by Carrie Lomax
“Not here.” Viola and the baroness exchanged glances.
“Where?” he roared, lurching out of the bed. Newly formed scabs stretched over the skin of his back. They split and oozed with every movement.
Viola called a servant to assist him. Everything hurt. His burns were only the beginning. The fall had left a mass of violet bruises over his body. But by far the worst was losing the two people he loved most dearly in the space of a day. Someone gave him more laudanum. Unaccustomed to the drug, he surrendered to another few hours of sleep.
In the afternoon, he woke again. The earl’s body had been laid in the front parlor, packed on ice, to be washed and dressed for the funeral in a day or two. With the shades drawn tight the body would not decompose with any great speed. As a precaution, the baroness ordered an entire hot house of flowers. The room stank of roses and lilies.
There was nothing to be done for his father but bury him and take his place as the new earl.
* * *
There was comfort in manual labor. Harper wove among the plants in the garden, filling her basket with herbs and vegetables for the kitchen. She placed her basket on the ground and swiped at a piece of hair fluttering over her face, leaving a faint dirt mark in its place. A few feet away, one of the new guards paced watchfully.
“Back to work!” he shouted.
Harper twitched the blue smock she and the other inmates wore during the day to cover her legs as she knelt to dig weeds. Each day, she toiled for three hours after breakfast, with a stop at noon for soup and bread, followed by prayer for an hour, then a return to drudgery until supper. There was no leisurely tea time. The asylum was not the place it had once been. Now, work was more enforced than encouraged. Rules had taken the place of loving guidance. Infractions were punished. This was the fate she had assigned herself.
Miller appeared at the edge of the garden. The guard waded through the tall plants to her. “You. Miss Forsythe, you are wanted in the main house.”
Upon taking over the asylum, Miller had banished all patients to overcrowded quarters in hastily converted outbuildings. He’d drained and filled in the little pond and ripped out the lovely willow tree, explaining that they were hazards to the patients.
All she had wanted to do was to work for him. Sneeringly, Miller had told her that the asylum only hired women as maids. She could stay on as a patient, or as his wife. In recognition of her previous service, he would let her work for her keep.
Wife. As though she could ever accept that, after Edward.
She wasn’t ready for the shock of seeing him in the foyer. He looked so different. His hair had been cropped short. He stood stiffly in his proper wool coat. But the effect went beyond the physical. Harper felt in him a stillness that hadn’t been present before.
“The Earl of Briarcliff,” a servant intoned. Harper’s eyes filled.
If he was the earl, then Charles was dead. She was a murderess. Slowly she turned her back, preparing to run. She didn’t get far. Two steps toward the door, his hand was on her arm. Harper looked up. All she saw was his grieving eyes before he enfolded her in a stiff embrace.
“Why, Harper?” he whispered into her hair. “Why did you run?”
“I can’t stay with you,” she said. “I was selfish. I should never have let you tempt me. I’ve brought such devastation into your life.”
“What are you talking about?” He stepped back with a confusion crinkling his handsome features.
“I was wrong to think I would ever be more than an asylum assistant. I was ungrateful for the opportunity I had here. I wanted more. I wanted you. I wanted Briarcliff, and I didn’t let anything stand in my way. Not even your father’s life.” Harper clasped her hands. “I came back here to see if I could restore any of my self-respect. I needed a sanctuary, and they have given me one.”
She bowed her head.
Miller intruded. “Please remove your hands from my future wife.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Harper has agreed to marry me when she feels her equilibrium has been restored.”
Once, Edward would have thrown Miller through the window for saying that. It was not in keeping with her new, reformed purpose, but she found herself missing that version of Edward. This one—a stranger—narrowed his cold, blue eyes.
“That is a problem, as she is already married. To me.”
Miller coughed. “Miss Forsythe assured me that the marriage was not legal.”
“I assure you that it is legal enough to prevent any future engagements.” He loomed over Miller, who shrank a little at the sight of Edward’s many battle scars. Even if the physical threat had not deterred the new asylum director, they were all keenly aware of Edward’s new status as an earl.
The resolve that had frozen Harper after the botched wedding ceremony melted a little. How could she not love this man? He was impossible. He was wonderful. He was everything. Maybe she shouldn’t have run, but it was too late for regrets.
“Yes. Well, the fact remains that your wife has requested to remain here as an inmate. Under my care,” Miller clarified, wrapping his hand around her upper arm.
“Get your hands off my wife.”
To Harper’s immense relief, Miller let go. “Glad we understand one another. I’ll let you sort things out with your husband, Lady Briarcliff.”
The title hit her like a slap in the face. Miller closed the door as he left. She and Edward were alone.
Chapter 29
“Why, Harper?”
She had no answer. Yet she had to say something. Edward regarded her pitilessly.
“I destroyed everything. I took away your chance to find a proper bride. I told you once that you should try meeting ladies of your rank, and then I followed you to London and distracted you from taking that opportunity. I did it because I was selfish. The thought of you with anyone else is intolerable. I would rather throw myself off a roof again than watch it happen.” She laughed humorlessly. “You see? I can’t stop myself from being selfish. I want you all to myself, and you need to be free to become the earl you were meant to be. I want that for you, too.”
“I am the earl. My father did not survive the attack.”
Harper clapped one dirt-smudged hand over her face. “No. I never wanted to hurt him.”
Edward cupped her face and brushed at the dirt smudge on her cheek with his thumb. “You didn’t. There was a fire. I tried to save him, but his heart had been weakened, and he didn’t survive the rescue. You were not responsible. If anything, Richard was.”
“Richard?” she asked, her voice lilting upward.
“Yes, he set the fire, accidentally, after Father had told him that he was leaving a statement with his solicitor that he believed me fully competent to administer the earldom and granting his approval of our marriage. He was enraged that the title had slipped permanently away. It excuses nothing.”
She absorbed this, reading the truth in his careworn features. Harper let him pull her into his embrace.
“Come home,” Edward whispered.
She shook him off.
“I am home, Edward. I wish you every happiness, but the best thing for you is to move forward with your life.” Harper bit her lip and walked backwards the few steps to the door, where she bumped into the door frame and stumbled through, wishing she could flee with more dignity. Wishing she had more courage. She couldn’t be a countess. She would never be one.
Harper made her way to the laundry. It was hot work, even in September. The labor of stirring, steaming and pressing so much linen fell to the women. She no longer wanted to be near men.
“Get a new smock first,” the guard told her. Harper shrugged out of the shapeless blue garment and into a cleaner one. Her hands shook as she tried to tie the knots behind her waist.
“Let me,” a rough voice ordered. Jolted, Harper turned.
Edward stood there in his own ill-fitting garment. The gown stopped mid-shin. Its sleeves hung limply to his forearms.
&nbs
p; “What are you doing?”
“I’m not leaving you, Harper. If that means wearing one of these gowns, well, I’ve endured worse.”
The inmates were staring. The guard stomped over. “You’re new? Men don’t ordinarily assist in the laundry, but you’re strong and you can stir the boiling linens if you like.”
“Edward, don’t be ridiculous,” Harper hissed. “You’re an earl now. This is beneath you.”
“Honest work is beneath no man. I’ll leave when you can explain to me why it’s any less ridiculous than a countess working in the laundry of an asylum.” Stiffly, he reached for the pole used to stir the boiling water and poked at the gray water.
“Because—” she sputtered, “Because you are an earl. Remember your station.”
“I will, if you will.” Edward winced as he pushed the paddle in a circle, as though his shoulders ached.
Harper made a sound and put a fist to her lips in a vain effort to keep in whatever was about to come out. Laughter.
The sight was so absurd. Soon the inmates were laughing too. Edward put an extra effort into stirring the laundry, making them all burst into guffaws. The guard stomped and blew his whistle, attempting to restore order. The commotion summoned Miller.
“What is going on?” he demanded. Then he stopped in his tracks, staring.
“I was just making a point.” Edward tossed the paddle into a corner. He shrugged out of the ill-fitting inmate’s smock and tossed it aside.
Harper gasped. “Edward. Your back. What happened?”
“The fire happened.” He walked to her, kissed her hard. Harper had told herself that she’d exaggerated how excellently he kissed. She’d been lying to herself. It was every bit as wonderful as she had tried not to remember.
She couldn’t stay here. This wasn’t her place. Not anymore.
“Come home, Harper.”
“Where is that?”
“Briarcliff.” He kissed her again. This time he tugged at her smock. He lifted it up and over her head. Bundling it into a wad, he dropped it on the floor as the other inmate cheered. “Marry me again, just in case Miller there gets any ideas.”
“Yes.” Harper was sweaty, dirty and wearing rags, but when she walked out of the laundry on Edward’s arm, they were followed by thunderous, unruly applause. After all, it wasn’t every day that an inmate in an asylum became a countess.
* * *
Harper dressed in a gray wool gown and went downstairs. A maid curtseyed as she passed. Sara. She nodded a sober acknowledgement.
Viola met her on the stairs, enfolding her in a hug. “I can’t believe I almost lost you. What were you thinking, running off like that?”
Harper held her sister tightly. “I thought it was best for everyone.”
“Don’t ever leave us again.”
“I won’t. Where is Edward?”
“With his father.”
“Oh.”
Harper found Edward sitting in the dark, watching over his father’s body. She bent to kiss his head, careful to avoid touching his bandaged shoulders as she stood next to him, offering him only the solace of her presence.
There had been a wake in the afternoon to allow the villagers to pay their respects. In a few minutes the casket would be closed for a final time before it was placed in the family cemetery. Edward remained in a silent vigil. Harper stepped back and closed the door to allow him a few moments of peace.
Then she turned to meet her new family, as mistress of Briarcliff, the home she had come to love.
Epilogue
Richard mounted the grand front stairs of 24 Hamilton Mews with leaden steps. In the months since the catastrophic fire at his father’s, the new earl of Briarcliff and his countess had quietly turned their rented town home into an elegant, comfortable home. There were even rumors of a standing offer to purchase the house from the owner.
Heaven knew she had the money to do it. Richard’s perpetual scowl deepened.
Imagine. That woman. A countess.
He’d rather be anywhere in the world than standing at the door of his brother’s new townhouse, but months without income or friends had forced him to this point. After the fire, he’d fled to the country estate his would-be mistress had rejected and hidden there, mourning the role he’d played in his father’s death. Even living a simple life with only a servant to help him, Richard’s money was gone now. Resigned, Richard lifted the brass knocker and let it fall.
* * *
Edward had known that one day, his brother would come. Still, when the butler knocked at the door of his study and announced Lord Richard’s arrival, he found himself bracing for a battle.
Richard looked haggard. His skin looked sallow and his form bloated. His eyes, though clear, were ringed with shadows. His hair was combed but had not been cut in some time, and his clothes bore the unmistakable signs of recent mending.
“So,” he said, taking his place in a wingback chair before the large desk.
“Hello, Richard.”
“How do you like being an earl?”
Edward could not detect any snideness, only curiosity. Vowing to remain calm he replied, “It’s a lot of work.”
“I imagine so, for someone with so much to master.”
There it was, the needling Edward had expected. Thirty seconds was all it had taken to appear. Edward smiled to himself, the merest ghost of a grin gracing his lips. “I have had a great deal of help in sorting out the estate. It is thriving, happily.”
Richard shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How is your arm healing?”
“Oh, quite well. The scarring is not pretty but there is no impairment of my movements. Thank you for asking.”
“I heard you were investing in a peculiar new business,” Richard commented, crossing one booted foot over his knee and jiggling it. “An asylum exclusively for troubled women.”
Edward did grin at that. “Yes. Harper’s project, as we call it. It is not an investment in the traditional sense, but more like a self-funding charity. A home for troubled girls.”
The study door swung open abruptly. Both men turned their attention to the woman who intruded.
“Oh, excuse me. I will come back later.” The new countess’s voice floated across the room. The door closed. Edward stared down his brother, who could not have missed the distinctive swell of Harper’s belly.
“Are you certain that’s a good idea? Letting a woman in her condition run a charity?”
Edward shrugged. “She won’t do more than she feels capable of. And she has plenty of help.”
“So, you’re both happy,” Richard confirmed, as though testing the waters.
“Immensely.”
“With a baby on the way.”
“Yes. Due in a few weeks.” Edward’s self-satisfied smugness churned Richard’s stomach.
“That was fast work,” he said, snidely.
Edward smiled again, refusing to rise to the bait. Technically the babe would arrive a scant eight months after their marriage. The second, official marriage.
“Why are you here, Richard?” he asked.
“I find myself in need of funds. I am here to claim my portion of the inheritance, as meager as I expect that to be.”
Edward nodded. He was prepared for this. Reaching into his desk, he removed two large envelopes, sealed with wax, and placed them before his brother.
“Before you lie two futures, Richard. I will explain their contents, and you may choose the one you prefer. This is in accordance with the terms of Father’s will, you understand.”
Already fish-belly pale, Richard blanched further.
“On the left,” Edward tapped the envelope, “you will find a letter from our father. In it he totals the amount of money which you have received over the years and concludes that you have received enough largesse. Anything further you require you must beg from me directly. I must admit, after seeing the staggering sum you have already received, I am not inclined to be generous.”
Richard
’s pallor developed a green tinge. Edward moved to tap the second envelope.
“On the right, you will find a one-way ticket valid for passage on any ship in the Northern Line fleet. These are quite spectacular ships, leaving regularly every fortnight. You would find the staterooms perfectly comfortable. Perhaps even more comfortable than your present lodgings.” Edward had learned to needle just as effectively as his brother. He arched an eyebrow for good measure. Richard scowled.
“I have considered the matter quite carefully. You are so much attached to the trappings of English aristocracy. The women. The horses. The gambling. The social whirl. Yet I wonder if your obsession with status and money is altogether healthy.”
Edward tapped the second envelope.
“You have your choice of landing in New York or Boston. It is my opinion that you would do well to experience another culture. One that prides itself for having thumbed its nose at everything we Britons hold dear. A nation that broke away from the Empire and survived—thrived, even. As I hope you will do, should you choose this future.” He paused to let his brother absorb this.
“If you do, there will be money waiting for you at a bank upon your arrival. That sum will be replenished quarterly with sufficient funds to keep you comfortably, though not in the style to which you are accustomed. If you want to obtain the trappings of your former lifestyle, I highly recommend that you apply yourself diligently to the mechanics of earning an income. You are, of course, free to come back to London once you have established yourself in some useful capacity. If you find that work does not suit, you had best be on the lookout for a gullible heiress willing to keep you in your preferred style, because I certainly shall not.”
Richard sputtered. No actual words came out of his mouth. Clearly, he had anticipated the possibility of a poor outcome, but he had not considered that Edward might devise quite so diabolical a scheme.