Leyton, just outside of London, 1805
Lawson Court
Accustomed to the hustle and bustle of a busy household, March Lawson sat completely numb while the longcase clock marked the passage of time second by everlasting second. The rhythmic movement of the pendulum failed to interrupt the stony silence that entombed her in the study, her father’s domain. Since they’d returned, she spent most of her time here as the familiar smells of leather and ink provided some comfort with sweet memories of her father. His journal lay open on the desk as if waiting for him to return and finish the estate bookkeeping.
One week shy of her seventeenth birthday, March had calculated she’d spent two hundred and three months on this earth. One out of two hundred and three wouldn’t normally garner much attention, but that infinitesimal fraction of time had allowed chaos to steal everything.
Dark misery pounded through her with the strength of a rough surf in a gale storm. She and her three siblings had only been gone a month, twenty-seven days to be exact. Now, she was the head of her family, one that consisted of a one-year-old baby brother and two sisters, ages eleven and ten. Under siege by a grappling confusion, her mind reeled. Her siblings hadn’t a clue the devastation that had awaited them on their return from Brighton.
She didn’t possess such luck. She’d known for the last two weeks. A letter had arrived by special courier to inform her and Hart Pennington, the family’s escort, that her parents had succumbed to influenza. Wise or not, she’d waited until the return trip to share the tragic news.
Thank God she’d had Hart or she would not have survived the journey home. Kind and gentle, he’d taken great care to distract her siblings during the carriage ride so March could consider their future and her new duties as head of the family.
Thirty years older than March, Hart Pennington had been in her father’s employment for over ten years serving as personal assistant and secretary. He was the one her father had chosen to rush them out of Leyton to avoid the influenza outbreak. When it was safe to return to Lawson Court, Hart had escorted them to their parents’ graves and gave comfort as the place markers were set into the ground. From that day forward, he was Uncle Hart and as much a part of their family as she was. Unfortunately, he wasn’t currently there to help, as a close friend had needed him to visit.
It made little difference whether Hart was there or not—this was her responsibility.
The house had grown eerily quiet. The pendulum of the longcase clock had suddenly stopped as if afraid any noise or movement would draw the attention of Death back to their doorstep.
The rotter.
The great thief had stolen the most vibrant and vivacious individuals of their small community into its cold embrace—including her parents. When her mother had fallen violently ill, her father had sent March and her siblings away in hopes they’d escape the illness while he stayed to nurse his wife. After two days, her mother had died. Her father had lasted less than a week. Knowing the love her father had for her mother, March doubted he expired from the assault of the disease’s high fever.
He’d died of a broken heart.
“March?” A small voice cracked, exposing the inability to withstand any more tears. Juggling their brother Bennett in her small arms, ten-year-old Julia struggled with the weight of the healthy baby as she closed the distance to stand by March’s side.
She pasted on the best smile she could muster. Once again, her youngest sister needed comfort. “What is it, my love?”
“Who will take care of us now?” Like the gentle beating of an angel’s wings, her sister’s whispered words floated like wisps of air toward her.
“I will.” March leaned forward and brushed her forefinger against Julia’s pink cheeks.
“What about Faith?” Julia’s thin voice grew ragged as if ready to burst into hysterics again. “Where is she?”
Julia, her youngest sister, had been practically inconsolable when she’d discovered their parents were gone and the secure home they’d all taken for granted had changed forever. Since then, Julia needed an immediate accounting if she couldn’t find her siblings.
“Faith went to bed early,” March answered. “She’s exhausted.”
“Who’s going to take care of Faith?”
“Sweetheart, we’ve discussed this.” March had tried her best to reassure her sister over the last two days, bestowing all the extra attention she could to alleviate Julia’s haunting fears. She’d spent hours holding Julia as her sweet innocence had been destroyed by each tear that stained her cheeks. No matter what comfort she offered her sister, it didn’t seem to help. In the lonely hours of the night, Julia nightmares tore open every one of March’s newly closed wounds of worry.
Her sister had every right to be terrified.
She was terrified. She swallowed, hoping it would hide her own fear and weepiness. Otherwise, Julia’s despair would erupt again.
Out of nowhere, Bennett whimpered, a sure sign he was miserable in Julia’s arms. Attempting to quiet his fussiness, the tiny girl bounced him up and down. The erratic motion infuriated the infant, and he let loose a bloodcurdling scream of outrage sure to make a banshee grimace.
“I just changed him, so he’s not wet.” Julia carefully passed the baby to March. “I suppose he’s hungry.”
March held the bundle close to her chest and walked a narrow path to and fro, all the while patting his back.
“March?” Julia whispered. “Who’ll take care of him?”
“I will.” The incessant use of her name grated her already thin hold on sanity, but her sister must feel the need to repeat it—over and over—as if it were a sacred prayer and would keep her safe.
Julia nodded just as though she understood a great maxim. “He’s your baby now, and you’re his mother.”
The innocent declaration tore the remaining shreds of March’s world asunder with the truth she couldn’t deny. This was her new life. She’d never escape this massive responsibility, not until her brother grew old enough to manage Lawson Court.
March took a deep breath to calm the anxiety that had wrapped itself tight around her heart. There was no earthly way she could manage the estate on her own. She’d already written her father’s London solicitor asking for help. Her father had established trusts and guardianships for all of them in the remote chance something like this would happen. Lord Burns, a friend of her late grandfather, would be appointed guardian for the family and the estate with the added responsibility of trustee for the Lawson children’s personal trusts.
To survive her own grief, March clung to the belief Lord Burns would act quickly, and all would be well.
Julia’s lips began to quiver. “M-March, I’m scared.”
“I know, Jules.” She nodded as tears burned her eyes. “Me, too. Nevertheless, we’re still a family. Whatever I have to do, we’ll stay together. I promise.”
“I believe you.” Her sister turned to leave, then pivoted on one small foot. “I’m sorry you don’t get to dance.”
“What?” Still pacing while comforting the infant with rhythmic pats, March allowed her full attention to fall on her sister. Over the last two days, her sister’s fitful musings ran the gamut from disabling grief to unhealthy giddiness. This sudden change was yet another example. Such extremes made it difficult for March to understand the little girl’s mood.
“Your spring.” Julia’s brow bunched into neat lines.
“My spring? I don’t understand.”
“Like summer, winter, and autumn.” The little girl wiped her nose on her sleeve, the remnants of her latest tears. “Momma told me all about it.”
The upcoming Season. “You mean my introduction into society?”
Her little sister nodded. “I’m sorry you won’t get to wear your pretty gown and slippers. Momma showed them to me the last time we were in London. The embroidered stockings were soft. They reminded me of our lambs’ wool.”
“Don’t worry about that. There are other things much more important.” She gently tapped Julia on her button nose while keeping the baby tucked close. “Like you.”
“If I get a spring, March, I’m giving it to you,” Julia declared.
“Thank you, Jules. That’s very generous.” Her sister was a dear—a very small and very scared dear soul.
March’s life had taken a different route, one she had no clue how to navigate or where to turn. Selfishly, she couldn’t deny her disappointment. She’d looked forward to the upcoming Season.
Over the last year, she’d dreamed about meeting other young women and men who would become her lifelong friends as they started their path to adulthood together. With her mother’s guidance, she would have learned how to become a proper young lady and a productive member of society. More importantly, she’d find a husband, one who would cherish and protect her just like her father had done for her mother.
A cold knot twisted in her stomach. What if she never married or found the happiness she had always considered her due?
She shook her head. She was worrying for nothing. Once Lord Burns contacted her, life would resume to a new normal. He’d come and see to their needs. He’d help replace the household staff who either had succumbed to the influenza or had quit after her parents’ death. Only Mrs. Oliver, the housekeeper, remained, and she was still recovering from her bout with the disease.
March would have her Season next year.
Such a thought didn’t bring much comfort. There was no use denying what she really wanted was for her parents to walk through the door and end their ordeal. Her mother would comfort the baby, and her father would lift Julia in the air and make her laugh. Faith would join them with her ever-present book in hand. They’d all be a happy family once again. If there were a merciful God, he would find a way to turn back the clock two months.
She prayed for something that was inconceivable, and her heart shifted inside her chest in a poor attempt to escape the despair.
“So, you won’t leave us?” Julia’s reedy voice thinned and broke March’s reverie.
“No, sweets. I’m where I want to be. I want you to be here, too.”
“March?” Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in Julia’s beautiful doe eyes.
The uncertainty in her sister’s voice impaled her, and she feared her chest would split wide open.
“Who’ll take care of you?” Julia whispered. Her sister had asked these same questions every day, and the answer to this one was always the same.
No one.
She bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Bitterness was a useless emotion. The quicker she accepted the circumstances, the less misery she’d face. “Papa has provided for us. We’ll all take care of each other. That’s the way it should be.”
The baby bawled at the top of his lungs. Tears welled in her eyes once more. So lost in her own grief, she’d forgotten to go to the village today for supplies. What a wretched mess.
Her brother’s cries turned into heart-stopping screams. They had no food in the house, but at least there was a little milk. It was past ten o’clock at night, much too late to go to the village for supplies. Tomorrow, she’d replenish the pantry. Within a week, she’d hear from the solicitor. All would be well.
“Sweetheart, would you heat the rest of the milk for your brother?”
Julia dipped her head, but it didn’t hide the tremble of her lips. “I’m sorry, March. Please don’t be angry. I drank the last of it.”
The baby’s breath hitched as he struggled for enough air to scream again. A panic, one she’d fought every waking hour since her return to Lawson Court, welled within her. She gasped in a desperate attempt for control.
“March, I—I’m sorry. I was hungry.” Julia’s tears started to race down her reddened cheeks. “Are you going to leave me, too?”