, even in shallow water. But she had risen again to grab Ellen at the same moment Ellen’s fingers slipped from the twig she’d grasped. Then both of them went under again.
By that time he’d jumped off his horse and torn off his coat and sprinted into the water after them.
How easy it would have been for them both to drown. What if he’d not been there to save them?
He turned away and made his way out to the garden, even though the chill still penetrated through him.
What if the water triggered another spell in her? It stood to reason she might experience visions of the shipwreck. He’d never told anyone about the shipwreck. Had she? Even if she had, would they know how to help her if the visions returned?
* * *
Rebecca woke to a warm but darkened room. She must have slept the day away. Neglected even more of her duties.
She closed her eyes again and saw Ellen clinging to the branch, crying for her help. She rolled on her side and curled into a ball. What sort of person fails to save a child? That precious child!
There was a knock on the door. The maid or Mary come to check on her, no doubt.
She sat up and wiped her eyes. ‘Come in.’
The silhouette in the opening door was not a maid.
She drew the covers over her. ‘Lord Brookmore!’
He stepped inside the room and closed the door. ‘I came to see how you fared.’
She turned away from him. ‘Better than I ought.’
He came closer. How could he bear to even look at her?
‘She cried for me and I could not move. How awful is that?’ She faced him again. ‘Me, who knows what drowning is like.’
He stood next to her bed. ‘I did not see you hesitate.’
She blinked. ‘She would have drowned!’ She twisted away again. ‘I am the very worst of creatures! How could I do that? She was crying for me!’
He touched her face, turning it back to look at him. ‘You did not hesitate. She did not drown. She is unharmed.’
She pulled out of his grasp. ‘I am supposed to take care of the children! Mrs Dodd is right. I am nothing but trouble.’
She’d been trouble for everyone. Her father. Her brother. Even at school. Now she’d almost let a child drown. Not merely any child. Ellen. Dear Ellen.
‘Never mind Mrs Dodd for the moment.’ His voice turned low and soothing. ‘You had a vision of the shipwreck, did you not?’
She nodded. ‘But that is no excuse.’
This time when he touched her face it was like a caress. ‘It was brave of you to rush into the water—’
‘I was not brave. I froze,’ she insisted.
‘You might think you froze, but it must have only been for a second or two,’ he countered.
He brushed the hair from her forehead and pulled his hand away, holding it behind his back.
She rose to her knees, forgetting to cover herself. ‘It was like at the inn! I was there again. I was there and I heard the sounds. I smelled and tasted the sea. I felt the boat capsize.’
He nodded. ‘Like the soldiers after a battle. You could not help the memories that came to you. But they must have lasted only seconds, because, I tell you, you didn’t hesitate.’
She searched his face to see if he was telling the truth or just trying to make her feel better.
He put his arms around her and held her close. ‘Do not torture yourself. You could not help but be caught in the vision. Even so, you did everything you could do.’
Her cheek pressed against his and the roughness of his beard scraped her skin. It felt so good to be held by him.
Just as quickly she pushed away. She did not deserve comfort.
They stared at each other and she did not know what to read in his eyes. Pain? Regret?
She felt angry at herself and ashamed and regretful that she could not remain encircled by his arms.
The door opened suddenly and Lord Brookmore stepped back.
‘Miss Tilson!’ Ellen ran in and climbed on the bed, giving her a hug. ‘We heard talking. We wanted to see you.’
‘Ellen wanted to see you,’ Pamela clarified. ‘I told her we must let you rest, like Mary said.’
Ellen turned to her sister. ‘But we heard her talking, so she wasn’t resting any more.’ She seemed to notice Lord Brookmore. ‘You were talking to her, weren’t you, Uncle Garret?’
‘That I was,’ he said stiffly. ‘Talking.’
Rebecca extended her arm. ‘Come here, Pamela.’
Pamela approached the bed.
Rebecca reached over and took the girl’s hand. ‘This is the brave one! How can I ever thank you for bringing me home?’
Pamela reddened. ‘Uncle Garret told me to.’
He touched her shoulder. ‘You did a fine job, Pamela. Just as I knew you would.’
The girl glanced up at him with worshipful eyes. Rebecca knew exactly how she felt.
She hugged both girls. In these mere few days they’d become as dear to her as she could imagine her own children to be. ‘I am so glad we are here safe and sound.’ She released them and directed her gaze at Ellen. ‘I am so sorry I did not pull you out. I am so very sorry!’
‘But you caught her and Uncle Garret pulled you both out,’ Pamela said.
Lord Brookmore spoke. ‘Do you know why it was especially brave of Miss Tilson to go in the water after Ellen?’
Both little girls looked up at him. ‘Why?’ they asked in unison.
‘Miss Tilson was in a shipwreck and she almost drowned. The lake water made her afraid all over again. It brought back the memories as if it was all happening again, but she still grabbed hold of Ellen.’
‘A shipwreck!’ cried Ellen. She glanced from Rebecca to Lord Brookmore. ‘What is a shipwreck?’
‘When a ship sinks in the ocean.’ Pamela turned to Rebecca. ‘What memories did the water make you have?’
‘Of being under the water...’ She paused. The
children did not need to hear about the screams. About Claire and the gentleman washed overboard. About the mother and children in the rowboat. ‘When I sailed from Ireland to come here, there was a storm and the ship crashed into rocks. But it was close to shore so, even though I was tossed under the water, I did not drown. Somebody saved me.’
‘That is why Miss Tilson does not have more dresses,’ Lord Brookmore added. ‘They were all lost at sea.’
‘You lost your dresses?’ Pamela asked.
Rebecca nodded. ‘I lost everything. What I have now is what your uncle kindly bought for me.’
‘Mama had lots of dresses,’ Ellen piped up. ‘She even had new dresses that came after—after—you know.’
‘After she died,’ Pamela added helpfully.
‘The dressmaker will make Miss Tilson more dresses, too,’ Lord Brookmore said.
The girls knew that the dressmaker had come to measure her and collect the cloth Lord Brookmore purchased.
‘But!’ Rebecca pushed away this focus on her. She still must act like a governess. ‘You girls should be in bed! It is late and I am sure Mary does not know you are still awake.’
‘We crept out after she left us,’ Ellen explained.
‘Well, then, let’s get you back to bed before Mary comes to check on you.’ Lord Brookmore gestured for them to move out of the room.
Rebecca climbed out of bed. ‘I’ll tuck them in.’ She wrapped herself in her shawl.
‘I want Uncle Garret to tuck me in!’ Ellen demanded.
‘Very well.’ He laughed softly. ‘I’ll come, too.’
* * *
Garret should have begged off, but he was charmed by his little nieces and, after the day they’d had, he did not wish to deny them anything.
Besides, he was loathe to leave Miss Tilson, although he knew he ought to.
He accompanied his nieces and Miss Tilson, wearing only her nightdress and shawl, to the girls’ bedroom and tucked them both into bed and kissed them each on the forehead.
His heart filled with emotion. They were securely lodged there in his heart, all three of them. To almost lose them was taking a slice out of him. What a shock to need these three people, to need to keep them safe, healthy and happy.
Not even the woman he would marry mustered that much emotion in him.
He felt a pang of guilt.
‘Now go to sleep,’ Miss Tilson ordered the girls. ‘Tomorrow we go back to our lessons.’
‘May we start by writing about today in our journals?’ Pamela asked.
‘You may,’ her governess said. ‘If you stay in bed until morning and get some sleep.’
The girls made a show of shutting their eyes. Garret and Miss Tilson left the room and closed the door.
They walked side by side to the door of her bedchamber.
‘Are you hungry, Miss Tilson?’ To his knowledge, she had not eaten since breakfast.
She nodded. ‘But it is of no consequence.’
‘You must eat,’ he insisted. ‘Shall I have food sent up to you?’
‘No,’ she responded. ‘I do not want to cause Mrs Dodd any more trouble.’
He frowned. ‘Perhaps I must talk to Mrs Dodd.’
She put a hand on his arm. ‘No, please do not. Let it be.’ She dropped her hand. ‘I will go down to the kitchen and beg for food.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.
Why ever had he said that? He ought to bid her goodnight. At every turn he did the opposite of what he should. All afternoon and evening he’d told himself to stay away from her, that his servants were checking on her, that he should wait until morning when everyone was accustomed to him sharing breakfast with her and the children.
But when the sky turned dark and the house quieted, he could no longer bear the wait. He needed to see for himself that she was unharmed. He’d intended only to peek in at her, but she’d answered his knock and he’d become like a moth to a flame after that.
And he was still flying around her, unwilling to lose her light.
* * *
Rebecca wrapped her shawl around her. She ought to feel undressed around him, but it always felt right to be with him even in her nightclothes.
How scandalous was that?
Truth was, she wanted him to stay with her. He took the edge off her wretchedness. She still felt responsible for Ellen almost drowning.
Lord Brookmore stopped near the stairs. ‘I have an idea. Wait for me in the breakfast room. I will go to the kitchen and tell Cook I am hungry and want to carry food up to my room. She will not question that. I’ll bring the food to you.’
She shook her head. ‘Have you wait on me? That cannot be right.’
‘No one will complain that I am causing them trouble and you will not be seen walking with me in your nightdress.’
The truth was she did not want to encounter anyone else.
‘If you insist, my lord.’ She parted from him. If no one knew they were together, there would be no harm done.
And in her desolation she could not resist his kindness.
* * *
Their clandestine repast was healing for Rebecca, a moment in time where she pretended they were merely Garret and Rebecca, even though she could never call him anything but Lord Brookmore and he could only call her Miss Tilson. She did not have to think of children drowning or of pretending to be Claire. She could simply enjoy being in his company.
She could enjoy loving him.
But now the candles were wearing to nubs and the clock had passed midnight.
‘We should retire,’ she said.
‘It is late,’ he agreed. She stacked the dishes, but he put a stilling hand on hers. ‘I will take them to my room later.’
And keep the secret of their lovely meal. Bread, cheese, wine and blueberry tarts.
He stood and extended his hand to help her up. His hand so strong and warm in hers. She remembered his arms around her pulling her out of the water. She remembered the feel of his body against hers when she wrapped her arms around him in that grateful embrace.
She threaded her arm through his as they sauntered down the hallway, slowing the walk to her bedroom as much as possible.
Once there she leaned against the door, looking up at him, at the face that had become so dear to her. ‘How am I to thank you, my lord? I seem to ask this once again.’
She remembered the last time she asked this of him. In the inn. When he kissed her. That night had also been an idyll, but then she did not know the half of how wonderful he was. Surely it would do no harm to kiss again. Just once more, to keep the fantasy of this night a bit longer, that it was right to love him, just this once.
He looked down at her, his eyes darkening, his features softening. He placed his hands against the door, caging her between them. That time at the inn, she could not be certain if she or he initiated the kiss. This time there would be no question.
She rose on her tiptoes, slid her arms around his neck and reached for his lips.
* * *
Desire exploded inside Garret when her lips touched his. He lifted her in his arms to deepen the kiss and feel the soft curves of her body against his.
He’d longed to hold her again, to taste of her, to share with her the passion that simmered between them from that first moment when she’d opened her eyes to him after the shipwreck. He needed her forthrightness, her daring, her admiration of him. He needed her lips against his, a joining, that, forbidden as it was between them, he could not resist.
He yearned for more, however. His passion flamed, urging him to ask for more. God help him, he wanted more from her. He wanted that completeness between man and woman, that shared ecstasy that would bind them as one.
She moaned beneath his lips and opened her mouth to him. He lifted her higher, wrapping her legs around him. He open
ed the door and carried her through, closing it behind him with his foot. He brought her to the bed, kicking his shoes off as he went. Her shawl fell to the floor. Once he placed her on the bed she pulled him with her. He rose over her, rubbing his hands over her breasts, sliding his hands down until he could reach beneath her skirt.
‘Garret,’ she murmured, her voice as urgent as his senses. ‘Yes. Yes.’
She pulled him down for another kiss.
This was the sort of drowning from which he wanted no rescue, drowning in the pleasure of her warmth, her skin, their shared need.
The clock on her mantel chimed once and jolted him awake from his reverie.
‘No,’ he said more to himself than to her. ‘We cannot do this.’
He pushed himself off her and off the bed.
She covered herself with her nightdress and sat up, her expression panicked. ‘Sir?’
He turned back to her and stroked her hair. ‘Do not fear. I am not angry with you and I do not blame you. I put us in this position of intimacy.’
‘You have to know I wanted it,’ she said quietly.
He did know, but had he not nurtured that desire in her? Had he not brought her to this very place where she would want to make love so urgently that she would abandon all good sense?
‘I knew how to make you want it,’ he admitted.
She slid off the bed, stood and faced him. ‘I am not experienced in these matters, but I do know that you have been unlike any man I’ve known, certainly unlike any man in my family, and I wanted more than anything else to be that close to you.’
‘We cannot,’ he said again.
‘Why not, if I am willing?’ she countered.
Because she was not experienced she would not know why not.
‘Are you willing to give up your reputation?’ he asked. ‘We cannot keep this a secret. There are no secrets in a house like this. You would be giving up any chance to make a respectable marriage.’
‘The chances of my marrying are slim, are they not? Besides, I wanted this with you.’ She held on to the bedpost as if she had trouble standing.
He’d be making her his mistress. Because he was marrying Lady Agnes, there was no other choice. But he cared too much for her to make her his mistress. And there was nothing else she could be, not with him promised to another.
