by Laura Hogg
She looked into his eyes as her heart thumped with sadness. “It would be better than to receive your punishment."
"Relief, would you have preferred that she goes back to America to be locked up for ten years? We must bring Honora home."
She nodded, having no idea what to say to him.
All the way to Scotland, she kept her silence. He frowned the entire time and tried to comfort her in his arms. She remained limp at his touch. When they pulled up to Mary's cottage, Honora ran out, and her smile turned into a frown. She turned on her heel and ran toward a patch of trees in the distance.
"Miss Moore!” Lord Cheltham shouted. He turned to Relief. “Go fetch her, will you? And don't try to escape! I will find you on horseback."
Relief sighed and jumped down from the coach. She ran after Honora calling out to her and found her panting for breath, leaning against a tree.
Honora quivered. “What ... what happened?"
Relief pulled her into a hug. “I will explain, sweetheart, but we must leave now to go home."
"I ... don't understand!"
"Don't be afraid. We have each other.” She released her from the hug then took her hand.
They walked to the cottage. Lord Cheltham looked at Honora with sadness. “I was worried about you, Miss Moore. You had me sick with it. Thank God you are well."
Honora tore her gaze from his and allowed Relief to lead her into Mary's home.
"We will gather our things, my lord,” Relief said to her husband.
He followed them in and watched them pack in silence. Relief wrote a thank you note explaining things to Mary who was currently out, gathering her lazy brother's sheep. She dropped some coins onto it.
On the way home, she said nothing either. They arrived at the townhouse, and Lord Cheltham ordered dinner to be served. They sat at the table, and neither girl would eat.
The next morning at breakfast, Honora remained in bed, and Relief still refused to eat. Lord Cheltham gazed at her with deep concern.
"My love, your gowns hang on you. Please eat."
She shook her head. He stood up abruptly. “I force fed you before, remember when you were dying? And I'll do it again."
She clamored for her spoon and ate a bite of oatmeal. He fell back into his chair. When not even half of her food was gone, she put her spoon down.
"Do you not like it?"
"It's delicious, my lord, just how cook knows I like it."
"Then finish it."
"I fear if I eat another bite, I won't be able to hold it down."
He said nothing, only studied her with unhappy eyes.
Hours later, she stared at her tea cup, seeing nothing. Honora did the same. He entered the salon and glanced at the silver tray of biscuits, and the untouched tea.
"Ladies, you love tea."
Relief brought her tired eyes to his.
He stepped back. “Relief, you're pallid. Are you unwell?"
She stood and had a dizzy spell. She stumbled, and he caught her by the arm, helping her to sit. He sat across from her and slid his fingers over her jaw. “Relief?"
She dropped her gaze. “I'm fine, my lord."
"You are not fine.” He glanced at Honora. “And neither are you.” He brought his attention back to Relief. “What can I do?"
She brought tear-blurred eyes to his. “You know."
He leaned back and shook his head. “Don't ask that."
* * * *
He came into his and Relief's bed chambers that night and sat next to her on the bed facing her.
"My love, I'm very worried about you. You never talk, you barely eat, and you appear ill."
She shrugged.
"Relief?"
She sighed. “I'm done."
He grasped her hands. “I beg you, let me help you."
"I'm slowly dying."
"Oh my God, Relief, do not speak so."
"You have defeated me, my lord."
He went pale. He tried to persuade her to accept some invitations for teas and parties. He'd even host a special one for her, and she could sing as Honora played the pianoforte. She shook her head and lie back, staring at the ceiling.
On the fifth evening after more of the same, Relief went to their chambers and sat on their bed staring at the wall. Her husband entered the room, crouched down, and took one of her hands in his. She moved her other hand, and her wedding ring slid off onto the floor. He frowned, picked it up, and slid it back onto her limp finger.
"You're too thin. I'm afraid for you. Will you not eat more, for the sake of your family, if not for me? Then I can send them a letter assuring them of your good health."
She looked at him, and the distress of defeat held her motionless. “I could, but it wouldn't stay down. I've tried."
"Relief,” he whispered in the most gentle, tender voice she had ever heard. “Ah my beautiful wife.” Terrible sadness laced his eyes. “Relief, this is killing me. I love you, darling. I want what's best for you. Relief, please, live again."
Breathing shallowly and with a heavy heart, she thought of being vanquished. Her bottom lip quivered. “It is impossible for half a person, my lord."
"Half a person?"
"Aye, my lord."
"You do not want to be here?” He looked down as he spoke his words with devastation in his voice.
"Nay, my lord."
"I forced you into this marriage."
"Aye, my lord."
He gazed at her for an elongated moment, inhaled deeply, then stood up, agonizingly slow.
"I release you.” He slid his hands from hers, and their fingertips touched before her hands fell to her lap.
She squinted, analyzing his face carefully. Her heart sped up and pounded. Could it be? “Benjamin?"
"Go be happy, Relief."
Twenty-four
She stood up slowly, almost dizzy with the truth of what was happening. Was he serious?
"Benjamin, what are you saying?"
He closed his eyes. She waited. They came open again, and he regarded her as if trying to keep a tight control of his actions.
"Go, go before I change my mind and lock you up forever. I ask just one favor, and you're brilliant enough to pull this off."
She listened with apprehension.
"Please, my love, let's not make this public. Might you keep this situation from others?"
Her stomach turned, and shivers of sadness at leaving him fluttered over her skin, giving her goose bumps. She nodded.
"Your eyes—” he paused then began again. “They're so, passionate. You look right through me, Relief."
With shaky steps, she crossed over to her wardrobe and took out a large pile of her gowns and put them into a bag resting on the floor, a bag she had kept there, fantasizing about leaving. She reached into the back of the wardrobe and found her black bag resting behind a blanket. Her boyish clothes. When she had a bag on each shoulder, she walked by her husband. He watched her, unmoving.
She gulped tears down her tight throat and went straight to Honora's room. She helped her pack quickly. She took her sister by the arm, dragged her down the stairs, and toward the front door. He was waiting there. She stopped and faced him, inches away. He swallowed hard and gazed at her in pleading.
"Don't go.” It was a request.
She shuddered, and her love for him nearly kept her there. “I'm eternally sorry, Benjamin.” She placed a hand behind his head and drew him near, whispering into his ear. “I'd die for you."
She pulled away and couldn't bear to look into his face. They went straight to the house they used to share. It would be put up for rent shortly. They slipped inside, and disguised themselves, she as an old matron, and Honora as a different young woman, her widowed daughter. They would rent a small home on the other end of town as two strangers new to town so as not to embarrass her husband.
Once settled in their tiny new abode, they dressed up for the opera, needing the amusement. Relief realized that she appeared as the old woman who
had met Benjamin in Hyde Park. Her heart hung heavy. She missed him desperately.
They arrived at the theatre and took their seats. She was hoping the performance would take her mind off the painful thudding of her heart, bring her thoughts away from her husband, but it didn't. She jumped up from her seat.
Honora, in her altered voice, questioned her. “Mother?"
"Stay here, Katrina. I need some air."
Honora nodded and returned her attention to the performance. Relief rushed to the reception area, gulping for fresh air, holding her stomach. This was madness. She couldn't be with him, and she couldn't be without him. She inhaled deeply through her nose and straightened her spine, resolving to appreciate her freedom.
A very handsome older man dressed finely as a nobleman turned his head and noticed her from across the room. His gray hair was pulled elegantly back. He approached her and bowed.
"Pardon me, Madam. You are new to town?” His accent is Italian.
"Yes. I'm widowed, here with my young widowed daughter."
He tipped his head once. “I am sorry."
She curtseyed. “Thank you."
"Pray, Madam, do you have an escort?"
She smiled. “I am an old woman and do not require one."
"But you are widowed."
"Yes."
"And beautiful. My wife died ten years ago."
"You do not want a young wife?” She lifted her chin boldly.
"No, Madam. My children are grown. If you might excuse me, you see, I am new to London myself. Please allow me to say, if I should not offend you, you have the most enchanting smile I have ever encountered."
She blinked in astonishment.
* * * *
Lord Cheltham sat in his theater seat rigid, his longing heart on Relief.
What is she doing right now? Is she safe? Is she happy? I wonder which gown she's wearing, or which ... trousers. Did she stop a crime? Is she eating enough? Is she smiling again? Does she miss me?
The image of Relief in her white gown standing down below by the stage, being shot, the picture of her gown turning red with her blood, came to mind, and he whipped his gaze away, unable to look down there a moment longer. To his disgust, he saw his cousin Mary being escorted by Lord Hawksworth. He shook his head at a complete loss of understanding women. “Women. They all hate me,” he said surprised at the irony, remembering when he once bragged that women loved him. He stood up in his agitation and made his way to the reception area.
Relief's voice floated towards him. He recognized her costume. Even as an older woman, she was extremely lovely, and she was talking to a handsome, older nobleman who watched her with intent interest, chuckling softly at her jokes. He returned the chatter in elegant Italian tones. Relief's expression said she was relaxed and charmed.
Lord Cheltham inhaled deeply, heated by anger, torn ragged inside with jealousy. It flared in currents, ripping through him. He strode to her and looked straight into her face. “Madam."
She curtseyed slowly. The gentleman speaking with her looked stunned. “Excuse me, my lord,” he said, looking over Lord Cheltham's appearance. “But you might be interested in her daughter instead. This lovely woman here is twenty, perhaps five and twenty years older than you."
"That doesn't matter to a man in love."
His eyes widened. “In love?” He glanced at Relief then back at him. “You are my rival?” he exclaimed, excused himself, then left, striding back to take his seat in the theatre.
"Who was that?"
"It cannot concern you."
"Tell me."
"A friend."
He rolled his eyes. “Another obsessed man. They are all in love with you."
"As I recall, Lord Cheltham, you were once obsessed with me, in love with me."
"I still am."
"Obsessed?"
"Both."
"You cannot suppose me to believe you are no less dangerous than any of these other men? Only now, my lord, I once again feel free to exercise my talent to protect myself. I am safer without you."
As soon as she said that, he could see that she wanted to eat those words. The stricken look on her face showed her regret of those cruel words.
"Benjamin, I'm sorry. I did not mean that."
"You did."
"Let me be Raphael."
"No!” he snapped. “Forget it! Never while we share the same roof!"
Tears glistened in her eyes.
"Good evening, my lord.” She stepped past him.
He grabbed her arm. “Relief."
"Let me go."
He released his grasp of her and watched her make her way back to the performance. He strode out of the theatre and went home, jealous, tortured thoughts raining down on him.
* * * *
He could not permit her to rove the streets alone. He would be out there too, watching, and he would jump in and help her if he felt even mildly worried about her well-being. He heard two men lost in their cups discussing with much pride how Raphael was back. They described how the lad had never been better. They talked about how he saved the day. He had climbed to the top of a bridge and saved a small child. Raphael lowered the child then slipped. Everyone watching had been worried as he fell and slammed into the ground, not moving at first. Then he jumped up and dusted himself off. “No worries!” he shouted, and a crowd cried out for him, cheering, “Hurrah!” Raphael sang and drank and danced around a bonfire all night long, singing songs of freedom.
Lord Cheltham walked, downcast, kicking imaginary objects every so often along his path. He was torn. He imagined Relief on their wedding day, loving him. He recalled vividly her animated face as she was asked if she would be his wife, and she answered with gusto, “Oh my God, yes!” She told him that it was the happiest and the scariest day of her life.
He then remembered her lying on the ground about to have a dagger slammed into her heart. He imagined her blood wetting the ground and staining his boots red. She was trying, actually trying to die for him.
"My God, she loves me.” He was stricken. “What am I doing to her?"
He almost decided to give her what she wanted, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. The thought of her out late in the city's most dangerous neighborhood terrified him, whether she could fight or not. If she were living with him as his wife, he just didn't think he could ever accept it. But he remembered her sad face. He couldn't live with himself taking that from her a moment longer, so he had let her go. He was miserable, but he now knew that sometimes that was the price for having the deepest love for someone.
He roamed the streets at night to keep up with the latest news about Raphael.
One day he was out and about town. He saw Honora with another young woman, apparently a friend of some sort. He approached her.
"Miss Moore?"
"My lord."
"Where is your sister?"
"Raphael had some news on the mysterious nobleman. She is following up on it. She urged me to go out and make friends, so here I am."
"She had information? What kind?"
"I do not yet know, my lord. I will send you a note when I hear anything."
"Please do."
* * * *
That night he went out on the streets again, searching for Relief as Raphael. He saw her and approached her.
"Relief."
She turned around. “Benjamin."
"We need to talk."
She backed away. “You are not going to take me?"
"No,” he said sadly. “About your information—"
"Honora told me she saw you."
"What have you found out?"
"The man is still in London."
"Oh?"
"And he still plans to kill you."
He frowned. “How do you know this?"
"I found him today, but he got away."
Lord Cheltham grabbed her arms. “Relief, are you injured?” he asked frantically.
"Only mildly."
"Relief!"
>
She tried to pull back.
"Relief, what happened?"
"It's only a few bruises."
"A few bruises? I should not have you suffer those!"
"It is unimportant!” she snapped, her temper flaring.
"I will apprise you of the situation soon, my lord. Trust me that I cannot speak of it yet."
"Speak to me, damn it!"
"You are keeping me from important business!"
"What important business?"
"A lad has informed me that a friend of mine is currently being harassed and needs help."
"I will join you."
"Fine, but let me go!"
He released his grip of her arms and she darted off. He ran after her. They saw a crowd and pushed their way through it. The crowd was hushed, looking down at a boy of fifteen lying still, bleeding from the mouth. Relief stopped in her tracks, momentarily. Hesitantly she stepped forward and crouched to the ground. She placed the boy's head in her lap, and Lord Cheltham saw her fighting valiantly not to let her tears flow. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side.
"I could have stopped this,” she said rawly. “Oh my God, this is my fault."
Lord Cheltham crouched down and placed a soft hand on her shoulder. She shoved it off. People were staring.
"Raphael, this is not your fault. You can not possibly stop every crime on the streets of this town!"
She turned her head and glared at him. “I could have stopped this one, damn you!"
"I'm sorry, Raphael. I'm truly sorry."
"Are you, or do you wish I were locked up instead?"
This hurt him, and she knew it.
"I truly regret that you were not here to stop this hideous crime."
She looked into his face with glistening eyes.
"You are the best fighter I have ever known, Raphael."
"Four men did this to him, over a misunderstanding. I could have knocked them all out."
"With ease."
She lifted her brow and managed a smile from the corner of her mouth. It was devastating. He leaned and whispered to her. “Smile like a man, or I will pull you into a kiss right this minute."
Her eyes grew wide. She turned and nodded to a couple of big men. They came over and picked up the boy. She rubbed her eye, and he knew she was fighting tears. He placed an arm over her shoulders in a chummy way. He had done this numerous times before, but knowing now this was his wife felt plain strange. However, they had an audience.