Her old friend patted her knee. “There is nothing to forgive, child. Sometimes life has a way of draping about our shoulders and pressing us down beneath the weight of it. Is there anything I can do to lighten your burden?”
Her lips twisted into a wry grin. “I don’t suppose you’d want to marry Mr. Grimlock so he’d stop pestering me?”
“I don’t think he’d be very interested in an old governess.” Miss Whymsy set down her teacup, then picked up a book she’d brought along. “Here, this ought to put you in a better frame of mind.”
Mina took the novel and ran her fingers over the red cover with gilt type, thrilled yet confused. Had the older lady forgotten she’d already read this title? “Not that I don’t appreciate revisiting Mr. Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, but I must be honest and tell you I’ve already read it. Several times, in fact.”
“Ahh, but you’ve not read this one.” Miss Whymsy reached for the book and opened it to the title page.
“Oh, my.” Mina sucked in a breath as she stared at the fine, black penmanship scrolled across the paper. “How ever did you manage to come across a signed edition?”
“It’s not mine. It is merely on loan from the director of the institute. Which reminds me…” Setting the book on the cushion between them, Miss Whymsy folded her hands and leaned forward. “I was wondering if you might speak with your father when he returns today. The institute is fair to bursting with women in need, and much to my regret, I have seen several turned away for lack of space. I know I’ve asked you before, but I feel I must inquire once again. Is there any chance your father would open up a room or two to house those who are ailing?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think—”
But her friend cut her off with a touch to her knee. “Allow me to explain. It wouldn’t be for those who are contagious but for those who are on the mend and not quite ready to go home yet. By relocating those women here, it would open up beds for other women in need.”
An ache settled deep in her soul, not only for the thought of the sick women being turned away, but for the way Miss Whymsy’s faded blue-green eyes glimmered with hope. How awful it would be if her friend fell ill and had nowhere to go.
But no. She steeled herself. Father would never allow it.
“I am sorry, my friend, but especially at this time of year, what with the annual Christmas Eve party, there will be absolutely no space whatsoever at the inn. I would love to help, truly, but I am afraid housing women here is out of the question.”
“Posh, child.” Miss Whymsy sank back onto the cushions. “I figured as much, but on the off chance, thought I’d ask. And don’t sell yourself short…you have helped. The money you donated went toward more bandages and dressings. I suppose we shall just have to increase our time petitioning God. Shall we?”
“Of course.”
They bowed their heads—but a rap on the door jerked them back up. Mina’s heart pounded off rhythm. Had Mr. Grimlock come to further torment her? But surely he wouldn’t have knocked. Nor would Father have employed such a courtesy if he had returned.
“Oughtn’t you answer that, my dear?”
Miss Whymsy’s voice prodded her into action. She stood and crossed to the door.
“Just the person I was looking for.” William Barlow, hat in hand, entered, looking far too handsome in his royal blue cutaway suit coat and buff-coloured trousers. His smile warmed her, as did his gaze. “Good afternoon, Mina.”
Across the room, Miss Whymsy cleared her throat.
Mina bit her lip. Had the older lady heard the way he’d spoken her Christian name?
Will turned toward Miss Whymsy. “My apologies, madam. I did not realize Miss Scott entertained company.” He dipped his head in respect. “William Barlow, at your service.”
“Miss Whymsy.” Mina swept her hand toward Will. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Barlow. Mr. Barlow, my friend, Miss Whymsy.”
“The pleasure is mine, madam. I am sorry to have interrupted. I promise this shan’t take long.” His gaze swung back to Mina. “But if you don’t mind, might I have a quick word with you and your father?”
Her eyes widened. “My father?”
“Yes.”
“I—I…” Her words stalled. What in all of God’s great goodness could Will possibly have to say to her father? “But he is not—”
“Go on, child.” Miss Whymsy interrupted. “Tend to your young man. I shall wait here, for I have a friend to keep me company until you return.” She reached for the book.
Will crossed to the door and held it wide. “Shall we then?”
Curious, confused, but mostly nervous Mr. Grimlock might see them, she led Will down the corridor to a small alcove at the end. The space was occupied by a single chair and an end table. A window graced the nook with perfect reading light, and it was a favorite haunt of hers when the weather turned too inclement to be outside.
Will stepped next to her, and she peered up at him, but oh how hard it was to think, let alone speak, when he stood so near. She edged back a bit, until her skirt brushed against the chair. “Why do you wish to see my father?”
He fidgeted with his hat, his fingers playing with the brim. Was he nervous too? “You can’t very well spend Christmas at my uncle’s estate without your father noticing your absence. So I thought I’d have a word with him.”
She shook her head. “As much as I’d like to help with keeping your uncle out of an asylum, there is no chance my father will allow me to go.”
“Then I will persuade him, that is unless…” He set his hat on the small table, then straightened. Gathering her hands in his, he looked deep into her eyes.
Her breath caught in her throat. This was a moment she’d read about in stories. Dreamed about at night. Was this real? The heat of his body standing so near sure seemed it, as did the touch of his fingers against hers.
“Mina, I need to know. Do you want to spend Christmas with me? If you don’t, say so, and I shall walk away and not trouble you further.”
Trouble? She gaped. Did William Barlow not know the effect he had on her? Could he not feel the trembling in her hands? She did want to be with him, Christmas or any other time of year—but without the lie that both bound and kept them apart.
Swallowing back emotion, she steeled herself for what she must say. “There is nothing I’d like better in all the world, but I cannot—”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” A brilliant smile deepened his dimples, and he squeezed her hands, pulling her close, wrapping her in his excitement. “Now then, where is your father?”
“He’s not yet—”
“Unhand that woman!”
Will turned. She shrank.
“Excuse me.” Will’s voice hardened, belying the apology in his words. “But the lady and I are having a private conversation, and I will thank you to leave us to it.”
Afternoon light highlighted the glisten on Gilbert Grimlock’s brow as he scowled at Will. “Who do you think you are, ordering me about?”
Will advanced a step, his jaw clenched. “Not that it signifies to you, but I am Mina’s beau.”
Her—what? She sucked in a breath.
So did Mr. Grimlock. “We’ll just see about that,” he spit out, then his gaze slid to hers. “Mina, your father has returned.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Why, on this day, the great battle was fought on this ground.
The Battle of Life
Will stared at the man stomping away down the corridor. Judging by the pound of his steps, if the fellow had been clutching a gun, Will would be bleeding out on the floor right now. Why such animosity? And why had he allowed that animosity to goad him into such a defense? Declaring to be Mina’s beau. Of all things. Not that he hadn’t intended to speak to her father about the possibility, but what would this unfavorable start lead to? He’d gone about things the right way with Elizabeth, and that had ended horribly. But this? There was nothing even remotely right about the muddle he’d made of thing
s with Mina.
He turned to where she stood deathly still, her fingers pressed against her mouth.
“Mina?” Closing the distance between them, he gently lowered her hand. Her skin was cold to the touch. “Who was that man?”
Cavernous eyes sought his. “Mr. Grimlock. He manages the inn when my father travels. And if Father has returned—oh, Will!” A little cry caught in her throat. “I am afraid of what kinds of fabrications he’ll tell Father.”
A surge of protectiveness tightened his gut, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. “Then we must reach your father before he does. Lead the way.”
She needed no more encouragement. His legs stretched to keep up with her furious pace. She led him along one passageway, cut through a storage closet with two facing doors, then scurried down a short flight of stairs and turned left, stopping breathless in front of a door—
Where the striped coattails of Mr. Grimlock disappeared.
“I think it best if I go in first.” He squeezed her hand then released his hold. “Wait here.”
“But—”
“Mina.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “All will be well. I vow I shall make things right. Will you trust me in this?”
Her blue gaze held on to his, and slowly, she nodded. The fear, the hope, the shimmer of tears all did strange things to his heart.
“Good girl.” He wheeled about. Now, if only he believed his own brave words.
Lord, though I don’t deserve it… For a moment, his silent prayer faltered along with his step as the truth of his words slapped him. Of course he didn’t deserve the ear of God or His help. The Creator of all shouldn’t even listen to him after not only being involved in such a great deception but dragging Mina into it as well.
Yet was God not the author of mercy? Of grace? Of second chances?
“Will you trust Me in this?”
The same question he’d asked Mina circled back and punched him in the gut. Either he believed all he’d heard and read of God, or he didn’t. He wasn’t merely standing in front of an innkeeper’s office door, but at a crossroads. One that would make or break his faith.
He sucked in a breath, and blew out another prayer. “I need Your help, Lord. Make me the man Mina expects me to be—and the man You want me to be. I will trust You in this.”
He strode into the small room, prepared for battle.
Ahead, Mina’s father stood behind a paper-strewn desk, shrugging out of a great, woolen travel cloak. Dried mud caked the hem, and as he hung the garment on a peg, clods of grey dirt fell to the floor.
“This man! This is the very man of which I speak.” To Will’s left, Mr. Grimlock swung out his arm, aiming his index finger like a javelin. “Not two minutes ago did I catch this man trifling with your daughter. The shame of it! The gall, right here beneath your own roof, sir.”
Mr. Scott continued to unwind a long muffler from about his neck, placing the wrapper on the same hook as his coat, and then finally, he turned. When his gaze met Will’s, his hazel eyes widened, his brows shooting toward his shock of reddish hair—the same colour as Mina’s, albeit shorn and faded to rust. “Mr. Barlow? Can it be you?”
Planting his feet, he nodded. “It is me, sir, the very same faithful patron who’s frequented your establishment this past year.”
“He’s a son of Venus. A rake!” Rage purpled Mr. Grimlock’s cheeks, spreading up to his ears. “I insist you cast this villain out immediately for the sake of your daughter’s virtue.”
Mr. Scott’s chest expanded as he looked from Grimlock to him. “Well, Mr. Barlow, what have ye to say?”
“Your daughter’s virtue is of my utmost concern—which is why I came here to speak with you today.” He paused, heart pounding. Crossroads were notorious for danger, especially this one, for he knew it well. Could he really go through with this again?
How could he not?
Perspiration beaded on his brow, and he had no doubt he looked as moist and quivery as the angry man next to him. Even so, he squared his shoulders and looked Mr. Scott straight in the eyes. “I ask your permission, Mr. Scott, to court your daughter.”
Mina’s father grabbed hold of the back of his desk chair with both hands. “I can hardly believe it,” he murmured.
“Mr. Scott!” Mr. Grimlock ducked his head like a bull about to charge. “I insist on my right of first claim to your daughter’s hand. We have a verbal agreement, do we not, sir?”
Will stiffened. Why had Mina never mentioned such a thing? Unless, perhaps, she didn’t know? He slid his gaze from Grimlock to Mina’s father, thinking on all the times the man had not quite filled his or Fitz’s mugs to the brim though they’d paid for fulls. Or the times the ale had tasted distinctly watered down. Mr. Scott was a shrewd businessman—but would he have cut such a deal with the boorish Mr. Grimlock?
“Well…” Mr. Scott blew out a long breath, his cheeks puffing, then lifted his face to Mr. Grimlock’s. “I did say if Mina didn’t take a fancy to any gent before the end of this year, the girl would be yours.”
Will’s hands curled into fists. Not that fathers didn’t frequently arrange marriages, but from the little he knew of Mr. Grimlock, the man was unsuitable for Mina in every way. Still…he might be able to use Mr. Scott’s unsavory proposition to his advantage. He dared a step closer to the desk. “It is not yet the end of the year, sir. There are four weeks remaining, and Mina’s taken a fancy to me.”
Her father shook his head, and it was hard to say which creased his brow more—the fatigue of travel or perplexity. “I never saw it coming,” he mumbled.
“Don’t be absurd.” Mr. Grimlock threw out his arms. “Mina can have no idea who is the better man for her. And clearly I am. What does this toff know of running an inn?”
“It is not the inn I intend to pursue.”
“You see?” Mr. Grimlock faced Mina’s father, thumping his chest with his thumb. “I am the superior choice.”
Of all the pretention. Percy might be able to learn a trick or two from this arrogant fellow.
Mr. Scott fell silent. Releasing his hold of the chair, he crossed his arms and stroked his chin, clearly deep in thought. That didn’t bode well. Mina’s father couldn’t seriously be considering the arrogant Mr. Grimlock as her future husband…could he?
Will strode forward, a righteous indignation burning in his gut, and planted his hands on Mr. Scott’s desk. “Ought not your daughter have a say in this? It is her life, after all, that we are bandying about as if she had no stake in the matter.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Scott gruffed out. “Perhaps ye’re right.”
“Absurd!” Mr. Grimlock raked his fingers through his hair, standing it on end.
Ignoring the outburst, Mina’s father lifted his chin and bellowed, “Mina? Come in here, girl. I know ye’re out there!”
Will edged back from the desk, chest tight and breath stuck in his throat. Mina likely wouldn’t choose Mr. Grimlock, but what if she didn’t choose him either?
Or worse, what if she did? Elizabeth had at one point too—and he still bore the puckered scars on his heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.
Great Expectations
Mina? Come in here, girl. I know ye’re out there!”
Mina clutched great bunches of her skirt as Father’s voice boomed out his office door. Fatigue harshened his words. The timing of this conversation couldn’t have been worse, for her father was ever ill tempered after having suffered the inconveniences of travel. What would he say? What had been said? The milk she’d taken in her tea with Miss Whymsy soured in her stomach. Reading about such intrigues was far different
from living it—and she wasn’t sure she liked it. At all.
Leaving behind the safety of the narrow corridor, she stepped into the lion’s den. Mr. Grimlock turned toward her, looking as if he might pounce at any moment. His hair stood on end in patches where he’d tugged it.
Father paced behind his desk, hands clasped at his back. His clothes were wrinkled, and he had yet to remove his hat.
And Will, God bless him…Will stood tall and proud, an island of strength in this sea of tension. He stepped aside, making enough room for her wide skirt, the reassurance in his blue gaze lending her support.
“Mina.” Father halted his pacing and faced her. “It’s come to this. Ye know I would see ye married, child. Ye must choose between these two suitors. Will you have Mr. Barlow or Mr. Grimlock?”
She pressed her lips tight to keep her jaw from dropping. Of course there was no contest, for Will had ever been her hero since the first day he’d sauntered into the Golden Egg. Was her dream really about to come true?
“This is preposterous!” A fine spray of spittle flew out along with Mr. Grimlock’s objection. “You hardly know the man.”
“Mr. Grimlock, if ye please.” Father skewered the fellow with a scowl. “Mr. Barlow has been a regular patron this past year, is a law clerk of good standing, and I’d wager makes the same amount to care for Mina as you. Am I right, sir?”
“Yes, sir.” William nodded. “And there’s the distinct possibility I am in line to inherit an estate.”
“What a load of tosh.” Mr. Grimlock turned to her, the movement wafting a sour odor of mouldered oranges. The stains beneath his arms spread in ever-darkening circles, especially when he threw up his hands. “That young swell could be saying anything to fill your head with fanciful thoughts. I offer you stability. The good Grimlock name. A life of pattern, predictability, and solid parameters. Don’t be a fool.”
Her hands curled into fists. He knew nothing of Will and even less of her to think she desired to spend the rest of her days in such a lackluster fashion. “Mr. Grimlock,” she said through gritted teeth. “I thank you for your offer, yet I choose Mr. Barlow.”
A Tale of Two Hearts Page 9
