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Bath, 1809
“Grace, would you please stop pacing the room? Mr. Sinclair will be here soon enough.”
Mother’s tone was one of amusement. As I twisted the locket ring on my finger, I obeyed her request and paused in front of the window. “Yes, Mama. I know,” I replied. Much to my disappointment, a glance through the glass did not reveal Jonathan’s arrival. “But he said he would be here an hour ago. I hope nothing has happened to him.”
That was as close as I could get to voicing the worry that twisted inside me.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to be concerned with,” Mama said with her usual calm serenity. “He may have come across a friend, such as Mr. Harper or that young puppy, Mr. Melbourne, and lost track of the time. He will soon be here with his apologies.”
Her words made sense, but I couldn’t push away the unease that coiled in my stomach. Where was Jonathan? What could have delayed him? He’d never once broken a promise to me, so I knew only something truly serious could have kept him away.
What if he had heard from his family and his father didn’t approve of our engagement? What if his mother was opposed since she did not know me? Or his sister didn’t think it a good match?
“Grace, you are being ridiculous. Sit down and work on your embroidery.”
Heaving a sigh, I turned away from the window. As much as I enjoyed sewing, it was not an activity that would take my mind off of my worries. It would, however, give my hands something to do.
I lifted the shawl I was embroidering for my sister, Julia. With three small children, she didn’t have the time to embellish her clothing as she once did. I hoped she would like the gift when I presented it to her, and not be offended as she had wont to be at times.
There had only been silence for a few minutes when the sitting-room door opened. My father entered, his face set in serious lines. The worry I was already feeling twisted even more in my stomach and my mouth went dry instantly.
Without a word being said, I knew something terrible had happened.
“Grace, dearest,” Papa said and then he paused. He cleared his throat. “Dear, there is something I must tell you.”
My hands shook as I set my embroidery hoop down. “What’s wrong, Papa?” I asked, managing to sound calm even though it was the last thing I was feeling right then.
Papa sat in the chair beside me and awkwardly reached over to take my hand into his. “A friend of Mr. Sinclair called on me just now,” he said slowly. Again, he paused and took a deep breath. “I believe you know him. Mr. Oswyn Harper.”
“Yes, I have met him,” I said, hoping he did not feel the tremble in my fingers. What did it matter if I knew him or not? What could be so terrible that Papa couldn’t bring himself to say it? Delaying was only making me fear the worst. “Papa, whatever it is, you must tell me.”
He sent a glance at Mother, who had leaned forward. “As you know...” his voice trailed off. He began again, “Mr. Sinclair wasn’t feeling well when he was last here. And you know illness can, at times, make a person do something they normally wouldn’t do.”
Confused, I shook my head. What was he trying to say? What could Jonathan have done?
“John, out with it,” Mother said impatiently. “Can’t you see that you are worrying her even more with this hesitation? Whatever has happened, she is mature enough to accept it with equanimity.”
“Mary, please,” Papa said, his tone suddenly sharp. “Let me do this my way.”
I squeezed his hand. “Papa, please tell me. I’m afraid, I am terribly confused as it is. What did Jo—Mr. Sinclair do while he was ill?”
“Grace, you must prepare yourself,” he spoke. My father took a deep breath. “I’m afraid Mr. Sinclair was more ill than he let on. Perhaps sicker than he would admit to himself. It appears he became delirious with a fever, and attempted to descend a flight of stairs during the night.”
Fever? Stairs? Delirious? No. No, no, no. He couldn’t mean... “The doctor assures me he wouldn’t have suffered at all,” Papa continued in a rush. “It was an accident, pure and simple.”
Mother gasped. My hand flew to my throat as I tried to breathe. “Do you mean to tell me that Jonathan fell down a flight of stairs and now he is...he is dead?” I asked. My voice rose and I couldn’t have prevented it if I tried. “No. No, I cannot believe this.”
Papa merely nodded. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”
Staring at him, I still couldn’t believe his words. How could this be true? Jonathan, dead? An accident? It just wasn’t possible! We were to be planning our future together!
Tears streaming down her face, Mother rose and came towards me. She wrapped her arms around me and held me close. “Oh, my poor girl,” she said. “What a blow! Do not try to hide what you are feeling.”
But all I felt at that moment was...nothing.