by Heather Gray
Isabel almost refused, the talk of sleeping potion still fresh in her mind. Instead, she asked Owen, "How did you escape?"
Maggie handed the cup to Owen and slipped her arm under Isabel's shoulders. With a gentle touch, she lifted Isabel to an almost-sitting position then reached over and retrieved the cup from Owen. Isabel drank thirstily as Maggie held both her and the cup. Her eyes fluttered closed at the simple bliss of being able to slake her thirst.
Isabel took her time before pushing the cup away. Maggie smoothly handed it back to Owen, who answered the earlier question. "A boy helped me. He couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen."
"Would you like to sit up for a bit?" Maggie's voice was as loving as her touch had been.
Isabel started to nod, but the pounding in her head gave her pause. "Yes, please," she answered before turning back to Owen. "Did he make it away safely?"
Owen remained seated as Maggie helped Isabel scoot up in the bed so she could lean against the carved wooden headboard. "I didn't learn his name, and he ran off as soon as we got out of the building. I owe him a lot more than just gratitude if I ever see him again."
Maggie took the cup from Owen and moved away toward a nearby table. Isabel's eye followed her a moment before returning to Owen. "How badly are you hurt?"
He gave her a wink. "I told you. I'll be fine."
She sighed. He wasn't going to make this easy. "You didn't offer to help Maggie move me. Have you become such a gentleman you now allow feeble old women to do all the menial labor while you sit by and demand your food cut for you and your cravat properly starched?"
Owen's eyes widened. She saw the exact moment he realized she was trying to provoke an answer from him. His pupils dilated, his lids dropped, and the corner of his mouth tilted up.
Maggie's voice trilled out from the other side of the room. "I'm neither old nor feeble, and you'd best remember that!"
Isabel smiled, having gotten the response she'd wanted from one of the people in the room. Now for the other…
"Are you saying you'd prefer I not be a gentleman?" His eyes dropped to her lips, and his gaze left her skin feeling scorched.
"Will you tell me, or shall I call Maggie back over here to give me a detailed report?" Her words were no more than a whisper moving through the room. The heat in his eyes robbed her of the ability to speak with any volume.
Owen blinked and looked away for a moment. He sat quietly, and Isabel wished she could see into his mind to know his thoughts. Peering back, he looked at her with shuttered eyes, the banked passion she'd previously seen gone. "One bonafide bullet wound, and a knee that will need quite a bit of tender loving care over the coming weeks."
"Well, you won't find anyone more tender or loving than Maggie, so I'd say you're in good hands."
"I'd rather be in yours."
The breath caught in Isabel's throat. "Pardon?"
Owen took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. Then he gazed back at her. "It's almost Christmas. Say you'll come with me to my parents'."
Isabel's eyes wandered over to where Maggie sat.
"I've already asked her and Red. They both said it's up to you."
Tears burned at the back of Isabel's eyes. "I can't ride. You probably shouldn't either, not with a bullet wound and a bad knee."
"Everything’s all taken care of. All you need to do is give me the go-ahead."
Much as Isabel wanted to spend the holiday with Owen, she couldn't leave Red and Maggie. "I can't." Her voice wobbled. "They're my family. I won't leave them behind."
Owen's eyebrows drew together, and he watched her, puzzled. "I already told you. They said it was fine."
Maggie approached again. She stood with a hand on the back of Owen's chair. "He doesn't mean you should go without us, Queenie love. He's sayin' we agreed to come with you." Her eyes twinkled. "The two of you are needing a nurse and a chaperone. I figure Red and I can see to those needs." Maggie winked. "Red makes a right good nurse, don't you think?"
A chuckle bubbled up in Isabel's throat. She felt foolish for having missed Owen's meaning and was thankful to Maggie for the levity. "Aye. But he needs a nice serviceable apron and lace bonnet."
Isabel closed her eyes for a moment and tried to collect her scattered thoughts. Upon opening them again, she saw Owen was still sitting right where he'd been, his gaze expectant. Maggie had moved away, allowing them a measure of privacy.
"Did they find the men who took you or why they took you? Where are we?" The unfamiliar room was comfortably appointed but not opulent, elegant without being ostentatious.
Owen leaned forward. "Tobias, his team, and the parish constables rounded up most of the men involved in taking me. The leader seems to have slipped through the net. We learned his name is Giles. As for why…" Owen sat back, a frown marring his handsome features.
"What is it?"
He sighed. "Somebody on the boat recognized him. Phineas was involved in getting the gold here to begin with. He shouldn't have gone with us to the ne Hurlants. Somebody recognized him, and now they're after him for having deceived them. Phineas is in a lot of trouble — and not just with whoever paid Giles to take me."
Isabel processed the words. It didn't make sense. "Phineas is a character, a part he plays, and the Phineas character is involved in illegal activity all the time. That's the role he stepped into the minute he took on that name." Her mind was moving slower than she'd prefer, but it kept tugging at the threads of thought. "He had to know assisting us would put him at risk, that he might be recognized by some dangerous people. Yet he helped us anyway."
Owen shrugged. "That's what Tobias wants to believe, but Phineas has disappeared. A ghost can't answer questions."
Isabel shuddered. "Had he never reported to Tobias about the bribery plot?"
A slight headshake. "He and Tobias had an understanding. Phineas gets called on if Tobias can't go through regular channels. Sometimes there can't be a record of what's being done. So no reports until the task reached completion, and then the reports were kept vague on any details that might raise eyebrows."
"Poor Phineas."
Owen bit his lower lip before speaking. "What if he's no different than his brother? We know how good he is at being deceitful. What if he's not using it for the side we think he is?"
Isabel shook her head. "I stared into his eyes while he told me about becoming Phineas. You'd understand if you'd seen his pain. Now he's out there all alone, and he's being hunted by this Giles person and who knows how many others? If the criminals he's dealt with as Phineas learn he's working for the Crown, he's as good as dead. We have to do something to help."
"Neither of us is in any condition to go looking for him, especially when we have no idea where in all of England he's gone. If he contacts either of us, we'll do what we can to help."
Owen stood from his chair then and leaned close, brushing his warm lips across Isabel's forehead. "So, have you decided yet whether or not to join me for Christmas?"
Owen was up to something. She could tell. They couldn't already be at his parents' house. Maggie wouldn't have approved such a long carriage ride while Isabel suffered from a head injury. He'd evaded the question each time she'd asked about their location, too. Yes, Owen was definitely up to something, and Isabel aimed to play along.
"All right then. As long as Red and Maggie can accompany me, I shall join you and your family for Christmas."
The smile that split Owen's face made Isabel's heart race. He acted as though she'd handed him the moon on a silver platter. "I'm glad." His voice grew husky and sent chills racing haphazardly up and down Isabel's spine.
Owen left then, leaning heavily on a cane.
Once he was gone, Isabel spoke to Maggie. "Is he as well as he claims?"
Her dear friend waggled her hand. "A doctor took a look at him and told him to stay off his feet as much as possible. It's been easy enough. He hasn't wandered far from your side as he's waited for you to wake up. As for the bullet hole
, I cleaned the wound out good. Dug around to make sure no cloth or wadding was left behind before I stitched him up. He was blessedly unconscious for that, but he's going to be in pain for a good long while as it heals up."
Isabel absorbed the words before asking, "He wasn't in here the whole time, was he?"
Maggie's brow wrinkled with her frown. "What do you mean?"
Isabel lifted her arm to show Maggie her nightdress. "I wasn't wearing this the last time I saw him."
Maggie chortled with delight. "No, you weren't, were you? You were a beggar man and had rotting cabbage stuffed in your pockets. If you could have seen the look on your boy's face the moment he realized the old man was you. It took a while, too."
"He carried me out of the alley, didn't he?"
"Not you. The beggar. Because he's a good man. In all fairness, he was in a lot of pain. I'm not sure he was paying much attention to anything. Don't you worry, though. He didn't see a thing. Once we got you settled in here, I took care of changing and bathing you while Red stood guard outside the door. The way I heard it, Owen stood there, too, glaring at Red until one of the servants took pity on him and brought a chair. Then he sat and glared. He was angry I'd drugged him, but he was too much of a gentleman to take it out on me."
"Where exactly is here?"
Maggie put a finger to her lips. "Mum's the word, Queenie. He wants to surprise you, and I, for one, think you're about due for something pleasant. I won't be the one to give it away."
That independent spirit inside of Isabel reared up. For years, she'd fought the feeling of not being in control. She trusted Owen, though. Didn't she? Of course she did! Isabel took as deep a breath as she could manage, and as she exhaled, she let it go, that need to be in charge. Owen was a good man, an honorable one. He might not be the most skilled fighter, and he might lack a level of comfort when in disguise, but he would protect her with his life. Incongruous? Maybe to someone who didn't know them well. To Isabel, though, it finally all made perfect sense.
Isabel reached out and traced a finger along Maggie's cheek. "Thank you for taking care of us both. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Her dear friend beamed and clasped her hand. "You're not going to have to find out anytime soon, so don't you worry about it. I've been informed Christmas starts early around here, so you need to go back to sleep and get some rest."
Isabel nodded, sleep already tugging at her with relentless persistence. Maggie's loving arms surrounded her, and before long Isabel lay comfortably in bed again, drifting on the cusp of sleep. Maggie's voice drifted with her. "Don't you worry about a thing, Queenie. I'll be right here, and Red will be back soon, too."
Feeling loved beyond measure, Isabel gave in to the pull of slumber.
Chapter Forty
Christmas Morning
Owen stood on the balcony and watched the sun rise.
"This is early even for you, son."
He circled and saw his father at the door to the balcony, a hesitant look on his face. He still had questions, but Owen couldn't be angry at his father for a situation the minister had manipulated. "Join me."
His father accepted the olive branch and stepped out onto the balcony. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for finding Isabel. Has… has she ever said why the minister was so insistent about putting her to work at the War Department?"
That particular conversation was an intrusion on the beauty of the morning, but Owen refused to let it dim his mood. "As best we can figure, he was afraid she might have known something. She has no recollection of anything that would warrant such an action by the minister, and if she ever did know anything, it was likely washed away in the flood of grief that followed her parents' deaths. I'm afraid any possibility of obtaining a full understanding of the minister's motives died with him."
Mr. Loring's voice was grave. "Had anything happened to her, I would have carried the guilt all the way to my grave."
Owen used the edge of the balcony to support most of his weight. "Guilt is a funny thing."
An eyebrow quirked up on his father's face, a face so similar to his own. "How so?"
"You blame yourself for not doing more to protect the Thorpes. Isabel blames herself because an evil man killed people she worked with."
His father's indrawn breath reminded Owen how little the man knew of Isabel's life since her parents' death.
"I've reached a conclusion about guilt. There are two kinds — the good and the bad."
His father's head tilted to the side. "I'm listening."
Owen shifted away from the balcony and settled into a chair that had been set out for him the day before. "When you've done something wrong and need to make it right, that's the good kind of guilt. It prompts you to be a better person, to correct something."
Mr. Loring nodded in agreement.
"The other kind of guilt comes from our inability to forgive ourselves. We are sometimes much better at forgiving others than we are at forgiving ourselves, don't you think?"
His father again nodded.
"Is that what God wants for us? To be wracked with guilt for things we truly had little control over? I don't suppose I ought to speak for God, but I can't imagine that's the life He'd want for His children, can you? We should learn from our mistakes, true, but we're not to carry them like chains around the neck for the rest of our lives."
Mr. Loring stared through his son. "So guilt is about forgiveness, the lack of it anyway."
Owen nodded. "God forgave you the moment you asked it of Him. At some point, you're going to need to forgive yourself, too."
"I thought you'd hate me when you learned the truth."
With the aid of his cane, Owen struggled to his feet. He reached out and rested his hand on his father's shoulder, mirroring what his father had done to him throughout his childhood whenever the man had wanted to have a serious talk. "I wish you'd told me sooner, but I can't blame you for what happened all those years ago. It wasn't your doing."
A tremor moved through Mr. Loring's body, and Owen began to understand how much this secret had weighed on his father all these years. He made a move to set his cane aside so he could hug his father, but before he was able to put the cane down, his father pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace.
"I love you, son, and I'm proud of the man you've become."
****
The entire downstairs of the townhome was decorated with holly, laurel, and mistletoe. The festive mood was infectious.
As soon as Owen had known Isabel would recover, he'd sent word to his parents and asked they join him in London for Christmas. Then he'd opened the family's townhome and set Red to the task of making sure it was properly adorned for Isabel's first Christmas back in the land of her birth. Red, it turned out, wasn't a man who did things by half measures. The decorations had crossed from proper into extravagant four hours prior.
The small staff normally kept on whenever the townhome was not in use was stretched to the limit with all of Owen's demands for the special day, but they rose to the occasional with aplomb. The housekeeper's nieces even came to help so everything would be done on time. With nothing more than Red's barked orders and candlelight to guide their hands, greenery was spread throughout the home. Always the gentleman, Red had insisted on doing the dangerous tasks himself, and the girls had huddled together at the base of the ladder to hold it steady for him as they tittered at the sight of him so far above.
Christmas had always been a big affair in Owen's family, much more so than among any of the neighboring families where he'd grown up. Even Isabel's parents had thought their family tradition odd. It had worn on Owen the last two Christmases when he'd been unable to make it home to the family estate. This year would be different. He would get to spend the holiday with his parents and with, God willing, his new family, too.
Owen stood at the bottom of the stairs awaiting Isabel. He'd planned to walk with her to the drawing room so they could break their fast. Cook had set out a wonderful array of sweet
tarts, brioche, honey cake, and more.
Precisely as he thought he wouldn't be able to wait any longer, Isabel appeared. Maggie and Red were with her, but they stayed back, allowing her to make a grand entrance. Owen had planned to wait until later in the day, but as soon as he saw Isabel, all reason flew from his mind.
She was breathtaking. It wasn't the elegant gown the color of ripe plums. Nor the upswept hair and dainty neck. Neither was it the graceful way she glided down the stairs. Isabel was breathtaking for who she was. Everything she'd been through in her life, how she'd taken hardship and transformed it into hope, the way she'd built her own family so she'd have people to love. There wasn't a single thing about Isabel that didn't add to her beauty.
As she came to the bottom of the stairs, Owen swept into a low bow. "I am in awe of you."
Roses bloomed in Isabel's cheeks.
Owen cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat. "I'd planned to talk to you about something later today, but I fear I've again forgotten how to be a gentleman and won't be able to let you eat until I've had my say."
Isabel stood quite close to him by now. Too close for his peace of mind. Surprising him, she reached up and ran a hand along his cheek. She kissed him then, her sweet lips resting against his in a way both innocent and enticing.
With his free hand, Owen reached up and cupped the back of Isabel's neck. Her skin was smooth and soft beneath his fingers, and the thrill of the touch shot straight through him. She shivered, and despite his inner protests, Owen withdrew his hand and broke off the kiss. Isabel was too tempting by far, and he needed to concentrate on what begged to be said.
Owen had rehearsed what he wanted to say. He'd strung together lines of flowery words filled with enough emotion to make poets weep. Once his mouth opened, however, only three words fell out. "Be my wife."
Isabel took a step back and examined him through lowered eyelashes. "Where will we live?"
Owen frowned. "I don't know."
"What will we do? Will you still work for Tobias?"
"I don't care."
