Passion Favors the Bold

by Theresa Romain

  “For now, I’m taking charge of the gold. I will see it returned.” He looked sharply at Hugo. “What about you—Mr. Crowe?”

  What about him?

  His hospital plans were laid out on the table at the end of the great parlor. Hugo crossed to it, then took them up. Studied them, the long list of alterations. They were good. Very good. If such a hospital were ever built, it would be the world’s wonder.

  But he’d had blinders on for too long, to think that the only way to make up for the loss of Matthew was with a grand gesture. A new building that would never allow another life to be lost.

  No matter high or thick its walls, no hospital could keep illness away. It could not wall off decline and death.

  But that was all right, for it wasn’t the building that would make the difference. It was the people within it. The physicians and surgeons and nurses, and the supplies they had, and the way they were trained. And one could do as much good—maybe more—with a series of small gestures as with a large one.

  Such as showing a Northumberland youth how to dress a wound and put in sutures. Such as, one day, paying for his tuition to attend medical college, with the understanding that he would serve an area of England that had no doctor.

  Hugo couldn’t protect his brother Matthew. He hadn’t been able to protect himself, as the torn muscle of his shoulder reminded him. But when it mattered, he had protected Georgette without thought or hesitation. When the critical moment came, his own body had known what to do. Not with logic or forethought; with heart. He had shielded her with himself.

  Once upon a time, he’d been certain of always making the sensible choice, the wise choice. He’d thought of himself as too sensible for love.

  But his heart knew how to be wise too.

  She thought she could have loved him, she’d said. Perhaps he could convince her to give loving him another try.

  If not, he’d let her know how loved she was. She deserved to know. She deserved love, with no caveats, no limitations.

  “You’re returning to London with the gold?” he asked Jenks.

  “Once I send the required expresses and get replies, yes. The Mint needs to be informed. They might even send a guard to accompany me.”

  “I’ll go with you too,” Hugo said.

  He had scientifically minded men to meet with. He had Georgette to find. And find her he would.

  If he needed to, by God, he would hire a Bow Street Runner. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know one.

  Chapter Twenty

  July 1817

  With her thumb, Georgette could cover the face of the king.

  She flipped the gold sovereign, marveling at its lightness. An advance on her first pay from the marchioness, so she could have her gowns tailored to appear “less academic.”

  The Marchioness of Stoneleigh—Tess, to her family—was a kind and fluttery employer. Upon arriving in London, Georgette had imposed upon the Duchess of Willingham with extreme politeness. She showed Hugo’s letter to the duchess and asked not for house-room, but for Her Grace’s knowledge of some genteel employment.

  The marchioness, having tea at the moment with her mother-in-law, had perked up. “Can you governess? Have you ever been a governess?”

  Georgette answered carefully. “I know French and grammar and mathematics. I’m not much of an artist, though. But I love caring for children.”

  By the end of the day, Georgette had been installed in the nursery of the Stoneleigh town house.

  The marchioness was overwhelmed as could only be a woman with little to occupy herself. What was she to do, besides grow an heir? And so everything that came her way, from correspondence to appointments, seemed an intrusion that took her aback.

  Georgette did not envy her idleness, though she wouldn’t have minded the marquess and marchioness’s riches.

  The three little children—Hugo’s nephew and nieces—plus one more on the way, reminded Georgette of living with Cousin Mary and her husband and children. In the two weeks since she’d arrived in London, she had called on her relations once, finding the shop lively and the family’s chambers as crowded and chaotic as ever. A day maid was helping, and Georgette’s former chamber had been given over as a second nursery. It was a good change. Cousin Mary had given her a cracking hug and said how glad she was to see Georgette had landed well.

  “I worried about you so,” she said. “Even though I knew you were with a duchess.”

  “A marchioness, now,” Georgette added, skipping rather a lot of the events in between her departure and the present moment.

  “Just between us,” whispered Mary, “the new maid isn’t working out. She’s lazy as can be. I do miss you.”

  “Would you like to hire a respectable widow?” Georgette offered. “She’s the farthest thing from lazy. She’s young and strong and kind, and she’s expecting a child. She needs work, and she will work hard.” After traveling with Harriet Linton for a week of difficulties borne with patience and good cheer, there was no recommendation Georgette would not give her.

  Georgette gave Mary the direction of the boardinghouse where Linton was staying. “Call on her soon, won’t you?”

  Mary would. Mary did.

  So they were both settled. The oldest Stoneleigh child was five, young still for having a governess. Georgette remembered herself at that age, turned loose in the bookshop to educate herself. Never encouraged to play.

  So she taught the little lord and ladies to count in French and began working with them on sums. But she also fit together puzzles with them, listened to their silly poems, and laughed more than she’d ever thought she could.

  Their favorite game was when Georgette plumped down with them onto the nursery floor and said, “Ask me as many questions as you wish.” She heard about everything from childish fears (where does lightning come from?) to curiosities (what does a whale eat)? Sometimes they all went to the home’s library together to find an answer, if the marchioness wasn’t at home to callers at the time. Georgette knew better than to violate the determined manners of high society by trooping children through the house.

  Besides which, she didn’t want to embarrass Tess and the marquess. They had welcomed her. There was space for her here, within this family.

  And it was new, uncluttered by old memories and heart-sorrows.

  Well. Mostly. The marquess looked a little too much like his younger brother Hugo for heart-sorrow to be entirely absent from her days. And when the children asked her a question to which she didn’t know the answer, she couldn’t help but think of him. A man who wanted to learn everything was exactly the sort of person such moments called for.

  But she was doing what she had always known she must: build a life in which she didn’t rely on anyone else.

  It wasn’t what she wanted. But she’d been fine in the past, and she was fine now. Better than fine. These people . . . they mattered to her. Her fondness for them made the sun more cheerful as she woke each morning and dressed for the day ahead.

  And today, she had a half day off. Time to shop for a new gown with her gold sovereigns, which were nothing more scandalous now than any other coin of the realm.

  The scramble after the Royal Mint’s reward was over, and the gold sovereigns were to be found all over England.

  Lord Hugo Starling’s name had been in the society papers. Even before he returned to London, he was a hero—right alongside Callum Jenks, the Bow Street Runner, who couldn’t be bothered with any of the attention and was soon dropped from all mentions of the case.

  Hugo had wanted notoriety, and he had got it. She was glad for him. She tried not to think of him, though.

  She was not successful.

  When she turned around, ready to leave the nook that served as her chamber in the nursery, she believed for a moment her thoughts had conjured him in the doorway. But—he was really there? She shrieked to see him there, large as life, blocking her passage from the room.

  “Hu—Hugo?” Her heart thumped wildly
. “You startled me. What are you doing here?”

  “I live in London. I’m only sorry it took me so long to get back. Jenks had to wait for the guards to arrive from the Mint, you see, and I had promised to travel with him. And Lowe’s sutures—”

  “Never mind.” She took up her reticule. “If such reports are all you have to give, then you have my congratulations. I am about to leave, though. Please let me pass.”

  “Are you due time off?” His dark brows lifted. “Can you walk out with me?”

  She couldn’t tell him no, even though the last words she’d said to him had been a declaration of love—to which he’d said only I’m sorry. “Once the maid arrives to take my place, yes.”

  The nursery was four floors from the pavement, tucked under the eaves of the brick town house. A slant-ceilinged and cozy space, it was newly papered and floored in new and clean-scrubbed pine. A small carpet in a geometric pattern covered the center of the room.

  “Your father had this newly refitted,” Georgette explained. “The roof leaked, and the home needed some other repairs. It’s nice now, isn’t it?”

  Hugo searched the lines of the room with his eyes. “You don’t feel ashamed to accept my family’s help?”

  “I’m working for my bread. I could never be ashamed of that.” She smiled at the three small children playing at the other end of the room. They hadn’t yet noticed their visitor. “You see, I had a purpose all along. I like looking for things, and I like helping people. Especially if I find the things, and especially if the people I help say ‘thank you.’ Lottie—” She raised her voice. “Here is your handkerchief.”

  “Miss Frost!” The little girl leaped to her feet, then ran across the room and tackled Georgette’s legs.

  “Or if they do that.” Georgette smiled. “That is even better than words.”

  “Do I get a hug too?” asked Hugo.

  “Uncle Hugo!” Lottie flung herself at Hugo.

  “I meant from your governess,” he said. “But this is nice too.”

  A maid scratched at the door frame. “Miss Frost?”

  “Elizabeth, thank you. The children are in your care. I’m ready to walk out, and I’ll be back by six o’clock.”

  “But Miss Frost. Lord Hugo.” The maid bobbed a curtsy. “His Grace the Duke of Willingham has called here, and he wants to see you both.”

  “What an honor,” Hugo said. “I find myself overcome.”

  Georgette hushed him. “We’ll be right down. Thank you.”

  As they descended the stairs, Georgette asked Hugo, “To what do we owe the honor? Why would your father call for you here?”

  “I expect because I’ve been jawing on about you since I arrived in London. And Loftus and Tess have been jawing on about you since you took up employment here. Do you have a halo and wings? I have heard you are an angel.”

  “Damned with faint praise,” she said. “And here I thought I was getting on well with them.”

  “Ha.” Outside the door of the house’s formal parlor, Hugo paused. “Whatever the duke has to say, I’m on your side.”

  “Why, what do you think I did?”

  Almost before the question had left her lips, though, he had opened the door.

  Georgette had never met the duke, but she would have recognized him at once from the society papers. When he stood, in his bearing was the confidence of generations of nobility—and in the stubborn line of his jaw was a strong resemblance to Hugo.

  “Your Grace.” She curtsied.

  Introductions were completed all around, and then the duke grunted, “I wanted to meet Miss Frost. And you, Hugo—I wanted to give you something.”

  He shuffled forward, wincing.

  “Is the gout bad?” Hugo asked.

  “Not so bad as it was. The lemon juice is helping, I think.”

  Lemon juice! Georgette speared Hugo with a glance.

  But then the duke stretched out his hand, and in it was a watch—and she forgot all about teasing Hugo when she saw his expression. He wore a naked sort of look, as if he had so much feeling it could not be hidden.

  “Matthew’s watch,” he said at last. “You kept it.”

  “I did,” said the duke. “I needed it. But you needed it too. You should have it now.”

  Hugo hesitated—then closed his father’s hand about the watch. “No. Keep it, Father. I’ll remember him always. I don’t need the watch for that.”

  The duke left his hand outstretched, uncertain, then drew it back and replaced the watch in his pocket. “Be considerate,” he said. “Don’t make a spectacle. Be mindful of appearances.” He shook his leonine head. “Such advice doesn’t always make sense, does it?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Hugo said.

  “I’m . . . proud of you. For what you did in Northumberland. And I think your idea about quarantining ill tenants . . . it was all right. That is—if you’d advise the medical men nearest each of my estates, that would be all right too.”

  Georgette had never seen Hugo’s brows lift so high. “Will your medical men listen to me?”

  “They will if I tell them to.”

  Hugo muttered something that sounded like, always a blunt instrument. “I would prefer to be listened to because they are interested in my ideas and find merit in my methods. But I suppose as long as I am listened to, it doesn’t matter why.”

  The duke cracked a thin smile. “It’s good to be a duke’s son.”

  Georgette laughed. “I have often told him so.”

  “Well. That’s all I came to say,” said the duke. “Hugo, you’re sure about the watch?”

  “Quite sure. Thank you.”

  “All right, then.” And that was the end of the conversation. Inclining his head in a silent farewell, the duke made his careful way out of the parlor.

  “Do you want to walk out now, Georgette?” asked Hugo. “There are a lot of things I need to tell you. Or maybe you should sit and have some tea.”

  “How mysterious you are.” She sank onto the nearest settee. “Here I am, sitting. No need for tea. What have you to tell me?”

  Many things, as it turned out, ranging from coins hidden in the barrel of Madeira to the nature of Sir Frederic’s treachery.

  “I should have known he was no good,” she replied. “His books’ bindings certainly weren’t. And so you have claimed the second part of the royal reward?”

  “In a manner of speaking. That is, it’s mine, but I won’t keep it.” He was pacing, an excited sort of agitation she had never seen him display. “I realized a single hospital in London is not enough. What I want to do is teach—or make it possible for others to learn—the combination of surgical and medical care that will allow a doctor to meet a patient’s every need. Not only in London, but across England. Education for boys like Matthew Lowe, who could attend medical college and return home to practice.”

  “It sounds brilliant. But—wait. Wait. Your hospital? You are giving up on your precious, precious hospital?”

  “Oh, I’m not giving up on it.” He paused in his pacing, shooting a sly smile at her. “I will donate the plans to either the Royal Society or the Royal College of Physicians. I haven’t decided which. It depends on which institution will allocate more money for it.”

  “You are pitting them against each other,” Georgette realized. “Nicely done. I hope the hospital is built someday.”

  “Whether it is or not, I shall use my station as the son of a duke—”

  “Finally, he admits his privilege.”

  “—to do what has not been done before to help people. With the reward money, I will endow scholarships to cover tuition at every medical college in the country. And I can use my own income to see that the families of youths who travel to medical school are not left impoverished by their absence. Because the point isn’t to have a hospital. It’s to help people regain and keep their health. That’s the best way to honor Matthew. Not with a building.”

  How earnest he was. There
was none of the bullheaded attention to detail that had marked his obsession with the hospital plans. He seemed . . . free.

  “It all sounds brilliant,” she repeated. “Another in your line of wise choices.”

  “Only wait. Here comes the wisest ever.” He dropped to one knee, pulling the signet from his finger. “You told me from the first moment of our trip that you found me acceptable.”

  Her heart began to thump hard, as if waking after a long sleep. “I said I found your idea acceptable. Is that ring for me?”

  “Yes. Right.” He held it out to her, checking his balance as he leaned forward. “Will you have it?”

  She took up the ring, considering. “The last thing I said about you was that I loved you. Then you apologized.”

  “And I apologize again, this time for the apology. What a dreadful thing it was to say. I wanted to protect you from everything, and I had not planned for love.”

  “You do rather a lot of planning.” She held up the ring. “Am I meant to be evaluating this, to see whether it’s made of melted sovereigns?”

  He cursed. “No. Sorry. You’re meant to be deciding whether you want that on your finger. I should have said so at once.”

  She slid the ring onto her finger. “It doesn’t fit.”

  He lurched to his feet, then flung himself onto the settee beside her. “Then I’ll get a different one, if you want it. What I’m really asking is whether you’ll marry me. Because I love you, with all your honesty and humor. Your confidence and your wish to find the best in people.”

  She wanted to say something, but all her thoughts had scattered like dandelion seed.

  Then he took her hand, too-loose ring and all. “I love the way you reached out to me, the way you shared your feelings with me, the way you learn everyone’s names and notice book bindings and persuade people to play the smallpipes and—”

  “Now you’re just babbling whatever comes to mind.” A smile was tugging at her lips.

  “Whatever comes to mind is something I love about you.”

  “My toes.”

  “Certainly. Though I’d love you if you had only five, or none at all.”