Jacob felt his head shaking and a moan threatening to escape from his throat. “No. You must be wrong. It’s not—”
“The victims are Mr. Brown and Miss Brown.” Norman sighed. “I am sorry, brother.”
With that, Norman turned about, replaced his hat, and left. Jacob dropped to his knees onto the cold stone floor. Miriam could not be dead. Her father was well. They would be here any moment.
They had to be.
Jacob was vaguely aware of Martin’s voice and the weight of his hand on his back. “I’ll go learn what I can, see what this is all about. I’ll report back as quickly as I can.”
Unable to speak his thanks—barely able to breathe or think—Jacob nodded.
“Collins,” he heard Martin say, “see to it that Mr. Davies returns to Branbourne Manor. Stay with him until I come back.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sound of Martin’s boots moved quickly across the stone floor as he hurried out of the chapel. The cavernous space was silent once more, empty save for himself and his cousin’s valet.
Empty, as Jacob’s life would be without Miriam in it. He felt as if his heart had been carved from his chest, leaving a hole that would never be filled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Miriam’s eyes felt like lead, heavy and immovable, but warm, as if the sun were shining on her face. So different from the searing cold of the water. The water that had brought darkness and excruciating pain with it.
What had happened? She couldn’t remember anything but a fleeting sense of terror in the stagecoach. She’d been embracing her father, but that made no sense; hadn’t he been sitting on the opposite bench?
She tried to open her eyes and succeeded in part, but she immediately turned her head and closed her eyes against the blinding sun that was indeed streaming in from a window. The movement sent a cascade of pain shooting through her body, from her head to her toes. It didn’t leave, however, only settling in her legs with intense throbs impossible to ignore. How had she not noticed that pain? What had happened to her legs? Were they caught under something?
“Where . . .” She tried to speak, but the single syllable was all that she could manage.
“There now,” a female voice said, and a figure drew near. “Lie still,” the woman said, arranging a blanket about Miriam’s figure.
She was lying on a bed, she realized, but not her own. The sunny room was unfamiliar, as was everything here, including the woman.
“You’re at the home of Dr. Wilson, dear,” the woman said, finally answering Miriam’s question, but the answer only elicited more questions from her confused and tired mind. Her expression must have said as much, because the woman went on. “You were in a stagecoach accident, and your legs are broken. The swelling will need to go down before the doctor can set the bones properly. They’re much better than even a day ago, which is excellent news.”
A stagecoach accident. So she did remember something of what had happened, but even those images in her mind were blurry and getting fainter. She swallowed, which felt like a herculean task. “My father?” she said, forcing her eyes open again.
The woman hesitated a moment, and Miriam thought she saw a flicker of worry pass through her eyes before she said, “You need to rest up and regain your strength. I’ll fetch you some broth, and if you can tolerate it well, I’ll find you something more substantive to eat for supper.”
“Miss—”
“Wilson. Mrs. Wilson.”
“My father. Where—”
The doctor’s wife interrupted again. “Oh, I believe it’s also time for another dose of laudanum, so I’ll be sure you get that as well.” She patted Miriam’s hand, which rested beside her on the bed—what might well have been the only part of her that didn’t ache—and scurried off.
Was Mrs. Wilson deliberately not telling Miriam about her father’s condition? Was he in this house? Could she see him? He had to be in far more pain than she was. They should be together. Her presence would ease his suffering, even if she couldn’t minister to him herself. She’d ask Mrs. Wilson as soon as possible.
A heavy footfall sounded outside the door of her room, followed by the figure of a man in dark clothing, wearing a coat and holding a hat. The brightness of the room put his face in shadow until he stepped across the threshold, at which the man’s appearance resolved into fine detail. Norman Davies.
Her heart leapt with hope. If Norman knew of the accident, surely Jacob did too, and he’d be along shortly. Perhaps he’d visited her already, before she awakened. How long had she been unconscious?
“Looking better, I see,” Norman said, stepping closer to the bed. She wished she could step backward to increase the distance between them. He looked too pleased, too satisfied with himself, for his visit to be something she should celebrate. The hope that had flared in her chest now felt extinguished.
“Where is Jacob?” she asked. Goodness, her throat was dry. Would that Mrs. Wilson would return quickly.
Norman sat at the base of her bed, shifting the whole only an inch, but plenty to send a new dagger of pain through her legs—and her foot. Was it broken as well?
“I am here to broker a deal with you, Miss Brown,” he said, not answering her question.
Frustration mounted inside her, but she felt so weak that she could not do much about it, or about him. She managed a single word as a reply. “Never.”
Norman chuckled and stroked the side of his hat, acting as if she were foolish and he’d expected that very response from her. “You don’t know what I have to offer. You may well be eager to agree when you hear the terms . . .” He lifted his face to hers and then tilted it to one side as if in thought. “And when you hear about what your future would hold otherwise.”
Miriam wanted to scrub the arrogant smirk off his face, but she also needed to know what he was talking about. “Tell me.”
“I knew you were intelligent.” Norman stood, placing his hat where he’d been sitting. Miriam wanted to kick it onto the floor, but she didn’t dare, both because she simply had to hear what Norman was going to tell her and because she feared causing herself more pain or damage by such an action.
“I understand that your rather unfortunate stagecoach accident occurred on the way to a clandestine wedding ceremony you and my younger brother planned.”
“Entirely legal.” She lacked the strength to form full sentences, but she had to say something in their defense.
“Legality is a different thing entirely from morality or ethics.” Norman raised his brows and gave her a pointed look, then carried on, hands clasped behind his back as he walked to the window. “You see, my brother is foolish and does not act in his own best interest. His future is to be an MP.”
“He doesn’t want that.”
“He, my dear, will have no choice in the matter. I will be letting out Stonecroft Hall, and with no source of income, he will live with me in London. As I’m sure you’re aware, he spent all of his meager inheritance on this foolish plot to marry you without my knowledge.” He huffed and shook his head.
Miriam wanted to contradict him, to argue, but her mind was still foggy, like an early morning over the hills. She knew important things were on the horizon, but she could not make them out, let alone find the words to express them. Was this a result of the accident or the laudanum?
Norman turned from the window and faced her. Once more, he looked dark, the sun putting his features in shadow, but now she could see every inch of his expression, every wrinkle and sneering part of his face. “Here is the reality of the situation, Miss Brown. You are now a cripple. You’ve broken both legs and seriously damaged your right foot. You will likely never walk again without the aid of a cane at best, but if the kind doctor is to be believed, and I paid for the best—yes, I am paying for your care—he believes you will be lame for the remainder of your life, likely whiling away your years in a wheeled chair and requiring constant attention.”
Her eyes widened at his words—he’d tossed so much informatio
n at her, facts and details that upended her entire future, and did so as if he’d merely emptied a bag of marbles and watched them roll about as she tried to gather them up.
“Surely you can see that Jacob deserves to have something more from a wife than a cripple who cannot go to dances, cannot so much as go for a stroll, and who, perhaps, might be unable to bear him children. You would be an embarrassment and a disgrace. How would Jacob be able to find a place in society, even if that path is not as an MP, if he has a sickly wife who cannot be seen in public? Would you condemn him to such a life as that?”
More marbles dumped onto the table of her mind. She couldn’t keep track of them all. She shook her head, feeling tears trickle down her cheeks. “Please, stop.”
“I am nowhere near finished,” Norman said. His voice grew more intent, losing any sense of polite softness that he’d feigned before. “Miss Brown, unfortunately, I must tell you that your father did not survive the accident.”
“No. That can’t be. Please—” But she knew it was true. Her father already had poor health. If the cold didn’t take him, the water might have, or other injuries, like the ones she’d sustained. She couldn’t bear to imagine the possibilities. “What happened?”
“He was buried three days ago in Audbury. I thought that bringing his body to the home he loved would be best.”
“Th-thank you. That was very kind of you to do.” So unlike Norman, yet there it was, a kind act, something that had cost his time as well as pounds, no doubt. Yet to think that he was buried without her present to witness it . . .
“I am not the monster you likely believe me to be, Miss Brown,” he said. “I know my brother and I have not always been in agreement on much, but I believe you and I can be in agreement on the future. You might have been able to make him happy, but that was then. Do you truly believe in your heart that you could make him happy now? If I set aside any objections to your union, and if I were to pay for a lavish wedding for you, could you marry Jacob now, knowing that you will cause him pain? That you would be a burden to him, both physically and monetarily, for the rest of your life? That if you could bear him children, you would be unable to care for them?”
Miriam hated every word Norman said—yet he spoke truth. And she was loath to admit it. She felt sobs threatening to rack her body.
“Tell me this, Miss Brown: do you love Jacob?”
“Of course I do. I love him with all my heart.”
“Then you would never do anything to hurt him, to hold him back from happiness and success?”
She hated Norman more than she ever had, but again, he was speaking truth. “I can’t marry him,” she said with a whimper. “I’ll die here, and he will be able to carry on.” The words were wrenched from her heart, but she knew they needed to be said.
“I am glad to hear you say so,” Norman said, a softness back in his voice, one that Miriam knew better than to think was actual kindness or concern. This benefited him as much as anyone. “To show my gratitude, I will ensure that you are cared for, not just in some hospital, but for the rest of your life, so long as you never contact my brother again. He has been told that you perished with your father. I think we’d both prefer for him to believe that than to think that you refuse to marry him. After all, if he knew the truth, he would feel obligated to marry you, and I’m sure you do not want to be a wife out of charity and pity.”
Tears fell freely from her eyes. She wiped at them, but more took their place. She shook her head. “You’re right. It’s best if he believes I’m dead.”
“I will arrange for a flat for you in Bath, with a live-in caretaker. You will be able to go to the Roman baths, soak in them to gain some relief and strength in body. I hear the water is medicinal as well, though you’ll never regain full use of your legs, of course.”
She pictured herself being pushed in a wheeled chair along the streets of a city she’d never visited, by a woman she didn’t know. Would the baths be at all healing? Would her caretaker be someone she could call a friend? How lonely a life could she expect for herself? It wouldn’t be the life she’d hoped for and expected. In some ways, she’d likely have more money and better clothing and living spaces than she would have as Jacob’s wife. All the same, she would have chosen a poor life with Jacob as the one richer in spirit, one that provided a wealth of joy and happiness that no amount of money could provide.
“Here is the agreement, then: You never return to Audbury—the people there will believe that you and your father both perished. You never contact my brother again. And in exchange, I will ensure that you have the best care, a beautiful place to live, and money in your pocket. Agreed?” He held out a hand. She stared at it.
Only minutes before, she’d been so sure she’d never come to any understanding with Norman, let alone agree to something as unthinkable as cutting Jacob from her life.
Slowly, as reluctantly as she had done anything or ever would do anything else in her life, she reached out and shook his hand. “Agreed,” she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
January 10, 1824
A knock sounded on Jacob’s bedchamber door. He groggily opened his eyes to a bright morning sun as a servant entered. Not Collins, but a man who could have passed for the man’s brother. He carried a breakfast tray to the bedside table, gave a quick bow, and said, “Good morning, Mr. Davies.”
“Morning,” Jacob managed.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
Jacob tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness and a pounding in his head made him rethink the decision, and he lay back onto his pillow. “Where am I?”
“Branbourne Manor, of course.”
“Oh, yes,” Jacob said, though his mind felt fuzzy, as if he were waking from a night of flowing alcohol. He covered his eyes to block more of the light and tried to remember. The last thing he could recall was falling to his knees onto the stone floor of the chapel . . .
Miriam was gone. So was her father. He was not married after all.
“Norman must be pleased,” he murmured.
“What was that, sir?”
“Nothing,” Jacob said. He lifted his hand slightly to look at the man. “What was your name again?”
“Archibald Lipton at your service, sir.”
In the distance, church bells rang out. “Mr. Lipton, what time is it? Have I missed Christmas morning mass?”
The man put on a slightly pained smile. “M’lord, you’ve been sick for over a week. You missed Christmas entirely.”
“Sick,” Jacob repeated. “Sick with what?”
Lipton shrugged. “I don’t know the details, sir. I’ve been caring for you and administering medicine as the doctor instructed. You’ll have to ask him or your brother about details. But I’m glad to see that you’ve regained some of your strength.”
Jacob was determined to sit up. He raised himself onto his elbow, getting up slowly. “Please order a carriage for me. I need to return to Audbury as soon as possible.”
“Regretfully, that isn’t possible at the moment.”
“Why not?” Jacob asked, brow furrowed.
“You’re far too weak to travel, but even if you’d fully recovered, Branbourne Manor is under quarantine. Your cousin Fanny came down with measles right after Christmas. No one is allowed to leave for another week.”
That news had Jacob sitting all the way up. He swung his legs off the side of the bed—an action so quick that he had to catch himself until he could get a bit more strength. “I must leave,” he insisted. “I’ve been in this room since Christmas Eve, haven’t I? I attended no parties. Surely I didn’t contract the illness.” But he had to go to Audbury, find out what had happened to Miriam and her father, give them a proper burial.
“Alas, everyone within the walls of Branbourne Manor is under quarantine until further notice.” Lipton didn’t sound particularly sad over the fact. He left and closed the door behind him, leaving Jacob sitting on the bed, mad with worry and desperation.
Where were Miriam and Mr. Brown’s remains? Had they been laid to rest? And how could he have not been present for such an occasion? Might they have been placed in paupers’ graves, without so much as a personal headstone to mark their final resting places? He could not allow that to happen. At the very least, he needed to find out where they were now and arrange for their return to Audbury, where they could be laid to rest in the church graveyard. Then, one day when he had enough money, he would pay for a proper headstone. Then, no matter how long that took, he would know where they lay and be able to visit.
How had life come to this? His eyes burned with unshed tears, feeling dry and hot. His head pounded, likely from worry and illness. Whatever he felt, surely it was better than whatever Miriam and Mr. Brown had experienced in their final moments.
They were gone. She was gone. He could not imagine any kind of future without Miriam in it. Without her, he had no life. He had nothing tying him to Audbury. No reason to do or be anything.
Needing to learn more, to do something, he dressed and shaved—far more slowly than ever before, as he still felt shaky—then left his bedchamber to find his brother and nearly knocked Norman over in the hall.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Norman asked, brushing himself off as if he’d been tossed onto the dusty ground.
“Looking for you, actually,” Jacob said.
Norman tugged at the cuffs of his shirt and then looked at Jacob. “Well, you found me.”
“I need to find Miriam and Mr. Brown. I need a carriage—no, a horse will do—and some money so I can give them a proper burial. Only a loan. I swear I’ll repay every penny. With interest, of course.” The words came out of Jacob in a rush, and when he finished, he found himself breathing heavier, as if he’d run a mile down the road rather than plead for a favor from his brother.
“I am not giving you a loan,” Norman began.
“But—”
“Stop,” Norman interrupted, raising a hand. “Listen to me. Haven’t you been informed of the quarantine? You cannot leave.”
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