by C. J. Archer
"Focus?"
"I should never have set aside my doubts."
"What doubts?"
"Your influence concerned me from the beginning, but I convinced myself that nothing would change. I was wrong. Everything changed. I changed. By keeping you here, I've been selfish. I haven't been thinking of you or the ministry."
"Don't lump my wellbeing in with the ministry's. And it's not selfish to want the one you love to be near you. That's human."
He paused at the dresser, his back to me. His shoulders slumped forward, but then he straightened again and continued transferring my clothes to the trunk. "You're better off away from me. You can't deny there have been many dangers."
"I think I should be the one to worry about my welfare. I should decide where I want to be, not you."
"This is my house. You are under my protection. I decide." His words echoed those of Lady Harcourt's the day before. She'd also reminded me in no uncertain terms that the house was his.
"You're being draconian."
"I'm thinking clearly for the first time in months."
"Then stop and think about what you're doing, Lincoln."
"I have thought about it. I've thought of nothing else."
"Don't make a hasty decision—"
"There is nothing hasty about it. Ever since returning from Paris, I've become more and more aware that I can't do my job properly with you here. I am the leader of the ministry. The position is not one I can set aside, and it's not one I can give only half of myself to. I need to focus on it entirely."
"That is absurd. Is this because you failed to find Mrs. Drinkwater? I already told you, that wasn't a failure—"
"This is not about that single incident!" He slammed the drawer shut, rattling the mirror, and jerked open the next one. "That was the final straw. It proved to me that I needed to focus more."
"It proved to me that we work better as a team than apart."
He said nothing but continued to pack for me. He stopped placing the clothes carefully in the trunk, and thrust them into it instead without a care for the delicate fabrics.
I swallowed, but the lump in my throat remained. "So…this is a permanent arrangement? You don't want me back at all?" My voice sounded small, pathetic, but I couldn't be strong anymore. My life was crumbling away before my eyes and I felt utterly powerless to stop it.
He continued to pack without answering.
My legs felt too weak to hold me. I sat heavily on the bed. "Our engagement…"
"It's best that we end it. You're young. You'll recover."
The tears slipped down my cheeks, my chin and dripped onto my lap. Recover? He thought this was just a passing infatuation for me? "No, Lincoln. I won't. Will you?"
His fingers scrunched into my chemise before he released it into the trunk. It lay in a crumpled heap. "Doyle will help you finish packing. You should dress and eat some breakfast. The journey will be a long one."
He strode out of the bedroom. I ran after him and once again caught his arm to stop him. He shook me off.
"I'll answer any questions about the school," he said. "But don't ask me again to change my mind."
I scoffed through my tears. "I'm too old for school."
"This is a school for young ladies, not children."
"Like a finishing school?"
"Of sorts."
"You've been talking to Lord Marchbank. He also mentioned sending me to a school all the way up in the north. It's the same one, isn't it? I might know nothing about being a lady, but I do know that finishing schools are usually in London or in cities on the continent."
"You'll be safe there—and busy. At the end of a year, you'll have more opportunities than you do now. The headmistress has assured me a position will be found for you in France or Italy as a governess or companion, preferably to an English family. Or you can stay on at the school as a teacher. The choice will be yours."
"Some bloody choice." I stared at him, trying to take it in. It all seemed too unreal, like a nightmare I would wake up from. "You and Marchbank have been making plans even though I told him I wasn't going."
"Marchbank mentioned the school to me months ago, but not since. I haven't discussed this with him recently. I haven't told him, or anyone, that you're going. This decision was mine alone."
"But you must have been planning it for a long time if you've already corresponded with the headmistress."
"I looked into it after you first came here but decided against it at the time. The headmistress assured me there would be a position for you if I change my mind."
"Lincoln, stop this." My voice was barely above a whisper. It was all I could manage through my tears.
He turned away and continued to the door. "You won't be without a home, and it's likely you'll make good friends there."
"This is my home! I have friends here!"
"You need to meet young women your own age."
I thrust my hands on my hips. "I won't go."
"A year at the school will present you with opportunities you wouldn't have had otherwise. It'll be good for you."
"I'll decide what's good for me. And I meet people perfectly well here."
"Not the right sort."
"The right sort?" I echoed. "You mean people like Lady Harcourt?"
His hand rested on the doorknob. He paused, his back to me. "You can't stay here. You'll be safe at the school."
"I'm not going to a damned school! I'd rather move back in with Stringer's gang and stay in London."
His knuckles turned white around the doorknob. "If you run away from Lichfield, I might not be able to find you again. At least if you're there…" He jerked open the door and walked out, closing it behind him.
I crumpled to the floor and drew my knees to my chest. This wasn't happening. He was hurt and worried, and that was making him do foolish things. He wouldn't go through with it, surely. He loved me, and he knew I loved him. He must know, deep down, that sending me away would destroy us both. I had to find a way to remind him of that. I had to get through to him.
I don't know how long I sat there. I only picked myself up off the floor when there was another knock at the door. My heart in my throat, I opened it, only to see Doyle standing there with a tray.
"Your breakfast, miss."
I took the tray and thanked him.
He cleared his throat. "I've been instructed to assist you with your packing and selecting a suitable outfit for traveling."
It seemed petty to not let him into the bedroom. The poor man was only doing as his master requested. It was Lincoln I needed to talk to, not Doyle.
I nibbled at the bacon, but didn't touch the egg. I wasn't hungry. Pulling my wrap around my shoulders, I joined Doyle in my bedroom. The trunk was full and a dark green woolen dress and underthings had been laid out on the bed.
"Forgive me," he muttered, coloring slightly. "A maid ought to have done this, but…" He trailed off.
"It's quite all right, Doyle. It wasn't fair of him to ask this of you. You may go."
He bowed and went to walk off.
"What did he say to you about all this?" I asked.
"Only that you were going away, miss. He didn't say where or for how long."
"Has he told the others?"
"Not that I am aware, miss. He gave me my orders in private."
After he left, I dressed quickly. I didn't close the trunk, but left it there. It wasn't going anywhere.
I went in search of Lincoln and found him in the kitchen with Seth, Gus and Cook. By the stunned looks on their faces, he'd just given them the news. The three of them turned wide-eyed stares to me, mouths ajar.
"We need to talk," I told Lincoln with a firm lift of my chin.
"There's no more to say. Further discussion will only make this more difficult." He pushed past me. "You have ten minutes."
I tried to grasp him, but he was too quick. I picked up my skirts to run after him, but Seth beat me to it. His footsteps echoed along the corridor up
ahead.
"You can't do this!" I heard him shout. I didn't hear Lincoln's quieter response. "No! It's not! Think about—"
Lincoln must have cut him off, but once again his words were too low to reach me.
I raced up to them, Gus and Cook on my heels. Lincoln saw me, turned, and strode off. "Coward!" I snapped.
He didn't stop. I heard the front door open and close.
"Bloody hell," Gus muttered. "Has he lost his mind?"
Seth's eyes flashed with cold fury. I'd never seen him so angry before. "What has he told you?" he asked.
"That I'm going to a school in the north for a year. Afterward, I can travel to the continent and find work as a governess or—" I choked and couldn't finish.
Seth drew me into a hug. "He'll come to his senses soon enough."
"In ten minutes?"
"You need to talk to him."
"I've tried. He's not listening."
"Try again." He grabbed my hand. "Come on."
The four of us headed outside, but Lincoln was nowhere in sight. I leaned against the side of the house and folded my hands over my stomach. I felt sick. If I couldn't find him to talk to him, how could I change his mind?
"Don't worry," Seth said, returning after searching around the perimeter of the house. He breathed heavily, but I didn't think it was entirely from exertion. "We'll speak with him after you're gone if it comes to that."
"She ain't goin' nowhere," Gus growled.
"Aye, she be stayin' here with us," Cook said.
"She can't," Seth told him. "He made it clear that wasn't an option."
"Then we'll find her somewhere to stay nearby."
"She can live with my aunt," Gus said, nodding eagerly. "She'll like the company."
Seth stroked his chin. "It's a good idea. Perhaps we can find her employment."
"Doing what?" Cook shrugged his massive round shoulders. "She ain't got the right education for a governess or nurse, and I ain't letting her work in no factory."
"Domestic service?"
Cook snorted. "That be beneath her and you know it."
"At least it's a start!"
I rested my head against the cool, gray stones of the house. "I can't believe this is happening."
Seth put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. "It'll be all right. He just needs to calm down. He'll change his mind soon enough."
I no longer felt as confident. Lincoln was a stubborn man, and very adept at burying his emotions. But I had to hold out hope. After all, he did want me to go to the school so he'd know where to find me. If nothing else, I had to believe that he would fetch me one day. Perhaps even tomorrow, after he'd calmed down.
The rumble of wheels on gravel had all of us turning.
"It better not be someone from the committee," Gus said, squinting at the approaching coach.
"It be a hansom," Cook said.
"Not a hansom," Seth said. "Looks like a growler."
The two-horse coach pulled up at the front steps and Lincoln climbed out of the cabin. He paused when he saw me, then approached, his hands at his back. His eyes, half hooded beneath heavy lids, were blacker than London's bleakest night sky.
"It's time," he said stiffly. "Fetch your coat and gloves." He went to walk off, but I stepped in front of him.
I grasped his shoulders. "Stop it, Lincoln. Stop this at once. It's wrong and you know it."
He prised my fingers off and let my hands go. "No, Charlie. It was wrong of me to allow you to stay and let it get to this point. I should have sent you away months ago."
My tears, never far from the surface, welled again. "Don't say that," I whispered. "Don't pretend there's nothing between us."
"I know you feel hurt right now, but it will pass. You'll thank me one—"
"Thank you!" I stepped toward him but he stepped back. I drew in a shuddery breath and took strength from Seth's encouraging nod. "I love you, Lincoln, and sending me away won't stop me loving you. A year in the north won't stop me loving you, nor will a lifetime on the continent."
"Enough! You're only making it harder."
"If it's hard, then don't do it!"
He strode off toward the front steps and Gus pushed me after him. Gathering the shreds of my remaining strength, I picked up my skirts and raced up the steps. Once again I blocked his path.
He regarded me levelly, coolly, as if there'd never been heated kisses between us, or plans made to spend a lifetime together. It was like those first few days after my arrival at Lichfield all over again.
"This is Lady Harcourt's doing, isn't it?" I snapped. "She said something to you yesterday that made you doubt our relationship."
"It has nothing to do with her."
"She wants you for herself, Lincoln. You know that. That is behind everything she says and does."
"This has nothing to do with her," he repeated. "It's entirely my decision." He picked me up and deposited me out of the way.
When his hands left my waist, I went to slap him. He caught my wrist. We stood like that, so close that he must have been able to hear my heart thundering. It sounded deafening to me.
"Please, Lincoln," I whispered as my tears spilled. "Don't do this." I had promised myself that I wouldn't beg, but I was desperate now. Dignity be damned.
The muscles in his face slackened. He blinked rapidly and his lips parted ever so slightly. For that one brief moment I thought he had come to his senses. I caught a glimpse of his true self through the tiny crack in his mask.
Then his mouth shut and every muscle tensed. He let me go and marched into the house.
Seth ran after him, Gus at his heels, but after a few angry shouts that garnered no response from Lincoln, they returned. Cook drew me into a hug. He smelled of oranges. Another hand rested on my shoulder.
Nobody spoke.
Doyle came out with my trunk and passed it up to the coachman who secured it to the roof. He bowed to me, unsmiling. "Safe journey, miss. I'll keep the place in order until your return."
I opened my mouth to thank him, but no words came out. I offered him a smile, but it was weak and unconvincing.
I hugged Seth, Gus and Cook in turn. Cook surprised me by wiping his damp eyes. I patted his arm; the only comfort I was capable of providing.
"No need for that," Gus said. "She'll be back soon enough. He'll miss her too much." He kissed my cheek and drew me into another hug.
He only let me go when Seth elbowed him. "Gus is right, for once," he muttered into my hair. "Your exile won't last long."
"We'll bloody see that it don't," Gus added.
Fine, misty rain began to fall. It was the sort of rain that could last all week at this time of year and dampen the hardiest of spirits. It seemed appropriate for my departure from the place I called home. Five years ago it had also been raining when I was banished from the only home I'd known, and now it was raining again as I was banished from a different one. It was too cruel.
Seth helped me up the coach steps, folded them away, and shut the door. I tried not to cry as I peered out the window, but I couldn't turn off the tears. They streamed uncontrollably. My heart felt like it was disintegrating beneath the deluge. Soon the hole where it had been would be filled up with my tears until they overflowed.
The coach turned and drove off. I spun on the seat and waved out the rear window. My three friends and Doyle waved back.
I don't know what made me glance up to the tower room. A flutter of the curtain? Shadowy movement? I was glad that I did. It provided me with my last glimpse of Lincoln, standing in the window. He was too far away for me to see his expression, but it gave me hope, something to cling to. It meant he wasn't as indifferent to my departure as he seemed.
I pressed my palm to the coach window in a final plea, but he was already gone.
THE END
Coming Soon:
ASHES TO ASHES
The 5th book in the Ministry of Curiosities series by C.J. Archer.
After banishing Charlie, Lincoln
finds that Lichfield Towers offers no sanctuary. With reminders of her at every turn, and employees threatening to mutiny, he must try to find the murderer who is killing supernaturals on his own. Another victim leads to further leads, but is Lincoln too distracted to work efficiently? And will he regret his decision to send Charlie away?
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Also by C.J. Archer
SERIES WITH 2 OR MORE BOOKS
The Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy
The 1st Freak House Trilogy
The 2nd Freak House Trilogy
The 3rd Freak House Trilogy
The Ministry of Curiosities Series
The Assassins Guild Series
Lord Hawkesbury's Players Series
The Witchblade Chronicles
SINGLE TITLES NOT IN A SERIES
Courting His Countess
Surrender
Redemption