My memory of her wasnotvivid. It was fragments of colored glass, each teasing me with the possibility of a full picture I would never be able to piece together. I sneaked the quickest of glances at Miss Blackwell. She was looking down at her plate of stewed fruit.Vivid.Where was this woman coming up with these ideas of hers? Even when I hadn’t been delirious, I’d been so weak I could barely converse with Miss Blackwell.
Ihadmanaged the strength to force her to kiss me, though. What a disaster.
“I never said my memories of her were vivid.” I turned to Brookhouse. He’d gotten me into this mess, so he’d better help me out of it. “I distinctly said that I wasn’t even certain she was real.”
Brookhouse, dolt that he was, finally sensed my very real concern. “That’s true.” He nodded. “He told me she might have been an angel.”
“And I’m more and more certain she was,” I replied with a nod to him. “How is your pickled herring?”
This time when Brookhouse opened his mouth, it wasn’t me who stopped him. Mrs. Wickerton continued on as if I hadn’t just changed the topic of conversation. “We can’t blame those of lesser means when they try to vault themselves to a higher station, not when we have so much and others so little.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “She might not even exist, and if she does, she was simply trying to help a man in desperate need. Why does it follow that she only did such a service with the expectation of gaining something in return?”
Mrs. Wickerton blinked and sputtered. “I didn’t say with certainty she had ulterior motives, only that it wouldn’t surprise me if she did.” She drew a pencil from the bottom of her reticule and jotted something into the pages of her notebook. “She is obviously a woman in need of guidance at best, and at worst, censure.”
“That woman, whether real or the figment of my imagination, showed me true kindness without thought for praise or gain. I don’t think guidance or censure would be appropriate.”
“Well, then.” She blinked at my outburst, set her book down and then lifted it and placed her pencil on the top of a page with a quick burst of energy. “Prayers, at least.”
Miss Blackwell made a frustrated noise not unlike a growl of a badger protecting the opening to its burrow. “If you must, pray for her,” she said through what must have been gritted teeth. I still didn’t dare look at her, and I certainly couldn’t meet General Blackwell’s eye. “I only suggest you do so in the quiet of your own bedchamber. In fact, I will do the same.”
Mrs. Blackwell eyed her daughter. Her eyebrows tightened briefly, then eased back into their typical line as she turned to Mrs. Wickerton. “How is the venerable archdeacon’s health?” she asked. “Have you seen him since he moved from the Stapleton house?”
Mrs. Wickerton’s mouth disappeared again, and her eyes fluttered in a series of quick blinks. “I ... no. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing him there. I’ve been quite occupied lately. My dear friends the Rowleys were quite worried about several things happening in Briarstead, and I can’t even speak of the goings on at Fenmore Park. I’m fortunate to have made it here at all.”
I was just close enough to Miss Blackwell to hear her mutter under her breath, “fortunate, indeed.”
We were then regaled with more stories of people Mrs. Wickerton had “helped” in the past year. At no point did I understand what it was she helped with.
The food in front of me no longer had any flavor, but I forced myself to keep eating as if it did. If only this were an informal meal and I could leave the moment I finished eating. But it wasn’t and I would be forced to spend the rest of the eveningdodging eye contact with nearly everyone, while also pretending nothing at all was amiss.
If only Miss Blackwell wasn’t between me and Brookhouse, his toe would be smashed quite enthusiastically by my heel.
In fact . . .
I stepped lightly on Miss Blackwell’s toe. She glanced up at me and I tipped my head toward Brookhouse. She’d understood my meaning earlier, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to understand it now.
Her gray eyes widened and the corner of her mouth ticked up. She kept her eyes on mine, but the movement of her leg beneath the tablecloth was unmistakable.
Brookhouse yelped and her smile bloomed in full force.
Being on the same side as Miss Blackwell was far more pleasant than being her enemy.
26
CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER
Brookhouse must have been slightlypenitent, for after dinner he kept conversation among the men rolling at a breakneck speed. No one had time to ask anything about his supposed secret.
The moment we joined the women, I went to the bookshelf, grabbedA Treatise on the Blood, Inflammation, and Gunshot Wounds,and spent the next hour pretending to read intently so no one would dare disturb me.
I finally closed the book. An hour should be long enough for me to retire to bed without suspicion. I stood, and not a moment after, Harriet, on the other side of the room, stood as well and made her excuses to those around her. I glanced her way and our eyes met. She held my gaze just longer than was customary—just long enough for me to know that it wasn't a coincidence she was leaving at the same time I was.
She wanted to speak to me. I froze. Where had this glance been the first day we’d arrived, when I expected it?
Where had this glance been when I was frustrated with Miss Blackwell for keeping us apart? I’d been desperate for it then. Why did it have to come now?
But then Brookhouse stood as well, and I was pulled out of my stupor. Blast the man, how many problems was he going to create for me this evening? Even if I didn’t know what to think about having time alone with Harriet at last, one thing was certain—I needed it.
