I hope you’re listening to me, Lucas McMinn,” Flora said as lightly as she could. And then came the crash of emotion, the strength of which sent her crumbling. “I absolutely cannot lose another man I love. Do you understand me?”
Green eyes fluttered open to capture her gaze and hold it. “You love me?” he breathed. “I was…” He paused to gasp for breath. “Was going to tell you…first. When I stopped the wagon. Only…”
“And you shall,” she said as she once again swiped away her tears. She traced the scar where lightning had touched him then returned her attention to his eyes. “Properly and while standing upright. I must warn you I intend to hold you to it.”
“You can count on…” He gasped and his eyes fluttered shut. “On that,” he said with what Flora feared was his last breath.
“Do something,” she demanded of the doctor.
Before the man could answer, Lucas began breathing normally, though his eyes remained shut tight. They stayed closed through the haze of activities that followed. Somehow Father appeared at her side to take her home, though she refused to leave until the three hours had passed. When the clock struck one and Lucas’s breath was still shallow but even, Flora finally relaxed. Thank You, Lord.
Once at Brimmfield, Father had a bed installed in the parlor so as to avoid the question of whether Flora’s reputation would somehow be compromised by her insistence at remaining at Lucas’s side in his bedchamber.
She pulled Father’s favorite chair closer so that she could lean back against the cushions and allow herself a quick few minutes of rest. When her eyes opened again, some hours later, the lamps had been lit and Lucas was watching her.
Flora almost fell out of her chair as she went to him. “Oh, Lucas,” she said. “I thought I’d lost you and then the doctor said you must live through the first three hours and you did, and then he said…well, I’m just very glad you’re alive.”
“Apparently so,” he managed as he struggled to sit up.
“Be careful. You’ve been shot—”
Lucas gave up and then reached up to wrap a strand of her hair around his finger. “While you were sleeping the doctor came. It looks as if I’m going to live.”
“Well, of course you are.” She grinned. “I had no doubt.”
“Lennart. Is he dead or alive?”
Her smile faded. “Lennart was found. Dead. Apparently he was already mortally wounded when he managed to fire off that last shot.”
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he nodded. “I’d hoped he might live to stand trial. His wife and daughters will be…” His eyes closed and then slowly fluttered open again. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”
“I know.” A pause. “You saved my life, Lucas. Thank you.”
“Just part of the service, ma’am.” He reached for the table beside him and then touched his chest. “My father’s watch,” he said. “It’s missing.”
She pulled it out of her pocket and placed it in his hand. “It’s right here.”
He began to cough, and pain contorted his expression. Flora soothed him as best she could until he breathed easy again. “In my jacket pocket,” he said, once again looking around. “A box. From Tucker. Did it contain your missing earrings?”
She recalled the empty box the valet had brought her upon laundering Lucas’s stained clothing. “No, it was empty.” At his distressed look, she hurried to continue, “Rest now, Lucas. There will be plenty of time to talk later.”
“Not yet,” he said. “There’s still one more thing.” He paused to draw her near. “Flora Brimm,” he said softly, “I know I’m not exactly upright yet, and I couldn’t tell you what that doctor’s put in the vile medication your butler keeps insisting I drink, but I can’t wait any longer. I love you.”
She smiled. “I love you too.”
Lucas beckoned her to come even closer and then managed a soft kiss. “I want to marry you someday.” He gestured to the bandages. “I had a different outfit in mind, so you might have to wait a while.”
“I’ll wait for you, Lucas.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as a prayer of thanks went heavenward. Even if the medication kept him from remembering, at least he had spoken from his heart. “Now promise me you’ll get some proper rest. It’s almost midnight.”
“I will if you will.”
Flora softly kissed his cheek and then stepped out of the parlor. In the pale lamplight of the hall, she found Violet waiting for her in her wheelchair. Daisy stood in the shadows near the door, her face beaming.
“How is he?” her sister asked, as if her presence there was not out of the ordinary.
“He is improving.”
“Good.” Violet smiled.
“What are you doing here?” Flora asked, and then she wished immediately she could take back the words. “Never mind.” She knelt at her sister’s side. “I’m so glad you are.”
“This is my home, and it’s time I returned to it.” Violet reached to wipe away Flora’s tears. “We have much to talk about, don’t we?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. I have it on good authority that chocolate cake is in the kitchen.”
“Chocolate cake?” Flora began to giggle. “Oh, Violet, we do have much to talk about!”
“Son, do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Lucas blinked hard, as much to adjust his eyes as to give him a minute to compose himself. The doctor stared back at him, his face kind and his eyes wearing the concerned look a man gets when he’s delivered bad news.
And the fact that Lucas would likely never use his right arm again definitely qualified as news of the worst kind. What would a man who made his living with a sidearm do when he stopped being able to shoot? And how would he diagram his inventions when he couldn’t even sign his name?
“Yeah, Doc, I got it. I’m washed up as a Pink and not much use to anyone who needs an able-bodied man. I wouldn’t make much of a husband right now either.”
The doctor adjusted his spectacles. “Now look here. I’ve seen worse than this and fellows managed just fine. The bullet zagged around a bit, so we can’t know what other damage has been done just yet. That’ll take some time and—”
“All due respect, Doc,” Lucas said as he settled back against the pillows and prayed for the pain medication to take hold, “but what you’ve seen and where I’m lying right now are two different matters altogether.”
The doctor reached for his bag. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Can you promise I’ll make a full recovery? That I’ll be the man I was before Lennart shot me?”
The older man rose and set his hat atop his head. “There’s nothing else I can do here, but the Lord… He’s only just started to work. Let Him do His job, won’t you?”
“So what you’re saying is that even if Miss Brim would take me as a husband, it’s likely she’d get a cripple in the bargain.” He let out a long breath and paid for it with a searing pain in his chest. “Thanks, Doc.”
“Son, I’m sorry. But you’re alive. Give it some time.”
Gritting his teeth, Lucas turned away to bite back a response he knew he would regret. Only when the door closed on the doctor and his bad news did he allow himself to form the complaint he wished to lodge against God. The trouble with that, however, was the fact that he knew the doctor was right. Things could have been worse.
The next morning Flora slipped in to see Lucas after the doctor left, hoping to be the first to break the news of her sister’s victory over the fear that had kept her hidden away. Instead, she stalled at the expression on his face that greeted her.
Tilting his head toward his right arm, now bandaged and immobile, he let out a long breath. “I’ve no use of this arm.”
A by-product of the shooting, the doctor had told her on his way out. While there was no limit to what the human body might do to repair itself, the likelihood that he might regain use of that arm was slim at best.
“Good morning, Lucas,” she said brightly. “I have such great news—”
“Did you hear me, Flora? My arm. It’s…”
“I heard,” she whispered.
“This makes me useless as a Pinkerton agent.” His Irish eyes met hers. “What good is an agent who cannot shoot his weapon or even sign his name?”
“You’ll manage. Or learn. Or, who knows? Things may improve, and there’s always your inventions to keep you busy. Surely you’ll find something—”
“No, Flora. There’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” She shook her head. “But I thought…”
“Leave me.” He paused to pull in a shuddering breath. Be it physical or emotional, pain obviously wracked him. “Just please go.”
“But I brought a book, and I thought that perhaps we might—”
He looked away. “Not today.”
She did as he asked and left, too proud to show her tears and too hurt to remain and fight. When her next several attempts at conversation were met with the same reluctance to speak, she finally gave up. Whatever battle Lucas McMinn was now fighting, he chose to fight it alone.
Like it or not, they were no longer a team.
Worse, the niggling fear that his feelings for her were only a passing medicated moment kept Flora worried. Four days after the shooting, he announced he would no longer keep to the makeshift sickroom and began to take his meals in the dining room with Flora, Father, and Grandmama.
Conversation at mealtimes was lively, mostly owing to the fact that Grandmama loved to reminisce about the old days before and during the war. And though Flora and Father had heard the stories a multitude of times, Lucas proved to be an interested audience. Refusing help, he fumbled his way through learning to feed himself with his left hand as he studiously maintained only the most distant demeanors toward Flora.
Through it all, nothing further was said about the feelings they expressed on the day of the shooting. Nor did he hold much interest in keeping company with her at all. She began to believe she’d dreamed the whole thing. Or that his profession of love had indeed been the medication speaking.
About this time Father insisted Lucas take over the first floor library. A much more fitting space for a man, he’d declared as he left on yet another of his trips to buy seed or make purchases for the farm. Cleverly, he had also requested Lucas look over his buisness records in his absence.
Indeed, Father had never taken to the business side of things. Yet even then, he’d never shrugged from his duties. Though Flora suspected ulterior motives in her Father’s request, Lucas obviously did not. The man who swore he could never return to the Pinkertons now took to his new responsibilities with great gusto.
Such was his fervor with the project Father had left him that Lucas took to having his meals in the library. Any attempt for company was rebuffed.
In short, Flora had become a stranger. Or, rather, the man in Father’s library had become one. She certainly did not expect this when he asked her to wait.
A week after the shooting, she wandered into the library to find him poring over something that looked suspiciously like blueprints. Though he had lost some weight, the maids had seen to tailoring his shirts so they still fit him quite well. From the width of his shoulders to the arm he’d taken to wearing bound in a sling, he was still quite a handsome and formidable man.
As always, her heart thumped at the sight of him. “Lucas?” she said softly.
He did not look up when she stepped inside, nor did he appear interested in conversation. When she cleared her throat, he finally spared her a glance.
“I wondered if I might get you anything.” She craned her neck to see what he was working on. This certainly had nothing to do with Father’s books. Rather, it appeared to be some sort of ladies’ hat, its plume of feathers quite fashionable, though the maze of wires and things beneath the brim appeared baffling.
“Thank you, no,” he said as he moved the papers out of her view. “Will there be anything else?”
She sank into the chair across from him. “Yes, actually. I was wondering…that is, you appear to be healing quite nicely. I wondered if you might want to…” She looked away. “Take a walk in the garden,” she finally managed.
Silence.
When she returned her attention to him, he had already gone back to his drawings. She could see the concentration on his face as he attempted to draw a straight line with his left hand, mostly failing miserably.
“Lucas, did you hear me?”
“Yes, Flora, I did.” He looked up sharply. “I’m busy. Do you mind?”
“Do I mind?” Her temper spiked. “Yes, Lucas, I mind greatly!” She rose to grab the papers and toss them behind her. “Oh, this is just wonderful. I regain my sister only to lose the man I…” She shook her head. “No, my deportment teacher was right. A lady is never the first to say…” Flora stopped herself, anger blinding her. “You don’t remember a thing you told me when you first awakened in the parlor, do you?”
His expression went blank. Either he had no recall of the promise or he wished to forget it.
“Right.” Flora let out a deep breath in hopes a small measure of her anger and despair might escape with it. The attempt failed miserably. “I promised to wait, but not forever.”
Again she searched his face. Nothing.
“I see.” She shrugged, hoping it would hide the deep wound forming. “Well, then. If you have no further need of me, I’ll not take up any more of your time. Should you realize you miss my company, that’s just too bad. I won’t be back until I get an engraved invitation to visit.”
A nod.
“Did you hear me?” she asked as she rose.
No response.
Humiliation forced her from the room, though pride propelled her with her spine straight and her eyes focused on the door. Only when she had given that door a good slam did she allow her feelings to take hold. Racing up the stairs, heedless of anyone’s thoughts of impropriety, she found her room before her tears blinded her.
Everything in Lucas demanded he follow Flora up the stairs and set her straight. Never had he loved a woman so much as he loved her. It killed him to pretend he had no feelings left for her.
Every time he left a meal where he’d hurt her by ignoring her or bypassed an opportunity to spend time with her, Lucas told himself it was for her own good. She needed a man who could be a husband to her.
A man who was a whole man, able bodied and worth something.
A man who didn’t awaken during the night in a cold sweat, reliving the moment a coward hiding in the bushes fired bullets that took him down.
Nine days after the shooting, Kyle Russell came to visit. The butler announced him, and Flora went down to offer her greetings. For all her anguish over the change in his friend, she held no ill will against Kyle.
With him in the foyer was an elderly man whose gait was surprisingly spry. “Do come in,” Flora said as she greeted the pair. “Lucas is in Father’s office, though I suppose it should be called his office as Father has happily ceded the space to him.” She kept her tone intentionally light, her expression happy. Should Kyle learn of the change in their relationship, it would come from Lucas, not her.
“That’s good to know,” Kyle said.
She gestured toward the closed door. “Yes, well, I have no idea what he does all day, but it appears he’s creating all sorts of designs.”
“As requested,” Kyle said. “You see we’ve had news on some of our patents and, well, where are my manners?”
She looked to the man at Kyle’s side. “Is this your father?”
“No, he is—”
“Augustus Girard,” Grandmama supplied as she descended the staircase.
“My dear Miss Merriwether.” The old man’s face beamed. “I never did get used to calling you Mrs. Brimm.”
Grandmama’s smile was brief but genuine. “You’re awfully cheeky for a man who dared to break my heart.” She allowed a chaste embrace, and then she said something in French before she stepped away. The old gentleman’s response was brief, soft. His expression tender.
“Flora, dear, do stop gaping and say hello to my friend Monsieur Girard. He and I had occasion to make each other’s acquaintance on many occasions before the war. Has it been so long?”
“Time is irrelevant where you’re concerned,” he said to Grandmama before turning to Flora. “My dear,” he said softly. “Do forgive an old man his surprise. When I first saw you I thought…” He glanced over at Grandmama. “Well, suffice it to say you do cause the years to fall away.”
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted his handshake.
“Shall we go in, then?” Grandmama said, indicating the closed door of the library.
“After you, Millie,” Monsieur Girard said.
Millie? No one called Grandmama by that name—at least not to her face. Even Grandfather Brimm wouldn’t dare.
And yet off she went, blithely followed by the stranger and Mr. Russell into Lucas McMinn’s inner sanctum. Flora fell in line until Grandmama turned to stop her.
“No, dear,” she said before closing the door in her face.
She’d almost reached the stairs when the door flew open again. There stood Lucas, rage causing his entire frame to quiver. “Are you responsible for this?”
“This?” Flora shook her head. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Lucas,” she heard the old man say. “The girl did not contact me.”
His expression softened, but only slightly. Another moment and he turned his back to close the doors again.
“Men,” Violet said from the door to the parlor. “They are a confusing group. Come on, let’s go for a walk.” She looked down at her wheelchair. “Or rather, a roll.”
“Only if you promise not to make me read Pride and Prejudice.”
She stepped back to allow Violet to pass through the corridor ahead of her and then roll out onto the sidewalk on the specially designed ramp Lucas had hastily designed for her—the lone good deed the despicable man had accomplished since his injury.
“And before you start lecturing on the benefits of this great novel, Violet,” Flora continued as she pressed away thoughts of Lucas McMinn, “you know I’ve tried to read it.”
“Just as I’ve tried to read your lady detective books. Honestly, Flora, I do not see the attraction to law enforcement stories.”
From her vantage point on the sidewalk, she spied Lucas deep in conversation with the elderly man through the library windows. He spared her a brief glance before turning his back on her. A moment later, Grandmama rose to close the curtains.
“You know, Violet,” Flora said as she followed her sister down the path toward the cottonwoods and the river beyond, “I’m beginning to agree with you.”
“Good, because today I brought Little Women to read. Can we both agree on that one?”
“Oh, yes. Lead on. I have all afternoon.”
Violet caught the attention of the ever-present Daisy, who hadn’t quite gotten used to her charge’s newfound independence. “Might you have a late lunch brought out? Say in an hour? And tea later.” When the older woman had left them, Violet returned her attention to Flora. “All right, tell me about Mr. McMinn.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He seems to be recovering nicely.”
Violet fixed her with a look. “But you are not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that since our recuperating Pinkerton agent awakened after saving your life, both of you are quite changed.” She shrugged. “He is closeted with Father’s books and the odd drawings he attempts with his left hand.” A pause. “Actually, I saw him practicing his signature yesterday. He’s getting quite good.”
Flora nodded as her sister babbled on about Lucas McMinn’s many virtues. Finally the talking ceased.
“But you. Well, let’s just say I know a woman who is grieving when I see one. Do you think you’ve lost him?”
Flora sighed. “I don’t know if I ever had him.”
The truth. So much for the happily ever after she’d wished for.
“May I change the subject?” At Flora’s nod, Violet continued. “Your near miss at marriage with this Mr. Tucker…was it because of me?”
Flora looked away. “It was because of Brimmfield.” A partial truth.
“And because I refused to leave it.” Violet wheeled around to intrude on Flora’s view. “Nothing holds you here, sweet sister of mine. Not even me. You’ve written of adventures. Perhaps it’s time you go and have some.”
“But Brimmfield—”
“Will prosper long after its inhabitants are gone.” She reached to touch Flora’s sleeve. “Including you and me.”
“But the will.” Her eyes searched Violet’s face. “I must keep Brimmfield in the family.”
“It’s just a big expensive plot of land.” She paused to glance around. “None of us will leave here destitute. Grandfather was not that cruel.”
“I suppose.”
“And Cousin Winny’s not such a bad man, is he?”
Flora shook her head. Silently she looked back at the house and thought of the afternoon that changed them all.
“Stop. You’re woolgathering. We’re no longer children susceptible to whims and dares.”
“No,” she said softly, though Flora couldn’t tell whether it was a statement or a question.
“Then go and have adventures. I dare you,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Flora couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, but shall we read about the March sisters and their adventures today? I have plenty of time to see the world tomorrow. Or next week.” Or once my broken heart has healed.
“Of course.”
And so they read, each taking turns and pausing only for lunch and tea. Finally, when the sun dipped below the cottonwoods, Daisy came and insisted on taking her charge indoors lest she chill in the evening air.
Exhausted from their extended visit to the gardens, Violet retired to her room upon their return to the house. Flora wandered into the foyer, surprised to find the door to the library open.
She wandered inside, shocked to find that the person seated behind the desk was Winthrop Brimm. “Come to take over so soon?” Regretting her stinging blow, Flora shook her head. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for.”
Winny rose to take a few tentative steps in her direction. “No, what was uncalled for was Grandfather’s need to put us both in such an untenable position.”
Flora nodded, unable to disagree. “Well, I cede the victory to you, Winny. I’ve been convinced just this afternoon that there are adventures outside of Brimmfield to be had, and I intend to find them.”
“Good for you.” His face went pensive. “Flora, I owe you an apology.”
“No, honestly, you do not.”
“Let me do this. I’ve made poor decisions in my life. Many of them. Some have only harmed me, but others have harmed people for whom I care deeply.” He paused to touch the edge of the desk. “Violet shall hear this of me as well, but I beg your forgiveness for the childish taunts that caused her to fall.” His unsteady gaze swung to meet hers. “Though I do not deserve it, might I have that forgiveness?”
She smiled. “Of course,” she said and meant it.
Relief washed over his features. “This is not in my nature, though I’m becoming quite adept at it. There’s another thing. The shooting.” Again he paused, this time to worry his sleeve. “More ill-advised choices. I wish to plead love, but that sounds foolish.” He shrugged. “I wanted to impress someone I cared for deeply, but, well, the funds I needed were tied up in business ventures elsewhere. When her father offered a generous cash settlement for a portion of his business, how could I decline? To become a partner in the family firm and have the means to court the daughter as well?”
“Dora Lennart,” she said softly. “I understand, Winny. There’s no need to go on—”
“But there is. I had no idea her father’s businesses were in jeopardy. I was blinded by love and did not do my due diligence. Only when I began to ask questions did things get…ugly.”
“Yes, I would imagine so.”
“I never realized Martin Lennart would go to such extremes to see that I inherited all of this.” He shook his head. “That a person could be so focused on money as to risk losing everything, including his life, was a sobering realization. I will not be that sort of man. Should you want to remain at Brimmfield, Flora, it is your home and shall remain so. I give you my word.”
“But your debts.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I’m sorry, but Mr. McMinn told me.”
He shrugged. “I’ll manage. Dora and I are committed to coming through this together, and I am concentrating on that. Her mother and sister will need a man to guide them through this period of bereavement. I believe I am that man.”
“I’m very glad.”
He moved toward her, arms outstretched. “As am I,” he said as he embraced her. “But now I must bid you goodbye.”
“I see.” She stepped back. “You’re leaving so soon?”
“I just came at Grandmama’s request. Now back to the city and Dora.”
Flora bid Winny goodbye and then drifted upstairs to freshen up for dinner. When she arrived in the dining room expecting to find the chairs filled with the guests she’d greeted this morning, Flora found only Grandmama waiting.
“Violet’s dining in her room tonight,” her grandmother said. “Apparently the afternoon tired her. I suspect, however, that her nurse is merely scheming to have some time with our girl to allow herself to believe the transformation. She is transformed, isn’t she? It’s just glorious.”
“It is. So, where are the men?” she asked as she took a seat on her grandmother’s right.
“All gone, I’m afraid,” she said as she rang for the footmen.
“Gone?” she echoed. “Even Lucas?”
“Yes, your Mr. McMinn left as well.” She gave Flora a pointed look. “It was time.”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” she said though her heart was not in the statement. “I thought he might have said goodbye, considering…”
“Considering?” Grandmama shrugged. “You know how men are. Always in a hurry to handle their business. It seems to be a singular focus of some of them.”
Flora nodded mutely as the table quickly filled with the first course of a dinner she had no desire to eat. Hadn’t she made the same accusation of Lucas just before the shooting?
Perhaps if they hadn’t argued—and then kissed—Lucas McMinn would never have suffered the bullet wound that took not only the use of his arm but also his love for her. If the latter was ever there.
“You’re woolgathering.”
Flora mustered a smile. “You sound like Violet.”
“Good.” Grandmama reached over to touch her sleeve. “I’ve spoken with her. I think an adventure is exactly what you need. Just tell me where you’d like to go and I’ll arrange it.”
Where would she like to go? Somewhere with dizzying heights and no Pinkertons. Sacré-Coeur in Paris came to mind, though she doubted she could convince Violet to travel that far so soon. Perhaps next year. No, somewhere closer.
As the thought occurred, so did the beginnings of a true grin. “Actually, Grandmama, I do have a place in mind.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. May we go back to the Crescent Hotel? You, me, and Violet. Just the three of us.”
“The Crescent?” She lifted an iron-colored brow. “Yes, well, that sounds lovely, dear but…” Something stopped her, and suddenly her expression changed. “Of course we can. I’ll arrange it immediately.”
“Grandmama, I saw Winny earlier. He said he came at your request.”
“Yes,” she said, her expression unreadable. “It was time for that too.”
“Time for what?”
“Enough questions, child. Let’s go back to planning our visit for the Crescent and leave the topic of your cousin for another day, shall we?”