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George hated staying in bed. All he could think about was the work piling up while he wasn’t able to get to it. The clients that would be angry he didn’t show up. The bills that would come due while he was stuck recovering. All those concerns weighed him down and made him anxious to leave. His lungs, however, refused to clear up quickly.
The first day after the fire, George had tried to get dressed, but he suffered from such a strong coughing fit that he ended up lying on the floor. After that Annie insisted on him staying in bed until they could fetch a doctor. The man, who could barely keep his eyes open and smelled of whiskey, told George he would need at least three more days of bedrest. That would be unbearable. Annie refused to budge and posted boys at his door to keep him in.
On the first day, Mr. Fergusen sent someone around to check on him. George wished he could have asked the messenger about how Gwen was doing, but that would have been inappropriate. He was just going to have to wait until he was well enough to visit her himself.
“George?” Annie asked as she entered his room on the second day of bedrest.
He had been working on a few things at his desk, even though he wasn’t supposed to be out of bed. He could feel the blush as Annie gave him a disapproving look.
“I came to tell you that you have company, but perhaps you are not well enough for a visitor.”
“Visitor?”
His chest tightened. If one of his clients was upset enough to come here, he might well be losing his work with them.
“She seemed so concerned, I thought it might be all right for her to see you, but if you’re not listening to the doctor’s instructions...” Annie shrugged.
With a heavy sigh, George went back to his bed while Annie pulled a chair up next to it. She was carefully positioning the chair to be at least two arm lengths away. Was she worried about his safety with this visitor? He was still weak and often winded due to the smoke. It was the constant coughing that drained all his energy.
“I’m going to leave the door open and post Bennie outside on the stairs,” said Annie as she left room.
He thought that was an odd thing to mention until he saw the skirt enter the room first. He followed the soft-looking pink fabric up the feminine figure until he saw Gwen’s smiling face. She was wearing her market gown and looked like she had just washed her blonde hair before braiding it down her back, pinning it beneath her only hat.
“What are you doing here?” George sat upright in bed until he realized he was wearing his pajamas. He yanked the blanket up to his chest.
“I was worried about you. The messenger Mr. Fergusen sent told me that you were very ill.”
That was not the story he gave Annie to tell the messenger. He hadn’t wanted Mr. Fergusen to worry he wouldn’t be able to handle his work duties.
“It’s nothing serious, just a bit of smoke in my lungs.” George rubbed his chest with one hand. “Nothing to be concerned about. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”
“No, he won’t,” they both heard Bennie say from the staircase. “Doctor says not till the day after.”
Gwen raised one delicate blonde eyebrow.
“Fine, fine, but that still isn’t anything to worry over. You shouldn’t have come here.”
“Why not? You have visited my home.”
George looked around at his small, pathetic attic room, and his shoulders slumped. “This isn’t a home, it’s an orphanage. A place for those who don’t have a home.”
“That’s not what I see.” Gwen took the seat Annie had left for her. “I see a large home full of brothers looking out for each other. It was the similar in the home I grew up in.”
“We aren’t related.”
“So? That doesn’t stop you from being brothers any more than the girls I grew up with are my sisters.” Gwen leaned in as much as she could without moving from her seat and whispered low so that Bennie couldn’t hear from the stairway. “That young man out there certainly acts like a little brother. He clearly looks up to you a great deal.”
George couldn’t deny that. “A man my age should be living out on his own.”
“I suspect you live here more for their benefit than yours. I find that admirable.”
George searched her expression for any sign of judgement and found none. It was just the same warmth and kindness he always saw there. “Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to thank you for trying to rescue us.”
“I didn’t do a very good job.”
“I disagree. You put in a great deal of effort.”
“To get us to the door. Hugo is the one who actually got us out.”
“He wouldn’t have been able to do that if we weren’t next to the door.”
That was logical, but still didn’t make George feel better about his contribution to their rescue.
“You could have thanked me when I got back to work.”
“I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“You already got word from the messenger.”
“He said you were terrible.”
“You were worried about me?”
Her fingers were playing the fabric of her skirt in her lap. She wanted to say something but was holding it back. Her eyes darted around the room, refusing to stay locked with his.
“Why did you really come here?” he asked again.
“I need advice.”
“Mr. Fergusen would probably be more reliable for that.”
“Not about this. I already know his opinion. I don’t trust it.”
George’s stomach sank. It felt like it was full of rocks; if he moved too quickly, he would hear them rattle. “Is this about your search for a husband?”
Those big blue eyes sharpened on him. “How did you know?”
That was the only thing that Mr. Fergusen had a strong opinion about lately. “Lucky guess.”
She was chewing on her bottom lip, making it pinker and fuller than normal. It drove him crazy when she did that, and she only did it when she was nervous.
“I suppose with Jules gone, that makes Hugo the winner by default,” George said. “Should I congratulate the two of you?”
He didn’t mean to sound to brusque, but it came out like a growl. He felt his lips curl up, snarling the words.
Gwen flinched, pulling away from him.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “My chest hurts from the smoke, and I think it’s ruined my disposition.”
“No. I think I shouldn’t have bothered you with this so soon after we were almost killed.”
Gwen stood up, and without thinking, he reached for her hand. She was wearing a pair of white gloves, which was unusual for her. As he tried to take hold, she cried out in pain and fell back into her seat, clutching the hand to her chest. Her eyes watered with tears, and she bit her lip hard.
“What’s wrong?” George asked, moving to the edge of the bed to be closer to her regardless of his state of undress. If Annie wanted to chastise him for being improper, he didn’t care. All he cared about was what had made Gwen cry.
“It’s my hands...” Her voice faltered as she bit her lip again.
“The fire—” Realization dawned on him as he remembered her pulling the burning pipe off him. “Were they badly burned?”
He watched her pull the white fabric from her skin, which was now a bright pink. He could see the shiny, smooth texture of her burned flesh. Blisters showed on her palms, but not as many as he would have suspected. It looked painful, and his own hands ached in sympathy.
“They are better today than they were yesterday. I imagine it will only be a few more days before I’m back to my old self.” Gwen tried to smile as she said it, but the pain made it look like a grimace. She didn’t believe that any more than he did.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Mr. Fergusen sent one over this morning. He said to keep them clean and apply salve.” She crinkled her nose. “The salve smelled like bacon grease and made me sick to my stomach.”
George thought about the drunken doctor who had visited him. He didn’t put much stock in a physician’s words.
“This must make it difficult to work,” George said, letting her return her gloves to their place.
“Mr. Fergusen found me some help.”
“He is doing a great deal for you.”
“Which is why I feel obligated to listen to his advice.”
“He only wants what’s best for you.”
Silence filled the air. George was aware that he had cast aside the blanket so he was sitting there in just a pair of button-up pajamas. She was dressed for Sunday church.
“What is holding you back?” George asked.
Her eyes searched his face. He knew she was looking for the answer there, but she wouldn’t find it. George forced his emotions to remain hidden.
“Hugo doesn’t feel like the one for me. I want someone who is going to be the perfect fit.”
George took her hand, gently slipping her palm into his. It was so small and fit just right. “He will take good care of you.”
“Is he the only man who can do that? Or am I giving up too early when there is someone better for me out there?”
George felt himself pulling her closer without knowing why.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs jolted him back into an upright sitting position. He let her hand fall away.
“I thought you and your friend might like some tea?” Annie entered the room carrying a tray.
“I think Miss Fairchild was just about to leave,” said George.
“No, I wasn’t.”
The two of them stared at each other until George finally sighed. “Shall I pour, then?”
Annie dropped off the tray on the bed, gave Gwen a wink, and left again. George moved back on the bed, creating enough room for the modest tea without food. Annie had used the good pot and two of the least chipped cups, he noticed.
“I came here for advice, and you have been very little help.” Gwen took a sip of her tea. She had it with no milk and no sugar. George needed a little sweetness with his.
“I thought you came to check on me.”
“I can do both.”
“Not very well.”
“Why are we arguing?” she snapped.
George didn’t have an answer, he just knew that having her so close was chafing against him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
“We are both recovering from a traumatic incident. We are both hurt and under pressure from the people around us.” George forced a weak smile for her. “We are doing the best we can to be cordial.”
“Perhaps you were right. I should leave.”
“No!” cried Annie, who had been waiting near the door. “I have already added a place for you at the dinner table. The boys are excited about having company. You don’t want to disappoint them, do you?”
Annie looked first at Gwen, then at George, imploring them to accept the invitation. Behind her, George could see Bennie peeking through the doorway, anticipation bright on his face. He looked at Gwen, and she was nibbling on her lip. George gave her a nod.
“I’d be happy to stay for dinner.” Gwen smiled for the first time since she arrived.
Annie clapped her hands together, bouncing up and down like a woman half her age. “Come down. George will need to get dressed so he can join us.”
The two women locked arms at the elbow, Gwen being careful to protect her hands. George felt the tightness in his chest worsen as he watched them go. He didn’t know if it was due to the smoke or watching the two women he cared for most leaving together.