An Honest Heart (29 page)

She turned to look out the window, unwilling to see the certain censure in his eyes. “I did not confront him, though. I believed myself in love with him, and I thought my love would be enough to make him see the error of his ways and change. So when he proposed marriage to me, I accepted. Three days later, as we walked together in the park, several constables surrounded us and arrested him.” She trembled at the memories overwhelming her. “I was taken in for questioning and held for three days.”

Warm, strong arms wrapped around her from behind. Tears pricked Caddy’s eyes as Neal enveloped her with his strength, but she could not accept the support he offered. She did not deserve it.

“I told them what I suspected, and once they determined I had not taken part in the scheme, they released me. But despite how much Mrs. Gregson defended me, no one believed I was as innocent as I claimed. And I knew I was not completely blameless. I should have reported him to the police as soon as I suspected him of wrongdoing.”

Neal’s chin rested on her shoulder, and he pressed his cheek to hers. “You are not responsible for what he did. You are as much his victim as any of those other women.”

“Mrs. Gregson had to move her shop and change her name—she goes by Madame Renard now. Since she moved closer to the West End, her business has improved.”

“I would count that a blessing that came from a terrible circumstance. I imagine she would as well.” The vibration of his deep voice tickled her back, and his breath made her cheek tingle.

She tentatively rested her arms atop his, which encircled her waist, and she released some of the tension from her spine, absorbing the strength his embrace offered. “Madame Renard helped me return to Oxford and set up shop. Originally, I was in a tiny storefront several streets off of High Street in Oxford proper. When I learned of the development of North Parade, I was one of the first to purchase a lot and have my shop built.”

“You have not been here long, then?”

“Only a little more than a year.”

Neal huffed a low grunt. “Yet you are already well known and highly regarded throughout the area. The way people talk about you, it sounded as if you had always been here.” He disentangled himself from her and turned her to face him. “Now I understand why you go to the castle each week, and why you give so much of yourself to take care of others and expect nothing in return.”

She cocked her head, frowning. Gazing into his sapphire eyes, she almost forgot the subject of their conversation. “Why?”

“Because you feel like you owe the world for your sin of falling in love with the wrong man.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes searching hers. “Which is why you are afraid of falling in love again.”

Caddy bit her lips, pulled away from him, and took a few beleaguered steps down the hall. “I am afraid of falling in love . . . with you.” She rubbed her upper arms, suddenly cold now that she was away from his overwhelming nearness. “Do you not now see why honesty is so important to me? Why I refuse to give my heart to someone who cannot tell me all there is to know about himself? Someone who is obviously keeping a secret from me?”

She watched him carefully as he considered her words. The openness and, dare she think, love in his eyes vanished behind a wall of protection.

Holding back tears of disappointment, Caddy nodded and took in a shaky breath. “I see. Obviously you do not care enough about me to share your secret with me.” She crossed her arms and took a few steps farther back. “I thank you for tending to my mother, Dr. Stradbroke, but once she is recovered from this illness, I believe we will once again depend on the services of her former physician.”

No longer able to face him, she turned. Instead of entering her mother’s room, she went into her own, closing the door firmly against him just as tears began sliding down her cheeks.

She pressed her back to the door and slid down to sit on the floor, burying her face in her apron and allowing herself the indulgence of silent tears. Why couldn’t he love her enough to tell her the truth about himself? Surely it could not be as bad as what she had just shared with him.

The need to swear him to secrecy hadn’t occurred to her until now. Of course, he was good—excellent—at secret keeping, so she had little concern that he would spread word of her checkered past. And she doubted that most of her customers who hailed from Jericho, those who had become the mainstay of the shop, would have cared.

But she had already seen how even a hint of scandal could affect her dressmaking business among the women from the upper echelon of Oxford society—and that based on rumors that had proven to be untrue. If her current customers learned she had once been held by the London police for three days . . .

A sob tore from her throat. She trusted Neal not to reveal her past to anyone. So why couldn’t he trust her to do the same?

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
WO

N
eal held baby Ivy in one arm and offered the other to assist Mrs. Longrieve down from the cab. He paid the fare and dismissed the driver. He could walk the distance to the inn where they had stayed last night to gather his bag before heading to the train station.

On the quay, he spotted a stout older woman in a dark blue dress who seemed to be scanning the crowd. He waited until she looked their direction, then waved. She nodded and bustled toward them.

“Dr. Stradbroke?” The wind gusted, and she raised a large hand to hold her bonnet securely to her head.

“Thank you for meeting us here.” He motioned for Mrs. Longrieve to come forward. “Mrs. Longrieve, this is Mrs. Allison, the nurse I have hired to travel with you.”

Mrs. Longrieve’s finely boned jaw dropped open. “No, Doctor, I cannot—it is too much to ask of anyone else to suffer my fate.”

“Pshaw.” Mrs. Allison waved her hands in protest. “I do not know what fate you think you face, but let me assure you that you will find Australia a beautiful land with hospitable people ready to welcome you and your little mite.”

“Are you . . .” Mrs. Longrieve looked between Neal and the nurse. “Are you from there?”

“Right you are, my dear.” Mrs. Allison took the baby from Neal. “I came to England to bring my last dear charge to be finished off and presented, and had I not seen the doctor’s posting in the paper, I might have gone mad with grief on the voyage home.” She cooed and cuddled the baby. “But now I shall have days full of the joy of a bairn in my arms again.”

“But I cannot afford—”

Neal stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Mrs. Longrieve, you do not need to worry about it. Mrs. Allison has been paid in full to see to you until you arrive safely at my family’s estate in Bathurst.”

Winifred’s pale brows shot up. “Estate?” Her voice came out a weak rasp.

He chuckled. “It is a rather grand word for a place where cattle and sheep are raised, is it not? But do trust that you will be well looked after, as will Ivy, and that your husband and son will be welcomed as soon as their time of service has passed.”

“I will be allowed to work to earn my keep, yes?”

“Naturally. I knew you would have it no other way. But you will be cared for and looked after until your family can be reunited.” He handed her single large valise to the sailor loading luggage onto the small ferry that would see them out to their ship. “Please write when you arrive and are settled. So long as nothing happens to the ship on which I sent the letter to my family, they should be expecting your arrival. And they should already be at work to discover exactly where Thomas and Johnny have been sent to serve their time.”

He handed her an envelope. “Here is a letter of introduction, just in case my previous letter has not arrived by the time you do.”

She tucked the letter into her reticule. “I do not know how we will ever be able to repay your kindness, Dr. Stradbroke. Truly you have been too, too kind to us.”

“Your family was among the first to welcome me to Jericho. Consider this repayment for your hospitality and friendship.”

“True friendship never needs to be repaid.” She gave him a watery smile, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Doctor. For everything.”

He waited until the ferry reached the large steamer out in the harbor before leaving the port and walking up Portsmouth’s High Street to the inn. The walk from there to the train station was short, and he arrived in plenty of time to catch the train to London.

No matter how much he wanted to return to Oxford and set everything right with Caddy, he’d given his word that he would return to London to assist Macquarie and Birchip for the remainder of the week. He’d let his regular patients know, and had arranged for the apothecary’s assistant to check on them while he was away. But he had not had a chance to inform Caddy of his planned absence.

What would she think of him disappearing for almost a week after their last encounter?

A few hours later, he climbed out of another cab and entered the gate of Hyde Park after showing his committee credentials to the soldiers guarding it. Before him, the Crystal Palace sprawled like a giant glass-and-iron mountain range, so long that the opposite end disappeared into the misting rain and fog. He entered through the eastern end of the building and made his way down the enormous structure, cringing at the noises of hammering, sawing, yelling, and banging that naturally came with the activity of building display spaces and breaking open shipping crates and setting up for the Exhibition.

Just past the south entrance, in the center of the third mile-long expanse, Neal caught sight of several familiar faces. Macquarie waved him over to join the group as they stood looking toward the south.

“We’re behind the Canadian exhibit?” Neal stopped behind Macquarie and three other committee members who stood with arms crossed.

“Aye. And a display from the West Indies is between Canada and us.” Macquarie shrugged. “No sense in complaining. At least New South Wales has its own designated display space. None of the other colonies do. They are displaying in an area they’re calling the British Possessions of Australasia.”

“I received the wire that the shipment from my father’s estate arrived two days ago.” Neal followed Macquarie beyond Canada and the West Indies to the smaller-by-half space allotted for New South Wales.

“I went to the docks myself to receive it.” Macquarie waved toward a towering stack of crates. “Your father’s goods arrived with a shipment of goods from several other estates.”

Neal divested himself of coat and waistcoat and untied his cravat. “Shall we start unpacking, then?”

Macquarie gave him a crooked smile. “In a hurry to be back on your way to Oxford? No sense in denying it. Do not forget, I had the honor of meeting the charming seamstress who caught your eye.”

Neal grimaced and turned to lift down a small crate from atop the pile.

“What? Am I wrong in believing I saw signs of affection there?”

With no one else he could talk to, words tumbled out of Neal’s mouth before he could stop them. “No, you did not imagine it. However, I have made a total blunder of it all, and I do not know how to rectify the situation before I lose her completely.” He explained Caddy’s disparagement of Australia and everyone from there, along with her displeasure at his inability to trust her. He did not, however, share Caddy’s secret. He would take that to his grave.

“Just tell her, mate. If she loves you, where you were born won’t matter.”

Neal pried the top off of a second crate and handed the hammer and pry bar to another man before unpacking the fur pelts—skins from animals he should be able to identify, but which he had not seen in twenty years. He’d been but a boy last time he’d seen a kangaroo or a wombat, and trying to tell the pelts apart was impossible, for him at least. Would Caddy understand why that made him sad? Why he wanted to go back for a long visit? Or would she balk at the idea of visiting his father and stepmother, aunt and uncle, based on her fear of a land of which she’d only heard bad things?

He wanted to believe Macquarie. And perhaps, once his role in the Royal Society for the Industry of New South Wales was complete, he would tell her.

Neal threw himself into the physical labor of unpacking and then breaking down the crates. Day after day, he worked himself to exhaustion unloading, creating and checking inventory lists, and moving items around the display space as directed by the more senior members of the committee.

He ensured everything his father had consigned for display had arrived and was properly labeled—wool, grain, caskets of the fattest salted beef, copper ore and tools, and lithographs depicting the rich farm and grazing land around Bathurst, as well as the town and its citizens.

He nearly devoured the lithographs—recognizing his aunt’s precise hand in the fine ink lines. He had a stack of pictures at home that she’d drawn for him and sent him over the years; images that kept him connected to his true homeland, the place of his birth.

If he showed those to Caddy, maybe she would begin to understand why Australia—or New South Wales, at any rate—was not as bad as she believed.

Somehow he had to get past her prejudice to show her the good of the place so that, even if she never came to love it, she could at least appreciate it. Because now more than ever, after seeing all these reminders of the place, he wanted to take her there. And to introduce her to his family as his wife.