by S. G. Rogers
I am in love, unrequited.
Her thoughts drifted back four years ago, when the blush of young amour had first captured her heart. As Angelica’s wedding date had drawn near, Miles and his family had been guests at Blythe Manor. During a series of parties, receptions, and gatherings, she and Miles were thrown together. With all the seriousness fourteen-year-olds possessed, they discussed politics, music, books, and shared their hopes and dreams for the future. Although Fiona had privately sneered at Miles, Lara had looked past his burgeoning waistline and seen a young man of keen intellect and sterling character.
The bust of Queen Victoria became their secret postbox as they exchanged messages—until the day after the wedding, when the Greystokes were to return home. Her last letter to Miles expressed her regard for him openly and unreservedly, and she’d asked him if he felt anything at all for her in return. His lack of response spoke volumes, and he departed Blythe Manor without saying good-bye. Heartbroken, she’d cried her eyes out with disappointment and embarrassment at having mistaken his friendship for something more. Even now, Lara still could not think of that letter without humiliation and regret. I pray he burned it; if he should ever show the letter to anyone, I’ll die.
Upon her return to Blythe Manor, Lara lifted her chin and forced a composed smile to her lips. It’s Christmas Eve, and I must focus on something other than my own misery. As she passed the bust of Queen Victoria, however, she could not hold back a sob.
Chapter Four
Crisis Eve
AS LARA LEFT THE COOGANS’ COTTAGE, Miles’s stomach twisted into a knot. He’d meant his assistance to the Coogans to be a gift for her, but Fiona had spoiled everything by taking credit. Furthermore, she’d insinuated an intimacy between them that certainly didn’t—and could never—exist. Although Fiona had been openly flirting with him since he arrived, he’d given her no indication whatsoever that he wished to deepen their acquaintance. Perhaps Lara did not return his affections, but Miles didn’t want to leave her with the erroneous impression that he’d formed a design on her sister!
Reminding himself he was a gentleman, he held his irritation in check as he escorted Fiona up the road to Blythe Manor. At first she prattled on about little Billy and his attempts to roll over. Even though Miles adored his nephew, a steady narrative of his babyish antics quickly became tiresome. Apparently Fiona sensed his waning attention because she changed the subject abruptly. “I’ve recently begun to read War and Peace.”
“You have?” He tried to keep the note of disbelief from his voice.
“Yes.” Fiona seemed defensive. “What is your opinion of it?”
“I confess I’ve not had the pleasure of reading that work. My tastes run to adventure and science fiction.”
Fiona made a sound of disgust. “Lara told me you’d say that.”
“She did?” A burst of pleasure lifted Miles’s step. Lara remembered my taste in literature.
“You’ll be leaving Blythe Manor in a few days,” Fiona said. “You may write to me from Cambridge if you wish.”
Astonishment at her presumptuousness slowed his steps. “Miss Fiona, if I’ve given you the impression I feel anything more than familial regard for you, I apologize.”
A frown of annoyance rippled across Fiona’s brow. “I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort, but then secret correspondence is more to your liking, isn’t it? Good day.”
She hastened off, leaving a bewildered Miles standing in the middle of the road.
Inside her bedroom, Lara splashed cold water on her face to soothe the ravages of her recent bout of self-pity. Hopefully the redness and swelling will subside before I join the others for church tonight.
Fiona entered her room without knocking. “There you are! I thought you’d never come home.” Almost crackling with resentment, she began to pace. “Mr. Greystoke is an insufferable idiot who thinks far too highly of himself. I want nothing to do with him anymore, so I’ll have to think of something else as a Christmas gift other than that handkerchief.” She peered at Lara. “What are you bawling about? I thought you’d be pleased about all the money Mr. Greystoke spent on the Coogans. It’s as if he adopted them as pets.”
Lara was taken aback. “It was all Mr. Greystoke’s doing? You said earlier it was both of you.”
“Perhaps I did, but I take it back. All I did was fetch Mrs. Coogan’s wretched parcel from the laundress.” She shuddered. “Thank goodness I was wearing gloves.”
Anger at her sister boiled over. “You deliberately misled me!”
“It was a harmless fib. Why are you so cross?”
“Perhaps it’s because I also found out about the letters!”
With a gasp, Fiona looked almost panic-stricken. “How—?”
“I confess I feel betrayed,” Lara continued. “You and I are sisters. What would make you do such a thing?”
She wilted. “It was only meant to be a silly prank.”
“A prank?” Lara was taken aback. “If I’d written such things about you, you wouldn’t be so dismissive.”
Confusion creased Fiona’s brow. “What are you talking of?”
“Your letters about me to Angelica, of course.”
“Oh those! Yes, well, you know I’m a wicked little thing.” Fiona edged toward the door. “I’ll pray to be a better person in church tonight, all right?”
As her sister spun around and fled from the room, Lara was perplexed. Fiona had often been flighty, but her behavior just now bordered on peculiar. She acted guilty about the letters, yet didn’t bother to offer so much as an apology.
Heavy snowfall was pelting her window, and Lara moved over to look out at the view. The garden below was completely covered with white drifts, and she couldn’t see past the tall hedges separating the garden from the field beyond. It will be difficult for anyone traveling anywhere tonight. I hope Mr. Coogan stays safe.
The Christmas Eve church service was canceled due to the inclement weather. The Robinson and Greystoke families assembled in the drawing room before dinner, where Mr. Robinson brought out the family Bible. He read the Nativity Story from Luke, after which came a time for silent prayer. As everyone else closed their eyes and bowed their heads, Lara chanced to meet Miles’s gaze across the room. A flurry of emotional turmoil ensued. Oh why did he have come back into my life and stir up feelings which had lain fallow? She tore her eyes away from him and stared at the patterned oriental rug instead.
After the prayer, Mrs. Robinson sat down at the piano in the corner and played “O Holy Night.” William gave the Christmas carol voice first, but then baritone Miles joined with his brother’s clear tenor for a beautiful duet. A hush fell over the room as they sang, and Lara felt her troubles lift for a short while.
A footman handed around glasses of mulled wine while they waited for the dinner gong. Angelica cleared her throat. “Perhaps now would be a good time to announce the first gift of the evening. Fiona, Papa has given his permission for you to come with us to town after the New Year. You’ll be staying until the Season.”
Fiona squealed in excitement, spilling wine from her glass onto the carpet. As the footman hastened to blot the stain, she ran to give her father and Angelica a kiss. Even though Lara was still angry with Fiona, she smiled at the look of pure joy on her sister’s face. During the animated conversation following Angelica’s announcement, Lara crossed the room to speak with Miles.
“Fiona confessed to me earlier today she had nothing to do with helping the Coogans. So it is to you I offer my sincere thanks. I was very moved by everything you did.”
His cheekbones took on a rosy hue. “When I saw their need, I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.” He swallowed. “N-Nevertheless, what I did was out of regard for our former friendship.”
His words reminded her of the love letter she wished she’d never written. Blood rushed to her face. “Perhaps the less said about that, the better. It was long ago, and I would prefer to forget it.”
To her surprise, Mile
s almost recoiled. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to remind you of anything unpleasant.” He bowed, excused himself, and strode over to join his brother near the fireplace. His posture was stiff, and his expression was strained. Lara was left with the uncomfortable feeling she’d said something horribly wrong.
Although William was speaking to him, Miles scarcely heard a word. When the footman passed by with a tray, Miles drained the remainder of his wine and exchanged his empty glass for a full one. His mind was reeling, and he suddenly felt as if he were fourteen again, with a thick waistline and spots on his face. It was foolish; for some time now he’d been aware of the sidelong glances ladies cast his way. All the admiration in the world was empty, however, unless it came from the woman he loved. How could I have been so stupid as to pour my heart out in that letter! I poisoned my relationship with Lara forever by confessing my unguarded feelings too soon. Now she can never think of me as a man, but only as a clumsy, besotted boy.
“Woolgathering again?” William asked.
Miles came to his senses. “I-I was just thinking of our parents, actually. It seems rather hard they must spend the holidays without either of their sons. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take the morning train home on Boxing Day.”
William steered him to one side. “It’s abominably rude to the Robinsons to cut your visit short, particularly when they’ve planned a party in our honor.”
“They won’t care a jot. You, Angelica, and Billy are the main attraction. I’m just a hanger-on at this point.”
“But—”
The dinner gong sounded.
“I’m leaving,” Miles said evenly. “I don’t want to hear another word about it.” He walked over to Fiona and offered her his arm. “May I escort you in to dinner?”
For Lara, the evening was a ghastly affair. Confusion and bewilderment were her dinner partners, and they were exceedingly poor company. Miles had turned into a granite statue, and she knew she was the cause. I merely said I wished to forget our prior relationship. Is he offended I no longer wish to be seen as a lovesick child?
Although Cook had outdone herself, Lara merely picked at her food, counting on her recent illness to explain her lack of appetite. Perhaps I was not effusive enough in my praise for his help to the Coogans…or maybe I was too lavish? Was it bad manners to have mentioned it at all? Fortunately, Fiona’s nonstop vivacity regarding her upcoming Season negated any need for Lara to add to the conversation.
“Lara’s scarcely eaten any dinner,” Fiona said finally. “I believe my good news has upset her.”
“On the contrary, I’m quite happy for you,” Lara said.
“You’re to join me in the spring. Until then, we can correspond by post,” Fiona said.
Miles suddenly thawed. “Letters are overrated. Once you’ve written your silly thoughts down on paper, you’re at the complete mercy of whomever reads them.”
A stabbing pain lanced Lara’s temples. My thoughts were silly, were they? “One would hope the recipient of the letter would be more gracious than to sneer at heartfelt sentiments.”
“Sadly, that’s not always the case, it is?” he shot back. “Unguarded sentimentality always lends itself to mockery by the undeserved.”
Lara lifted her chin. “I think persons of good character ought to return unwanted love letters to the sender, so as to spare their feelings.”
“I agree, even if a lengthy period of time has passed. There is truly no excuse for behaving in a cavalier fashion in cases of unrequited affection.”
A chuckle escaped William’s lips. “You sound a trifle jaded, Miles. Don’t tell me you’ve already had your heart broken at the tender age of eighteen?”
Miles lanced Lara with his eyes. “Not recently.”
His remark, which Lara interpreted as flippant, filled her with hurt and anger. Why would he mock me so? She opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden commotion in the entryway checked her rebuke. Shortly thereafter, the butler hastened into the dining room.
“Forgive the interruption, Mr. Robinson, but Mrs. Coogan’s little boy has come to the door. He’s asking for Miss Lara.”
Jack! Tossing her napkin to the table, Lara rushed from the room. She was followed closely by her father, mother, and Miles. Jack stood shivering in the entryway, his clothes encrusted with snow. His frantic expression twisted something inside her chest.
“What’s wrong, Jack?”
“It’s Mum. The baby’s coming, she’s alone with my sisters, and I’m scared. She sent me to fetch the midwife, but Mrs. Murphy’s gone off to visit her sister in Leeds for Christmas.” His face crumpled. “Papa isn’t home yet and I don’t know what to do!”
“You did the right thing by coming here.” Lara beckoned to a footman. “Please take Jack downstairs to the kitchen, get his wet things off, and give him a blanket and hot chocolate. Find Elsie and let her know her brother is here. Maybe she can find some dry clothes for him.”
“I’ll take the carriage to fetch Mr. Worth for Mrs. Coogan,” Mr. Robinson said.
“But it’s still snowing!” Mrs. Robinson exclaimed. “The roads aren’t safe!”
“I can’t stand by and let the poor woman suffer,” Mr. Robinson replied.
“Nor can I,” Miles said. “Let me get my hat and coat. I’ll stay with Mrs. Coogan until the surgeon arrives.”
“Helen and Colleen are probably scared out of their wits,” Lara said. “I’m going too.”
Helen was curled up on the rug near the fireplace when the door opened. When she saw Miles and Lara, she ran into Lara’s arms and began to cry. Colleen appeared in the doorway to Mrs. Coogan’s bedroom. When she realized her brother hadn’t brought the midwife, she began to sob too. “Where’s Jack! Isn’t Mrs. Murphy coming to help?”
Lara gave both girls a hug. “Jack is safe and sound at Blythe Manor, the midwife has gone off to Leeds and Mr. Robinson has gone to fetch the surgeon. You’ve been very brave, but I need to see to your mother now. Colleen, be a big girl and take care of your sister, all right?”
The girls settled into the chairs closest to the warmth of the fire. Lara covered Helen with her coat, and Miles draped his own over Colleen. Whimpering noises were coming from the bedroom, and Lara exchanged a worried glance with Miles. “Wait here.” She hastened into the room, which was dimly lit by a sputtering oil lantern. Mrs. Coogan was lying on her side on the straw-stuffed mattress. Her loose-fitting gown, soaked through with perspiration, was bunched up around her knees. “Miss Lara, the baby’s coming.”
A spasm of pain contorted the woman’s features as she gritted her teeth. Lara used her handkerchief to blot the woman’s face. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Coogan. My father is bringing the surgeon as quick as he can.”
The woman writhed in pain and grabbed the bedclothes. “Baby’s not waiting for the surgeon,” she gasped. “No offense.”
Miles appeared in the doorway in his shirtsleeves. “Forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhearing we seem to have a crisis.”
“This is no place for a man, Mr. Greystoke,” Lara said.
“Have you ever brought a baby into the world, Miss Lara?”
“Well no, but—”
“Help Mrs. Coogan to lie on her back and bring me another lantern. We’re going to need more light.” As he spoke, Miles unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up over his elbows.
Lara crossed to him. “Horses are vastly different than human beings, Mr. Greystoke. Do you know what you’re doing?” she whispered.
“Not completely, but I’m all she’s got.”
Although the whole situation was unseemly, Lara conceded his point. She was virtually useless when it came to childbirth, and despite the strain of concentration on his face, Miles exuded an air of quiet competence.
“All right. Just tell me what you need,” she said.
“Find some clean rags or towels, some twine, and a pair of shears.”
Glad for a task, Lara hastened to comply. Whatever Miles asked her to do thereafter
, she did it without hesitation. In between, she held Mrs. Coogan’s hand and blotted the perspiration from her brow. After drops of sweat began rolling into Miles’s eyes, Lara wiped them away with a clean rag too.
When the baby boy emerged at last, he was blue. Mrs. Coogan lost consciousness, and Miles muttered a curse word under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Lara asked.
“Umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck.”
His hands moved rapidly to lift the slippery cord from around the baby’s slender neck. Lara never heard any knock on the door, but suddenly Mr. Worth was there. As he slid his overcoat and cutaway jacket off, the surgeon gave the baby a cursory glance.
“Stillborn.”
Miles gave no verbal response, but continued clearing out the baby’s nose and mouth with a finger. “Get me a towel, Lara.”
Lara stepped around Mr. Worth to bring Miles the towel. He rubbed the baby’s blue skin gently with the towel, patted his tiny bottom, and blew on his face.
“Come on, little one. I know you want to join us,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”
As Miles continued to work, Lara felt tears spring to her eyes. Seconds passed, but it felt like eternity.
“Lad, it’s a lost cause,” Mr. Worth said.
Suddenly Lara heard a tiny little gasping sound, and then the baby began to cry. It was a weak mewling cry at first, but then the cry grew stronger.
“I can’t believe it,” Lara said.
“Neither can I,” Mr. Worth said, clearly taken aback. “I’ve never seen a baby that blue take a breath.”
When Miles gently touched the baby’s hand, its tiny little fingers closed around his index finger. He gave Lara a crooked smile. “I think we need that twine and shears now.”
