Lady of Milkweed Manor (51 page)

Charlotte could not sleep. She turned over yet again. Her stomach growled. She should have eaten more at supper. Giving up, she reached for her dressing gown at the foot of her bed but could not find it. She must have kicked it to the floor with all her tossing and turning. Oh well. She wouldn’t light a candle to find it and risk waking Anne. Besides, the house was warm and there was no one to see her at this time of night.

She tiptoed out of her room in her nightdress. In the corridor, she could hear John Taylor’s soft snore as she passed his room. She picked up the candle lamp on the landing table and used it to guide her down the many stairs and into the kitchen. There, she set the lamp down and opened the icebox. She retrieved the bottle of milk and set about lighting a fire in the stove and pouring some milk into a pan to warm. Then she selected an apple from the vegetable bin. Taking it to the work table, she slid a sharp knife from its slot and set to work slicing off a few wedges of fruit.

The door opened behind her and Charlotte started. The knife sliced into her left index finger. She gave a little cry, more from fright than pain. She half-turned from the table, surprised and relieved to see Dr. Taylor standing there, medical bag in hand.

“You frightened me.”

“Forgive me. I did not expect to find anyone up.”

Charlotte became aware of throbbing in her finger. She put it to her mouth, tasting blood.

“I’ve cut myself.”

“How badly?”

She stepped closer to the candle lamp and he did as well. Her relief that the late-night intruder was Dr. Taylor now faded as she remembered she wore nothing but a thin nightdress.

“Let me see it.”

“I am sure it is nothing.”

He took her left hand in his, her palm forward. With his free hand, he gently examined her index finger. Her heart pounded in time with its throbbing.

“Here, let’s clean that.” From his bag, he deftly retrieved a bottle of antiseptic. He held her hand over the basin, released her only long enough to open the bottle, then poured antiseptic over the wound. The stuff stung, and she wrinkled her nose at its smell.

“Let me wrap that for you,” he said quietly.

He retrieved a small rolled bandage from his bag and then stood again before her. He guided her hand closer to the light and leaned near. She realized she was breathing in shallow, rapid breaths as he skillfully and gently wound the bandage around her finger and secured it. Still, the process seemed to take quite a long time, as he reexamined his work, still holding her hand in one of his. She hoped he did not guess how affected she was by his nearness.

Without releasing her hand, he looked up from her finger to her face. His eyes shone with intensity, his pupils large in the dim light.

Did she alone feel this tension, this delicious, terrifying ache?

To dispel it, she said shakily, “Who is minding the Manor?”

“Thomas is filling in. Said I looked dead on my feet.”

She smiled and said awkwardly, “You do not … look so to me.”

His eyes roamed over her features. “Nor you.”

She swallowed and said needlessly, “I could not sleep.”

He looked down at her hand again, as though just realizing he still held it.

“Will the patient live?” she asked lightly.

He did not smile. Instead he turned her hand over and lifted it to his cheek. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and looked into her eyes. Charlotte could hardly breathe.

Without warning the kitchen door again opened, and they both turned to see John Taylor standing there, candlestick in hand. Charlotte took a sheepish step away from Daniel.

John Taylor looked from one to the other, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “I thought I smelled something burning,” he said.

Charlotte turned. The milk was boiling out onto the stove.

Right after emergence from its chrysalis, the Monarch is extremely vulnerable to predators because it is not yet able to fly.

JOURNEY NORTH

CHAPTER 34

t the breakfast table one morning in November, Charlotte announced to Dr. Taylor and his father, “Anne and I are planning quite the celebration tonight, and you are both invited.”

“What is the occasion?” Dr. Taylor asked.

“Your birthday, silly!” Anne laughed.

“Today is your birthday, is it not?” Charlotte asked tentatively.

“Well, I guess it is. I had quite forgotten.”

“I hope neither of you will have to work late tonight.”

“I’m going to help make a cake!” Anne announced proudly. “Just like the one Missy made for my birthday!”

“How nice. I shall look forward to it.”

“As will I,” John Taylor said. “Though I’m afraid I haven’t a gift for you, my boy. Unless you’d like a new ear horn or scalpel?” He winked.

“Do not trouble yourself, Father. You and I have gotten out of the habit of celebrating birthdays.”

John Taylor folded his napkin and stood. “Well, I’m off. I promised Mrs. Krebs I’d be in early this morning.”

His son turned his head to watch him leave. “If I did not know better, I would think he was taken with her.” He looked at Charlotte and smiled self-consciously. “And I would recognize the symptoms.”

Charlotte bit back a smile. “Do finish your breakfast, Anne, so we can begin our preparations.”

Porridge dripped off Anne’s chin as she said eagerly, “We are to wear our new gowns, and you must wear your green coat, Papa.”

“Try not to speak with your mouth full, dear,” Charlotte admonished.

Daniel bowed his head toward his daughter. “As my lady wishes.”

“Do you not think Papa most handsome when he wears his green coat?”

Charlotte smiled, clearly embarrassed. “I … yes, quite handsome.”

“Well, then”-he held her gaze-“your wish is my command.”

How differently it all might have gone had he not stopped by the club on his way home. He had left the Manor sufficiently early, leaving Thomas and his father on duty, and only dropped by in hopes of finding Preston, who had not shown up to relieve them as scheduled. His father had insisted Daniel go home and not miss his own birthday celebration. He would stay until Preston arrived. Not seeing his colleague in the club, Daniel turned to leave. That’s when he saw Lester Dawes. He might not have stopped at all, had his old acquaintance not looked so miserable, hands holding up his head, several empty tumblers before him.

“Dawes?”

The man looked up, bleary-eyed and desolate. “Hello, Taylor.”

“What’s wrong, man? You look dreadful.”

“You haven’t heard?”

Daniel shook his head.

“Lost a patient.”

“I am sorry. I know how that feels.”

“It’s a double blow. I hate to be mercenary, but this will be death to my practice as well. It is always a gamble, having prominent patients.”

“May I ask who?”

His answer hit Daniel like a fist. The sensation a sickening combination of true grief and pity along with several self-centered emotions far less noble.

“I am sorry,” Daniel mumbled again, and ducked out of the room before the man could respond.

When he arrived home, Charlotte was there to greet him. “Happy birthday,” she said shyly, adding tentatively, “Daniel.”

She was dressed in a lovely rose-colored gown with a flattering, feminine neckline. Her hair was arranged in a pretty crown of curls, several framing her face, now flushed and expectant. He did not miss the intentional use of his Christian name, her attention to her appearance, nor the blush in her cheeks. No, he had not misread the situation. Her feelings had changed and she wanted him to know it. He should be relieved and pleased, but he felt a nauseating ball of dread in his stomach instead. Why did such a thing have to happen now? When she was finally ready to receive his affection? It seemed to Daniel a cruel and ironic twist of fate.

“You look beautiful,” he said, an empty sadness stealing over him.

She smiled at his words, but her smile quickly faltered. “Is something wrong?”

He opened his mouth to answer. Must he tell her? Now? Could he not wait until … until there was an understanding between them?

“Happy birthday, Papa!” Anne shouted, running out to meet him, throwing her arms around his legs. “Doesn’t Missy look like a princess?”

“Yes. She does. As do you.” He smiled at his daughter, touching her fancy, curled hair and taking in her bright blue frock. “Your new gown is almost as lovely as you are.”

Anne giggled and pulled his hand, urging him to follow her into the dining room. “I helped make the cake, but I fear the icing is rather a mess.”

Daniel breathed a silent sigh. A mess indeed.

While Anne knelt on a chair at the dining room table, happily poking little sugar petals onto the icing of the cake, Charlotte joined Daniel in the sitting room. “Daniel, are you sure nothing is amiss? I hope I have not offended you.”

“Offended me, how?”

“Well, by my presumption, my familiarity in arranging this birthday celebration. If I have overstepped-“

“I am the opposite of offended, Charlotte. I am pleased by your … familiarity, as you say. In my mind, you are part of this family already.”

Even with her head bowed, he could see the pleasure in her pink cheeks and concealed smile.

“Charlotte,” he said, suddenly intense, “my feelings for you, my intentions, remain unchanged.”

Her head rose and she looked at him shyly, expectantly. How lovely she was, how fondly was she regarding him. Would it be so wrong to postpone the news that would wipe that look from her face forever?

“If your feelings,” he added more gently, “were no longer hindered …”

“They are no longer hindered, Daniel,” she whispered.

“Then I would ask you … what I have longed to ask you …”

She smiled warmly, her body leaning toward him ever so slightly. What agony this was. To be so close to her, to realize she was ready to accept him. But only because she remained in sweet ignorance.

He winced, then said, “But I cannot.”

Her smile fell. “What has happened? Have I done something to…?”

“You have done nothing. Nothing but make us all completely devoted to you. You have not only become beloved mother to my daughter, but beloved daughter to my father as well.”

“But you do not share their … affliction?”

“Oh, I am indeed afflicted, Charlotte. But…”

“But?”

“I am afraid I have dreadful news. I thought to wait until after …” He waved his hand in direction of the dining room but guessed they both knew he included much more than the festivities in his statement. “But I find in good conscience that I cannot keep it from you a moment longer.”

“What is it?”

“Your cousin Katherine is dead.”

Charlotte gasped.

“She died in childbirth, her infant with her.”

Charlotte sat, stunned, her hand covering her mouth.

After a few silent moments, Daniel rose. Charlotte still sat there, unmoving. She did not ask him to stay, nor assure him the news had no bearing. He knew too well that it had changed everything.