by Laura Landon
“What happened?”
Madame Boulereau shook her head, but the expression on her face told Willow that perhaps she did.
“I’m so sorry about your shop. Do you know what started the fire?”
Madame Boulereau shrugged her shoulders but didn’t offer an answer. Willow wanted to ask more, but two of the seamstresses hurried in carrying rolls of cotton fabric. They rushed to the doctor and placed the material on the bed next to him.
“I need a couple of men to help me,” the doctor bellowed.
Liam and several men that worked in the warehouse stepped forward.
“Lift him to an upright position as gently as you can. I need to bind his broken ribs.”
Liam and one of the men placed Blake’s arms around their shoulders and gently lifted him. The other man held his head steady.
The doctor wrapped wide strips of cloth from beneath Blake’s arms, down his chest, to below his waist. Although Blake wasn’t conscious, he moaned several times when the doctor tightened the cloth around his ribs. The tighter the doctor wrapped the cloths, the more Blake fought him.
“Hold him still,” the doctor ordered, but Blake’s arms swung through the air as he fought against the pain. “Someone, come and help me,” the doctor yelled.
Willow didn’t consider what her actions might indicate to the people in the room, but she rushed forward. She needed to be near Blake. She needed to do whatever she could to help. She needed to tell him how important it was that he survive.
“Talk to him. Try to calm him,” the doctor said when she came near.
Willow leaned forward and brushed the hair back that had fallen across his forehead. “Stay calm, Blake,” she whispered. “The doctor is almost finished. He’s almost done and you can rest.”
“Willow…” he moaned.
“Yes, Blake. It’s me. I’m here. I’m with you.”
Blake’s only answer was a moan, but he seemed to calm. At least a little.
Willow continued to talk to him. She encouraged him to stay with her. His breathing was labored and uneven and she urged him to take one breath after another and not stop breathing. Several times she was afraid that he had stopped, and her heart jolted inside her breast each time his breathing faltered.
“Don’t you stop breathing, Blake. I’ll never forgive you if you give up. I refuse to let you leave me. Do you hear me?”
His breaths became more uneven and labored, and every part of Willow’s body screamed in fear that he would stop breathing. She couldn’t allow him to die. Although she’d tried to tell herself that she didn’t care for him that much, she knew now that she’d been lying to herself. She cared for him more than she should. More than she could allow herself to.
Finally, the doctor finished. He poured a large amount of laudanum into a glass of whiskey and held it to Blake’s lips. Thankfully, Blake was able to drink. After he’d finished the liquor in the glass, Liam and the others lowered him to the mattress. The doctor pulled the covers up over him, then walked to the door. Liam and Madame Boulereau followed him. Willow held Blake’s hand while she listened to what the doctor had to say.
“I’ve done all I can, Mr. McGregor,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Keep him calm, and if he starts to wake, give him more laudanum.”
“Will he make it?” Liam asked.
The doctor shook his head. “If he does it will be a miracle. I’ve never seen anyone beaten as badly as he’s been. Someone wanted him dead.”
Tears formed in Willow’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She let them roll down her face as she brushed her fingers across Blake’s brows and squeezed his fingers. A fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced consumed her. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t know how she’d go on if he wasn’t in her world.
Even though she knew it was impossible for her to have a life with him, at least she would be content knowing he was enjoying life.
Even if she wasn’t a part of it.
Chapter 13
After several hours, Willow let Madame Boulereau take her away from Blake’s bedside. She didn’t go far. Only to the next room, to Blake’s office where a tray of hot tea awaited them.
Willow, Madame Boulereau, and Liam silently drank their first cup of tea before Willow spoke. She was unable to wait any longer before she asked the one question to which she needed an answer. “Who did this?”
Madame Boulereau shared a look with Liam then shook her head. “No doubt someone who wanted to send Blake a warning.”
“A warning for what?”
“Perhaps a competitor in the ready-made gown business.”
“Surely not,” Willow said. She refused to believe someone would harbor so much jealousy that they’d attempt murder. She shifted her gaze to Liam. “Who do you think did this, Liam?”
Blake’s friend walked to a small cupboard where Blake kept several bottles and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into a glass. After he took a hardy sip, he returned to his chair. “I’d be betraying a confidence if I said what I think. And I won’t do that. I think too highly of Blake to share what he told me.”
“Does someone want him dead?” Willow asked.
“I believe so.”
“Why?
“Blake has made some enemies. Some very influential enemies. I believe one of those men may have tired of Blake prospering.”
Willow tried to get more information from Liam, but she was finally forced to give up. When she finished her tea, she returned to Blake’s room to be with him.
She wouldn’t be able to stay the entire day, but she could stay at least a few hours. Before she left, she’d take time to organize the seamstresses and make sure they had enough different fabrics to complete the number of gowns they needed to sew, then she’d spend another hour or two with Blake. The doctor had given him enough laudanum so he’d sleep the entire day. They were to keep a close eye on him, and the doctor promised to come back again before nightfall, although from his demeanor she gathered he felt they’d more likely be calling a mortician.
Willow would give anything to be able to stay with him throughout the evening, but that wasn’t possible. Lady Shelton’s ball was tonight and Lord Kendrick had sent her flowers with a note that said he looked forward to seeing her. That undoubtedly meant he’d made a decision concerning their future.
Willow reached for Blake’s hand and held it. His flesh was warm to the touch, but not overly hot. She rinsed a cloth with the water in a basin beside his bed and placed it on his forehead. The doctor had informed them that the greatest risk was that Blake would develop a fever. Willow prayed that wouldn’t happen, but he’d been beaten so badly she didn’t know how he could fend off a fever.
“Blake, I need you to fight through this,” she whispered. “Please, don’t give up.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She sat at his bedside and placed one cool cloth after another on his face and body. She brushed her fingers over his flesh, continually telling him how much he meant to her. Continually telling him that she loved him.
He didn’t wake. Nor did he regain consciousness. But Willow was certain he heard what she was saying. Once or twice his fingers tightened around hers. That had to be a good sign. So she continued to talk to him.
She stayed with him as long as she dared, then took her carriage home. Thankfully her mother and father were still dressing for the evening and she had a few moments to herself before she had to dress for Lady Shelton’s ball.
She used her time to focus on the flowers Lord Kendrick had sent with his note stating that he looked forward to seeing her this evening. The meaning behind his message was clear. He intended to make her his wife. Which meant that he was ready to accept her secret passion.
Little did he know that because Madame Boulereau’s shop had been destroyed in a fire, there was no longer a place for her to submit her designs. Except her designs for the ready-made gowns. There would always be a place for those. Willow was quite certain that this c
hange of events would cause her unseemly pursuit to sink even lower in Lord Kendrick’s eyes.
She called for Marie and dressed for the ball, but couldn’t stop her mind from returning to Blake. She wondered how he was doing. Wondered if he was improving, or if he’d taken a turn for the worse. She couldn’t bear the thought that he might have died. She wasn’t sure she could go on knowing that he was no longer in her world.
While Marie styled her hair, she prayed that Blake would survive. When Marie finished, Willow rose to go down to meet her parents. Somehow, she knew tonight would change her life forever. But it wasn’t the change she’d dreamed of. A feeling of dread consumed her.
She remembered the kiss she and Blake had shared. Remembered the emotions that raged through her body, how her blood heated in her veins, how her heart beat so wildly that she feared it would leap from her breast. She’d never experienced anything so breathtaking. Never drowned in passion that overwhelmed her so entirely.
She swallowed hard when she remembered that all of those emotions were lacking in Lord Kendrick’s kiss.
Willow descended the stairs. She struggled to place a convincing smile on her face as she neared the bottom where her mother and father waited for her.
“You look especially lovely tonight, my dear,” her father greeted. “Do you anticipate that something special might happen?”
Willow tried to keep a look of happiness on her face. “Perhaps, Father. Perhaps.”
The butler opened the door and Willow walked past her parents and out into the nighttime air. But not before she saw the look of happiness her mother and father shared. She only wished she felt that same happiness.
. . . .
“You look beautiful tonight,” Lord Kendrick said as he twirled her around the dance floor. “Is this one of your creations?”
“Yes, my lord. It happens to be the last creation Madame Boulereau finished for me before her shop burned.”
“I heard about that. What a loss. Were any of your designs in her shop when it burned?”
“One or two,” Willow said studying Kendrick’s handsome face as he held her in his arms. “But I think I can remember them well enough to recreate them.”
“That’s fortunate.”
The waltz finished and Lord Kendrick escorted Willow onto the terrace, then down the steps and across a graveled path. There was a small gazebo in the center of the garden and Lord Kendrick placed his hand beneath her elbow and led her to the wooden structure. When they’d climbed the two steps, he led her to a bench that ran the perimeter of the gazebo, and they sat.
“I have done a great deal of thinking since we last spoke.”
Willow lifted her gaze and studied the expression on his face. She saw no nervousness. Nor did she see any regret. What she saw was a firm resolve, as if he was bravely complying with an obligation he had no choice but to fulfill.
Willow remained silent. She waited for him to speak. Her future was in his hands. Whether or not they married would depend on what the Marquess of Kendrick decided. Her only stipulation was that she would insist that he allow her to continue her work. If he agreed to that, she would be his wife.
He sat beside her and reached for her hands. “I find you a fascinating woman, Lady Willow. You are gifted beyond measure and have a strength that some men would find frightening, but which I admire. I also believe we will get along reasonably well, and in time, may even come to like each other.”
“And love? Can you imagine that you might one day love me?”
Willow waited for his answer. She knew he didn’t love her now. Nor did she love him. But she didn’t want to think that love would never be a part of their marriage.
He squeezed her hands gently. “Yes, my lady. I can imagine that one day I will love you. And hope that you will come to love me.”
Willow lowered her gaze to where their hands were clasped in her lap.
“But I have to be perfectly honest with you,” he continued. “As you know, your dowry is important to me. Father hasn’t always managed his money wisely. In fact, he’s been plagued with unwise investments over the years. In order to save Father’s inheritance, I must have your dowry. Just as you require the estates that will be given to your brothers.”
Willow realized that the Marquess of Kendrick was willing to overlook the possible scandal she could create. He was willing to ignore the fact that Willow didn’t love him. And he did not pretend to love her. But he was going to ask her to marry him, nevertheless, in order to keep his father from debtor’s prison.
Willow’s heart sank.
She should be celebrating. This should be the happiest night of her life. But it wasn’t. Kendrick wasn’t the man she loved. He wasn’t the man who caused her blood to warm when he touched her. Blake was.
He wasn’t the one whose kisses weakened her knees. Blake was.
He wasn’t the man to whom she wanted to give herself. Blake was.
But Blake wasn’t the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life. Kendrick was.
Willow held her breath as she waited for Lord Kendrick to ask her to marry him. She knew once she gave him an answer, her future was sealed.
Lord Kendrick knelt down in front of her and gathered her hands in his. Willow prayed she would feel something. Prayed her heart would at least race in her breast. But it didn’t. It was as if the part of her that should be alive with happiness was dead to the world.
“Lady Willow, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. This wasn’t what she wanted. The Marquess of Kendrick wasn’t the man with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Blake was. But Blake couldn’t solve her family’s dilemma. Only Lord Kendrick could.
Willow nodded her head, then finally managed a weak answer. “Yes, Lord Kendrick. I would be proud to be your wife.”
He stood and brought her up to stand next to him. With a tenderness that she appreciated, he slowly wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers.
Willow returned his kiss with as much enthusiasm as she could manage. But it was difficult.
His kiss wasn’t Blake’s.
. . . .
She and Quinton, as he’d asked her to call him, decided to keep their happy news to themselves until the next evening. Quinton wanted to announce their engagement during a private dinner at Somerset House with just his father and her family in attendance. He thought it might be more special if they celebrated in private. Willow agreed.
Thankfully, when she reentered the ballroom, her mother said that she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go home. She insisted that Willow remain, but Willow refused. She was desperate to leave.
They bid their hosts farewell and gathered their cloaks. Before they left, Lord Kendrick invited her parents and four brothers and their wives to dinner the following evening. Her family accepted without hesitation.
As she traveled home, she realized how much her life had changed in the last few hours. She would soon be a married lady. But she wouldn’t be married to the man she loved.
She was suddenly desperate to see Blake. She needed to make sure he hadn’t developed a fever.
That he was still alive.
When they arrived at her father’s townhouse, she went directly to her room. “Marie,” she said. “Tell Roberts to ready a carriage.”
“At this hour, my lady?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain, my lady,” Marie warned. “It’s too dangerous. You ought not to risk going to Mr. Edison’s warehouse tonight.”
“I need to know if he’s all right.”
“Surely you can wait until tomorrow. Or send a messenger.”
“No. I need to go tonight. Have Roberts ready the carriage.”
Marie must have known it wouldn’t do any good to argue. She simply shook her head, then went down to complete her lady’s request.
“Your carriage will be waiting for you in the
mews in a few minutes,” she said when she returned.
“Thank you, Marie. Now, help me change.”
Willow changed, then waited until the house was quiet. When she was sure her parents were asleep, she took the servants’ stairway down to the kitchen. She exited through the kitchen door and stayed in the shadows until she reached the waiting carriage.
As the carriage traveled east, Willow sat back against the squabs and remembered how Blake had looked the last time she saw him. Tears filled her eyes when she thought of the bruises that covered his face and his torso. A heavy weight pressed inside her breast when she remembered how long the doctor had worked on him and the number of stitches he’d had to thread through Blake’s skin. And her heart felt as if it were breaking when she thought of how close to death Blake had been when she’d left him.
She brushed at the tears that ran down her cheeks. Who could want him dead? What could he have done that would induce someone to want to kill him?
Willow swore she’d find out if she had to hire an investigator on her own to discover the person behind the attack.
The carriage came to a halt in front of the warehouse, and Willow decided she’d ask Liam when she saw him. If anyone knew who might want Blake dead, it would be Liam. This time she wouldn’t let him get by without telling her what he knew.
When she disembarked, she went to the warehouse door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Her heart thundered in her breast as she realized her folly. Of course it would be locked. It was after midnight.
Or, perhaps Blake hadn’t survived and no one was there.
Willow’s heart raced in her breast as she pounded louder on the door. She was never so relieved as when the lock turned and the door opened.
“How is he?” Willow asked when Liam stood in front of her.
His face was pale and his expression drawn. He looked exhausted and Willow knew that he’d no doubt been at Blake’s side all day.
“He’s still alive,” Liam answered. “Although I don’t know how. Whoever did this to him didn’t intend for him to survive.”
