Chapter One
Elizabeth shifted Emily to the other shoulder. At a year and a half of age, the girl was getting properly heavy. Her four-year-old son, George, stood obediently at Elizabeth’s side, waiting. She had told George that they were going to find his papa. George had lately been asking why he did not have a papa.
No answer.
Elizabeth knocked again on the door to the fine house overlooking the harbor in Ramsgate. Then she pounded with the brass ring repeatedly.
Still no answer.
Elizabeth shifted the side she was holding Emily with again.
She slammed the brass knocker harder, and when there was still no sign of response, she banged her fist on the door.
This time Elizabeth heard a sound from inside.
The door was opened and an untidy young maid with frazzled hair came to the door. “The family is not receiving visitors, ma’am.”
She looked over Elizabeth, probably noting that neither her clothes, nor those of the children matched what would be expected from a visitor to this address.
Elizabeth did as she always did, when telling a creditor that she did not know where her husband was, but that they would somehow be paid, or when ordering her son to stop pestering a cat, or when arguing with her father about whether she should be allowed to marry Wickham. Elizabeth straightened her spine, pulled her shoulders back and spoke as confidently as though she was a queen.
“I am not here for a visit. I am Mrs. George Wickham, and I am seeking my husband. I have been informed that he has often been seen at this house.”
The maid’s startled reaction to George Wickham’s name confirmed that the friend who had written to tell her about Wickham’s presence inRamsgate had not led her astray. “He has been here, I see.” Elizabeth calmly stepped past the maid. “I shall then direct my questions to the family—I see the drawing room is at the end of the hallway. Very good.”
George followed behind Elizabeth while she bounced Emily in her arms. The young maid helplessly shrugged and did nothing to stop them.
The rug in the hallway was covered with dried muddy footprints and there was a spot where it looked like a bowl of beef stew had been spilled, and then only half cleaned.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Servant troubles.
In the drawing room a young woman with a tear-blotched face and a crumpled handkerchief in hand curled up in an armchair next to the sofa on which was laid out a tall, handsome man. The man was only half dressed, with bandages unevenly wrapped around his chest and blood showing through. A collection of blood-crusted bandages sat in a bowl next to three half-empty bowls of congealed broth, a wedge of cheese with a single bite from it, and the crumbs from what Elizabeth guessed had been a fully eaten loaf of bread.
The invalid started up in surprise at Elizabeth’s appearance, and he clearly felt the indignity of being seen in such a state.
Well, this was a good excuse to not receive visitors.
Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, and her serious business, it was impossible for Elizabeth to not admire the person of the gentleman. Under the bandages the strong musculature of his chest was visible, and he had well-formed shoulders, and forearms with a fine lining of hair. The mostinterestingparts of his body were of course hidden by the neatly fitted white buckskin breeches. His features were excellent, though his pallor suggested that the inevitable fever had already set in.
The gentleman’s once white breeches had a large bloodstain on one leg. The line of blood went all the way down to where Elizabeth guessed the line of his boot had been.
Had his nurse not bothered to change the gentleman’s clothes since his injury?
The man glared at her as he made himself sit up. A spasm of pain went through his face, but he still held himself erect. “Who are you?”
Oh, my. His voice was quite excellent too. And a very demanding tone. It looked as though drawing in the breath to speak so firmly caused him some additional pain.
“My name is Mrs. Elizabeth Wickham, and I am searching for my husband, George Wickham. Can either of you inform me about his present circumstances and whereabouts?”
The young woman’s head snapped up to stare at Elizabeth.
The gentleman’s expression became fixed and stiff.
Elizabeth looked at the girl, thinking she might be easier to gain information from, and smiled. “Are you acquainted with him?”
The girl made a pained moan and gripped a handful of her dress. She stood from the chair, and her hand shook as she pointed at Elizabeth. “Mr. Wickham! Is your… your husband?”
