December 21, 1820
London, England
Dinah awoke in a strange bed in a strange room, her head throbbing against a pillow. The mattress was a rougher straw than she was accustomed to, the sheets a plain material. She sat up. The room was small, and her bed faced a window. It was light outside, much more so than she last remembered. Her gaze darted around the room, finding that the bedside table held a bowl of water and a washcloth that had been wrung dry. She looked down. Someone had changed her clothes.
She pulled back the sheets and stood, the floorboards creaking with her weight. Lightheadedness swept through her, and she promptly sat back down on the mattress.
Her last memory was of Graham holding open the door to the apothecary for Lily. Her Graham, who was supposed to have been at Woodbury waiting her arrival, was instead with the love of his life, Lily.
She squeezed her eyes shut and keeled over from the force of the tremors in her gut. Her mouth opened in a silent sob. How could this happen? She wondered if it had been his intention the entire time, if he’d tricked her into falling in love with him. He had been angry at her for trying to cure him and even angrier when she had brought Lily to the party. He must have deliberately invoked her passions as a means of punishment.
But there had been real moments of tenderness between them. At least that’s what she had thought.
A crash sounded from the next room, and she started back into bed. For a moment, her emotional concerns were secondary to her vague whereabouts. She assumed she was safe. Her father had been with her and would not have let any harm come to her.
The door to the bedroom swung open and Mary Somerville strode inside, carrying a bowl of water, which sloshed over the edges to the floor.
“You’re awake!”
“And you’re . . . here,” Dinah said, confused.
“Yes. Now lie down, lie down.” She set the bowl on the table. “Your father brought you here yesterday afternoon. Demanded to be let in. Pounded on the door. He said you fainted at the apothecary.”
Dinah felt ill at ease knowing she had been unconscious for a night, although, granted, she’d been sleeping. “You took care of me?”
“William and I did, of course. We would have even if your father hadn’t attempted to lay a ridiculous sum at William’s feet. He insists on the best, your father. I can tell. No, don’t try to get up. You’ve a goose egg and were running a fever for a short while. The apothecary insists he didn’t give you anything, but I want to be sure. Did you smell or drink anything there?”
“No.”
“Then your fainting is most unusual.”
Dinah swallowed, unable and unwilling to explain what had precipitated her state. “Did anyone else come with Father?”
Mary rinsed out the washcloth in the fresh water bowl and wiped at her forehead. “Yes, Lily Milton. Have you heard the tragedy? She’s a widow now. With a young child to boot.”
She wondered suddenly whether Graham want children. He must.
How little she knew of him, really. Lily probably knew how Graham felt about children.
“Oh, and your brother-in-law, Lord Abernathy. The middle one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so unsettled. Terrible in a crisis, that one.”
Terribly guilty, she was sure.
“William asked me to administer some tests, if you’ll indulge me.”
“Of course, thank you very much for your excellent care.” Dinah rested her palm over Mary’s hand, and Mary distracted her for the next twenty minutes with exercises to keep her head still and her eye on Mary’s moving finger. She was also instructed to tell Mary if it hurt when her temples or the sides of her neck were pressed.
Mary nodded. “I declare you in good health. Good enough for your father to come see you, at least. Do you feel up to it? He may be overwhelming. I nearly had to blockade your door to ensure you were able to rest.”
“Yes, yes, I’m up to it.” She sat up in bed. Her father she could handle. Graham and Lily were another matter, but at least the Somervilles would never allow them into her private room. She could hide out. But for how long?
She needed to think this through. She could not hide forever, and it was the worst luck that Bridget had engaged herself to Graham’s brother. They would see each other, at least at her annual birthday fete and likely at Christmas. Once Bridget had children, there would be other family gatherings, as well.
A few moments after Mary left, her father entered the bedroom, his face weathered and worn. She felt awful to have caused him such anxiety. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, then pulled back and sat on the bed. “Young lady, you had me worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He cast his glance heavenward. “I can’t lose another. I simply cannot. You must know my limits, and they lie with you.”
“I am fine, Father. It was a momentary affliction, now passed.”
“Are you fine enough to stand? You must show Lord Graham yourself. He is beside himself with worry and has neither slept nor eaten since yesterday. I am sure he knows he cannot return to Woodbury with you in such a state. Your sisters will see him hung even if it is no fault of his own.”
It was not his fault, Dinah decided. It was her fault. For allowing herself this illogical weakness of emotion. How could she be even further gone than her father? She envied him his new carefree attitude.
Love could not be trusted. It could be easily generated—with no logic—and then lost just as quickly. It could be fickle and cruel. It was complete folly. She wanted no part of it any longer.
“Father, would you and Lord Graham return to Woodbury without me? We were due yesterday, and I don’t want Alice to worry. Nor Sera, who is finally recovering.”
“But Mary has declared you well!”
“I know I cannot go, though I am well. Please give my sisters this news in person as they will not believe it if you stay behind, as well,” she insisted. “Your absence will prove their worst suspicions. It will ruin Christmas for them. But if you and Lord Graham return, then they will know the matter is but a trifle. The Somervilles will welcome me here with them. Mary and I have a close confidence, and her husband would not be the physician to see me kicked out.”
“They will welcome you here because I damn well demand it,” her father muttered.
She forced a smile and kissed him on the cheek. “Do not let our gifts go wasted, not after those poor boys traipsed for hours carrying the burden on their literal backs. Give my love to everyone.”
“Are you sure you’re well?”
“Quite sure,” she said. “But I believe the rest will do me well.”
She watched him struggle with the decision before asking, “When will you join us?”
She bit her lip and slid down further under her covers. She wondered how long it would take her to cure herself of this affliction. Her father had needed decades. Graham had supposedly done so in several years, sworn affection to Dinah herself, only to revert within mere months. She was superior to them in logic, so surely if anyone could be cured quicker than they had been, it would be her. Still, she couldn’t imagine it only taking a few days or even a week’s time.
“I prefer to stay in London for a time,” she said. “There are several lectures I’ve been wanting to attend, and now I have the opportunity, particularly with Mary by my side. It makes more sense for me to make the travel from here to Leeds for Alice and Robert’s wedding, don’t you think? The seventh of January is but a short time away, and to make two trips . . .” She let the implication of her health hang out there, suppressing the guilt at worrying him.
“You’re right. As usual.” He let out a gruff exhale. “If you’ll let me know who you intended the notebook for, I will be sure to gift it in your stead. I’ve rescued it as best I could.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the soft-covered pad. It was bent at the edges and flipped open on its own to where it had been split on the floor.
“It’s for no one in particular,” she said. “Throw it out in any case.”
* * *
Graham had never been one for being rude or emotional outbursts or busting through doors or loud declarations of any kind that might make people uncomfortable. But if someone did not tell him whether Dinah was all right, he was going turn over the coffee table, smash through her bedroom door and see for himself. He was having the damnedest time sitting politely in the Somervilles’ parlor and partaking of their lukewarm tea.
As if his entire body wasn’t shaking inside. As if he wasn’t reliving the look of horror on Dinah’s face as she saw him with Lily.
He was no idiot, and neither was Dinah. Without understanding the situation, there were many conclusions that Dinah could have drawn from their presence together, from Lily’s widow’s garb, but she had obviously chosen the worst possible one.
That had all been secondary in his mind to her condition. Seeing her eyes slide up in her head and her body slump to the floor must have been the worst moment in his life. Losing Tom and his father had been hard, but he’d heard after the fact, grieved with his family. Here, he felt alone. As if he couldn’t share the true breadth and depth of his feelings and his anxiety.
Instead, he’d watched her father in hysterics. He’d been forced to remain calm as Lily suggested they bring Dinah to the Somervilles. He’d wanted to hold her and run through the streets to get her there, but her father had commanded her into a carriage and taken off, forcing Graham and Lily to follow behind. By the time they arrived at the house, Dinah had already been set abed and they’d sent everyone from the room.
He normally would never consider putting out strangers by forcing them to offer accommodations, but he couldn’t leave. The twenty minutes that he’d gone to see Lily home had been the longest of his life.
“Would you like a refresh of your tea?” Lily asked. She had returned this morning to see if Dinah had recovered. He couldn’t very well ask she leave, but he strained to throw her out. Dr. Somerville had left earlier in the day, and Mary had gone upstairs to refresh herself after caring for Dinah. Since Dominic had gone into the room and left the two of them alone, Graham couldn’t think of two words to say to Lily.
He shook his head at her offer of tea.
“It’s a relief she’s awoken, isn’t it?” She offered a tremulous smile. One he’d once found that smile radiant, but now he realized it was her way of hiding nerves. What was she nervous about? She wasn’t the one whose life was precariously tied to Dinah’s. “I haven’t thanked you for your intervention.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said. He certainly didn’t. She’d needed help resolving her late husband’s estate, some legal mess, and Graham was in a position to assist given his family’s ties. She wouldn’t have asked if she weren’t desperate, she’d said.
But he knew she wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t believe his attachment to her was strong enough to override social sensibilities. It was inappropriate for her to have reached out to him, and he believed had it not been for her untenable situation with a newborn child, she would not have done so.
“You must be very close to your sister-in-law and her family,” she offered.
“Quite.” How had he ever found her conversation titillating? The Society way in which she skirted around her true intentions? It would be exhausting to spend one’s entire life engaged in such chicanery. “I trust we’ve resolved your matter?”
She startled and then drew her gaze back to her feet. “I rely on you to assure me of its resolution. I couldn’t possibly ascertain it.”
Good Lord. Were they to prevaricate all day? “I assure you, then, that we are resolved.”
His gaze snapped up to Dominic as the man exited Dinah’s room with a smile on his face. Graham slumped back in his chair, relief making him boneless. Tea sloshed over the edge of his teacup as it fell sideways with his motion. He rested a hand over his face and squeezed his eyes shut.
She was all right. He would have the chance to explain and to make everything right. If only Lily would leave. Did she remain here due to her late husband’s friendship with the Somervilles? Or for him?
“We’re to head back to Woodbury,” Dominic said. “Preferably within the hour so we can arrive at a reasonable time.”
Lily clasped her hands together. “Wonderful news.”
“Is she well enough to travel?” Graham asked. “It seems ill-advised. Has Dr. Somerville given his consent?”
“No, no.” His nose wrinkled in a horrified expression, sending his spectacles clear up to his eyebrows. “She’s to remain here until the wedding at Leeds.”
“Then I shall remain, too,” Graham said.
“Absolutely not,” Dominic said.
Graham stood and bristled at the comment. The door to her room was shut to him, but that was only a matter of distance and strength—several feet and a door. “I must see her for myself, that she is all right.”
Dominic stepped left, directly in his line of sight. “That’s quite beyond necessary. Both Mrs. Somerville and I have attended to her.”
Graham’s hands clenched into fists, and he shifted to the balls of his feet. “I shall stay at the door.”
With a sigh, Dominic removed his spectacles, wiped his brow, and placed them back on his nose. “It’s not like you to be so difficult, Graham. Dinah insists we return to Woodbury immediately, else the family will be concerned and not enjoy their holidays. I agree with her. She’s always right, you know. Do you want to be the one to tell her that she’s wrong?”
But he had so much to tell her, so much to say. But he couldn’t tell her through the door while her father listened in from the hallway.
“We’ll see her in Leeds,” Dominic prompted.
Lily stood and called that they were ready to take their leave. He glanced helplessly at the closed door. Dinah was just behind it. He sighed. They had already waited so long. What was another couple of weeks? The eternity he felt was all in his mind, at least that’s what Dinah would say.
“She insisted?” he asked.
Dominic gave a dry laugh. “Doesn’t she always?”
* * *
D.,
Imagine my relief that you are recovered. I only regret I was unable to visit. To have seen you so afflicted was nearly beyond my ability to endure.
Your family is well and misses you, as do I.
G.
* * *
D.,
I have assumed by your silence that we must discuss the matter of what led to your episode. Please know my feelings are unchanged from our last discussion.
G.
* * *
G.