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Clare studied the landscape surrounding the field where their group had sought refuge. Could she find a source of water or something for them to eat among the trees and hills? She clamped her teeth against another wave of nausea and breathed as evenly as she could until the surge lessened in intensity. Even a little bit of food would surely help her and the baby she carried—not to mention the rest of their weary assembly.
Crouching down by Miriam, Clare placed a hand on the girl’s arm. The maid lifted her chin, revealing red-rimmed eyes and dusty cheeks. “May I help you, my lady?”
“No, Miriam,” she said gently. “I just wanted you to know I’m going to search for some food. I’ll take Antonina with me.”
The maid seemed to collect herself. “I ought to come too.”
“I’ll be all right. If you want to help, you can see if there’s a way to bandage Lord Vickley’s head.” Clare glanced at the man, who still looked ghastly pale. “You could help with the baby too when he wakes.” The poor boy had fallen into an exhausted slumber, but he kept stirring and whimpering in his sleep.
Clare stood and went to tell Rushford her plan to search for food. Like Miriam, the valet felt it his place to accompany her. But she wouldn’t allow it. From the expression on his face, she could tell his broken arm was hurting. Hopefully Emmett would find something to help. To spare the valet’s pride, Clare reminded him that the group still needed someone to look after them, especially in Emmett’s absence. Rushford finally conceded to staying put.
“Antonina?” Clare approached the little girl, who sat with her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin on her knees. “Will you come with me? To find food?”
The girl looked puzzled by some of the English words. Would Clare’s limited Italian be enough to communicate with Antonina while Emmett was gone?
She pantomimed eating. “Food. We need to find some food.”
“Ah, cibo,” the child said, her black eyes lit with understanding.
Clare held out her hand to Antonina. After studying her a moment, the girl rose to her feet and placed her hand inside Clare’s. The simple act of trust inspired tears in Clare’s eyes.
As she and Antonina started toward the opposite side of the field, Clare heard Helena cry out, “Clare! Where are you going?” Her friend had seemed to be in a sort of shocked stupor ever since witnessing the destruction of her house and her husband’s injury. Clare didn’t blame her. The horrors they’d passed through would have been all the more frightening with a baby in tow. But now, it seemed, the haze had cleared enough for her to be aware of her surroundings again.
Clare turned back to answer her friend. “We’re going to see if we can find some food. Just wait here.” She motioned to Helena’s husband. “Miriam can help you figure out how to bandage that gash of his.”
“I can do that.” Helena straightened her shoulders. “Here, Mary. Take the baby.” She passed her child to one of the maids and moved to kneel before the viscount. “Let’s find a bandage for you, Leo.”
Her friend’s determination was proof Helena was going to be fine. Relieved, Clare led Antonina through the field. Her feet ached from rushing through the debris-filled streets earlier, but at least here, the ground wasn’t covered in wreckage.
She cast a glance at the silent child walking at her side. From the little Emmett had said, she gathered that Antonina had lost her parents today and likely her brother too. A swell of sorrow and compassion nearly overwhelmed Clare. What must this little girl be thinking and feeling after what she’d experienced? Clare wished she knew enough Italian to find out. She did manage to learn Antonina’s age. At eight years old, she wasn’t much younger than Clare had been when her family’s situation had changed. But where Clare’s change in circumstances had brought wealth and opportunity, Antonina’s changes were full of loss and tragedy.
Clare squeezed the little girl’s hand, grateful to have her here and that Emmett had been able to save her. Regardless of the troubles in their relationship, Clare still felt proud of her husband and his heroic actions. Emmett, with help from God, had saved many lives today.
Please continue to preserve his life, she silently pled.
When they reached the field’s edge, Clare glanced in each direction. Some trees to her right looked to be orange or lemon trees. “This way,” she said to Antonina. They moved toward the grove. Among the grass, Clare spotted an orange. She bent and picked it up. It looked overripe, and yet it was still something to eat.
She and Antonina walked a little farther and found several more oranges in the grass. The trees themselves were bare of the fruit, which meant these had been left behind after the recent harvest. Removing her robe, Clare placed the oranges in the center of the garment and lifted the sides like a sack.
“Let’s see what else we can find.” Antonina may not have fully understood her, but the girl kept in step with Clare as she headed in the opposite direction of the fruit trees.
Before long, they came across what appeared to be a wild olive tree. Clare and Antonina picked up what olives looked edible and added them to the oranges. Excited about what they’d discovered so far, Clare kept walking. After a bit, though, she stopped. Apparently they’d found what they could. She started to turn back when Antonina bent down and lifted something off the ground. The little girl held it up for Clare to see. It was a nut.
“That’s perfect, Antonina. Are there anymore?”
The girl didn’t smile, but her troubled expression eased as she studied the ground. Soon she had a whole handful of nuts that she placed inside the robe.
“We probably ought to get back,” Clare announced.
The fare wasn’t much, but it was still something to assuage everyone’s hunger. She led the way toward the field, but a new idea made her pause. Little Leo could eat the orange pulp, but the olives and nuts would be too difficult for him to chew. They would need a knife or a rock to smash the food. A flat stone caught Clare’s eye. She gathered the robe in one hand and bent down to grab the rock. Antonina gazed at the object in obvious confusion.
“We can use it like a plate to mash the food on.” Clare set down her load and pretended to pound her fist against the rock.
The girl’s eyes widened, and she hurried past Clare. Reaching down, Antonina scooped up a rock about the size of Clare’s hand. “This . . . good?” she asked in an expectant tone.
“Bene.” Clare smiled.
The child said something in Italian as she motioned to the rock Clare held. After a moment, she realized Antonina was volunteering to carry both rocks while Clare carried the food. With a nod, she handed the other rock to the girl. Side by side, they returned to the field.
Lord Vickley’s head had been bandaged with the sash from Clare’s robe, and Helena’s baby was awake now. Everyone still looked bedraggled and weary, but they watched with intrigued expressions as Clare unfolded her robe.
“We found some oranges and olives, and Antonina found the nuts.”
At the murmurs of approval, and the grateful smiles aimed their way, Clare saw the little girl’s mouth lift slightly at the corners. Clare peeled one of the oranges and handed the first slice to Antonina. Rather than popping it into her mouth, though, the child looked over at the baby.
“Give him?” Antonina pointed at the boy.
The small yet unselfish offering elicited a lump in Clare’s throat. One she had to swallow past to answer. “Is that all right with you, Helena?”
“Of course,” her friend said. “You can give it to him, Antonina.”
The girl sat on her knees in front of the boy. After breaking off a part of the orange, Antonina held it out to him. The baby seized it at once and stuffed it into his mouth, then he gave the girl a toothy smile. Clare felt as if she were watching a miracle unfold when Antonina nearly smiled back.
Clare passed out the rest of the orange slices, making sure Antonina got one too. Only then did she eat her portion. The orange skin was dry, but the juice inside tasted marvelous in Clare’s dry mouth. She set about peeling the second orange as Miriam passed around the olives and nuts.
“I thought we could make a sort of mash for him.” Clare motioned to the rocks she and Antonina had found.
A tear broke free of Helena’s lashes and slid down her dusty cheek. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Clare and Antonina.” At hearing her name, the child glanced up from handing pieces of orange to the baby. “Grazie, Antonina,” Helena said.
“Prego,” the girl replied, looking pleased.
Clare piled the last two orange slices, a few olives, and the remaining nuts onto the flat rock. Using the other stone, she slowly ground the food into a pulp. When she finished, she handed her friend the makeshift plate. Helena scooped up the mash and put it in her son’s mouth. He wrinkled his nose at first, but he smacked his lips after swallowing as if he wanted more.
Too soon the meager foodstuff was all gone. Clare was thankful for something, however small, inside her stomach—but it wouldn’t be enough to stave everyone’s hunger for long. An uneasy silence descended over the group as the morning wore on. Some of them, including Antonina and the viscount, fell asleep. Clare couldn’t relax though, not when Emmett hadn’t yet returned. She noticed Rushford’s gaze was also fixed on the road more often than not.
Clare kept herself alert by praying for Emmett and thinking about his request for her to return to England. Hopefully he wouldn’t expect her to give him an answer too soon. They still needed to see if the villa in Taormina was standing, and then there was the matter of what to do with Antonina. If the child truly had no one else, then Clare wanted to care for her. Antonina was already attached to Emmett, and Clare herself couldn’t help feeling a strong kinship with the girl too.
As time passed, Clare grew more and more thirsty now that her need for some food had been somewhat satisfied. Emmett might have found some way to bring them water. But how long would be it before he returned? Was there a water source beyond the orange grove? Finally she couldn’t stand waiting any longer. Even if she didn’t find some water, Clare needed a task to keep her mind from imagining all sorts of horrors that might befall her husband in the earthquake-ravaged city.
Clare put her robe back on, then stood and stepped softly toward Rushford. “I’m going to see if I can find a stream or a well. If Antonina wakes, tell her I’m coming back.” At his nod, she moved away from the group. When she reached the orange grove, she kept going.
Her feet felt less sore now. They were either going numb or just getting used to no shoes—much like she had in the summers when she’d been a child.
How ironic, Clare thought, shaking her head in mild amusement. She was an heiress and the wife of a future marquess, and yet right now she was making do on next to nothing as her family had so often done during her early childhood. The realization sent renewed purpose pulsing through her, in spite of the resurrection of her queasiness and hunger. Ever present was her thirst too. What she wouldn’t give for a bucket full of water.
She didn’t think she’d walked far when Clare spied what looked to be a building up ahead. As she came closer, she saw that the house and barn had been demolished by the quake. Only one stone wall remained upright. But there was a well on the far side of the yard. Maybe the owners would be willing to let her take some water back to the field.
“Ciao?” Clare called as she approached the ruined cottage. “Is anyone here?”
There was no answer. She started in the direction of the barn when her foot stepped on something soft. Looking down, she saw it was a wrinkled hand attached to a fleshy arm that stuck out of the rubble. Clare screamed in horror and leapt back, her heart racing. A noise from within the wreckage reached her ears.
“Is someone there?” she cried out. “Can anyone hear me?”
An eerie silence greeted her questions. Was someone still alive within the cottage, or was the sound she’d heard only the debris settling? Clare waited a few seconds, then called out again. When there was still no answer, she gave the hand a wide berth and headed toward the well. Since the owners had been killed, they wouldn’t care if she drew some water.
A bucket dangled from a rope at the top of the well. Clare twisted the handle to lower the pail. After several cranks, she heard a faint splash as the bucket hit the water. Hopefully the liquid was still drinkable. She turned the crank again to bring the bucket back up, already anticipating the water sliding down her parched throat.
Another rustle came from somewhere behind her, this one noticeably closer. Clare ignored it though. The bucket was nearly to the top of the well, which meant a nice, long drink was just a few more hand cranks away. Besides, she’d already decided the noise had to be the shifting of the house. If there was anyone else here, surely they’d have responded when she called out.
The full bucket finally reached the top of the well. Clare’s dry mouth began to water in anticipation of something to drink. She reached out to unlatch the bucket from the rope when she thought she heard footfalls. A shiver of uneasiness ran up her arms, but she focused instead on wrestling the heavy bucket free of the line.
As she set the pail on the well’s ledge, she happened to glance down. A dust-covered shoe appeared in her peripheral view. Had there been a shoe in that spot earlier? She didn’t think so. But before she could reason out the object’s strange appearance, a sharp pain vibrated through her head. Clare let out a moan, then darkness snuffed out everything.
*
With his arms laden with blankets and the loaf of bread he’d concealed inside, Emmett trudged up the road. It didn’t feel as if it had only been a few hours since he’d last walked here. The escape from the hotel felt as if it had happened weeks ago. His arrival in Sicily yesterday felt like another lifetime now. At present, his life, his focus, centered completely on the survival of the group waiting for him in the field.
He rubbed his dirty sleeve over his damp forehead. The temperature wasn’t exactly warm, but navigating his way through the still-dangerous city had produced beads of sweat along Emmett’s hairline and neck. Risking life and limb among the demolished streets and buildings wasn’t the only danger anymore. Now there were thieves roaming Messina, searching among the rubble for anything of value.
After revisiting the rubble that had once been Antonina’s home, Emmett had eventually made his way to the harbor. The devastation there was equally as shocking. Broken ships floated in the water, a testament to the tidal wave that had been triggered by the earthquake. Despite the destruction, though, there were still several steamers anchored nearby, whose sailors were doing their best to rescue trapped citizens.
One of them had given Emmett a portion of the bread the man had found in a half-destroyed bakery. The sailor had warned him to keep it hidden though. There was no telling what someone in desperation might do to satisfy the rising need for food and water among the city’s newly homeless.
Such total and horrific loss.
Emmett shook his head, weariness adding weight to each step as he forged ahead. The ghastly things he’d seen threatened to overwhelm him, even as he gritted his teeth against the memories. They wouldn’t stop tormenting him until he forced his focus to remain on the next stretch of road and what those in his care would need as the chill of evening drew ever nearer.
He finally reached the field. Rushford met him at the edge, his makeshift sling still in place. “I managed to pull some blankets from the rubble at the viscount’s villa,” Emmett explained, shifting the pile he carried. “There’s also some bread.”
“Blankets and bread will be welcomed.” His valet walked beside him. “Lady Linwood and Antonina found us something to eat too, but that was a while ago.”
Clare had procured food? Before Emmett could ask how or where, he saw Antonina jump up and run toward him. Immediately his heart twisted at what he knew was coming. He silently passed his bundle to Rushford, then crouched down so he was eye level with the little girl.
“Where is Angelo?” she asked as she stopped in front of Emmett. “Is he all right? Is he hurt?”
Emmett placed his hand on her shoulder. The words he needed to say felt like they were choking him. “I went back, but Angelo . . .” The image of the boy’s broken body among the ruins loomed large in his mind’s eye as if he were seeing it all over again. He struggled to drag a full breath into his tight lungs, his pulse thudding. Deep regret at not being able to save the boy seared Emmett’s thoughts. He sagged to the side beneath the heavy burden, barely catching himself with his free hand.
He had to fight back, had to push this intense pain away. If not, he’d never be able to help any of them, especially Antonina.
“I’m sorry.” Emmett moistened his cracked lips. “Angelo didn’t survive the collapse of the building. I don’t believe he suffered though.”
Antonina’s eyes widened and filled with tears. “He is dead then?”
Emmett nodded slowly. “I am so—”
His words, ones that felt wholly inadequate, were cut off as the child threw her arms around his neck. She didn’t sob or wail, but he could tell from the trembling of her shoulders that she was crying. After a long minute, he eased her to arm’s length. “Do you have any other family or relatives?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Only Papa, Mama, and Angelo.”
“Then would you like to stay with me and Clare?” He hadn’t yet talked to his wife about such an arrangement, but he hoped she would be in agreement. The girl had nothing left here—no family, no home. But he and Clare could provide those things for her.
Antonina appeared to consider his question. “Where do you stay?”
“In Taormina for now,” he said, “but our home is actually in England.”
“England?” the girl repeated. “That is far away from Sicily.”
Emmett rose to his feet. “It is very far away.”
“And I get to stay with you in those places?”
“Only if you want to.”
Antonina looked past him, back toward Messina. “I think I want to,” she said when she peered up at him again.
“Sì?” Happiness at her answer reinvigorated his flagging energy. He’d hoped she would choose to go with them, but he’d wanted it to be her decision.
She offered a solemn nod. “Sì.”
Emmett put his arm around Antonina and smiled. He couldn’t wait to tell Clare the news. A quick perusal of the rest of the group revealed his wife wasn’t among them. A wave of uneasiness threatened to swallow the happy moment. “Where is Clare?”
“She isn’t back yet, my lord,” Rushford answered.
“Back?” Emmett echoed.
A concerned-looking Miriam joined them. “She went to see if she could find water, but that was some time ago.”
His apprehension grew. He didn’t like the idea of Clare wandering around the countryside alone. “Do you know which way she went?”
The maid pointed northwest. “Past those trees there.”
“I’ll see if I can find her.” A tug on his hand brought his attention back to Antonina. He could move quicker without her in tow. But he also recognized that he was the closest thing to a father and protector that she had left, and he’d already been gone most of the day. “Do you want to come, Antonina?” he asked in Italian.
She dipped her chin up and down, her mouth set in a tight line of resolve. Clearly she was not going to abide being left behind this time. If he weren’t so concerned about Clare, Emmett would have found the wherewithal to chuckle at the little girl’s determination. That sort of pluck would surely prove useful to her in the days ahead.
“All right,” he conceded. “Rushford? Inside those blankets is a loaf of bread. We can divide it up before Antonina and I go look for Clare.”
His valet knelt on the ground and removed the loaf from the blankets. Emmett broke off a piece for Antonina, then, saving a piece for Clare, he passed out the rest of it. The bread was stale, but it still tasted delicious to Emmett. He wished he had a little water to wash it down, though even the small bit of nourishment bolstered his strength.
When the paltry meal was eaten, he and Antonina headed in the direction Miriam had indicated. Neither of them spoke; they simply walked. But her small hand tucked inside his was as comforting to him as he hoped it was to her. After a while, Emmett thought he saw the walls of a building up ahead. Had Clare found assistance there? He picked up his pace while still being mindful of Antonina’s short legs.
Once they’d cleared the trees, Emmett stopped. The building he thought he’d seen was just one remaining wall of what had been a house. A nearby barn had also been reduced to rubble by the earthquake. If Clare had come here, would she have moved on in her search for water?
“Guardare,” Antonina cried. Look. She pulled Emmett forward as she pointed to something across the yard.
There, beside the well, lay the prone figure of a woman. Emmett recognized Clare’s robe and copper hair. He let go of Antonina and sprinted toward his wife, his heart throbbing painfully with panic. Had he rescued her from the viscount’s villa only to lose her now? Please, Lord, no.
He knelt in the dirt at Clare’s side and touched her shoulder. “Clare? Can you hear me? Where are you hurt?” He was profoundly relieved to see she was still breathing, and that there were no visible signs of blood or broken bones. Yet her eyes were still closed.
A low moan tumbled from her lips. “My head . . .”
He gingerly examined the back of her hair and discovered a large bump. Without opening her eyes, Clare winced. She’d clearly struck her head on something, but Emmett couldn’t identify what. There was the well and an overturned bucket, but nothing else. Only then did he notice the shoe prints in the dirt around her. Clare wasn’t wearing shoes, though, and the prints weren’t Emmett’s either. He’d approached his wife from a different direction. Wariness had him glancing around to ascertain if they were alone.
“The baby,” Clare whispered. “What if . . . the baby . . .”
Emmett frowned with confusion. Was she talking about Helena’s baby? “Little Leo is fine.” He placed a hand on her sleeve. “When Antonina and I left, he’d eaten some of the bread I brought back.”
Her eyes fluttered open at his words. “Emmett?” Her gaze went wide. At the same instant her cheeks drained of color. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“I came back to the field, and you were gone. Everyone was concerned that you hadn’t returned, so I came to find you.” He nodded at Antonina who was kneeling beside him, her expression anxious. “We wanted to see if you were all right.”
With his assistance, she slowly sat up. “I don’t know what happened . . .” Clare pressed a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes again. “I was getting water from the well when I heard something. I saw what I thought was a shoe on the ground. Then my head started hurting, and I think I fainted.”
“I believe you might have been hit on the head by someone.”
“Someone?” she repeated as she opened her eyes. “I didn’t think there was anyone here.” She shuddered and visibly swallowed. “Other than one of the owners, whom I accidentally discovered was . . . dead.”
Emmett wished he’d come sooner. Then perhaps he could have spared her from the trauma of being attacked—and discovering a dead body. “My guess is it was a thief. Apparently they’ve wasted no time in looting the dead and dying.”
“But I’m not either.”
He shrugged. “A woman by herself would be an easy target.”
“I don’t have anything of value.” Clare gasped as she stared at her hands. “My ring. It’s gone.”
He looked at her left hand. The wedding ring he’d given her was no longer on her finger. Emmett felt a wince of regret. The ring had been his maternal grandmother’s. But the regret faded quickly. The ring was nothing compared to his wife’s life. Thankfully the thief had only struck her on the head and left her alone after robbing her.
Rising to his feet, he offered her his hand. “Can you stand?” It was probably best if they didn’t linger here, in case the thief came back.
She accepted his help, and leaning heavily into his grip, she got to her feet. But Clare’s pained expression became one of total despair when she stuck her hand in the pocket of her robe. “No! My brooch. The one from my father. It’s not here either!” She frantically searched both pockets but came up empty-handed. Her lips trembled as she turned toward Emmett, her green eyes full of anguish. “I had it in my pocket, which means whoever took my ring stole my brooch too.”
It was the piece of jewelry Emmett had seen her wear most often, save for her wedding ring. She’d once told Emmett that the brooch was a loving reminder of her father and his wisdom, especially now that she lived so far from him and her mother. To lose that reminder, that connection, would be a devastating blow.
“I’m so sorry, Clare.”
He hesitated, unsure if any other comfort would be welcome. Antonina had no such qualms. Whether she understood what had happened or not, the little girl rested her head against Clare’s arm. The simple yet kind gesture gave Emmett courage. After all, Clare had seemed to appreciate his embrace earlier.
Emmett stepped closer and put his arm around her. As she leaned into him, something inside him clicked softly into place. He felt himself relax as he hadn’t in a long time. Quiet settled over the three of them as they stood there together, almost like a family.
He recalled the softening he’d sensed in Clare a few hours earlier, before he’d gone back to Messina. Was it because she still cared? Or was it just her compassionate nature responding to the idea that he’d be in potential danger again? Emmett wasn’t any surer of the answer now than he’d been earlier, but her willingness to accept his comfort in this moment gave him hope.
Could caring for Antonina or having a baby bring him and Clare back together? He wanted very much to believe so. Perhaps after today, she would be more willing to consider coming back to England with him—not just for whatever political goals might lie in the future, but to give their marriage and their life together another chance.
Glancing down, Emmett saw Clare wiping tears from her cheeks. The sight of it made his chest constrict with sadness and distress. He hated that she’d lost her treasured brooch after everything else that had happened today. He longed to take away that heartache.
“We might be able to find another brooch in Rome or London. One that looks similar to the one your father gave you.”
It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it the instant Clare’s shoulders tightened and she slipped out from under his arm. “Maybe. We should probably get back.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze now. “I don’t want to keep worrying everyone else.”
“Are you sure you can walk?”
Clare nodded and went to pick up the empty bucket. “Let’s get more water first.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, reaching out a hand for the bucket. “You need to be careful after such a violent bump on the head.”
Her look was skeptical. “Do you know how to use a well?”
Annoyance colored his response. “I’m confident I can figure it out.”
He wasn’t completely inept, even as the son of a marquess. While overseeing the repairs, there had been plenty of tasks at their estate that had been new to him, but he’d tried his hand at them anyway. Besides, he’d done far more complicated and difficult things today. Drawing water from a well should be a relatively simple undertaking, and it nettled him that she seemed to doubt his ability.
“Then go ahead.” She passed him the bucket, but her eyes were flashing with equal irritation.
Emmett was aware of Antonina watching them. He sent a forced smile her way and tied the bucket to the rope at the well. After a false start or two, he finally managed to get the bucket to go in the direction he wanted—down.
Within a few minutes, he had a full pail of water. Was it drinkable? He scooped a little water into his hand and brought it to his lips. The liquid tasted fine—more than fine, actually. He encouraged Clare and Antonina to have some as well, then he motioned toward the trees. “Shall we head back?”
He let them lead the way. Clare’s strides were slow and measured, and not just because she was trying to accommodate the little girl whose hand she held. Emmett imagined her head must be aching with each step. Shame cooled his frustration. How would she know if he could draw water or not? Until today, Emmett hadn’t known that Clare could use a well either or forage for food. She’d kept a level head too, without going into hysterics, and continued to respond to Antonina with kindness. And he’d gone and reacted to her simple question about the well.
His conscience would prick at him until he attempted to make things right again. To that end, he walked faster, careful not to slosh the water, and drew alongside his wife. “I was curt just now, and I apologize.” He shifted the full pail to his other hand. “Figuring out that well wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”
“You managed it in the end,” she reminded him. A moment later, she added, “I appreciate you coming to find me.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned to look at her, hoping to hold her gaze with his. “That was a courageous thing you did, going to look for water.”
A brief blush colored her cheeks. “Thank you. It wasn’t any more brave than you going back to the city. And you found some bread?”
“A sailor gave it to me. I was also able to salvage some blankets from Vickley’s villa.”
“That’s wonderful.”
Perhaps, but Emmett didn’t feel brave or wonderful. He felt lacking. Surely his father—or Alder, if his older brother had grown to adulthood and found himself in such a predicament—would have done better. They would have likely found more food or been the ones to find the water source. There likely wouldn’t have been any members of their party killed or injured.
But Emmett couldn’t admit any of that out loud. It would only add to the stress of their current situation. So he pasted on a smile instead. “We’ll get through tonight,” he assured her in a light tone, “and hope that tomorrow is better.”
Rather than inspire the hopefulness he’d expected, Emmett thought Clare looked even sadder. Was she thinking of her stolen brooch? The possibility pulled the feigned smile from his face. Try as he might, there were still too many things he didn’t know how to fix.
Somerset, England, October 1907: Fourteen months earlier
After spending two weeks in Sicily with Emmett for their honeymoon, with few servants and no crowds, Clare was as thrilled as she was overwhelmed by the sight of the large throng gathered on the train platform. Flags and bunting had been festively draped around the station. There was even an arch made of flowers and leaves.
She turned her gaze from the view beyond the train window to her husband seated beside her. “Are all of them actually waiting . . . for us?”
“Not sure about that drowsy-looking chap there or the madam to the left—the one in that horribly garish hat.” Emmett chuckled when Clare aimed a feigned glare at him. “Yes, my dear.” He kissed the back of her gloved hand, his gaze bright with admiration and a hint of excitement. “Everyone in the village is eager to meet you.”
Clare peered out at the crowd again. She could sense their expectant energy through the pane of glass, and it sparked a flicker of enthusiasm inside her as well. Thankfully Miriam had taken extra time on Clare’s appearance this morning, though it had been in preparation for seeing Emmett’s parents again, not the entire village.
Today she had on a light-gray-and-maroon dress with a large blue hat atop her carefully styled hair. Around her shoulders, Clare wore the furs Emmett’s mother had recommended in a letter to her son as being “proper and fitting” for her daughter-in-law’s new role.
Clare checked that her hat and hairpins were still in place. Miriam wasn’t here to help, since she and Rushford had gone ahead on an earlier train to ensure everything was ready for them upon their arrival.
“Shall we?” Emmett stood. At her nod, he helped her to her feet.
Tucking her arm in his, Clare followed him from their private train car down the aisle, and to the steps leading down to the platform. She knew the instant they were spotted. A cheer erupted from the waiting assembly. Clare smiled up at her husband, who was grinning himself.
“There’s the mayor,” he said, nodding at the short man approaching them.
Her husband introduced her to the mayor and the other village dignitaries, and the mayor’s daughter handed Clare a pretty bouquet of flowers. Emmett was then asked to make a speech. Clare listened proudly as he spoke of his love for this place and its people. She wasn’t the only one moved, either. The villagers watched her husband with respect and pride on their faces.
Would they respond to her in the same way? A worm of panic uncurled inside her. What did she really know about being the wife of a future marquess—the benefactress and leading lady for an entire community? Clare hadn’t allowed herself to worry about such things on their honeymoon. She’d basked instead in the Italian sun and the uninterrupted time with her husband. In Sicily, she’d even given in to the nudge to paint. But now that she was back in England, her fears wouldn’t stay submerged any longer. They bobbed to the surface of her consciousness, where they seemed to grow larger.
“Lady Linwood?” It took Clare a few seconds to realize the mayor was addressing her. The title still felt foreign to her, like a new article of clothing that didn’t yet fit comfortably. “We are most eager to hear from you too.”
They wanted her to make a speech? Clare looked in surprise at Emmett. What was she supposed to say? She hadn’t expected this. Emmett set his free hand over hers, his smile encouraging.
Taking a deep breath, she compelled her lips to turn upward as well. “Thank you for your warm welcome,” she said sincerely and in a voice loud enough to be heard by those in the back. “This is such a beautiful part of England, and all of you have been very hospitable. I can see now why my husband is proud to call this place home.” A rumble of approval swept through the crowd. Clare lifted her chin and exchanged a lingering glance with Emmett. “I’m looking forward to making this my home too.”
The sound of applause punctuated her words. Her husband leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Brilliantly stated, my dear. They’re now as enamored with you as I am.”
Clare laughed lightly. “Thank you.”
His compliment meant a great deal to her and shored up her confidence. She could do this—she could be a suitable wife to the son of a marquess. After all, she’d come this far with poise, faith, and determination. Surely those qualities, along with God’s help, would see her through this new chapter in her life.
No longer needing to manufacture a smile, she walked with Emmett to the waiting carriage. More people lined the streets as they drove through the village. There were even school children waving flags. Clare waved back. After a short distance, the carriage stopped beside a platform.
“More speeches,” Emmett explained before helping her exit the vehicle.
They each spoke again, and Clare was given another bouquet to add to the first. There was more clapping and cheering, all of it as enthusiastic as it had been at the station. Then she and Emmett were waved back into the carriage. This time the ride lasted longer, taking them away from the village and into the open countryside. But once again, the carriage came to a stop. A group of smiling men waited for them, though there was no platform in sight. Emmett didn’t make any move to climb out either.
“Are we giving another speech?” Clare asked in confusion.
He shook his head. “Not yet. Some of our tenants are going to convey us to Hadwell House.”
“Convey us . . .” she repeated, her bewilderment increasing.
“Watch.” Emmett motioned to where the horses were being unhitched from the carriage. In their place, the tenants lined up along the shafts. Lifting together, they began walking in tandem, and the carriage rolled forward.
The idea of men pulling their carriage instead of horses wasn’t entirely a comfortable one for Clare. But she did her best to relax against the seat. She’d known things would be different here than back at home, though she hadn’t expected that would include the ride to the Hadwell estate. The men soon turned onto a gravel drive. Any minute now Clare would get her first glimpse of Hadwell House. This was where she and Emmett would live until spring, when they would purchase their own townhouse in London before the start of the season.
“There’s one last speech to make when we reach the house,” Emmett said, his tone apologetic. “Do you mind? You’re doing splendidly.”
She wrapped her arm through his and leaned into his side. “One more speech will definitely put you in my debt, my lord. Especially since you failed to mention I would have to give any.”
“I quite agree.” His light-blue eyes held amusement. “Name your price.”
Clare pretended to think the matter over carefully. “I suppose I could accept payment in, say . . . kisses.”
“Ah. Then I look forward to paying off such a debt, my lady.”
Her heart sped faster at the low, intimate tone of his voice and the pure happiness emanating from his handsome face. She still couldn’t believe she’d found this good man, a man who loved her as much as she loved him.
Before Clare could respond, the carriage swept past the trees, and Hadwell House stood before them. It was much larger than she’d imagined. Two identical square wings flanked the house’s main section, which was set back from the drive. The light-colored stone walls boasted numerous multi-paned windows and at least four floors.
Her gaze moved from the house to the people lining the main steps. A bevy of servants waited at attention, along with what appeared to be more of the estate’s tenants. Emmett’s parents stood closest to the front door.
With Emmett’s help, Clare alighted from the carriage for the third time. She kept her arm firmly tucked in his as they approached those assembled on and around the stone steps. When they reached the top of the staircase, Emmett greeted his parents. Then it was Clare’s turn.
Her father-in-law gave her a light peck on each cheek before sizing her up. “Welcome to Hadwell House. I believe you will do nicely here.”
Clare shot him a strained and somewhat puzzled smile, unsure of his meaning. Her mother-in-law also kissed her on the cheeks. The gesture held a bit less stiffness and impatience than she’d sensed from the marquess, but Clare still felt little of the enthusiasm from them that she’d experienced from the villagers earlier.
Emmett spoke to those gathered before motioning for Clare to take her turn. She mustered her waning energy to offer her own expression of gratitude for their welcome. The butler then presented them with a wedding gift from the entire household. It was a lovely silver candelabrum. After that, the front door was opened, and Emmett led her and the rest of the entourage inside. Within moments, however, the foyer stood devoid of everyone except the two of them. Even Emmett’s parents had disappeared up the grand staircase.
As she took in the marbled foyer, Clare shivered in spite of her furs. Unlike her home in New York, this house echoed with cool silence. Where were the bustle and warmth, the airiness and laughter she’d always known? Her earlier dread returned. She placed her hand against her churning stomach.
“Welcome home, darling,” her husband said, clearly unaware of her misgivings.
Clare did her best to meet his expectant look. She didn’t want him thinking she was displeased or upset. “Thank you.”
“Miriam will take you up to your room.” Emmett pressed a warm kiss to Clare’s forehead as the maid descended the stairs and approached them. “I need to speak with my father. However, I’ll see you at dinner.”
She nodded in agreement, though she really wanted to seize his hand and walk right back out the door. And keep walking until they found a place that felt safe and warm. A place that was theirs and theirs alone.
“I’ll see you soon,” she replied, smiling.
Clare let the smile fall from her lips, though, as she and Miriam headed to her room. She sensed her confidence at managing her new life slipping away faster than she could hold on to it. In its wake, she was left with little but doubts and a yawning sense of homesickness.