by Merry Farmer
“Thank you for a wonderful dance, Miss Pycroft,” Jason said to Mary as he returned her.
Before he could say more or before Mary could tell him about the dance, Alexandra twisted to grab hold of Marshall’s arm. “Quick, Dr. Pycroft. You must rescue me.”
“Me?” Marshall balked. His surprise dislodged Molly from his side, but not Martha.
“Yes,” Alexandra rushed on. “Oh dear, she’s picked up speed. I need you to dance with me, Dr. Pycroft. Now.”
“Oh yes, Papa,” Mary got involved, her eyes still full of stars from dancing with Jason. “It’s your turn.”
“Yes, Papa, yes,” Molly added, suddenly awake again.
“Please?” Alexandra pleaded, as desperate as his girls.
“I think you’re honor bound as a gentleman to go,” Jason informed him with that damnable mock solemnity of his.
“All right, all right.” Marshall pried Martha off of his leg and handed her over to Jason as punishment. The girl was already mostly asleep, and as soon as Jason had her in his arms, her tiny head thunked onto his shoulder. Jason took it like a natural, and Marshall turned to Alexandra. “Dr. Dyson, would you do me the honor of granting me this dance?”
“Yes, yes,” Alexandra answered, almost before he was finished asking the question. “Hurry.”
He took her hand and led her out to the dance floor just as her mother was approaching the group. The snooty woman glanced at them in horror. Well, if she was going to play it like that, then he would treat Alexandra to the finest dance she had ever known.
As soon as they reached an appropriate spot on the dance floor, Marshall turned Alexandra into his arms, holding her closer than he should to tweak her mother’s nose. Alexandra played along perfectly, resting a hand on his shoulder as he fixed his hand on her back to lead her through the steps of a waltz.
“It’s been ages since I’ve danced, Dr. Dyson,” Marshall warned her.
“My feet have been duly warned, Dr. Pycroft,” she replied.
“You may need to alert your ankles to the dangers as well,” he said.
“All is well. There are two of them and two doctors to treat them if anything should go amiss.”
He laughed. For the second time that night, the odd burst of warmth spread through his chest. He wasn’t a particularly tall man. Alexandra was of a height with him. It put her face, her eyes, her smile right on level with his. Standing close in the dance, it felt as though they were equals on every level.
And she did look beautiful that night. He hadn’t thought her hair was anything special. It was just brown. But done up as it was that night in a style that was both soft and feminine, he had the sudden urge to touch it. Her eyes danced with mischief as well, likely at out-foxing her mother. There was more there, though. She was among the most intelligent and witty women he’d ever met. Talking to her didn’t feel like an exercise in speaking a foreign language. She understood him, understood what he was trying to say. She didn’t talk back at him, unless he deserved it, and never harangued him. He didn’t think women like that existed.
“You will have to converse with me at some point if we are going to dance, Dr. Pycroft,” she said.
“I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Dyson. I fear the strain of escorting three beautiful ladies to such a grand outing as this has completely worn me out,” he replied, not sure how he managed to sound so teasing when his heart was thumping enough to throw him off the beat of the waltz.
“Three! Well, well, Dr. Dyson. I see what sort of man you are.”
But he wasn’t that sort of man. Not at all. Thirteen years of marriage to Clara, and he had never once looked seriously at another woman, never once strayed. Not even when his lack of love for her had bordered on hate and his natural urges had turned his temper foul. But here he was, carried away by the feel of Alexandra’s slender waist under his hand and her breasts close to his chest as they danced.
Two weeks after Clara had died. With the woman who had crouched on the ground beside him, trying to patch her bloody, broken form.
“I’m sorry,” Alexandra said, her face suddenly grave. “What an unforgiveable comment. Your wife. Of course.”
His throat closed up, robbing him of the ability to say anything. They continued to turn and glide in the steps of a waltz. His eyes stung, but all he wanted to do was hold her closer.
“Dr. Pycroft, are you quite well?” she asked at last. The orchestra trilled through the final chords of the song, the swirling couples stopped, and those watching applauded. “Marshall?”
His name on her lips cracked through the weight that had settled over his heart. If he could have kissed her right then, he would have. But he would have brought the world down with him if he did.
“I really must take my girls home,” he said, voice hoarse.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
Her eyes were so full of compassion and caring that after one brief glance, he couldn’t look at them. He took her arm and led her to the side of the floor where his girls waited. It was a blessed relief when Jason handed his sleeping Martha into his arms along with apologies and the need to get back to his guests.
“Alexandra, I’d like you to meet Lord David Jagmire,” Lady Charlotte started before Alexandra could flee. “I’m sure he would love this next dance, wouldn’t you, Lord Jagmire?”
As Marshall turned to take his girls out of the ballroom and home, he met Alexandra’s eyes. She looked at him as though dancing with Lord Jagmire would likely do her in. He rolled his eyes in response, and she grinned. As if they were friends. Best of friends.
His already guilty heart fell hopelessly into the unique despair of love.
Lawrence
The night was getting late, but Lawrence felt no rush to leave the ball. He may not have cared much for the airs and graces of the high and mighty, who thought quite a lot of themselves, particularly Lady Elizabeth. He didn’t hold any special fascination for the gowns and colors and swelling strains of the orchestra. He did think the electric garden was a marvel of modern technology and would have loved to explore it more and pick Jason’s brains over how he had conceived of the idea, but as long as it was packed with awed guests, he had no need to study it.
What Lawrence loved about the night and what kept a lazy smile on his face was seeing his friends happy. Marshall may have been an old curmudgeon before his time, but he doted on his girls, and as long as they were happy, he was happy, Clara or not. He’d seemed awfully happy dancing with Alexandra Dyson too. Lawrence made a note to keep an eye on that one. Jason was a happy as Lawrence had ever seen him between showing off Lady E, making fine speeches, and generally having high and low swamp him with praise. His friend basked in that praise—in that acceptance and outpouring of approval, more like—like a cat stretching in the sun. Although Lawrence thought the lion’s share of the credit should really have gone to his staff, particularly the black-haired beauty with the blue eyes, Flossie, who Jason kept trying not to look at. That was another development for him to keep his eyes on.
“You seem pensive,” Matty asked as she stood beside him, hands clasped behind her back.
Lawrence’s contented smile grew, and he slipped his arm through Matty’s, drawing her closer. “I’m simply enjoying the knowledge that for this one moment, all of my friends are happy.”
“Happiness is such a fleeting thing,” she said with a sigh.
Lawrence’s brow went up. “Is it?”
“Well yes, I suppose it is,” she said, then frowned, eyes becoming unfocused. “I’m not sure why I think so.”
He did. It confirmed the suspicions he’d been forming for two weeks. Whatever there was for Matty to remember, it wasn’t pleasant, and part of her had no interest in remembering. He wasn’t inclined to help her remember at all.
“Would you like one more dance before we go?” he asked, bending close to her. She smelled of flowers and sunlight.
“Yes,” she replied, tilting her head up to him.
It
would have been more enjoyable to kiss her instead of dance with her, but there would be time for that later. He took Matty’s hand and led her out to the dance floor.
The fairy tales he’d grown up with all wove stories of common girls who found themselves enchanted into beauty and splendor, but as he took Matty in his arms and led her through the steps of a waltz, it dawned on him that they were playing the fairy tale in reverse. Everyone around them looked grand, while they wore simple cotton without any frills. Rather than discovering she was a princess, Matty was swept away in the comfort of having no idea at all of who she was.
She felt good in his arms. In two weeks, she’d already managed to put on a few pounds. Her bruises were gone, and her cuts had healed into faint lines that wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone who hadn’t seen her before. More than that, she glowed with the warmth of a woman who felt she was safe. Safe in his arms. He liked the thought of that. He liked the thought of more than that.
When the dance ended, he held Matty close for one final moment. “Are you ready to go home now?” he asked with all the languidness of a classic seduction.
“Yes,” she answered, breathless enough to put a smile on his face. Let the likes of Mayor Crimpley call him wicked and immoral. He would enjoy this seduction, and so would Matty.
“Come,” he said, slipping his hand into hers and striding out of the ballroom as if walking through a sunlit meadow.
He met Jason’s eyes across the room as he spoke to some of his guests and nodded. Jason nodded in return, then continued his conversation. He would have to catch up with his friend later to ask all of his questions, and likely answer a few of his own. They crossed into the lobby and headed for the door.
“Young Lawrence,” Rev. Albright called to him from a spot where he was lingering close to the door. He coughed. “I was hoping to catch you on your way out.” He coughed again.
“Rev. Albright,” Lawrence said, steering Matty over to the older man. “It was so good to see you. Are you in town for a while?”
Albright coughed, then said, “No, no, I’ll be heading home the day after tomorrow, and only that because Jason begged me to stay one extra day so we could catch up.” He coughed again, and just as Lawrence was beginning to be concerned, Albright said to Matty, “My dear, I wonder if you wouldn’t be of help to an old man and see if you could fetch me a glass of water from the kitchens?”
“Certainly,” Matty agreed. She nodded, then turned to look around and get her bearings, then headed back into the ballroom.
Lawrence opened his mouth to say something, but as soon as Matty was gone, Albright said, “I hope you can forgive me for sending her away, but I had to speak to you alone.” His cough was gone as though it’d never been.
All of the warm, relaxed happiness Lawrence had been enjoying faded. “Is something wrong?” he asked as Albright motioned for him to retreat farther into the corner of the room.
“Possibly,” Albright said. “What do you know about that girl?”
“Matty?”
Albright nodded.
Lawrence shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Not much. She arrived about two weeks ago at the forge in the middle of a storm, ragged and bruised. She has no memory of anything before that.”
“Two weeks,” Albright nodded, rubbing his chin as if considering. “That would be about right.”
Alarm rushed in to chase away all good feelings. “Do you know who she is?”
Albright made a pinched face. “Possibly. I never met the girl before, so I could be wrong.”
“Tell me,” Lawrence said.
Albright took a breath, then said, “A little more than two weeks ago, there was a murder in Grasmere.”
Lawrence’s stomach clenched. “Who? Why?”
“A woman of middle years. A shopkeeper’s wife. No one truly knows what happened, only that the woman was found dead, and the shopkeeper bruised and badly burned. He tells a story of an argument between himself and the woman’s daughter, who worked in the shop, that turned violent. His claim is that the daughter murdered her mother and tried to kill him as well before fleeing.”
It couldn’t be. That wasn’t like Matty at all. She was the one who had been covered with bruises. She was the battered one.
“He claims the daughter did it?” Lawrence asked.
Albright shook his head and let out a breath. “They were a very closed family. Didn’t talk to much of anyone. Grasmere is swarming with rumors about them, about their doings.”
“Do the police have any leads?”
“No,” Albright said. “The daughter disappeared without a trace. Simply vanished.”
“And you think Matty might be that girl.”
“The girl’s name was Mathilda Wright. Matty is a pet name for Mathilda.”
“Had you ever seen this Mathilda Wright before?”
Albright winced, rubbing his face. “I have, but only in as much as one sees any shop girl or chimney sweep. I can’t say that your Matty looks like what I remember this Mathilda looking like, but I can’t say she doesn’t either.”
“You think it’s her.” Lawrence let out a breath, concern so deep it verged on anxiety burrowing into his gut.
“I’m only saying that it might be her,” Albright said. “And if it might be, then you could have more on your hands than a sweet young woman with no memory.”
Lawrence frowned. He refused to believe that his Matty was a murderer, not the way she’d looked when she came to him. There had to be more to the story. Part of him wanted to ask Matty, to see if a few gentle suggestions would bring her memory back, but if it did and she wasn’t ready to face it, those memories could hurt her. He refused to bring pain to someone so gentle.
“Thank you, Rev. Albright,” Lawrence said. “I’m glad you told me.”
“Use the information wisely, Young Lawrence.”
He didn’t have time to say more. Matty came back into the lobby with a glass of water and a tired smile.
“Here you are, sir, and I hope it helps,” she said, bringing the glass to Albright.
He accepted it with a kind smile and drank it. “I’ll take this glass up to my room,” he said and turned to go.
“Good night, Rev. Albright,” Lawrence said his goodbyes.
He took Matty’s hand, but before they could go more than a few steps, Albright turned back to them.
“One other thing, Young Lawrence.”
“Sir?”
Albright arched a brow at him. “I know you’ve always liked to be different from those around you, but let me caution you, from my own experience, about being too different.”
The old, familiar urge to hunt down and teach a lesson to the men who had rejected the man who was the closest thing Lawrence had to a father filled him as it did every time he thought of Albright’s fate.
“A little difference is considered quaint,” Albright went on, “but too much and the teasing chuckles turn to sharp disapproval, and then persecution. You do not want to find yourself being persecuted if you should find yourself in a position where that would get in the way of efforts to uncover certain truths.”
Lawrence nodded solemnly. “I understand.” He did understand, but he wasn’t sure how well he would be able to keep his head down and go with the crowd if Matty turned out to be in any sort of danger. “Good night.”
Albright nodded and continued up the stairs. Lawrence took Matty and walked out through the hotel’s front door and into the glittering splendor of the garden, then on and into the drab familiarity of Brynthwaite. He walked through the town with Matty, heading for the forge and the safety of home, mulling over all he’d seen and heard that night. There were more things to think about than he had energy to think. Marshall, Jason, Rev. Albright. Matty. If any of them were in trouble or heading down dangerous paths, he would have to do something to protect them, but some of those paths could prove to be more dangerous than others.
“You’re pensive again,” Matty said when they rea
ched the warm, natural light of the forge. “You didn’t say a word the whole way back.”
Lawrence broke into a lazy smile and a half laugh. “I suppose I’m just exhausted after all that finery and excitement,” he said. It was a half lie, but Matty would forgive him. Now was not the time to bring up her past, not when she seemed so contented with her lot.
They headed up the narrow stairs to his room and began preparations for bed. Lawrence considered it a mark of success in keeping Matty safe that she didn’t feel any shame in undressing in front of him. He watched her unapologetically, thoughts of seducing her sliding back in between the prickles of his worry. If they were lovers, he was sure he could feel the truth in her. If they were more than that, he might be able to protect her, even if the worst was true.
“Lawrence,” she asked as she hung her dress in his wardrobe. “What’s a hedonist?”
A smile spread across his face as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. “Where did you hear that word?”
“Mrs. Crimpley told me at the party that you were a hedonist,” she said. “Well, she called you a few other things too, which I dismissed, but I didn’t know what that one meant.” She closed the wardrobe door and walked back to the bed in nothing but her chemise and drawers. They didn’t leave much to the imagination.
He set his shoes aside and unbuttoned his vest. “Hedonist is a term that refers to someone who lives for pleasure,” he explained. Her eyes widened at the response. He smiled. “Too many good, upright citizens see that as a shameful or a scandalous thing, but all it really means is that you hold pleasure as the highest goal in life and pain as the worst evil.”
“What’s so wrong about that?” she asked.
“Nothing at all,” he answered with a soft laugh. “Although the moralists would tell you that living for pleasure without any concern for the sin of the matter is a bad thing.”
“Oh,” Matty said, frowning.