The Madness of Miss Grey

by Julia Bennet

  They kissed, soft and sweet as always, but unlike the others, this kiss felt like goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty

  From Dr. William Carter to Mrs. William Carter

  Dear Helen,

  Forgive me for not writing as often as I should. The Lunacy Commission has finally convened to discuss my report. The meetings are long and tedious, but we have a chance to achieve real and lasting reform. Bell’s help has been invaluable. Unlike me, he thrives on these endless discussions. I’m impatient for results while he’s content to theorize.

  Lord Shaftesbury is an honorable man in spite of his friendship with the duke. A full investigation of conditions at Blackwell is already underway. Thanks to Somerton’s intervention, the patients have already moved to another institution run by a doctor I know to be humane, having worked with him in the public sector. Most of the employees have been dismissed, though Sally is to remain with a skeleton staff. I know you’ll be pleased to hear that Elsie is among them.

  Beyond these things, there isn’t much to write about. I am glad you and Somerton are growing closer. No one should be entirely alone in the world. When I see you, we can discuss what must be done to secure your lasting happiness.

  Until then, God bless you.

  Helen refolded Will’s letter and placed it on the white lace tablecloth next to her empty plate. What she’d read had spoiled her appetite. No one should be entirely alone in the world. As if she didn’t have a husband. We can discuss what must be done to secure your lasting happiness.

  What was she to make of such coldness?

  “Something wrong?” Somerton—Alex, she reminded herself—said from the other end of the table. He’d polished off a large slice of beef pie while she’d been reading. It must have been good because his plate was almost as clean as hers.

  “It’s another letter like the last. I don’t understand what’s wrong with him.”

  “Don’t you?” He waited for her response with raised eyebrows.

  And he was right of course. She knew exactly what Will was doing and why. She’d had months to think about it, and she now understood that the problem hadn’t started with Vaughn. How many times had Will told her that women didn’t flirt with men like him? How often had she seen surprise in his eyes that she actually wanted to touch him? For a multitude of reasons, some of them with their origins in his first marriage, he still didn’t fully believe she wanted him. “He’s giving me time in case I want to give him up,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Which you can, if you like. I’ve never had a close family member I don’t despise before, so I’d love you to stay. If you ask it, I’ll find a way to have the marriage annulled.” He shot her a knowing smile. “Carter’s mother would be thrilled.”

  “Actually, I’m wearing her down. We’ve been corresponding, and it seems we agree on the correct way to stock a pantry. She’ll love me by Christmas.”

  “The point is, you don’t have to stay married if that’s no longer what you want. You could look higher.”

  She was about to tell him where he could stick that idea, but she stopped herself. Like Will, he only wanted her to have choices. “Yes, I know. And I’m truly grateful for the offer and for everything you’ve given me.”

  He shook his head in that amused way she’d grown fond of. He was every inch the put-upon but tolerant elder brother. “But you don’t want to live in any of my houses, do you? You want to live a thoroughly middling existence in the doctor’s cottage with your housekeeper’s son.”

  She smiled wistfully. “I’m afraid so.”

  “I knew Carter was wasting his time, but one can’t argue with someone as pigheadedly honorable as he is. I take it you’ve tried?”

  Every day for three months.

  She’d written countless letters about the life they would lead and the cottage they’d live in. She’d tried to paint a picture with her words. He would be the doctor this community needed, and she would run their home and join the local theatrical society. Alex said she could lead the small group of players simply by virtue of being his sister, but as she’d told Will, a coup would be more fun. Alex might call it a middling existence, but she couldn’t think of a life where she’d wake up next to William Carter each morning as anything but exceptional.

  All of this she’d written. What she hadn’t done was tell Will that she loved him.

  Alex sighed. “Helen.” A one-word reproach.

  “There are certain things I can’t say in a letter.” But it was time, long past time, that she say them in person. God knows she’d delayed long enough. What had she been thinking to sit here waiting for Will to come to her? Perhaps her newfound freedom had overwhelmed her for a while, but she was herself again, and her old impatience reasserted itself.

  “To London, then?” Alex said, reading her mind.

  She nodded.

  Alex insisted on accompanying her, and as it was already afternoon, they agreed to depart early tomorrow morning. “We should send a telegram so that Carter knows to expect us. I’ll send someone to the post office.”

  “No, let me go. It’s a beautiful day, and I need the distraction.”

  The sun shone just enough that Helen didn’t need to fetch her coat before she left the house, but an energetic breeze kept her from feeling overwarm in her new green walking dress. In the nearly three months since she’d left Yorkshire, spring had finally come. In the last day or so the blossoms had burst open on the trees lining the drive. The pink blooms were riotous, as if they, too, wanted to celebrate the end of the long, dark winter.

  Two routes led to the village, but she vastly preferred the path through the woods. The novelty of being able to leave the house whenever she wanted (as long as she left word) and walk wherever she liked still hadn’t worn off. At Blackwell, the woods had been a place to escape to, the one place that provided cover in which to hide, especially that last winter when it had snowed all the time. Instead of spindly, bare branches, a canopy of leaves sheltered her from the breeze, and sunlight filtered through, dappling the ground with greenish gold. Here and now, she walked only for pleasure.

  This was the right decision. Once Will saw her and heard what she had to say, he’d never be able to keep up this cold facade. Unless… Their time together had been so fraught with peril with hardly a moment to breathe. What if now, when everything had calmed down, when she was safe and no longer in need of rescue, he’d realized he didn’t want such a capricious, scheming creature as his wife? This was the great fear that kept her awake at night. Will had once worried aloud that she was mistaking gratitude for desire. What if he’d confused a need to rescue her with love?

  Somewhere ahead, an animal tore through the trees. In the brief instant she had to consider, she thought it might be a startled deer. That instant ended, and a huge black shape launched itself through the thicket. She screamed, and the next thing she knew, she was pinned to the ground beneath a heavy, panting Hector.

  She threw her arms around his great neck, partly because she was happy to see him and partly to prevent him licking her face with his gigantic and decidedly pungent tongue.

  “Oh, you!” she scolded. “What a disgusting greeting!” Then she pushed him aside, patting his flank the way she knew he liked, her eyes riveted to the spot from where Hector had exploded. “If you’re here,” she murmured, “your master can’t be far behind.”

  …

  Helen’s shriek tore through the trees as if tearing through time. Will experienced the strangest sense that he’d been here before. On that first day at Blackwell when he’d found her in the woods, he’d had no inkling of how meeting her would change everything.

  All he had to do now was follow Hector’s path through that thicket and she’d be there. Helen Grey.

  Helen Carter.

  The woman who’d defied them all at Blackwell and now plotted a coup d’état of the local theatrical society. How could he stay away? How could he do anything but love her?

  He stepped thr
ough the trees, and this time everything was different. The girl he’d met in Blackwell’s woods had been pale and listless, her form hidden in a stolen coat. Today she was radiant in moss green, her beautiful red hair piled high atop her head. A lady. The sister of a marquess. For a moment, he felt like plain, clumsy Will Carter, but then her eyes lit up and she flew across the grass, cannoning into him and knocking him right off his feet. She fell with him, coming to rest sprawled across his chest, which, from the look on her face, was precisely where she wanted to be.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Before he had a chance to answer, she kissed him. Even with Hector barking, running around in circles, and generally being a nuisance, the feel of her lips, the taste of her, the warmth, all of it was like coming home.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I’m sorry,” he managed before she kissed him again.

  “So you should be after that last letter.”

  He’d have been happy in the middle of the woods with her atop him for the rest of the day, but she stood and dusted off her skirts. Reluctant, he followed suit and matched his strides to hers as she turned back the way she must have come. When her hand slipped into his, it almost made up for the loss of her body covering him; he’d never held her hand properly before, and that simple, chaste contact somehow seemed as meaningful as any intimacy they’d ever shared.

  “I regretted that letter the moment I sent it. I’ve been sitting in London writing answers to questions from the committee that I could easily answer from here, but I wanted to give you time. This morning I reread all your letters, and when I finished, I thought, ‘Christ, Will, get on a train and go to her.’”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “Your last letter had a similar effect on me although for a different reason. I started to think you’d changed your mind about me.”

  “It was never that. I wanted you to have freedom to choose, that’s all.”

  “Because you love me?”

  Will didn’t think he’d ever heard her sound so uncertain. He hated that he’d made her doubt. “Do you even need to ask? I thought we both knew from the beginning that I do.”

  “Even so, I’d like to hear you say so again.” Her gaze met his, eyes large and solemn, then skittered away.

  Together they walked a little farther in silence until the woods thinned and he could see where the path led out onto the road. The seclusion of the woods seemed necessary to the confession she wanted, so he stopped and turned to face her. Part of his brain noted that Hector, for once behaving like a normal, obedient dog, had sat down about a foot away.

  “Well?” she prompted. “Do you?”

  As he’d said, they both knew how he felt, and he’d said the words before, so why was saying them again so difficult? Part of him had been afraid he’d never have an opportunity, but now here one was.

  “I love you, Helen.” The words came out too quiet, so he cleared his throat and said them again. “I love you.”

  Her eyes shone, and for a moment he thought she was actually going to cry.

  “Good,” she said. “Because I…” A wash of pink suffused her cheeks. “Because I do have choices now. So many. And I choose you, Will. I will always choose you. You’re everything to me.”

  She stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest. Her face tilted up, but he couldn’t discern her features past the sudden blur of his tears. He was damned if he was going to let himself cry, though. Instead, he pulled her close and kissed her until they were both breathless.

  When he finally broke away, he saw her eyes dark with lust. That look of hers had fueled his fantasies for the last three months until he began to fear his imagination had conjured the expression from nothing. He recognized it now with a leap of joy in his heart.

  “This way, please,” she said, and being Helen, her voice was steady and as casual as if she wasn’t at all affected. She led him along the path to the road and down the lane as far as a gate. She nodded at the house beyond and said, “What do you think of our cottage?”

  Will looked.

  The cottage was no true cottage but a house, and though it would fit inside Blackwell twenty times over, Will calculated that it must have at least eight or nine rooms. The exterior boasted a fresh coat of white paint, and the windows on the first floor must reach almost to the ceiling. The upper floor was gabled, the roof tiled red. Altogether, the effect was bright and cheerful.

  He looked back at Helen to find her watching his face, her head tilted to one side. Without breaking his gaze, she reached down and opened the gate. “Come along.”

  He followed her to the door, where she fumbled in her pocket for a key. Once the door was opened, she led him into a small, square hallway tiled like a chessboard. These walls, too, had been given a fresh coat of white paint.

  “Kitchen, dining room, drawing rooms, doctor’s study,” she said, pointing at doors to the left, right, and straight ahead. “Mrs. Griggs is to come in each day to help me look after everything and, let’s face it, show me how to run a house since I’ve never run one before. Mr. Griggs is to look after the garden. There’s also a maid. Apparently, we can afford them on your salary, but you’d know better about that than I. Downstairs is furnished, but I’ll show you that later.”

  As she’d spoken, she’d removed her jacket. Now she draped it across the hall table and led the way upstairs. Hector, who had followed them inside, knew better than to breach the stairs unless he was issued an invitation, so he wandered off to sniff things.

  “As you can see, upstairs isn’t furnished yet,” Helen said, stepping into a large, sunny room with a sloping ceiling and a polished floor. Will stood in the doorway, perplexed, until she began unbuttoning her crisp white shirtwaist.

  “No bed?” he said, even though she obviously knew.

  “Coming next week.”

  He felt his lips curve into a smile. No, he hadn’t imagined this, either—her boldness, her eagerness.

  Soon she stood clad in nothing but her shift and stockings. Slowly she reached up and began pulling the pins from her hair. When it hung in a profusion of springy red curls, he went to her, stopping close enough to touch.

  He didn’t touch, though.

  “I love you,” he whispered. He didn’t expect her to say it back. Almost didn’t need her to. The exact words weren’t important, not when she spoke of always. Not when she looked at him the way she did.

  She shook her head, a playful light in her eyes. “Take your clothes off. I want to see you.”

  In the middle of the day, the sun streaming in through uncurtained windows, he ought to feel embarrassed or ashamed or…something. Six months ago, he would have. Now all he felt was the desire to please her, to please himself by pleasing her, and so he didn’t hesitate even a moment before disrobing. Neither did he stop until he stood naked before her.

  Her gaze travelled over every inch of him, lingering boldly on his erection. “You are so beautiful,” she said, her voice wavering. “Thank you. Thank you for showing me.”

  He couldn’t speak. All he could do was touch and let her touch as they removed the rest of her things. The floor creaked as he lay down, pulling her with him. It creaked even more as they moved together, the discomfort of the bare boards against his back nothing to the exquisite pleasure of their joining. First fast and carnal, then slow as they took delight in the simple, languorous pleasure of sunlight on naked skin and the sight of each other striving toward release with no need for blankets to keep out the cold, no need to hush one another to avoid detection.

  Afterward, they lay replete, her head pillowed on his chest.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  He stilled and closed his eyes, his heart beginning to pound. He’d said the words didn’t matter, but he’d lied. Nothing could be sweeter than this moment. He would remember this feeling for the rest of his life.

  “Will?”

  He took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “What was that? I d
idn’t quite catch it.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow in time to catch his grin. “I said I love you.” And he saw the truth of it shining in her eyes.

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  And this time telling her was easy.

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  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the Bookends team, especially Jessica Alvarez for being everything I dreamed an agent could be. Your support and advocacy means everything.

  Thank you to everyone at Entangled who did so much to turn my little manuscript into a fully-fledged book, especially my editor, Alethea Spiridon. Your sage advice made this book so much stronger.

  I couldn’t accomplish anything without my three boys. Thank you Ben, Sam, and Ollie for your love and patience. And to the extended Staniford family, thanks for everything you do, including providing me with copious notepads, and helping me out during the long, dark winters both literal and psychological. I am also incredibly grateful to Stuart. What you did made all the difference.

  Thank you also to my critique partners Dianna, Alicia, Deb, and Hillary for helping me become a better writer.

  I’d also like to thank Sarah Wise even though we’ve never met. Her amazing book Inconvenient People taught me so much about nineteenth century asylums and lunacy laws. Her anecdote, about a woman who rubbed her eyes too hard and saw a shower of stars from God, was too good to leave out, and a fictionalised version of the incident occurs in this book.

  Lastly, I would like to thank my mother in the hope that she’ll choose to skip the sex scenes.

  About the Author

  Julia spent years looking for something to do with her English degree. Insurance underwriting, proofreading academic papers, and waitressing all proved unsatisfying. She spent an alarming amount of time daydreaming at her desk until she decided she might as well put the stories in her head down on paper.