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“Shall I wait for you out here?” Gwen’s aunt waved her hand to encompass the small foyer outside Dr. Smithfield’s office.
Gwen nodded, one hand pressed against her middle where flutters of eagerness had been quivering all morning. “Thank you for coming with me, Aunt Vivian.”
“You’re most welcome, my dear.”
Dr. Smithfield opened his door. “Miss Barton, a pleasure to see you again. Come in.”
Her aunt offered her an encouraging smile as Gwen crossed the threshold into the office. Surely this was her real purpose in coming to London. After today, she’d be on a path to regaining full mobility in her foot and in her life. Then, once she returned to Heartwell House, she would be able to provide them with more physical labor in addition to her money. She would have a useful and valuable life, and she could content herself with that.
“If you’ll take a seat and remove your shoe and stocking, Miss Barton.”
As she did so, Gwen felt a flicker of awkwardness. No one had seen her injured foot for years now, except for herself and various maids. But the doctor didn’t act aghast at the sight, which brought her some relief.
Dr. Smithfield helped her to sit on the examination table located to one side of the room, then he instructed her to extend both legs in front of her. For several long minutes, the only sound in the room came from the ticking of the wall clock and the occasional murmur from the doctor as he felt the bones in her foot and rotated the limb in different directions. Then he asked her to bend and straighten her leg as well as do the same with her foot. Gwen tried her best, but she couldn’t keep her foot completely aligned with her leg without wincing with dull pain.
“Does that hurt?” the doctor asked, though not unkindly.
Gwen nodded. “Somewhat, yes. But I’m sure that’s to be expected.” She offered him an optimistic smile, but the doctor didn’t return the gesture. If anything, his expression grew more somber as he slowly rotated her foot again.
Her excitement began to bleed into concern even before Dr. Smithfield straightened beside the table and looked directly at her. “How long were you in bed after the accident?”
“A few weeks.” Gwen couldn’t remember exactly. “Our doctor informed us that getting rest was the best thing for me.”
Dr. Smithfield glanced down at her foot. “Yes, but you also should have been exercising your foot. Kneading the muscles, flexing the limb, bearing weight on it—all of those things would have been far more beneficial than bed rest.”
“Wh-what are you saying? Is there nothing to be done?”
He blew out a sigh, his expression pained with compassion. “There’s no harm in trying such exercises now, Miss Barton.”
Her heart thudded at his hesitant tone. “Will they give me more mobility?”
“You can loosen the muscles that way, which will likely mean less pain and tightness. However . . .” The doctor gave a sad shake of his head. “I’m afraid the damage to your foot in terms of mobility is not likely to ever be restored, not after so many years.”
A faint roar filled Gwen’s ears. She gripped the edges of the examination table with her gloved hands. It was too late. That’s what he was telling her. She’d never be able to do the things she had once done before the accident. Things like run and dance and stand in one place for longer than thirty minutes without extreme pain. Instead she’d remain as she was—partly broken and largely useless at helping her beloved Heartwell House outside of her money.
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Smithfield.” She managed to keep her tone decorous and sincere. After all, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t fix her foot. Everything inside Gwen begged her to slip to the floor and give into the tears rising in her throat. But she wouldn’t cry here. Pressing her lips together, she climbed off the table and limped to the chair to put on her stocking and shoe.
“I’m sorry I am unable to do more.”
Gwen attempted a smile, but her mouth refused to turn up fully. “That’s why we need more doctors like you. Those who can help children in their youth while they are still healing, before the consequences of their illnesses and mishaps can no longer be changed.”
“I hope you’ll contact my colleagues in America, Miss Barton,” Dr. Smithfield said as he accompanied her to the door. “I feel confident one, if not both of them, would be eager to help your cousin in his work.”
She nodded, then stepped from the office into the foyer. Her aunt stood and gave Gwen a searching look. “Goodbye, Dr. Smithfield,” Gwen said. “Again, thank you for all of your help.”
“I wish you the very best in your endeavors, Miss Barton.”
Aunt Vivian led the way out of the building. The driver assisted both them inside the waiting carriage. “It didn’t go as you wished, did it?” her aunt asked in a soft voice as they sat facing forward.
“No, it didn’t.” She coughed to dislodge the lump of suppressed tears from her throat. “Had we done more after the accident, it might be different. But there’s nothing to do now to reverse the damage or regain full mobility.”
Her aunt clasped Gwen’s hand between both of hers. “I’m so sorry, Gwen. What upsetting news, especially after having such high hopes.”
Gwen squeezed her eyes shut as several tears broke free and slid down her cheeks. “I really thought he could do something, but I’ll stay just the way I am.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with that, my dear.” Aunt Vivian tightened her grasp. “You have grown into a compassionate, beautiful, strong woman, Gwen. Your limp is of no consequence to your character.”
Arguments settled on her tongue, but Gwen swallowed them back. How could she explain? How could anyone understand that the last of her expectations and plans had been shattered with Dr. Smithfield’s prognosis? Regardless of what others thought of her, she had little to offer the world or Heartwell House, and no amount of admirable characteristics would change that.
*
Avery clapped his best friend on the shoulder as the two of them regarded the crowded ballroom. “I appreciate you securing an invitation for me this evening, Linwood. I’m in your debt.”
“The only debt I want you repaying is one of explanation.” Linwood arched an eyebrow at him. “Why did you need to be here tonight?”
Avery’s reason for being here was to talk with Gwen. She’d been avoiding him for nearly a week. He had sent her several notes, asking her to go riding or to visit another orphanage. But she’d declined them all. When he’d learned she would be in attendance at tonight’s ball, his growing desperation to see her, to figure out what had happened between them, had driven him to beg his best friend for a last-minute invitation.
“I’d like to speak with Gw—with Miss Barton,” he answered honestly.
Linwood nodded, then glanced to where his wife stood talking with several other women. “Love requires a great deal of effort, doesn’t it? It’s not the smooth course we often believe it to be.”
“What do you mean?” Avery shifted his weight. “I said nothing about love.”
His best friend slapped a hand on Avery’s shoulder this time. “You didn’t have to, Winfield. I’ve never known you to willingly attend a ball, let alone beg for an invitation. You’re not here simply because you have nothing else to do tonight.” He twisted Avery around, so they were both facing the spot where Gwen sat along the wall. “You’re here because of her.”
“Precisely,” he grumbled. “Because she and I need to speak.”
He started across the room in Gwen’s direction. Still, Linwood’s annoyingly amused chuckle reached his ears, in spite of the rise and fall of conversation and the tuning of the orchestra’s instruments. He glared in annoyance at no one in particular as he continued working his way through the crowd.
His best friend was wrong. Avery wasn’t in love. If he were, then he’d have some rather difficult decisions to make regarding his future—and Gwen’s. No, they were nothing more than friends . . . or at least they had been, and he hoped very much that before the night was out they would be friends again.
As usual, Gwen exuded grace and beauty. Tonight she wore a purple ball gown with jet-black beading that attractively set off her dark hair. But her gaze, when she caught sight of Avery approaching, held none of its normal eagerness. If anything, she appeared sad.
“Mr. Winfield,” she murmured. She looked away as he sat in the seat next to hers.
Thankfully, Gwen’s mother and ardent suitors were absent at the moment. “Miss Barton, how are you?”
“I’m rather tired.” She waved her hand, which was encased in a long glove. “Tired of everything here.”
The note of finality in her voice brought a flicker of panic. “Are you leaving, then?”
“No, not yet. Not until the season ends.” His relief was instant, especially when she finally turned to face him. “You’ll be pleased to know I saw Mr. Hanbury several times this week.”
Avery narrowed his gaze in frustration—and more than a little jealousy. “I told you not to see him alone, Gwen.”
“I didn’t.” Her chin lifted a notch. “We’ve simply attended the same social events, including one last Friday after our . . . outing . . . along the Thames. Each time, he acted as if nothing had happened. I would say he’s even spoken more to me than he did before.”
Settling back in his chair, Avery surveyed the couples making their way onto the dance floor as the first song began. “That’s exactly what someone in that profession is trained to do. To hide their real intentions and secrets.”
“They certainly do.”
This time she leveled him with a piercing look that made him swallow, hard. “Are you angry with me?”
“Why should I be angry with you?” But she twisted slightly away from him as she said it. “You’ve been nothing but honest with me, haven’t you, Avery?”
Something in her tone sent alarm snaking through him again. “I’ve tried to be, yes.”
“Except with yourself,” he thought he heard her whisper.
This was not the conversation he’d been hoping to have with her. Perhaps sharing how much he’d missed her would help. “I was sorry you weren’t able to come riding again. Or to see another orphanage.” He boldly reached out and rested his hand on hers. “I’ve missed our outings.”
“I returned to Dr. Smithfield’s office.” Gwen glanced down at their hands. “He looked at my foot.”
He couldn’t deny a sliver of disappointment that she hadn’t asked him to accompany her again, but Avery also understood the private nature of such a visit. “What did he say?”
“He can’t help me.” Her words were barely audible. “I waited too long to do something.”
The pain her admission stirred inside him was surely as keen as if the news had been about himself. “You were only a child at the time. How could you have known?”
She slipped her hand from beneath his and swiveled her knees, forcing Avery to lower his arm. “If I had exercised the muscles in my foot all those years ago, I would have likely gained back full mobility. As it stands, I can only hope to ease some of the pain, but I’ll never be able to do what I used to.” Her chin dropped. “What’s worse is that I have nothing to offer Heartwell House now, aside from my money.”
The despair in her expression tugged deeply at him. Avery wished he could comfort her by holding her hand again or taking her into his arms. If only they weren’t in a crowded ballroom. Instead he’d have to satisfy himself with words and hope she sensed he shared her sorrow.
“Gwen . . .” He waited for her to peer over at him again before he went on. “I’m so very sorry. I know how much you hoped and planned for a different answer. You still have plenty to offer the orphanage, though. You have your passion for kindness, your intellect, your beliefs. Those are surely worth as much as any donation of money or physical labor.”
There was an unmistakable glimmer of tears in her lovely hazel eyes, which still looked clouded with doubt. Avery had to fight the desire to caress her cheek as he’d done the other day in the alley. “What will you tell your cousin?”
“The truth.” The hopelessness that settled onto her pretty face cut like a knife through him. “Perhaps I can increase the amount of money I can give them if I do marry and convince my husband to lend support from his own funds, as well.”
Her response bowled him over as if she’d struck him. “Who would you marry?”
“I still have suitors,” she said, blushing.
Avery shook his head with confused irritation. “You mean Lord Whitson or the infamous Mr. Hanbury? You can’t be serious, Gwen.”
“I’m quite serious. Not that it’s any concern of yours.”
He hadn’t come here tonight to argue with her, but he also couldn’t sit by and let her throw her life away. A loveless society marriage might be enough to make some women happy, but not her—not his Gwen. “So you’d risk a lifetime of unhappiness in a loveless marriage in order to gift these orphans a larger pot of money?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Oh, I don’t know,” she countered in a choked voice. “Anything worthwhile requires risk. We can’t keep our hearts walled off from everything and everyone, including God, and hope to still have the love and happiness we all yearn for.”
Avery instinctively recognized she was no longer talking about herself—she was talking about him. The realization sent a sharpening ache through him, one Avery wanted desperately to escape. “I’ve risked a great deal to do what I do, Gwen. I’ve risked my safety and my chance to marry and have a family.”
“That isn’t risk, Avery. Your profession has let you hide, let you run away.” Gwen peered down at her lap, where her hands were gripped together. “Tell me, when was the last time you let anyone see or know the real you? When was the last time you risked letting someone else see you for who you really are?”
His thoughts fell from his mouth before he could think to check them. “With you.”
The smile she gave him held nothing but sadness. “I know, and yet you still kept back a part of yourself, didn’t you?”
He didn’t know what to say. Not when she was right. “I—”
“It’s all right, Avery.” Gwen stood, resignation rolling off her like waves. “I’m grateful I could help you, and I appreciate your help in return.”
Avery hurried to his feet as well. Why did this feel like goodbye? “What are you saying?”
“That our partnership has come to an end.” She offered him her hand, which he took in his. “Goodbye, Mr. Winfield. I’ll remember with fondness every moment we shared.”
Before he could think of a reply, she released his hand and limped away. Avery watched her go, too stunned to move or think. At last, he sank back down into his chair. His chest felt tight, his lungs unable to drag in a full breath in the smothering heat of the ballroom. He gulped in a harried breath and hung his head.
He’d lost her. Somehow he’d lost his dearest friend, the woman he cared deeply for. The woman he’d even come to . . . Anguish rushed over him, bringing cutting clarity. Linwood had been right. Avery had fallen in love with Gwen. But his realization had come too late. She didn’t love him in return—or at least she didn’t anymore.
Avery stared at the floor, his thoughts spiraling in so many directions. Gwen had accused him of not risking his heart, and she’d been right. But he could change, couldn’t he?
Can’t I, God?
It was the closest thing to a prayer that he’d voiced in almost twenty-two years. And yet he felt something shift inside. He might have lost Gwen, but he didn’t have to lose everyone in his life. Standing, he strode purposely toward the open doors of the ballroom. After what had happened last week with Hanbury, Avery had already recognized the need to appear to back away from the investigation. To let Hanbury, and the man’s superiors, think Avery had given up. Only he wouldn’t spend his temporary reprieve from spy work by staying here and brooding over Gwen. No, he was going home—for a much overdue visit.
*
Another ride in Hyde Park with Lord Whitson the next morning left Gwen with a pounding headache and serious doubts about her rash plan to marry either the earl or Mr. Hanbury. Lord Whitson had been his usual arrogant self. Only this time, it wasn’t the exclusive invitations he’d received that brought out his irritating pride. It had been a conversation about Avery. How well did Gwen know him? Was he one of her suitors? And finally, in a boastful tone that made it clear the earl thought the advantage was all on his side, what did Mr. Winfield have to recommend himself beyond a future title?
Gwen had denied that Avery was her suitor, since he wasn’t. They were simply good friends. But she hadn’t been able to resist defending his character to the earl. Avery might not have chosen to risk in love, but that didn’t make his many admirable qualities obsolete either. Thankfully Lord Whitson had dropped the topic after that.
Massaging her forehead, Gwen peered out the rain-soaked window in the library. She had a rare afternoon to herself, one free of social obligations. But even reading held no appeal for her today. All she could think of doing, all she wanted to do, was go on an outing with Avery. Such a thing would be pointless, however, since she’d told him goodbye last night. It was going to take time for her heart to align with her head in believing that Avery Winfield was no longer a part of her life.
A smothering sense of grief threatened to overwhelm her, driving Gwen from the room. She needed time alone, she decided as she ascended the stairs, away from her mother’s constant questions about which beau Gwen admired the most. She’d already changed out of her riding habit, so all that was required for an outing were her hat and gloves, plus the use of the carriage and a footman to accompany her.
Gwen readied herself and made the appropriate arrangements with the butler. “I’m taking the carriage,” she informed her mother, who was sewing in the drawing room.
“You’re going out alone?” Cornelia’s eyebrows jumped toward her hairline.
Suppressing a sigh, Gwen shook her head. “No. One of the footmen is coming with me.”
“Fine, then. See that you’re back in time to change for dinner.”
“I will.”
She started from the room, but a niggling thought had her turning back to face her mother. “Why do want me to marry someone with a title, Mother? I’d like the real answer. Not the one about being admitted into the upper echelons of society.”
“Why?” Cornelia echoed as she set down her sewing. “Because I want you happy, Gwenyth. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
Her answer echoed what Aunt Vivian had shared the other day. Gwen considered saying nothing more. Yet what good had holding back done her in the past? Maybe things would be different between her and her mother if she had tried harder to understand and was more forthcoming about her thoughts and feelings.
“What if I’m happy as I am,” she said gently, “spending my days helping Cousin Dean with his orphanage? Would that be so bad?”
Gwen expected a sharp retort from her mother, but instead Cornelia’s tone was softened by sorrow. “Happy, maybe, but every day would be a struggle.”
Her mother ran a fingertip over the stitches she’d sewn. “I so wanted the doors that were shut to me to swing wide open for you, Gwen. Then you had your accident.” A visible shudder ran through her. “I feared all of my hopes and plans would be for naught, that you would be unable to enter society or even leave your bed at all, but you adapted. You still had something to offer the world by way of your beauty and your fortune, so all wasn’t lost.”
“I remember you sat in a chair right by my bed for days after the accident.” Gwen hadn’t recalled that particular memory in a very long time. Her mother had even missed several large social events to stay near her.
“There wasn’t anywhere else I needed to be,” her mother replied in a quiet tone. The vulnerability on her face was something Gwen had never seen before. “Just remember that happiness is largely what we make of it, Gwen. That being said, I expect you not to toss away what you’ve been given, what you could achieve, for the sake of independence or some romanticized idea of freedom.”
A mixture of sadness and compassion prompted Gwen to cross the room to Cornelia’s side. She didn’t agree with everything her mother had voiced, but for the first time, she felt as if she understood the woman’s hidden hopes and fears.
“Thank you for caring for me back then, Mother.” She bent and placed a kiss on Cornelia’s cheek. “And for bringing me to London.”
For one brief moment, a tender look filled her mother’s eyes. Then Cornelia took up her sewing again, and all traces of raw emotion disappeared. “Does this mean you’ve made a decision about which suitor you intend to encourage?”
Gwen shook her head. “I’ve made no decisions yet, but I will think on it.”
“That’s all I ask, though you will need to hurry. The season will be over in a month.”
Stepping from the room, Gwen followed the assigned footman out of the house. He held an umbrella over her as she moved to the carriage. “Where to, miss?” the driver asked after helping her inside.
“St. Paul’s Cathedral,” she answered. She hadn’t thought of it until that moment, but Gwen felt the rightness of the destination.
She settled against her seat, her back damp from the weather, as the carriage got under way. It felt strange to have another man besides Avery seated across from her, especially one who ignored her. Her own gaze flitted to the window to stare at the rainy street beyond as the conversation with her mother repeated in her thoughts.
In one regard, she and her mother were not so different—they both still held to the belief that Gwen had little to offer the world, other than perhaps her fortune. The awareness of that pinched at her yearning for peace like a shoe that didn’t fit. And yet wasn’t that what heiresses, especially ones with a disability, could contribute to society? Their money and, hopefully, in time heirs and heiresses of their own? Everyone around her believed that notion.
Everyone, that is, except Avery.
Leaning her forehead against the window, Gwen shut her eyes at the recollection of his words from last night. You still have plenty to offer the orphanage. You have your passion for kindness, your intellect, your beliefs. Those are surely worth as much as any donation of money or physical labor.
Could Avery be right? The possibility settled like a balm over her troubled heart.
She’d longed to do more for Dean and Amie’s endeavor with the orphan children and had believed providing substantial funding was the answer. It wasn’t the only one, though, was it? After all, while Dean had used nearly all of his inheritance to open the orphanage, the funding wasn’t ultimately what had continued to make Heartwell House a success. That accomplishment was the result of her cousin’s, and later his wife’s, strong desire to assist and champion the helpless, the innocent, and the suffering of the city’s children.
That same passion burned brightly in Gwen, especially after her own childhood experience. And as Avery had wisely shared, that was worth as much as a donation. Dean wouldn’t want her to commit to a loveless marriage in order for her to give him more money. He would want her to be happy in a marriage with a man she loved and who loved her as Dean and Amie did.
The carriage stopped and Gwen opened her eyes to see the grand steps of the cathedral out the window. After assisting her from the vehicle, the footman led the way into the majestic building. Once inside, though, he indicated he’d wait for her near the entrance until she was ready to leave.
Gwen walked slowly across the checkered floor. She was unsure of where she meant to go until she came upon the spot where Avery had asked if he could call her by her Christian name. Locating a nearby chair, she lowered herself into the seat.
Her first visit here with Avery was not so long ago, and yet she could hardly believe she hadn’t known him before coming to London. Of all the men she’d met, he was the one who’d accepted her exactly as she was from the beginning and had championed what she could be. Not by regaining the use of her foot but by shoring up her confidence in what she’d already had to offer the world.
It no longer seemed improbable that he’d been the injured man in the opera box. Gwen had experienced a feeling she never had known before as they’d kissed, and that feeling had only grown the more she had come to know Avery. Now she recognized it for what it was—love. She’d fallen in love with her man from the opera, with her sparring dinner partner, and her greatest friend and confidant. But, as wonderful and kind as Avery was, as open as he’d become about faith, he still didn’t return her feelings.
Tears blurred the ornate ceiling above as Gwen lifted her gaze in that direction. “Why did we meet at all, God?” she whispered, her earlier ache filling her throat.
Was it simply to help her realize she needed to be herself, regardless if she married or not? Or was it so she could help him with his spy work? Perhaps their meeting had been required so Gwen would know what it felt like to be in love, to be seen for herself and not for her fortune or her limp, so she might recognize love in the future.
The latter thought brought her a little bit of comfort, but it didn’t ease her sorrow for long. She couldn’t imagine falling in love again or finding someone she wished to be with more than Avery.
Gwen lowered her chin, sending several tears dripping onto her lap. If only she’d told him what she felt last night, instead of allowing her anger-coated grief to have its say. It might not have changed anything, though she’d never seen Avery so miserable as he had looked as she’d bid him goodbye. What if she had given up too easily? He hadn’t even told her the truth that he was the injured gentleman from the opera.
“I need to tell him how I feel.” It was half-thought, half-prayer. But the murmured words brought a solace that didn’t vanish after a moment or two.
Gwen brushed at her wet eyes and lifted her head. God had brought her and Avery together all those weeks ago—she knew it. Still, it made sense that Avery might not wish to risk his heart when Gwen hadn’t yet voiced the feelings in hers. She stood and moved toward the exit, her pulse beating double-time with hope, determination, and fear. He might still choose a life without her, but she would never know what might have been if she left things as they were.
After she and the footman returned to the carriage, Gwen gave the driver the address for Avery’s townhouse. She withdrew one of her calling cards from her purse, which also held a pencil. She scrawled a quick note on the back, then gave the message to the footman.
The young man hurried through the rain to the front door. Gwen watched from the carriage as the door opened. But the exchange between the footman and the butler took less than a minute. “I’m sorry, Miss Barton. Mr. Winfield is away from town,” the footman explained as he dropped onto the seat across from her.
A curl of alarm unwound inside Gwen as she accepted her card back. “Do you know where he went?” Had his spy work taken him elsewhere? She didn’t think so, given that Mr. Hanbury was still in London, but maybe Avery had been given another assignment.
“He’s at the family’s estate near Exeter.”
She nodded acknowledgement, though the man’s answer didn’t squelch all of her concern. What if Avery didn’t return until after the season, until after she’d left England for good? “Did the butler say when Mr. Winfield will be back?”
“No, miss.”
Gwen swallowed her disappointment and instructed the driver to take them to the Rodmills’ home. Avery might be gone for now, but she wasn’t giving up on him yet, not after her realization in the cathedral. She would write him a letter, and then she would enlist the help of Lord and Lady Linwood to discover where to send it. Once he received her letter, he would need to take the initiative from there and decide if he was willing to risk his heart with Gwen. Either way, she wouldn’t stop hoping and praying that he would do just that.