by Jane Goodger
“Charlie?”
Thank God thank God thank God.
He rushed to her side, afraid to touch her, afraid he was dreaming. “Yes, love, it’s Charlie.” She looked up at him with a face so pale, his heart stopped in his aching chest. Her lips were blue, her brown eyes glazed and unseeing. Her gloved hands clutched the wrought-iron bars as if they were the only thing preventing her from toppling into the road. Those silly fine kid gloves would do little against the frigid night.
“My God, you’re so cold. Here, let me carry you. You’re not far. You almost made it. Almost.”
He lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing. He could have lifted her if she weighed a hundred stone, he was that relieved to have found her alive. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he settled her against him, one arm beneath her legs, the other around her back. She draped across him as if just the energy needed to hold on was too much, and he held her close, his chin resting against her shoulder, her head pressed to his neck.
“We’ll have you warm and in front of a fire before you know it, Rose. You’ll be fine. And Mr. Cartwright, he was so happy to know you’d be visiting. He’s out looking for you, too. Are you still with me, love?”
She managed a sound, it could have been a word but he wasn’t certain. All he knew was that he had to get her warm and away from the cold wind and snow. He walked more than a mile, his arms aching by the time he reached Cartwright’s home. He’d talked to Rose the entire way, but she’d stopped responding and he realized there was something worse than knowing Rose would never love him.
When he reached the house, he climbed the stairs and kicked at the door. Almost instantly it opened, Cartwright’s butler there to usher him in.
“Call a doctor,” Charlie said, following the butler, who led him toward the second floor and to a bedroom not far from the landing. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, making the room feel overly warm to Charlie. He stood, Rose still in his arms, as the butler tore back the blankets so he could gently place her on the bed. She was soaked through, her cheeks unnaturally flushed, her hair wet and plastered against her forehead.
“Mrs. Fitz,” the butler called, walking hurriedly to the door. “We need clean dry clothes for the lady immediately. And someone to assist.”
A young maid arrived within minutes, her arms filled with soft, dry clothes, no doubt donated by the staff.
“Sir,” the butler said, when Charlie hovered by the bed.
Charlie looked at Rose, not wanting to leave her side. She looked so helpless, so lost, so unlike the woman he knew. He wanted to undo everything that had happened that day, to make her well.
“Sir,” the butler repeated, this time with more vigor, and Charlie forced himself to turn away and exit the room.
Downstairs there was the commotion of some of the footmen returning, and Charlie hurried down to let them know Lady Rose had been found.
“I found her,” he called, and the men let out a collective cheer. Charlie went to the foyer and stopped directly in front of Mr. Cartwright. “Sir, if I might have a word with you.”
“Of course, this way.” Cartwright let him to a large study where thankfully another warm fire glowed. Charlie was soaked through, his hands starting to hurt from the tingle of his blood returning to them. When they were inside, Cartwright motioned for him to sit, which Charlie did gratefully. He was suddenly exhausted and more worried about Rose’s welfare than he could admit to this man.
“If you could please explain to me what Lady Rose is doing here, I would be grateful,” Cartwright said.
“She sent a telegram,” Charlie said. “Did you not receive it?”
“I’ve just arrived myself,” Cartwright said, shuffling through his correspondence and unearthing the telegram, which he quickly read. “This says only she is coming to New York to visit. I may have been imagining things, and I sincerely hope I was, but I believe you said something about her wanting to marry. Me.”
“Yes,” Charlie said. “She got it in her head that you would make the perfect husband for her and that you would be agreeable.”
The man looked amused and baffled. “Why on earth would she think that?”
Charlie shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”
Letting out a sigh, he stood and headed for a sideboard where a decanter of some dark liquor sat. “Brandy, Mr. . . .”
“Avery,” Charlie supplied. “And yes.”
Cartwright poured, then walked over to where he sat, handing him the thick, crystal glass. It occurred to Charlie that a man of such stature had never waited on him before, nor had he ever held such an expensive glass in his hand. No doubt the brandy was fine as well. He took a sip and sighed. Damned fine.
“You must realize my confusion, Mr. Avery. I met Lady Rose on the night of her engagement. And here she is, in my home, hoping for a marriage proposal. I couldn’t be more surprised than if you told me you had a live elephant in your pocket.”
Charlie looked down at the carpet, decorated with swirls and finely rendered flowers, and weighed how much he should tell Cartwright. It was Lady Rose’s story to tell, but Charlie felt he should at least hint at her desperation. He wanted, if nothing else, for her to be safe, and this man sitting across from him seemed kind and even-tempered. And he had immediately set out himself to help find Rose.
“She was desperate,” Charlie said at last, keenly aware that Cartwright had remained silent while he thought. “She was to marry the Duke of Weston, but he . . .” Charlie stopped and looked up at Cartwright, who sat, staring evenly at him, waiting for him to continue. “He hurt her,” he said finally, and saw Cartwright flinch slightly.
“Hurt her. How do you mean?” he asked, his voice low but forged with steel.
Charlie shook his head, not wanting to say anything more.
“Did he rape her?”
It was Charlie’s turn to flinch. “He wouldn’t be alive today if he had,” he said, and was gratified to see Cartwright give him a nod. “But he . . .” Charlie could not say it. He couldn’t.
“Did he force her to do something unpleasant?”
Charlie swallowed, feeling sick. His chest felt as if it were on fire, and all he could do was nod.
“That explains it then.” Cartwright said the words without inflection, but it didn’t explain anything to Charlie, so he was slightly baffled how it could explain anything to this man. Cartwright took a sip from his glass and stared at the amber liquid for a long time before chuckling slightly.
“I fail to see anything amusing.”
“I’m glad you do not,” he said mysteriously, then sighed. “Lady Rose is a smart girl, if a bit naive.” He shook his head, smiling, and for the life of him, Charlie couldn’t imagine what the man was thinking. It was as if he was having an entirely different conversation from the one Charlie was participating in.
Brady appeared at the door of the study and knocked, even though both men looked up at his entry. “Dr. Landsdowne is here, sir. Shall I bring him to the lady?”
Charlie immediately got to his feet. “Yes,” he said, but the man maddeningly looked to Cartwright for an answer.
“Of course, Mr. Brady. Show him up immediately.”
Charlie felt a small bit of panic building in his chest. “Is he a good doctor?”
Cartwright gave him a sharp look, then smiled slightly. “The best. He was trained in Germany. One of my interests is to raise the requirements of men who become physicians. I find many inadequate to the task and some blatantly dangerous. Be assured, Mr. Avery, Lady Rose is being seen by one of the best physicians now residing in this country.”
Charlie nodded shakily. He hated that a strange man, no matter how qualified, was with her, touching her. She might be frightened. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go up. I . . .” Charlie looked to where the butler had been standing moments before. “I feel so damned helpless and I feel partially to blame. She was feeling ill on the boat, but I let her convince me she was well enough to find her own way to
your home. And then she was robbed. She’s not used to being in a city, never mind alone. I never should have let her go without me.”
“You say she’s ill? I had no idea. I do apologize, I thought you asked for a physician only as a precaution, not from any real concern.”
Charlie nodded, his throat feeling queer and thick, as if he’d swallowed a large bit of bread and it was stuck. “There was a woman on board ship. She became friends with Lady Rose and they spent quite a bit of time together.” He was finding it difficult to breathe, never mind speak. “She died, you see. And now Lady Rose is ill and . . .” He couldn’t finish, could not move any more words past a throat gone so tight, he could hardly swallow.
“I see,” Cartwright said softly. “Why don’t you wait outside her room so you can speak with Dr. Landsdowne when he is done with his examination.”
“Yes,” Charlie said. “Yes, I will.”
“Mr. Avery.” Something in the way Cartwright said his name stopped Charlie. “You love her.”
Charlie let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Of course I do,” he said, then headed out the door and to the second floor.
“You’ll wear out the carpet, you will,” Mrs. Fitz said not unkindly as she left Lady Rose’s room for the second time, shaking her head when Charlie lifted his head in question. Charlie got the distinct impression the staff was a bit excited to have a real English lady under their roof. Despite the fact Charlie’s clothing clearly proclaimed him a working man, they were polite and deferential. He gave another begrudging point to Cartwright. A well-run staff that appeared happy could only have a kind master who paid well. He didn’t want to like Cartwright, but he found it was impossible not to like the man. He was pleasant, polite, and measured. Lady Rose and he would get along quite well. Hell, just thinking of them together nearly drove him to his knees. But this home, that man, they were where Rose belonged, not in some two-bit rooming house, which was all Charlie could afford.
Finally, after an eternity of waiting, Dr. Landsdowne emerged. He was younger than Charlie expected, neatly dressed and sporting a well-groomed and rather impressive mustache and muttonchops.
“How is she?”
The doctor started, unaware that anyone had been waiting outside. “And you are?”
“A friend.”
“Mr. Avery works for Lady Rose’s family and I expect he’ll want to report to them,” Cartwright said easily as he approached the two men.
“Ah, Mr. Cartwright.” The doctor seemed almost relieved to see the other man walking toward them.
Charlie felt his hands curling into fists. He didn’t very much like being ignored, as if he were nothing—even though, to these two men, that’s exactly what he was.
“How is she?” Cartwright asked, glancing over at Charlie as if he were well aware he was repeating Charlie’s exact question.
“She has influenza,” he said in a clipped British accent that bespoke his origins. “And being out in this storm weakened her to a point that I am not certain she will survive the night.”
Charlie felt the blood leave his head and he staggered, held upright only by the wall. The doctor looked at him curiously, as if unaware how very devastating his words were.
“I’ve given her jaborandi and so she’ll sweat quite a bit. Do try to have her drink. It won’t do to allow her to get too dehydrated. Her fever is dangerously high, her breathing labored. I am sorry, Mr. Cartwright, but it is in God’s hands.”
Charlie listened to the physician’s words, spoken without inflection. He might have been talking about a tree that had been damaged in the wind and would have to be cut down.
“No,” Charlie roared. “You do something. She has not traveled all this way to die. You do something, you cold son of a bitch. You’re talking about a young girl in there, a girl who left home frightened and desperate, and she is not going to die tonight, because you are not going to let her.”
The smallest bit of emotion flickered in the young doctor’s eyes, there and gone and perhaps just imagined. “I am not God. And I am not immune to her suffering,” the doctor said calmly. “But I also know from experience that her chances of survival, given how gravely ill she is, are not good. Would you rather I lie and tell you she is well?” he asked, as if truly curious about Charlie’s answer.
“No,” Charlie ground out.
“I am sorry you do not like to hear the truth but, good sir, it is indeed the truth,” Dr. Landsdowne said.
Charlie stared at him, his eyes hot, his nostrils flaring, breathing like an angry bull about to rush toward a red handkerchief. Then he shook his head, calming himself. “If I were to perform a miracle this night, what would I need to do?”
Dr. Landsdowne looked away briefly before answering. “Keep her calm, give her whatever liquid you can.” He reached into his bag and brought out a small jar filled with a white powder. “This is aspirin with a special agent that makes it easier on the stomach. It’s a little concoction I borrowed from my good friend Mr. Gerhardt.” At the two men’s blank stares, Dr. Landsdowne furrowed his brow. “He’s quite a well-known chemist. At any rate, give her a half teaspoon every three hours.”
Charlie took the bottle and shook it a bit. “What does it do?”
“It should ease her pain and lower her fever. I’ve just given her a dose, so”—he pulled out his pocket watch—“don’t give her another until eleven this evening.”
“Anything else?”
The doctor looked at Cartwright. “Pray. Good evening, gentlemen. I will try to stop by tomorrow.”
“She what?”
“Wants to marry me.” Daniel watched with some amusement as his lover’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. “And now that I’ve gotten used to the idea, I have to say it’s not an all bad one.”
James looked at him as if he’d gone mad, and perhaps he had. Because the idea of marrying had always been slightly distasteful, and not for the obvious reasons. Daniel had always felt that to get married, he’d have to trick some poor unwitting girl into thinking he loved her in all ways a man should. He didn’t have the stomach for that kind of deception. But he had thought about it, especially lately. The rumors, the sly jokes, the questions. He’d tried, God above knew he’d tried, to be normal. He’d prayed, he’d even been to a doctor who’d given him electrical shocks to set him straight. Finally, he’d just given up. Or rather, James had made him give up, because every time he tortured himself, it hurt James terribly.
“So, you think I’m an abomination, is that what you think? Because if you think you’re an abomination, that must be what you think of me.” Those had been James’s words, spoken in anger and pain.
Daniel didn’t think James was an abomination. He loved James. It was all so damned complicated. And here was this gift, this girl who had been hurt and who had traveled across an ocean to ask him to marry her. He had a very strong suspicion why Lady Rose had suddenly decided he would be a good husband. No doubt she’d heard the rumors, the same ones that had held back his career, the same ones that had men, some of them his good friends, looking at him askance.
But if he were married, all those rumors would stop.
“It wouldn’t be a real marriage. I suspect she knows.”
James snorted. “How could she possibly know?”
Daniel shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea, but I suspect she heard something. This will end up ruining my career, you know, unless I do something about it.”
“But marry? It seems a rather drastic measure and not at all fair to her. Can you trust her?”
Daniel gave this some thought, and nodded. “I can. I’m sure of it. Her servant didn’t know, you see.”
“Servant?”
“The man who brought her here. He was her head groom and on his way to America, and she tagged along. She didn’t tell him. He thinks she just wanted to get far away from her fiancé and I seemed a good candidate for a husband.”
James slumped on the chair, one leg dangling off, and pout
ed. “I don’t like it.”
“Nothing would change,” Daniel said softly. “It might even be better. If I’m married, you become just a friend in the eyes of the world. They’ll say, ‘Oh, I guess I was wrong about that Cartwright fellow.’ Don’t you see? It could be grand.”
James shook his head. “She might die, so don’t get your hopes too high,” he said sullenly.
“You know, James, sometimes you can be a real ass.” Daniel stalked from the room, not even knowing why he was so angry at James’s callous words. Or maybe he did. The poor girl had crossed an ocean thinking he would keep her safe. How could he say no to that?
Chapter 12
Some attention is absolutely necessary, in this country, to the training of servants, as they come here from the lowest ranks of English and Irish peasantry, with as much idea of politeness as the pig domesticated in the cabin of the latter.
—From The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness
Rose, her long hair loose and still damp around her head, lay motionless in a bed covered with a thick layer of blankets. Her cheeks were flushed and small beads of perspiration formed near her hairline. Charlie walked toward her and around the bed, lowering the flame on the lamp by her bedside so that the room was nearly completely dark but for a small halo of light. Her hands lay atop the covers, unnaturally still.
“Rose,” Charlie said, his voice low. Her eyes fluttered opened. “Hello,” he said, grinning, happy beyond reason that she was able to open her eyes. Such a small accomplishment, but it gave him hope.
“Hello,” she whispered. “I feel quite unwell. How did I get here?”
“I found you huddled on someone’s steps and I carried you here.”
She furrowed her brow. “I don’t remember. The doctor says I’m in Mr. Cartwright’s house?”
Charlie nodded.
“These covers. Too hot.” She weakly pushed at the blankets, at least four, covering her, so Charlie took two and peeled them down.
