Once Beloved (6 page)

She could refuse to go. They couldn't force her. If they insisted, she'd hide away at Billy's. He hadn't shown her his home yet or taken her to meet his family, but he worked so many long hours. She was certain he'd be happy to have her with him.

Aunt Helena even said she'd be fine traveling alone.

But then . . . Auntie was a bit frail. And those spells of hers. A vision of Auntie collapsing in a graceless heap hovered in her memory. Some street brawl had erupted at the market, and suddenly down went Aunt Helena. She was so confused and alarmed the first time she'd seen her aunt faint straight away. Not prettily either, the way some of the girls pretended to do when a handsome fellow tipped his hat at her. Vanessa knew what to do now, but those first few incidents had been chaotic and frightening, especially when Mark and Tommy were there to see their mother unconscious. No doubt Auntie needed a traveling companion, but why did it have to be her? Why? And why would Auntie take such a risk, to begin with? Yes, their grandmother was ill, but neither Mama nor Auntie had seen her in decades.

She threw herself upon the bed and began tracing the flowers on the kerchief. How terribly dramatic she was being. Petulant, that was the word. No, this train of thinking definitely wouldn't convince her parents she was mature enough to marry her beloved. But there must be a way.

She bolted upright. If she had to accompany Aunt Helena (and her mother had made it perfectly clear that she did have to), this could be the perfect opportunity to prove herself! She could demonstrate how absolutely capable she was, how mature she was. Then, when she revealed to her parents the truth of her relationship with Billy, they would recognize her as an adult and support her plans wholeheartedly. She tucked Billy's kerchief back into the top of her chemise. She could survive a month away from him if it meant they would be together permanently. She would be on her best behavior.

T
he first leg of the journey passed without incident, to Helena's relief. She'd resolved to say as little as possible, and Mr. Lanfield likewise didn't seem inclined to talk with his passengers. She'd been surprised when he'd offered her and Vanessa assistance to climb into the back of the cart, not because of his offer, which was only gentlemanly, but because she didn't feel that spike of anxiety or awkwardness at his touch. She knew he was as reluctant about her company as she was about his, but he must have hidden his feelings. Vanessa's continuous narrative of the views they passed filled the time, almost to annoyance, but it was easy to indulge the girl's verbose curiosity. She'd expected her niece to rail against being sent on this trip, but instead she'd been the very picture of amenability. The changing landscape as they moved farther from London really was remarkable. Ultimately, Marksby would be quite a revelation for one who'd only known crowded city streets. Or at least the Marksby she remembered would be.

“Just look at the endless green fields, Auntie! And this vast sky, it's the color of a robin's egg! Even in Hyde Park, the view isn't this vibrant. I thought my mother exaggerated when she described the fog over the city as a horse blanket God threw over it in haste. And those pastoral poems Mrs. Duchamp insists on reading to us, I thought they were flights of fancy.”

Helena smiled nervously, expecting Mr. Lanfield to make some caustic remark about her niece's naïveté, but he didn't appear to hear them from the driver's seat. So much the better. She'd much prefer silence to whatever censure hovered on his tongue. Marissa had served as their go-between for the remaining travel plans. She still couldn't believe he'd offered, no matter how grudgingly, to take them with him. She knew enough to realize that the Lanfield family would have been happy to see her burning in hell all those decades ago. When he'd spoken to her in her own house, the anger in his expression had been abundantly clear. Perhaps he was ignoring them purposefully now, but why put them both in this uncomfortable circumstance?

At the first stop, she decided she must ask him. But, damn, there would go her own resolution to avoid speaking with him. When he'd arrived to collect her and Vanessa, Lizzie had fussed over her daughter and had gnashed her teeth about not being able to go see Gran; Marissa had helped a tight-lipped Mr. Lanfield load their things into the cart. Finally, Marissa had all but pushed Helena into the back of the cart as well. She saw now how well everyone had orchestrated her compliance. And she'd followed along like the meek, mild little lamb she'd become. Well, even a lamb could bite when it needed to.

While the horse was being fed and watered, she got down from the cart. She caught Mr. Lanfield's eye and inclined her head toward a more secluded area by a grove of trees. Gratified when he followed, she asked, “Why are you helping me? I could have—my niece and I—could have easily used public vehicles. The trains might even get us there more quickly.”

“And here I thought Londoners were known for their relentless propriety. Why bother to start with a genial comment about the weather or the roads? Nor even a hasty thanks.”

She winced at his words. He had the look of someone who had seen that his expectations were well founded, and she felt a stab of irritation. He didn't know her, not now, and he had no cause to place judgment on her.

“I do apologize, Mr. Lanfield,” she said, trying not to clench her teeth. “Of course, I give you many thanks for allowing us to ride with you on your return to Marksby. You are too kind.” She had to pause to fight against choking on that last statement. She could say the words, but she couldn't muster the energy to mean them. She really couldn't. The boy she'd known as Daniel had been kind; this man was the Daniel who'd shouted curses at her when he'd caught her and Isaiah making their escape. “You said yourself that it would be a mistake for me to return. Why then are you delivering me there yourself?”

“Because you're maddeningly determined to go. And, of all the absurd plans you've considered for getting there, this one will ensure you arrive safe and sound.”

“Safe and sound? And ready for the villagers to eviscerate me?”

He shrugged with what she could only interpret as smugness. Ugh! Infuriating man!

“Even more reason for me to ask, then. Why are you helping me? This arrangement must be as distasteful to you as it is to me. Why suffer it when there are other methods of travel my niece and I may use instead?”

“ 'Appen I wish to be able to witness the worldly prodigal daughter's return to Marksby. 'Appen I find the payment of my traveling expenses appealing, since it's my destination anyway. Or maybe I believe myself to be a man of honor who holds great respect for your grandmother. And maybe I wouldn't be able to consider myself my mother's son if I turned my back on a resident of Marksby in need—a woman, to boot—even a scapegrace like you.”

“You hate me so much, even now.” He didn't deny it, and she had to suppress a shiver as the depth of his feeling struck her.

“Why would you return after all this time?” he shot back.

“Gran. Only in truly dire circumstances would she correspond with me. The last time she contacted my sister was to inform us of our father's death. I've sent her letters, but I don't know if she's ever read any of them.”

“Mrs. Martin, why'd you turn your back on your family? Why'd you never return before now? Your niece has a right to the truth of her beloved aunt's character.”

“Tread with caution. You cannot know what went on between me and my parents. Do you think I did not try to mend the rift? For more than a year, I sent my parents letters every week trying to explain, begging them to understand. When my first son was born, my heart ached to share the news with them. I sent word but never heard a response. Most of my letters were returned to me, refused by my parents. My husband began to suspect that my father took perverse pleasure from making us pay the postage both ways. If your claim is that I am an inconstant strumpet . . .” She heard a feminine gasp behind her and whirled around to see Vanessa standing a few feet away. The girl's curiosity never ceased. Well, what better time for a lesson. “Vanessa, bear this in mind. When others wish to shame you with their snide whispers and innuendos, face them head-on. When they would cower in veiled language, call them out for it. Do not let them label you.” She braced herself and faced Mr. Lanfield again. “Now . . . if your claim, sir, is that I am an inconstant and immoral strumpet, I must point out that you do not know me. You know of an incident that happened twenty years ago, and you continue to judge me as though time stood still from the day I left Marksby.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Martin. I consider it my moral duty not to judge.”

She looked into his eyes, unable to find an adequate response.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“'Tis naught.” He turned back to the horse. “I'd best go check Talos's shoes. We've a long way to go yet.”

“Wait!” She caught his arm and froze. His arm, thick with muscle, tensed at her touch. The sensation, combined with the flare of something bright in his eyes before he shrouded it, made her mouth dry. She hadn't touched a man in years, at least not one outside of her circle. Her friends' husbands didn't count; they might as well be her brothers. But this electric moment, her sudden awareness not only of his firm flesh but of his blue, blue eyes and his earthy scent, left her utterly speechless.

“What is it?” he said impatiently as he pulled away from her.

“'Tis naught,” she said, echoing him as she composed herself. “I'll make sure Vanessa is ready to go.”

 

When they came to a stop in front of the coaching inn, Helena breathed a huge sigh of relief. The day's travel had been more taxing than she'd expected. She'd forgotten how tiring it could be just to sit in a jostling cart or carriage. She was glad of the young stable boy who came up to the back of the cart to assist them, but he focused his attention on their bags.

“Leave off, lad,” Mr. Lanfield called out, as he came into view. “We've no need of help.”

She gave the boy an apologetic look before he ran off.

“The boy was just being helpful,” she said quietly. “There was no need to be so brusque with him.”

“How you ever could have thought you and your niece would have traveled by rail . . .” He shook his head skeptically and then reached for their baggage. She was too tired to bother prompting him to finish what promised to be a disparaging thought.

When they entered the inn, her mouth watered at the aroma of roasting pheasant. A welcome respite, indeed, and one she had to admit they might not have encountered by train. As she and Vanessa were led to their room, she had to acknowledge that this was vastly different from train travel. They'd rarely encountered people, and then only in passing. Even here, the inn was unusually quiet and uncrowded. The very thought of a full train car made her feel a bit queasy, the sensation fading as she stepped into their modest but serviceable room. Quiet. Alone. Secure. This was what she needed, and she wouldn't have been able to get any of this through public transportation. She wondered momentarily if that was what Lanfield had been about to say—that she wouldn't have been able to make this trip on her own. Presumptuous man! She wasn't so soft that she couldn't do without creature comforts, and she wasn't so inept that she couldn't handle mundane travel arrangements.

She and Vanessa met him in the dining room, and they found a table in a quiet corner, removed from the few other guests. In her inimitable way, Vanessa kept conversation going almost single-handedly during their meal. And Daniel maintained his laconic demeanor. But Vanessa must have run out of topics when she lit upon the Needlework for the Needy Society. Helena groaned inwardly and braced herself.

“Aunt Helena and the other Needlework ladies have been working to stop an angel-maker in the city.”

She looked sternly at her niece, trying to think of the best way to divert her. “There is no need to discuss such gruesomeness. I'm sure Mr. Lanfield has no interest in the unpleasantness of city life.”

“I've birthed countless lambs and calves,” Daniel said. “I can handle gruesomeness. Who, pray tell, are the Needlework ladies and what on earth is an angel-maker? Why would something that sounds so cherubic be gruesome?”

Vanessa looked near to bursting with pleasure at the opportunity to expound. “Oh, the Needlework for the Needy Society is wonderful! My mother, Auntie Helena, and their friends—” Thankfully, the girl finally caught her glaring and stopped abruptly. But it was too late.

“Aye, Mr. Clarke did say something about his wife's friends making a formidable little group. Something about knitting for justice.”

Vanessa responded quickly, “Oh, they are impressive, and they do much more than knitting.”

“Vanessa, dear, really, do not bore Mr. Lanfield with women's trivialities.”

“Mrs. Martin, 'appen you could tell me more about these evil angel-makers?”

Well. Surely, she could talk about them without revealing the machinations of the Needlework ladies. “There are a growing number of unscrupulous independent nurseries that will take infants and children into their care for payment.”

“An orphanage?”

“Nothing so organized. Many appear to operate out of private homes, under deplorable conditions. We've heard stories from factory women, usually about someone they knew leaving their children in the care of a baby nurse. The floors were apparently lined with crates for the babies and children. Not proper beds, mind you. And surrounded by filth. One woman came to us after her babe died in someone's care, and we have since learned of other, similar cases. However, the operation seems to have moved.”

“Surely accidents happen. Bairns do take ill and die.”

“Surely,” she responded dryly. “But there is a vast ocean of difference between accidents and neglect. What's particularly loathsome in these cases is that the whole purpose of these angel-makers is the money. No care is given to the children, and yet their parents must work or risk being thrown into the workhouse.

“You seem personally affronted.”

“The deaths of these innocent children are deplorable. Unconscionable. I could so easily have been in their shoes. Those mothers with so little, having to trust their precious children to the care of a stranger week after week—it's heartbreaking.”

“You would never have abandoned your children so, Auntie,” Vanessa said vehemently.

“Your faith in me is admirable, my sweet, but just think—had your uncle proved to be insincere, he could have abandoned me in the squalor of London or along the highway. Even married as we were, had his company proved a failure, we would have had little choice but for me to work as well.” She looked at Mr. Lanfield unflinchingly. He cocked his head as if a question hovered in his mind, yet he didn't speak. It was unlikely he could think any worse of her so there was little harm in revealing the full circumstances of her elopement. “If my husband had been a very different type of man, not a gentleman but a seducer, I could easily have been one of these women, at the mercy of an angel-maker. There's no need to look so scandalized, Mr. Lanfield. I am certain people suspected, especially after my abrupt departure.”

“Whether they did or no, to speak so bluntly in front of your niece is scandalous. You've no concern for her morals?”

Vanessa's chin went up. Never a good sign. “Better for me to know the truth and be prepared for the perfidy men may commit than to fall prey to one out of sheer ignorance!”