After seeing Miss Darby back to the house, Henry made his way to the Grange. He’d been gone a good hour, taking Miss Darby to see her father, and now he wanted to see his.
He put his weight into it and pushed the front door open.
“Jane?” he called softly in case they were already asleep.
“In here.” Her voice came from their father’s room.
Henry hung his hat on the rack, his coat quickly following. His father lay in bed, propped up with pillows. A fire burned in the grate. His father’s eyes were closed, but Jane was perched on the edge of his bed with a teacup in hand.
Jane smiled up at him. “Can you believe it?”
“I can’t.”
His father opened his eyes. “Henry. It is good to be home.” His voice was weak and hollow, but a smile of true contentment lifted his face.
Miss Darby could not fully comprehend the gift she had given him. Both him and Jane. She thought she was bringing back his father, but she’d restored so much more. Freedom. A life without dragging the chains of debt. A chance to make something better of themselves. And most certainly she’d saved their father’s life.
The old man shivered, and Henry added some coals to the fire. He pulled the blankets up to his father’s shoulders, then sat across from Jane on the bed.
“How is he?”
“Ill. Nine months in that place has done him no favors. His spirits are much improved, however, even in the short time he’s been home.” Jane pressed the teacup to their father’s mouth. His lips parted, and he sipped.
“Who did you borrow from?” his father asked, looking up at Henry.
Henry shook his head. “No one. Miss Darby paid your debts.” He still couldn’t believe she’d gone off to London by herself. And to Fox’s den, no less! The things that man could have done to her.
“Miss Darby?”
“Yes, Father. Remember?” He’d just spent the better part of three hours in the carriage with her. “The young woman who came home with you from the Marshalsea.”
This seemed to do little to enlighten him.
“Walter Kelton died these three months past. Do you recall?”
His father nodded. They had talked about this many times when Henry had visited.
“Now there is a new owner of Willowkeep. His niece, Miss Charlotte Darby. Daughter of Louisa Kelton and Thomas Darby. It was she who paid your debt.”
His father seemed to consider that for a time. “I’m much obliged, I’m sure. But why would she do such a thing?”
That was the real question. What could’ve gotten into her bonnet that had made her decide to run off to the seediest parts of London, confront that blackguard Fox, and pay so many hundred pounds to free a man she’d never even met?
Henry leaned forward. “Because that is the kind of woman she is. She cares naught about herself. Only for the welfare of others.” Most especially Susie. But himself, Jane, Hardwick, even her aunt. All those who came within her circle of reach mattered—she would see them looked after.
“I’m most grateful for her kindness and look forward to meeting her,” Henry’s father said.
Perhaps Henry should wait for him to recover his strength before pursuing this. A good night’s rest in his own bed would do wonders for his mind as well as his body, Henry hoped.
His father lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. How thin he’d become.
Henry took his hand.
“Thank you, son,” his father said, his eyes still closed.
He could never repay Miss Darby for this. Never. She thought this made them even. She credited Henry for far more than he deserved. In truth, he’d done almost nothing for her save bring her down from Hull and comfort her sister now and then.
He’d worked his whole life to keep himself and his family independent and respectable. He’d failed. But now, thanks to Miss Darby, he had a chance to start over. To provide his father the care he needed and to give Jane the opportunity to have a life of her own.
“Where have you been?” Jane asked. “Mr. Hardwick stopped by and told me you’d found Susie. I’ve been expecting you any moment for over an hour.”
“I took Miss Darby back to Kippingham to see her father.”
That brought a shock to Jane’s face. “He is alive?”
“He was.” Henry yawned. “’Tis a long story, my dear sister. And I am in desperate need of a bed that is not bug infested. Suffice it to say that he helped me get little Susan back but was fatally injured in the process.”
Jane scowled at him. “I suppose I can wait till morning for the details. You do look the picture of death.”
“First thing we must do is hire a cook.” Henry grinned. “I don’t ever want you in the kitchen again.”
She laughed, then slapped him on the shoulder. “Go to bed.”
* * *
Charlotte woke late the next morning. Her head pounded, and her mouth was dry as driftwood. She had spent most the night with Susie. But between Susie’s flopping limbs and Puppy’s scratching claws, sleep eluded Charlotte. She’d crawled into her own bed shortly before sunrise.
She slipped into her dressing gown and went straight to the nursery.
“Is she awake?” Charlotte asked Fanny.
“Not yet. I just checked on her. Will came and took Puppy out, but she didn’t stir.”
She gently opened the door to Susie’s room. Her sister’s soft snores drifted over her like pillow down. She placed the backs of her fingers on Susie’s cheek. No fever. The poor child was just done to a bone. Let her rest.
Charlotte went back to her room. She flopped onto her bed and gazed at the ceiling. Great conkers. What a day yesterday.
And now the sun was out, brightening the morning as if last night her world hadn’t nearly ended. A new day. It seemed she had much to do, yet she had nothing to do. That fast, everything had gone back to its usual pace.
With a soft knock at her door, Mrs. Tafford entered. “There you are, my dear. It’s nearly afternoon.” She set a silver tray of food and a steaming teapot on her table. “I brought up some breakfast; you haven’t eaten in a king’s reign.”
“Bless you, Mrs. Tafford.” This would do wonders for her headache. “I’m starved.”
Mrs. Tafford filled a teacup and added rich cream right to the brim.
Charlotte closed her eyes and let the drink warm her soul.
“Shall I help you dress?” Mrs. Tafford asked.
Charlotte had dressed herself for nineteen years. As Mrs. Tafford cinched the back of her stays and tightened her frock, she wondered how she’d ever be able to do it on her own again. Somehow she would manage. Just as she always had.
Mrs. Tafford left, and Charlotte carried her breakfast over to the settee by the window. The grounds were lovely. Green trees and all the shrubs in flower. A row of lavender glowed in the sun, a world of delight for the bees that hovered over it.
If she lost the inheritance because of her father’s interference, she would be forced to go. If that didn’t work, there was the marriage stipulation from Sutton. That would surely mean her going. Everything pointed toward a departure from Willowkeep.
Mrs. Kelton didn’t want her here. Hurst, for all his friendliness, would hardly complain if she vanished from his life. She was used to going it alone. Her and Susie.
It should not be so hard, save for this one thing.
Of all she’d hoped to find here, love was not one of them. It had found her anyway. And it was the one thing she could never have.
She sat at her desk and stared at the blank paper. She dipped the tip of her goose quill into the ink. She had one last letter to write.
Her Majesty Queen Anne Boleyn