A Lady's Honor

by A. S. Fenichel

  “No. Sick and weak. He may have ruined his health. I have sent for the doctor to look at him.”

  “I will get a footman to help you, Markus.” Mother’s eyes were clear and strong but there was a catch in her voice.

  “No. I will carry him up. He barely weighs anything. I do not think he has eaten in some time.”

  Tom stepped into the room as Markus lifted Father into his arms. When they had been spies for the crown, they had learned to assess every situation and Tom scanned the room as if he were in a French outpost gathering intelligence. “Has the doctor been summoned?”

  “Yes,” Mother said.

  “Did he fall or pass out?”

  “A bit of each, I would say.” Markus carried Father out of the office and up the steps.

  Watson waited on the landing and led him to a room where several maids and Mrs. Donnelly where rushing around with sheets and wood for the grate. The final tuck was put on the bed as Markus placed his father in the center.

  “Watson, have these clothes burned. They are tattered and rank.”

  “Yes, my lord. I will have his lordship cleaned up and dressed for bed.”

  Gripping Watson’s arm before he ran off to do his bidding, Markus held his emotions just below the surface. “Be gentle with him, Watson. He is frail as a bird.”

  Watson met his gaze and his stoic resolve eased. “Of course, my lord.”

  * * * *

  Geoffrey Flammel had never been a good father, but seeing him withered away and stinking like alcohol hurt Markus more than he’d prepared for.

  Had he not come to his senses this could have been his fate. Phoebe had made him see that living in a drunken fog was not living at all. He hurt the people around him much like Father had hurt them.

  Skin pasty and eyes sunken, Father wouldn’t last long like this. Perhaps food would help. The doctor had been located but was several hours away dealing with a sick child. Stepping outside the guest room, Markus nearly bumped into Watson. “Good, you are here. I think we should see if you can get some soup into him. I do not think he has eaten. Lord only knows where he has been for more than a month. Clearly, he is in desperate condition, but perhaps it is not too late.”

  Dory stepped out of the shadows of the hallway. “Is he that bad, Markus?”

  With a curt nod, Watson hurried down the hall to the servants’ stairs.

  Markus opened his arms and Dory stepped into his embrace. “He looks very bad, Dory. I have no idea if he will survive or if he even wants to. His coming here seems a good sign. We’ll know more after the doctor arrives.”

  She rested her cheek on his chest. “Even though he has been a terrible father, I am sad that he has done this to himself. I hate to see him end this way.”

  Kissing the crown of her head, he sighed. “He is not dead and he may live on. Let’s not be too hasty.”

  She stepped back and nodded. “Will you send for Adam?”

  “I think I will send him a letter explaining the situation and let him decide for himself if he wishes to come. We each have had our troubles with Father. I do not want to bully Adam into coming.”

  “That is fair. I am not ready to see him yet. Maybe tomorrow.” Dory had suffered the most at Father’s hand. He had tried to marry her off to an old codger who he owed money to. To save herself, Dory had eloped with Thomas Wheel. Father had been so enraged he publicly challenged Thomas to a duel. Despite Father’s drunken state, Thomas didn’t fire and had been badly injured.

  “I completely understand. You can help me write to Adam, then perhaps a walk outside. I want to take Elizabeth to Emma’s grave this afternoon. Would you like to join us?”

  Dory pushed a golden curl behind her ear. “I will help you with the letter, but you should go alone with Elizabeth. It will be good for both of you.”

  * * * *

  Markus called for the carriage and a reluctant Miss Cavot handed Elizabeth over to him.

  “Are you certain you would not like me to accompany you, my lord?” As if Markus might toss the child in the woods, she gripped one of Elizabeth’s hands before finally relinquishing.

  “I can care for her, Miss Cavot. She is my daughter and I am not an imbecile.” Markus smiled hoping it would put her at ease.

  Elizabeth chirped and giggled in his arms. Patting his cheek, she said, “Papa.”

  “Indeed.” Joy filled Markus’s heart. “Do not worry. We will be back in an hour or two if the weather holds. You should take some time off, Miss Cavot.”

  Ducking into the carriage and settling them in, Markus knocked on the roof. “Drive on, Patrick.”

  “I think we are making your Miss Cavot quite nervous, Elizabeth.”

  “Winnie,” she shouted and clapped as best she could with the layers of clothes meant to keep her warm.

  It was hard to become sad about their destination when Elizabeth brought such joy to his life. The horse chugged up the hill to where Markus had set aside property to be a family graveyard. The Flammels had long been buried at Castlereagh Manor, but he wanted Emma close and she had always loved the wildflowers that bloomed on the hill. They were gone until spring, but a few dandelions had still survived the cold.

  Gray storm clouds and the chill in the air meant those remaining flowers would not last long.

  The large stone came into view and Markus knocked for Patrick to stop. He stepped down and lifted Elizabeth out of the carriage. “We will walk from here, Patrick. I do not imagine we will be long.”

  “I will be here when you are ready, my lord.” Patrick pulled his coat closed around his throat and leaned against the horse.

  Markus put Elizabeth on her feet and took her hand as they walked toward the grave. As they neared the stone, Markus slowed then stopped still twenty feet away.

  Elizabeth stared at him. “Go?” Her bright green eyes questioned him without censure.

  “It is time, is it not? Let’s go and see your momma.” The first tear left a cold streak down his cheek. He brushed it away.

  Elizabeth let go of his hand and approached the stone. She patted the flat front. “Momma.”

  Kneeling next to her, he ran his fingers over the carved stone.

  Emma Elizabeth Flammel

  Beloved Wife and Mother

  Forever in our hearts

  Elizabeth patted the stone as if it were Emma’s cheek. Her little shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath and she sighed.

  Markus settled back on his haunches and admired the beauty of the spot. From there, nearly half of his property was visible. Hills rolled down toward Rosefield. The fields lay at rest but in a few months the planting would begin again. Every season would bring new beauty to the spot and Emma would see it all. It was good and right that Emma rested up there where she could keep her eye on all of them.

  Elizabeth toddled away and plucked dandelions as if they were roses and lilies.

  “Forgive me Emma for not coming sooner. I am afraid I have not been at my best since you went away. I hope you were not watching as I tried to drink you out of my heart. A miserable failure, you will be happy to know. You are fixed in that spot, my love.

  “Elizabeth has a good heart and has already forgiven all my transgressions. She is so much like you, Emma.”

  Brushing dust from the stone, Markus kept an eye on Elizabeth’s progress with the last of the meager weeds. “Phoebe came and sorted us all out after I made a mess of Rosefield. I now see why you loved Phoebe so much. She is smart and kind, a very intriguing combination. The thing is, Emma, I have fallen in love with her. I never supposed it possible to love anyone but you in that way, but she opened my heart and I cannot remove her.”

  He rubbed the ache at the back of his neck and tugged a long bit of grass. “Frankly, I do not want to. Emma, you will always be here in my life, my mind, in the face of our daughter. I never want
to lose that and I will tell Elizabeth all about you until she is sick of my stories of our life together. Still, I want Phoebe to be part of our family as well. I love her as much as it is possible for a man to love a woman and I think it is too great a gift to ignore. A man does not get a second chance at love so often he can afford to wait. I hope you approve. I think you would. That is, if I can convince her to return. I have made a mess of that as well. Without you, Emma, I am all thumbs in every aspect.”

  Elizabeth squealed as she ran over with her fistful of crushed blooms. She put them on the ground in front of the gravestone. “Momma.”

  “I am sure she is smiling down from heaven and thinking how beautiful those are, dearest.” Taking Elizabeth in his arms, he stood. The first flakes of snow fluttered down as he walked back to the carriage. The tree on the hill left a shadow on the gray sky and the brown grass soon gleamed white. His footprints, left as evidence of his coming, would soon be filled white.

  Glancing back at the snow that already covered the stone in heavy wet flakes, he smiled away his sorrow and dreamed of all that lay ahead.

  In his arms, Elizabeth fell asleep on the ride home, and by the time they pulled in the drive, the snow was falling hard. Before long everything would be a stunning winter scene.

  Miss Cavot rushed out the front door and down the steps to meet them, her cape flapping around her.

  Markus restrained his laugh. “I will put her to bed. She has been asleep for ten minutes.” He carried Elizabeth up to the nursery, pulled off the layers of warm clothes and put her to bed.

  A smiling Miss Cavot curtsied as he left.

  Markus walked down the hall to the room where his father lay. Entering, he found Mother sitting by the window and Doctor Johnston putting a bottle in his bag.

  Mother glanced at him, then back out at the falling snow. The back of the chair stood high above her head. The window frames made a light pattern on the bed, dividing Father in parts. The sum was not greater than his parts as it turned out.

  Wearing a powdered wig, Doctor Johnston bowed. “My lord, your father is very ill. I do not believe the small bump on his head from the fall is at fault. He has a fever and his lungs have taken on fluids. I would like to sit him up with some pillows, as that might help him breathe easier. You did well to feed him soup. I will instruct your cook to fix a light broth to be fed to him every few hours. I think he has starved himself, and it would be best to get him used to eating slowly.”

  “Will he live?” Markus was prepared for the worst, but after the trip to Emma’s grave he didn’t know if he could take more.

  Dr. Johnston rubbed his round belly. “I do not know. If his lungs clear and he eats, his heart is strong enough and he should recover. Honestly, if he does not modify his life, it will not matter. He is ruining his health.”

  “I understand.” His gut twisted. Once again, Father’s selfishness affected the entire family and his own behavior had not been much better.

  “I will leave my nurse with you, my lord. She will know what to do if his condition worsens, and I will return tomorrow to check on him. I do not believe his condition is critical for tonight.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  After the doctor left, Markus stood near his mother and put his hand on her shoulder.

  The nurse came in with a few of the maids toting pillows and they worked to prop Father up.

  Geoffrey moaned and coughed but did not wake.

  The nurse pressed her fingers to his wrist for a few moments, nodded, and left them alone.

  Mother took Markus’s hand. “I would not be very sorry to see you as earl. I know that is an unkind thing to say about my husband, but he has not been much of a father or husband.”

  Squeezing her hand, Markus sat on the window seat next to her chair. “Do you remember going to Bath when I was a boy, Mother?”

  She smiled. “You were only six, and Dorothea was just a baby. I had grown sad after she was born and your father insisted that the waters would lift my spirits.”

  “We walked along the street and a parade of circus performers danced by. Father laughed and laughed.” Markus let the memory warm him. It had been years since he’d remembered the holiday so long ago.

  “Geoffrey loved fanciful things like the circus or an amusing theatrical. Back when he was young he wanted to join a circus as a high wire walker. Of course, it was more to drive his father’s ire. He did love to laugh.”

  “You did too, Mother. I remember the two of you when you laughed quite a lot.”

  “That was a very long time ago.” She brushed the moisture from the corner of her eye.

  So much time had passed while his family was sad or angry. “Did the waters help?”

  She stared out at the snowy afternoon. The hint of a smile lit her eyes. “After a month, I felt better and we went home. Geoffrey insisted it was the water and I did not dispute his claim.”

  “I am going to ask Miss Hallsmith to marry me.” Markus had not intended to speak of his intentions to his mother, but suddenly he wanted her approval.

  She turned away from the window and took his hand. “I am happy to hear that. I know she will make you happy. The way you looked at her it was clear that you had feelings for her.”

  “Was it?” He didn’t realize his regard was so obvious. “I asked her to stay, but she was determined to return to London. I will go to London when Father’s health recovers.”

  “And if he does not recover?”

  “Mother, we shall all cross that bridge when we must and not a moment before. There is no preparing for these things. I am in no rush to become an earl.”

  She drew a deep breath. “As much of an ass as your father is, I am in no rush to become a widow. It is only that things would be easier if he were not always making them so hard.”

  It was the first time he had ever heard such language from his mother and he couldn’t help laughing. He squeezed her hand. “We are a tough bunch, we Flammel men.”

  “You are not like him, Markus. You made some mistakes, but you are stronger than your father.” She used a scolding tone, but that was Margaret’s way.

  The tone, more than the words, comforted him. He kissed her cheek. “Do not sit here too long, Mother. I will send the nurse in. You should rest. I know that I am exhausted from this very long day.”

  “A short nap might be just the thing. You go. I will have a word with your father, then go to my room.”

  It was the most relevant conversation he had ever had with Mother. “Thank you, Mother. You and I have had our differences, but you have been a very good mother.”

  She blinked through unshed tears and smiled.

  He left Father’s room and went to his own. Sitting on the edge of his bed he longed for a drink to ease his sorrow and blur his memory.

  Chapter 17

  No. 4

  When an Everton lady finds herself in a volatile situation, she should keep her chin up, her shoulders back, and use her wits to soften the scene.

  —The Everton Companion

  Rules of Conduct

  The snow continued to leave London deserted. At least it appeared so to Phoebe. No one braved the cold to walk the streets. The fire crackled in the hearth, keeping it cozy inside. She pulled her legs under her on the wine-colored damask settee. Staring out the window, she imagined how pretty Rosefield must look in the snow. Markus might take Elizabeth out to play in it or they might huddle by the fire sipping chocolate.

  “This is not helping,” Phoebe scolded herself.

  “What is not helping?” Honoria breezed into the front parlor in a wispy gown and a flowered hat. She wore sapphires around her wrist and neck and each large stone was surrounded by a ring of diamonds, a stark contrast to the dark wood paneling and masculine decor.

  Turning as she put her feet on the floor, Phoebe pulled her wrap tighter. “
Never mind. I am just watching the snow pile up and feeling sorry for myself. Why are you dressed for April?”

  Honoria’s dress floated around her. “It makes me feel better than bundling up for winter. I ordered tea.”

  Everton House was the residence of mostly women, but the rooms were decorated for male sensibilities, with polished hard wood and dark furniture. Still, it was comfortable and unfussy, something Phoebe appreciated.

  Phoebe relaxed back. “You will wish for bundling in a few minutes when the chill hits you. But the tea sounds lovely.”

  With a swish of her voluminous skirts, Honoria flounced into a cream, overstuffed chair facing Phoebe. “I dislike the city during a stormy winter. No one is about and there is nothing to do. I may go to my country estate for a few months as this weather will ruin the season. If you would like to join me, I would be happy for your company, Phoebe.”

  Maybe she could hide at Honoria’s country estate. No one would find her if she just slipped out of town and told only Lady Jane of her intentions to get some peace. Inwardly, she groaned over her responsibilities. “I must stay here through Tuesday, as I have promised those gentlemen I would see them. If you are willing to wait that long, I would consider a time in the country. It is very kind of you to offer.”

  Honoria waved her hand. “Not at all. I enjoy your company, and we both deserve some time away from the demands of society. It is no bother to wait a few more days and I am curious to see what Mr. Blunt and Mr. Durnst have to offer themselves. Will one of them change your mind about marriage?”

  Outside, a carriage pulled to a stop in front of the house with snow six inches up on the wheels and the familiar Thornbury crest emblazoned on the side. Phoebe sighed as Billy, the footman, jumped from the back and ran up the steps.

  Without waiting for a response, which would have been that Miss Hallsmith was not taking callers, Ford, Miles, and her mother stepped onto the street. Mother pulled her hood tight against the driving snow and took Miles’s arm to climb the steps.

  Mrs. Grimsby opened the door and cleared her throat. “I couldn’t stop them, Miss.”