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THE FOLLOWING MORNING found Lord Harrington feeling much better as he sat up, propped with an exorbitant number of pillows behind him. He looked out the window and sighed. Last night had been filled with flashes of heat clawing through his head. He was thoroughly worn out and didn’t appreciate being plied with bowls of consommé while Dr. Harris poked and prodded him.
The doctor looked at him over his spectacles, his wrinkles advertising his age quite well. “My lord, you seem, short of this illness, to be in excellent health just as a young man of your age should be.”
“What is your point, man?” He coughed, his chest hurting.
“It has been my experience that those with a tumor tend to lose their health, similar to the symptoms you have described.”
“Yes, I know all that.” He waved his hand, uninterested in discussing his health.
“Despite those symptoms, and given your current state of health, I believe you have a growth, but one that could be removed through surgery.”
“What are you saying?” Lord Harrington’s face was intense, almost angry.
Carefully, the doctor reached over, turning him on his side to feel an area at the small of his back. “It seems to me a size and shape that is not likely to grow. As such, it is my opinion that if we were to remove it, there would be no further symptoms and you would be as much the picture of health as you have been previously.” He gently rolled him back.
Lord Harrington scowled. “Dr. Johnson had the very opposite opinion.”
“I believe he did not have all the facts. However, if you will allow me to write to him, I believe he would concur and perhaps would even assist in the surgery if you were willing. Of course, we would need to wait until you were in health again.”
Lord Harrington’s look was pensive, and he had leaned forward slightly. “And...you’re sure?”
“Of course not.” He finished packing his bag, then turned to explain. “I am confident it warrants further review. I will write Dr. Johnson today and arrange a time to come and consult with you. I mean to give you hope, my lord, for there is still a strong possibility you needn’t worry about the future just yet.”
Lord Harrington sat back again on his pillows. “Damnation.”
The doctor turned from the doorway. “Did you say something my lord?”
“No, no.” He didn’t even notice the door shut as he considered the implications. The hope; perhaps false, the marriage; perhaps possible, Jane...frustrated, he punched his pillow, a tiny dent his only satisfaction.
The door opened again as George came into the room, his face flat as he stood at the end of the bed.
“Georgie.”
“Charlie.”
They were silent, George watching his brother. Finally, he came and sat on the bed. “What the hell, Charles.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“One minute you’re mysterious and spouting ideas worthy of poets, obviously in love with Miss Shaw, and the next you’re sick enough you can’t get out of bed and are engaged to Miss Pratt. Good grief, it has the makings of a novel.”
“The illness and the engagement were neither of my making.” Charles growled.
“I see. I think it’s time to tell me your dark secret you’ve been moping with for months.”
“I have not been moping.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been reeking with it. Except, I might add, for the occasional moment where Miss Shaw is present.” And with that observation, George moved to close the door, then came back to sit on the bed again. “Out with it.”
Charles sighed and turned his face. “You remember how I was last March?”
“You mean that pain you had in your back and your legs?”
“I went to see a doctor. Doctor Johnson.” Charles picked at his blanket, a thread pulling loose.
George said nothing, waiting.
“I have a tumor and he expects me to die within a year. Maybe two.”
George frowned. “Charlie.”
“I know. I came home and...everything was...” He wound the loose thread around his hand. Once, twice, and once more.
“Different. By heaven, that’s why you left London.”
“Yes. I knew you’d understand.”
“I understand everything except how you could not tell me.” It was George’s turn to be angry and Charles shook his head.
“It seemed something for a conversation in person and by the time you were here there was a party to host and women to avoid.”
George’s frown grew. “I know.”
“Doctor Harris says he disagrees.”
George’s head came up. “What? Then...”
Charles shook his head. “He says there’s a chance Dr. Johnson didn’t know or have all the facts or...something ridiculous like that. It’s a long shot, but I wanted you to know, because they may come here to see if there’s anything that can be done about it.”
“Charlie, that’s...you could still be here, you could still live and marry Miss Shaw and have fat babies and...”
Charles grimaced. “George, not a word to anyone. We don’t know what the outcome will be and obviously there’s a chance nothing will change. So for now, keep it quiet.”
“But you’ll tell Mother of course. And Meg too?”
“If she can keep it under wraps, yes.”
“And Miss Shaw, she’ll understand if you – “
“George, haven’t you been listening? I may die, you may be the next heir and even if by some miracle I live, Our Dear Mother has everything nicely arranged with Miss Pratt.”
But George was smiling now. “Oh Charlie, come on. It’s us. I’ll wager between us we can come up with a plan to extricate Miss Pratt.”
Charles lifted his head. “You think so?”
“Of course I do!” George was standing now, hope coming out of his ears. “Who convinced Farmer Brown he had an extra lamb just so we could borrow it for the Dewhurst’s garden party? And who figured out how to hide all of Mrs. Worth’s extra wigs just so we could manipulate dinner options?”
By now Charles was sitting straighter. “That was a ridiculous amount of work just so we could have tarts for dessert.”
“Charles, we are masterminds, and the entire county is scared of us as a result. Surely we can handle a conniving woman and her apprentice daughter.”
Charles laid back, the destruction of his blanket forgotten. “You forget though. Mother is on their side.”
“Charlie, I won’t let you give up. I’m serious. Whatever the outcome of your doctor’s visit we will extricate Miss Pratt once and for all if only for the principle of the thing.” He started pacing at the foot of the bed. “Now. Help me think. Does she have cats?”
“Who, Miss Pratt?” Charles allowed a smile to come.
“Yes. I thought we could do the mouse trick like we did with Roger.”
“No, I think not, and anyway, we would need a secret compartment in her coach to manage that, and I’m not sure they’ve got one.”
“What about the magic hat? You know, the one with the children?”
“She’d see right through that.”
“And anyway she’s a good actress, isn’t she?”
“Mmm. Yes.”
“Oh, I’ve got it!” George looked positively illuminated. “We just do the gunpowder switch, like we did with Thompson’s dog.”
“George, don’t be ridiculous, we don’t need gunpowder to extricate Miss Pratt.”
“Well, we just might.” George looked rather put out at not getting to use explosives.
Charles gave a grimace. “That was a rather awful dog.”
“And this is an awful fiancé.”
“George...”
“Charlie, I’m serious. Drastic measures and all that, am I right?”
But now Charles remembered something. “George.”
“What?”
“She knows about the letters.”
“Miss Pratt knows about the letters – the anonymous ones?”
“Yes. Simmons mentioned it this morning. My head’s still fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure he said something about the maid retrieving them for her, and resealing them or...I didn’t get it all, just the general idea but she knows about the letters, but she doesn’t know they’re from me, I think.”
George stood still. “Charlie, that could work.”
“Nonsense.”
“Remember the Alma and Fred fiasco?”
“Oh...yes, it would, but she would have to know where we leave our letters, and I don’t...” Charles trailed off staring at the ceiling.
George snapped his fingers. “Charles? You don’t what?”
Charles ignored him, his head feeling much clearer. “Actually, if she did know about the box that might explain a few things.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, some of the letters looked resealed, like what Simmons was saying. Sometimes they were later than I expected – we had a pattern, you know. And one time I remember she was reading in the library of all places, and I excused myself so I wouldn’t interrupt her. I left and didn’t think anything of it, but by George, can’t you see, I’m pretty sure she must have had one of our letters!”
“No, I don’t see, especially when you talk like Meg. How can you be sure?”
“Miss Pratt has never once allowed me to leave without a conversation or promise or dance or...and she hardly looked up from the letter, she was that engrossed. And I’d bet Mermaid she never enters a library with the intention to actually read something.”
“I do see....Charles, that’s fantastic if it’s true.”
Charles ran his hand through his hair, his eyes animated. “It is, it is. I never thought I’d say this, but for once I’m grateful to her for her snooping for it just might make this easier.”
“Alright. So, where’s this box?”
“Oh, the jade one, in the library. You know, Father brought it back once from India.”
“The one that’s green? Next to that awful vase?”
“That’s the one.”
“Nice to know it’s found a use.”
“Mmm. George, the timing must be precise.”
“Yes, and you must make sure to mention –”
The door opened and Lady Harrington entered. “Why George, I didn’t realize you were here. Charles, it’s good to see you looking more yourself.”
“Hello mother.” George stood.
“You must let Charles sleep, dear. He had a rather difficult night, you know.”
George rolled his eyes as he grinned at Charles. “Of course, mother. I’ll be back in the morning, Charles, so we can talk some more.”
Charles smiled. “I look forward to it.”
George left as he heard Lady Harrington comment, “Charles, I declare you have so much more color to you today.”
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JULY 14, 1813
Holcombe Manor, Kent
Mr. Lawrence,
You requested that when I observed an entirely unselfish act, I should make you aware of it. I know your interest is entirely scientific, but I find that science cannot always explain the workings of emotions.
I recently observed a man fall in love with a young woman. Instead of marrying her, he has let her go, knowing her time with him would be shortened by a life-taking disease.
I have enclosed the copy of the report you lent me from Captains Lewis and Clarke and wish you well on your research. Do let me know how I can be of service in this regard.
Charles, Lord Harrington
***
LORD AND LADY CHESWICK left that day with their daughter who hugged Miss Pratt and said, “There Cynthia, I knew he was just waiting for the right moment.” And with an innocent smile, she left, her waves profuse.
With the Dewhursts and Makons no longer in such constant attendance, the scattered occupants in the house had a quiet dinner where even Sir Reginald had hushed conversations. Afterwards, Jane made her way to the library, where she found a letter. Taking it to the window seat with a smile, she read its contents.
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MISS SHAW,
I felt I had to write one last time and apologize for what must be the conclusion of our correspondence. I have enjoyed our letters and hope I can remain,
Your friend
PS. Please keep Pleyel’s sonatina as a gift; you do much more justice to it than I ever could.
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MISS PRATT STOOD IN the doorway a moment before making her way deliberately to where Jane was seated in the window well. Jane turned her head to greet her, her body tense in preparation.
“Well Miss Shaw, it appears you are leaving us tomorrow.”
Jane softly sighed. “Yes.”
“I am sorry you did not receive a marriage proposal while you were here, but you know – “
“I did.” Jane whispered it as she turned her head back to the window.
“I beg your pardon?” Miss Pratt’s tone demanded explanation.
Jane turned her head round again uninterested in feeding Cynthia’s curiosity. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Pratt, I believe I need to oversee the packing for my departure.”
Miss Pratt bent her lips, her eyes darkening as she blocked Jane’s path for a moment. “He was never yours, Miss Shaw. Never.”
But Jane didn’t bother to respond as she stalwartly moved past Cynthia Pratt’s insecurities.
***
JANE WAS GENTLY SETTING in Pleyel’s sonatina at the top of her trunk when there was a knock at her door. She turned and found Meg alarmingly close.
“Jane!” Meg threw her arms around her, holding her tight. “I shall miss you so.”
“And you, dear Meg. I hope you will write to me often and tell me of the trouble you get into.”
“Oh, I shan’t get into any trouble at all, for mother has said she will extend the engagement another year if I have any more questionable behavior. Something about setting an example for those in trade – I think she’s hoping that given time I’ll change my mind.”
Jane let go of Meg and stepped back to her trunk. “I thought Lord Harrington agreed with your mother on your engagement?”
“He did! And he had the gall to say I should have a two year engagement at any rate. I begged him not to say anything in front of William, for I am sure he would have agreed to anything if Charlie suggested it.”
Jane smiled. “Well, you will probably see him very often since he lives nearby, and that way you may learn to know him better before you marry.”
Meg eyed her trunk wistfully. “Oh Jane, I know you’re all upset about Charlie, but do you think you might marry Mr. Lawrence yet?”
“Perhaps. I think...yes. We will see what the next few months bring.”
“Then you must promise to invite me when you do and of course I’ll invite you next summer to mine, for you are a true friend, and I cannot afford to lose you no matter how silly my family is.”
They smiled and grasped hands as Jane promised. “Oh Meg, of course I will come.” And with one more embrace and immediate correspondence requested, they parted.
Jane took one final trip to the library where as expected, no letter was waiting. She wandered the nooks and crannies, smiling at the many memories made in such a short amount of time. She paused before the little desk and with a sad smile, laid the duet there to be found. Shortly, she found herself preparing for bed, a little depressed at the long trip she must make before arriving home. Jane looked into the mirror, wondering if she really was as pretty as she had been made to feel that week. Her brush paused as she looked closer at her leaf-green eyes, but all she could see was Cynthia Pratt and her cocky smile as she said, “Well, Miss Shaw. It appears you are leaving us tomorrow.”