The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  Her soaked clothes made her doubly heavy. Henry kicked and stroked at the water, using all the force he could muster, fighting to raise them both to the life-giving air. He was beginning to see spots, but he pushed all the harder. He could make out Amelia now. Everything below her shoulders was still submerged, but she seemed stationary. Then he saw the darker shadow of an object next to her. She had grabbed the side of the rowboat.

  He was so close. He kept pushing, willing himself to rise. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, he broke through to the surface. He gasped, sucking in air—and water, too, for it was raining hard, pelting the lake’s surface and thudding on the wooden boat.

  Amelia clung to the side of the boat. She stared at Henry and Cara with wide, frightened eyes.

  Cara was still a dead weight in his arms. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. He grabbed hold of the boat himself, which gave him some rest from the sheer work of supporting her. But he couldn’t stay here long. He had to get Cara to land, and he could see no way to get any of them back into the boats.

  He pulled Cara toward him. Holding her tightly. Willing her to be alive.

  She made a gurgling, gasping sound, and water poured from her mouth. She was alive! She coughed and heaved in a spasm as more water poured forth. She was still unconscious, but it was a good start.

  “Amelia, I have to take her to shore and get the water out of her lungs. It has to happen quickly. Can you stay here and hold on? I’ll be back very soon.”

  “No! I want to come with you. I can swim.”

  He looked toward the shore with its dock and line of boats. The best he could gauge was that they were about a quarter of a mile away. “It’s a long way,” he told her. “I won’t be able to help if you get tired. It will be all I can do to get Miss Bernay back.”

  “I can do it!” she insisted. “I’m too cold to stay here.”

  Henry could see her shivering, and her lips were turning blue. The rain and the stiff breeze were adding to the chill. A series of lightning bolts punctuated the danger of leaving her here. Henry had no choice. He could only pray to God that their one way out would work.

  He pulled himself up higher, looking in the boat for anything that might help the child if she faltered. He saw an oilcloth rucksack shoved into the corner and strained to reach it. With his fingertips he just barely got hold of it, dragging it to him. He pulled it from the boat and dropped it into the water. It floated.

  “Keep hold of this,” Henry instructed.

  Amelia pulled the rucksack to her side, cradling it under one arm.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Let’s go.”

  Now that they were floating on top of the water, making progress was not as difficult. Having air to breathe also made the task easier. “Stay with us, Cara,” he murmured as they went. “Stay with me.”

  He could not have fallen in love twice, only to have the woman taken from him both times. He knew all men must endure hardship, but surely the Lord was not so cruel as to let his heart be torn out like this a second time.

  Nor, surely, could the Lord allow harm to come to the child. But they were swimming at night in a thunderstorm. Henry couldn’t imagine a more dangerous scenario.

  As they swam toward shore, Henry veered from the boat dock, aiming instead for the beach that lay south of it. He could hear Amelia splashing along behind him, occasionally moaning and grunting in effort. He looked back and saw that she now grasped the rucksack with both arms, placing much of her weight on it. She was clearly tired, and tears were streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops. She used only her legs to provide forward momentum, but it was working.

  “We’re almost there,” he said to bolster her, for she could see the approaching shoreline with her own eyes.

  The moment when he dropped his feet down and felt the sand beneath them was pure elation. He walked the rest of the way to shore, pulling Cara behind him. The wind had whipped up small waves, which now pushed them those final steps ashore. The shoreline was rough, covered with pebbles. Henry stretched Cara out, then turned and waded back in, scooping Amelia into his arms to bring her the last few yards. She clung to him, sobbing now, letting go of her fortitude in an agony of relief.

  Henry hugged her tightly, and the realization of just how much he loved her hit him with full force. “You are strong and brave, do you know that? I couldn’t be more proud of you.” As he spoke, he walked, returning them both to Cara. He set Amelia down on her feet, but she resisted leaving his arms. “Will you help me now? We must help Miss Bernay. She did not come out of this adventure as well as you.”

  She was still sobbing. “I didn’t mean to pull her in. I didn’t know she couldn’t swim. Why can’t she swim?”

  It might have sounded like recrimination, but her voice was high-pitched with panic and she was twisting her hands together, looking at Cara with anxious fear.

  “One day,” said Henry, “you and I will teach her.”

  He dropped to his knees and gently rolled Cara onto her side. He gave vigorous slaps to her back in an effort to get her body to expel any water still in her lungs. After several tries, it worked. More water came out of her mouth, and this time as her body convulsed, Henry thought her eyes fluttered open briefly before closing again.

  “She’s going to be all right,” he said, determined to believe it.

  Amelia dropped down beside him, shivering, her fearful gaze transfixed on Cara. “What do we do now?”

  “We get her home,” Henry replied.

  Later, they would sort out this mess, come to terms with all that had happened. For now, he drew Amelia close to him once more. He found he was taking as much comfort from the hug as she was. “We all go home.”

  Henry paced the second floor of Galway Hill’s main inn, just as he’d done all night and now into the morning. He was exhausted yet too restless to sit in the chair the innkeeper had brought him. Henry couldn’t rest until he knew for sure that Cara and Amelia were going to be all right.

  Reaching the end of the hallway, he paused at Amelia’s door and placed an ear against the wood. The room beyond was quiet and still. The doctor had assured him she was sleeping soundly, and there was nothing more Henry could do. Turning back, he walked the other direction until he reached Cara’s room. There he stood, waiting and praying.

  It was barely dawn, and few people were stirring. Henry was surprised, therefore, to see Langham coming up the stairs. His brother’s clothes were crumpled and unkempt. He also wore a contrite expression that Henry had never seen before.

  “How are you feeling?” Henry asked, although he could easily guess. His brother looked completely devastated.

  Langham answered the question with a grimace, then pushed some straggling hair from his face. “I need to explain. And apologize.”

  “There will be time later to discuss all this.”

  Langham shook his head. “I need to do it now.” He continued without waiting for a response. “I want you to know I came here with the best of intentions. When I discovered Delia’s letters and thought I might be Amelia’s father, I was determined to right the wrongs I had committed—albeit unknowingly. I had some idea that I’d turn over a new leaf, maybe try to cobble together a family with Delia and Amelia—” He paused, shaking his head. “All I did was make things worse, and the mistake was nearly fatal.”

  Henry didn’t know how to answer. His thoughts could not be entirely pulled from the woman who lay just beyond the door next to him.

  “It’s a good thing you came, or who knows what might have happened. And it would have been my fault.” Langham looked away for a moment, clearly choked up and doing his best to hold the emotion at bay. “That’s a burden that I can only thank God I was not made to bear. Most especially, of course, for their sakes—an innocent child and one of the best ladies I’ve ever met. In some way, Cara reminds me of our lost sister. I hope that she may yet be that to us—and more.”r />
  Henry had an inkling what Langham meant. It was his hope, too.

  “Last night I berated you because you accepted the accusations laid against me. Everyone—you and our parents—was so ready to believe I was that person. And yet, who could blame you? My life has provided the perfect context for such a lie.”

  No matter how battered his heart was from yesterday’s events, Henry did not wish to see his brother so weighed down with condemnation. “You’re a good man, Langham. We’ve disagreed on many things, but I never doubted your generosity of heart.”

  “Even so, I want to tell you that I plan to turn over a new leaf. I will be better and different from now on.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “No, wait.” Langham held up shaking hands to stop Henry from speaking further. “I want to tell you those things. But I won’t. I know about the Bible’s admonition to ‘boast not thyself of tomorrow.’” He let out a tiny laugh at Henry’s lifted brow. “You didn’t think I listened to the minister’s sermons when we were children, did you?”

  Henry allowed a brief, sardonic smile. “No, I did not.”

  “Well, as I said, I will not tell you these things. I will only prove them in the doing.”

  Langham’s humility was real. Henry saw a resolve that was not likely to fade. For the first time in years, he was proud of his brother. “I’ve been at fault, too. I’ll need to join you in that endeavor.”

  Henry extended a hand; he wasn’t sure why. They had rarely indulged in these types of gestures over the years. He just felt the need to do something.

  Langham took hold of Henry’s hand, and then pulled him in for an embrace.

  CHAPTER

  37

  SEARING PAIN in her lungs brought her to consciousness.

  Cara awoke, startled to find she was in a soft bed, swaddled in blankets. A small lamp on the dresser at the foot of the bed sent a warm glow through the room. She coughed, unable to help it even though it brought only more pain, as though her lungs were on fire.

  Immediately a woman was at her side, helping her lean forward, holding her until the coughing fit was done. “There you go, miss,” she said. “I knew you’d come ’round.”

  “Who are you?” Fear took hold of her as she remembered the sensation of Amelia’s grip loosening just before she lost consciousness. Someone from the town must have been close enough to rescue her after all. But had they found Amelia? “Where is Amelia?” The hoarseness in her voice caused by her burning lungs was magnified by horror at what she might hear.

  The woman gave her hand a comforting pat. “She’s right down the hall, tucked into bed. Poor thing was exhausted, but no other harm came to her.”

  Cara began to cry. The tears quickly turned to sobs, as the relief seemed too great to bear. Amelia was safe. Whatever terrible consequences would come to Cara—and she had no doubt that plenty would—the child was safe. God in His grace had once more answered her prayers. She covered her face with her hands but could not stop the tide of tears.

  The woman gently pushed a handkerchief into her hands, waiting patiently until Cara’s sobs began to subside before speaking again. “I’m Mrs. Lowell, the innkeeper’s wife,” she said, answering the question Cara had initially blurted out. “You gave us a scare, but I knew you’d pull through. You’re young and strong, that’s what I told his lordship. I said, ‘She’s young and strong, sir. You’ve no need to fret.’”

  “Hen—Lord Morestowe is here?” Suddenly Cara was desperate to see him, desperate to face the brunt of his fury and get the worst of it over with. Coming here may have been Langham’s idea, but she had agreed to it. Henry would hate her after this. Not that it mattered. After all, he was going to marry Miss Myers, who would certainly be a better mother to Amelia. She wasn’t likely to go haring off to the countryside and put a child’s life in danger. Cara tried to wipe away her tears, but knowledge of her own terrible inadequacies kept them coming.

  “His lordship is just outside. Hardly budged all night, although after diving in the lake and swimming all that way to rescue you, he must have been as worn out as Miss Amelia.”

  Cara stared at her in shock. “Lord Morestowe rescued me?”

  “Aye, that he did.” Mrs. Lowell beamed. “I haven’t had much dealings with aristocrats, but I know they aren’t all as polite and gracious as he is. Not to mention so heroic.”

  Cara tried to picture Henry swimming with her in his arms, bringing her to shore. The scene was almost too fantastic to imagine. It stirred so many emotions, leaving her deeply embarrassed and yet overwhelmingly grateful. How had he known? How had he been there? She owed him her life.

  There was no way to repay that. No way to counter the anger he’d be feeling.

  Whatever happened, Cara would always love him with all her heart. It would make life without him that much harder, but it was a love she would always cherish.

  Henry was still pacing the hall, but now he was pondering what Langham had just told him. The revelation that Cara had hidden her previous employment as a nanny, and her reason for doing so, was troubling. It also explained why Cara had been so adamant about not wanting to be a governess. She was perhaps still wracked with guilt over what had happened to the little boy. Unlike his mother, Henry believed it had been a simple, if serious, mistake and not evidence of some deep flaw in Cara’s nature. It was one more issue they would have to address—once he was assured Cara was out of danger. At the moment, that was all he cared about.

  He paused again outside Cara’s room. This time he heard voices—evidence that Cara was awake. He rapped on the door. “How is Miss Bernay?” he called. “May I enter?”

  “Certainly, sir,” Mrs. Lowell responded.

  Henry opened the door, eagerly glancing toward the bed. Cara was propped up against the pillows, a blanket pulled up to her chest. Her long blond hair had been tied back but was now askew, falling out of its ribbon. Her nightgown, one of Mrs. Lowell’s, was far too large, swathing her in excess cotton. Her eyes were puffy, and her nose was red. In short, she looked lovely.

  He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

  Her gaze was fastened on him as he approached the bed. Her wide blue eyes shone with unsuppressed admiration. “You saved my life—and Amelia’s, too. I—” She stopped as words failed her.

  As much as he loved the way she was looking at him just now, he felt uneasy to hear it put in such terms. He didn’t want to admit that things had gotten that close to disaster. She was here, she was safe, and she was alive. Those were the only facts his heart was willing to hold.

  He wanted more than anything to take her in his arms. For the moment, he had to content himself with sitting on the narrow wooden chair next to her bed, drawing it as close to her as possible.

  “You must be furious with me,” Cara said, mistaking the reason for his silence.

  He shook his head. “Langham told me what happened. I believe you both meant well.”

  “We never dreamed it would turn out as it did. I thought—”

  Henry held up a hand to stop her. Turning to the innkeeper, he said, “Mrs. Lowell, I’d like to have a few minutes with Miss Bernay. If you could wait just outside.”

  “Certainly, sir,” the lady agreed readily enough, although she looked surprised at his request. Henry was asking to be left alone in a room with a woman. He didn’t care.

  Neither, apparently, did Cara. She picked up her narrative the moment they were alone. “I thought it would be good for Amelia to see her mother. I lost mine so young. I understand what a terrible chasm it leaves in your heart. But Delia was not at all what I imagined her to be. She collapsed, and I had to run after Amelia while Langham tended to her—”

  “It’s all right,” Henry said gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

  His soft answer seemed to take her by surprise. And no wonder. She must have expected him to berate her soundly. Something he might well have done, except that he loved her too much.

 
Cara said tentatively, “How is Delia?”

  “She is not well. We’ll do all we can to help her. We may move her to a sanitarium, although I have spoken to the doctor, and he doubts it will make much of a difference.”

  “I was afraid of that.” She plucked absently at the counterpane as she turned a remorseful gaze on him. “Now I think this will only open fresh wounds for Amelia, and I feel so guilty. Delia thought you were sending the child back to her! But of course, that can never happen. Langham is determined to be a good father to her.”

  “Yes, well, about that . . .” Henry told her what he’d learned from Langham.

  By the time he’d finished, Cara’s eyes—those large, sweet blue eyes—were wide with amazement. “Then Amelia is no relation to the Burke family at all? What will happen to her?”

  “She isn’t going anywhere. I fully intend to raise her as my daughter. She is headstrong, yes. But she’s also clever and fearless and resilient. Just like you.”

  Cara shook her head. “I’m foolish and naïve and too full of daydreams. I lose children!”

  “That’s true,” Henry agreed calmly.

  “So you know about Robbie, too.”

  “Yes.” He took hold of her hands. “I would like to hear all about it, but not now. It can wait.”

  She regarded him as though gratefully drinking in the kindness he was offering. She looked so frail and too sorrowful.

  “This trip was Langham’s idea,” he reminded her. “Unfortunately, I can’t very well send him away, much as I’d like to.” He gave her a grin, although he only managed to draw a weak smile in return. “However, I do think you should not return to Morestowe. There is a certain protocol that must be followed, especially after all that has happened. I want to ensure there is no room for the gossipmongers—”