by Erin Satie
“Miss Reed,” he rumbled.
“That’s right.” She steadied her voice and added, “It’s good that you recognize me.”
“A dead man…” He trailed off with a grimace. Bonny helped him to lie flat, and he relaxed, eyes falling shut. “A dead man would wake up for that face.”
“As it happens, cemeteries are perfectly safe from me,” Bonny retorted. “And you’re not dead.”
“Malaria,” he replied. “Might as well be. Feels like.”
Bonny touched her fingers to her lips, horrified. “Malaria?”
But he didn’t answer. He’d fallen into the sort of deep, restorative sleep that his fever had denied him.
He’d be well soon. And that made an awful, selfish part of Bonny very unhappy.
She wrote back to Olympia that night.
Dear Miss Swain,
I have had a great deal of time for thinking in the days since Miss Kelly forwarded your letter to me, as I have been attending a sickbed. It is a dreary task, livened primarily by my memories of London—truly, the hours that Miss Kelly and I spent in your and Miss Hurley’s company have sustained me at a difficult time.
I greatly anticipate the day when we meet again. Until then, I have decided that—as an homage to the author of The Widow—I will keep my suspicions about who committed the crime to myself, sharing them with no one.
Yours,
Bonny Reed
The next morning she set out with a basket filled with porridge and honey, with soft rolls and soup. Foods Loel could eat himself, without assistance.
Upon her arrival at Woodclose, he justified her confidence in his recovery. He was sitting up in his narrow bed, the sheet draped across his lap, staring at the pump used to fill the water basin with the fierce concentration of a mountain climber visualizing his ascent of Mont Blanc.
Bonny allowed herself to take in the sight of him: nude, sun-browned, with a smattering of freckles dusting his broad shoulders. Posture loose from exhaustion and illness, muscles slack, but the animating force of his personality had returned.
And it was powerful.
“I can work the pump.” Bonny set the basket by his feet, quickly shedding her bonnet and gloves. “Stay where you are.”
“Miss Reed?” Loel began to rise—an automatic, unthinking gesture for any gentleman upon the arrival of a lady. The sheet safeguarding what was left of his modesty slid so low that Bonny glimpsed the thatch of dark hair at his groin before he caught himself, bunched the linen around his waist, and fell back onto his haunches.
“What? You—” He groped about clumsily. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“So I’ve been told.” Bonny took hold of the lever and raised it. The first few pumps were always easy. Then water began to flow and the work took some effort.
The most peculiar cross between a blush and a scowl settled on Loel’s face—chin bashfully ducked, eyes snapping fire.
“Miss Reed,” he said sternly.
“It was my pleasure,” Bonny said cheerfully. “No need to thank me.”
The muscles in Lord Loel’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together. Finally, begrudgingly, he managed, “Thank you.”
Bonny paused, shook out her arms, and began pumping again. “You really don’t need to thank me,” she said. “It’s my fault that you fell ill. Charles Gavin—”
“Didn’t give me malaria.” Loel interrupted. “I contracted the disease in Africa, and I’ll have it for the rest of my life.”
“Then it’s even more directly my fault,” said Bonny. “You wouldn’t have gone to Africa if it weren’t for me.”
“I’m in no shape to argue.” He glanced at his lap. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Bonny dropped the pump lever. Fine. She’d fought her family, and she’d been ready to defend herself against the whole town of New Quay—all for Lord Loel. Who, it turned out, also wanted her to go.
She knew when to give up.
“As you like.” She snatched up her things and waved at the basket. “That’s for you. It should see you through the day and perhaps most of tomorrow. Best of luck for a speedy recovery.”
“Wait.”
Bonny flicked him a scathing glance. He’d work himself to exhaustion, fall over—probably hit his head on the way down—and lapse back into a fever. And he’d deserve it.
“I’m thinking of you.”
“You and everyone else.” Bonny’s anger cooled. Without it, she was just… tired. “But I was thinking of you.”
“Well, stop.” He covered his face with his hands, breathing hard. “Did I ask for your regard? Did I invite it?”
“No.” Quite the opposite, actually. In the beginning, she’d intruded and he’d chased her away. Their encounters had proceeded more or less according to the same template ever since.
And yet she would have sworn that he was fond of her.
“Would you be more comfortable if I fetched you some clothes?” she asked. “If you tell me where—”
“Go.” His head sank toward his lap. “Please.”
Bonny dropped to her knees. Something like curiosity drove her, a nagging conviction that she was on the verge of an important discovery. She gently pulled Lord Loel’s hands away from his face.
The torment she read in his expression startled her. He’d been sick, and now he was nearly better. He ought to be happy.
“You’re upset. Why?”
“Because your kindness is wasted on me.”
“How? You’re better, aren’t you?”
“At what cost to you?” He grimaced. “Who will punish you for helping me? How? Miss Reed—”
“That doesn’t matter when your very life was hanging in the balance—”
“It matters to me.”
His anger was real and growing. The harsh tone, the urgent delivery—he meant every word. And yet Bonny’s impression that she was listening to a foreign language that she only vaguely understood had increased in perfect tandem.
She might have remained confused forever if something bright hadn’t drawn her attention to the roof of the glasshouse. A ray of light caught on the dirt-clouded glass, then fractured into a brilliant sparkle. Bonny tipped her face up to the sky, attentive to this small miracle of nature for precisely the length of time required to identify, categorize, and dismiss it: just the sun cresting the horizon, dawn breaking into day, nothing to be concerned about.
She looked down, problem solved, and caught Lord Loel staring at her mouth. Hotly, fixedly, with a heat that struck an answering chord in her.
Oh, she thought, wondering how she’d been so stupid. Now I understand.
And she kissed him.
It was so natural, so obvious. An answer to everything he hadn’t said, the words that swam in the shadow of the ones he’d given voice.
I’m thinking of you. He cared about her. Did I ask for your regard? He hadn’t dared. Your kindness is wasted on me. Because he thought he didn’t deserve it. Who will punish you for helping me? And valued her well-being over his own. It matters to me. And to her.
Their lips mashed awkwardly. Her stomach flopped in her belly like a dying fish, cold and queasy. She remembered, too late, that she had hated her first kiss. It had so upset her that she’d embarked on the investigation that had sounded the death knell for her engagement.
But then Lord Loel kissed her back, and everything was lovely. Sweet as meringue. Warm as the steam curling up from a freshly poured cup of tea. And safe—safe like home.
She’d never felt anything so pure. All the good things in life distilled into touch. When Loel clasped his hands around her waist, her arms lifted naturally to ring his bare shoulders. She thrilled at the sensation of his silky skin sliding against her own and grasped, for the very first time, that touch could be both a means to an end and an end in itself.
A proper kiss was a miracle. Nothing short of a miracle.
Loel pulled away, and Bonny mewled in protest. He searched
her expression. His, equally troubled and fierce, made no sense at all. The discordance interrupted the siren’s song playing in her heart.
But then he kissed her again. Differently this time. He teased her lips apart, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. Bonny responded with an eagerness that unnerved her, compelled by instincts she hadn’t known she had.
The strangeness faded. Time itself seemed to thicken and melt around her. Every second stretched on forever; a whole drama unfolded in each one and yet she had no patience for savoring. She wanted to hurry, to find out what was next, to—
The angry, female, and horribly familiar voice of the vicar’s wife shattered the peace of the greenhouse.
“Miss Reed!” snapped Mrs. Henley.
And Bonny’s heart stopped.
Chapter 14
Bonny jerked free of Lord Loel. She stood, she smoothed her skirts—all by rote.
Part of her grasped the enormity of her situation. She’d lose her reputation, her friends, her future, her freedom. Everything. All her hopes were dead. All her plans had failed.
But this part of her was oddly… puny. She felt as though someone had placed a balloon inside her skull and filled it with air. As the balloon expanded, it pushed everything else aside. Panic and horror floated on the periphery of her awareness, unable to penetrate the thick elastic skin.
Inside, the balloon was almost—but not completely—empty. It contained one word: no. No, this wasn’t happening. No, this couldn’t happen. No, she couldn’t believe it. No, no, no. No.
“I have no words,” marveled the vicar’s wife.
Bonny swallowed a burst of laughter. No words! What a coincidence! She didn’t have any either.
“You are engaged to be married.” Mrs. Henley’s voice hardened as astonishment gave way to anger. “You, Miss Reed, a beautiful girl with a good family, a suitor who dotes on you for all the world to see—”
Lord Loel reacted to this speech, drawing away from Bonny, covering himself with his sheet.
Bonny just shook her head. No. That wasn’t right. She wasn’t engaged—not really. She’d decided to part ways with Charles Gavin. She’d planned to make it official, but she hadn’t had time. She’d been here at Woodclose.
“No,” she said in a half whisper that sounded feeble to her own ears.
“You have deceived the whole town. You—” Mrs. Henley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Miss Kelly told me that Lord Loel was dangerously ill and that you, Miss Reed, had dedicated yourself to his care.”
But that was the truth. Bonny had spent the longest week of her life here in this greenhouse. Lord Loel had needed help, and she’d given it. Didn’t that count for anything?
“She convinced me to join you in a good deed!” Mrs. Henley continued. “But here you are, playing the harlot. On your knees for the man who ruined your family. The devil couldn’t devise a greater perversion.”
No. Bonny shook her head again. That was all wrong. She’d known Mrs. Henley for years. They were friends. How could she possibly believe—?
“I have had you in my house!” Mrs. Henley grimaced, as though she’d tasted something foul, and turned to Lord Loel. “As for you—”
Loel interrupted her. “Spare me.”
“Spare you!” Mrs. Henley cried.
“You warned me away from your husband’s church. If I cannot attend his sermons on a Sunday, I certainly won’t listen to yours now.” With these words, Loel dismissed the vicar’s wife. He turned his acid gaze on Bonny. “You are engaged to Charles Gavin? Still?”
“Yes, but—” Bonny cringed as an echo of the disgust boiling out of Mrs. Henley twisted Lord Loel’s expression. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. I’d decided to end it, but I hadn’t had time—we’d have spoken tonight. Please.”
“Cease your mealymouthed excuses,” interrupted Mrs. Henley. “Gather your things, Miss Reed. I’ll walk you home—since you can’t be trusted on your own.”
Bonny stooped to reach her gloves. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Lord Loel, quickly sheathing her bare hands. “I’m so sorry.”
She took her bonnet and tied it round her chin as she followed Mrs. Henley out of the greenhouse.
“This is going to break your father’s heart.” Mrs. Henley walked briskly down the drive. “After all he’s been through? But he held his head up high, and we respected him for it. What will he do now? And your mother?”
Oh God. Her mother.
“Of course, they bear some of the blame—and I’ll tell them so,” continued Mrs. Henley. “It’s the innocents I pity—or is your sister like you? Does concupiscence run in the family? If I had a son, that’s what I’d be wondering.”
The protective bubble popped at the mention of her sister. Mrs. Henley was right. Margot would be tainted by Bonny’s sin. She’d destroyed her own future… and stolen Margot’s too.
Bonny’s anguish turned dark and sour, reshaping itself as self-hatred. She’d been so proud of herself for defying her family, for setting herself above them. Acting as though she knew better.
She had been wrong. So very wrong.
Mrs. Henley kept a clawlike grip on Bonny’s arm as she knocked at the door of the Reed residence. Mrs. Reed answered, took in the scene, and gestured for them to enter before Mrs. Henley said a word.
She looked… resigned. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Henley?”
“I’ll not draw this out. I haven’t the heart for it.” Mrs. Henley gave Bonny a shove between her shoulder blades, pushing her into the center of the narrow space. “Your daughter is a tart.”
Mrs. Reed wiped her hands on the apron tied round her waist. “That’s quite an accusation.”
“I know what I saw,” returned Mrs. Henley. “This morning, Miss Kelly visited me for tea. I asked after Miss Reed and was told that she had devoted herself to nursing Lord Loel through an illness. I expressed my dismay, but Miss Kelly urged me to reconsider—she argued that by ministering to the man who caused her family so much woe, Miss Reed had set an example of true Christian charity that anyone familiar with her circumstances must admire.
“This argument moved me and I decided to lend my support to the endeavor. To help set an example for the whole town. So I set out for Woodclose on foot, prepared to share in Miss Reed’s caretaking.
“The great house was deserted, as it happens, but I found your daughter and Lord Loel in a greenhouse surrounded by obscene flowers. He was completely unclothed—only wearing a sheet—and while he did appear ill, that hadn’t stopped him from putting his hands all over your daughter.”
Mrs. Reed’s cool gaze migrated from Mrs. Henley to Bonny. “Is that so?”
“Miss Reed had submitted to his lust with such enthusiasm that even speaking of it is filthy.” Mrs. Henley’s nostrils flared. “Your daughter is a faithless liar, but worse than that, she is lewd.”
“Bonny?” Mrs. Reed prompted.
But Bonny couldn’t speak. She felt like a rat and wished she could be one in truth so she could flee through a crack in the floorboards.
“Mrs. Henley, may I ask? For Margot’s sake?” Mrs. Reed drew in a shaky breath, but her voice never wavered. “Give us a chance to right the situation.”
Mrs. Henley’s prim mouth thinned. “I pity Miss Margot, especially if she is innocent. If such a thing is even possible in this den of iniquity. Miss Reed is not well. She is sick with lust, and I believe she is a danger to our community.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Reed. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“Your legendary composure does you no credit now, Mrs. Reed. Your daughter’s fall reflects on you. Poorly.”
Mrs. Reed nodded. “Yes, it does.”
“Good. You understand.” Mrs. Henley paused. “I’ll be visiting the Gavins next, of course.”
She saw herself out, closing the door quietly behind her.
Bonny, alone with her mother, inched toward the nearest wall.
“So,” said Mrs. Reed. “After all your virtuous bl
uster, here we are. Should we expect a call from Lord Loel? Or will he disappear like he did last time and leave us to manage as we may?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Bonny.
The disdain in her mother’s stare could have soured milk. “You don’t know?”
“I didn’t mean to—” Bonny caught herself before finishing that sentence. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“It hasn’t!”
“Are you accusing Mrs. Henley of lying?”
“No, no, of course not…” Bonny wiped at her cheeks. She wasn’t sure exactly when she’d started crying, but her cheeks were drenched.
“How long?”
“Today, maybe yesterday.” Bonny shrugged and sobbed at once. “I don’t know!”
Her mother gave her a long, long look. “I don’t believe you.”
Bonny’s jaw dropped. “Mama!”
“We’re supposed to be a family. We’re supposed to care for one another. But you’ve taken everything we gave you and repaid us with lies.”
“You think I’ve betrayed you, and I have. I know I have.” Bonny sniffled. “But you were going to give me to an awful man, just because he has money. Isn’t that the same? Didn’t you betray me too?”
Her mother shook her head in a slow, damning way that gave Bonny chills. “We heard you out. We agreed to let you break the engagement. That wasn’t enough for you?”
“It was.” Bonny stared down at her feet. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I,” replied her mother. “You should go to your room. I’ll have to tell your father, when he gets home from work.”
Loel had little to show from his years at sea. There was the malaria, of course—an incurable disease that tried to kill him on a regular basis. It tended to strike when he’d already been weakened as, for example, in the wake of a severe beating.
But he’d gained something equally intangible. He had, quite literally, learned to weather storms.
A battle against nature was a battle that could not be won. Ever. Nature would never quail at a man’s shaken fist. Nature did not surrender or retreat.