Dressed in a rich blue gown with a delicate net overlay, Dorothea sat inside the gently swaying coach. The wheels clattered rhythmically against the uneven cobblestones as they trundled through the narrow street, the scent of horses and lilacs drifting through the small window slit. She turned her attention to the boy seated across from her.
Tristan sat pressed against the window, his face lit with wonder. His breath fogged the glass as he peered out, captivated by the bustle of the Town.
As the coach turned a corner and the looming façade of the hospital came into view, she leaned forward in her seat. “Tristan,” she said, drawing his attention, “before we arrive, I think it’s best you prepare yourself. We don’t know how ill your mother truly is. Her recovery may be slow… or uncertain.”
Tristan’s gaze shifted from the window to her face, his curiosity momentarily replacing his excitement. “Do you think people can see me inside the coach?”
“I do,” Dorothea replied.
He sat straighter, puffing out his chest. “I wonder if they think I’m someone important.”
“You are important,” she responded.
His face fell. “I’m not. I’m just a ruffian from the streets. I lived in an alley with my mum.”
“You must never let your circumstances dictate your worth. A person’s future is not determined by where they begin. With hard work and courage, you could one day live in a fine townhouse.”
His eyes widened. “Do you really think so?”
“I do. Look at Dominic—he wasn’t always a baron. He began as a Bow Street Runner and later served in the Royal Army. He earned every bit of what he has.”
Tristan lowered his gaze to his hands, now folded tightly in his lap. “My father joined the Royal Army to give us a better life, too, but he failed. He died.”
Dorothea’s heart ached for him. She reached across the carriage and took his small hand in hers. “He didn’t fail, Tristan. He gave everything he had, serving with honor. That is not failure—it’s bravery.”
“But we’re still poor,” he whispered.
“Perhaps,” she said gently, “but you still have your mother. I would trade everything I own to have more time with mine. She passed when I was young.”
Tristan looked up, pain flickering in his expression. “But my mum’s sick.”
“She’s not gone,” Dorothea said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Treasure what you do have. Life can change in the blink of an eye.”
He studied her face carefully. “Do you think she’ll live?”
Dorothea hesitated, not wanting to give him false hope. “I can’t say for certain but she’s under a doctor’s care now, and that is something.”
Tristan gave a small nod. “It was awfully kind of Lord Warwicke to bring her to the hospital.”
“Yes. It was.”
The coach came to a gradual stop in front of the hospital’s entrance. Dorothea released his hand as the footman opened the door and offered his arm. She stepped down, then turned and held out her hand to Tristan.
“Whatever we find inside, we’ll face it together,” she said.
He grasped her hand with surprising firmness. “Thank you, my lady.”
Once they were inside, the air was cool and still. An older man with white hair approached, his eyes sharp.
“Good morning, my lady,” he greeted with a small bow. “Lord Warwicke informed us of your arrival. I am Doctor Langley.”
Dorothea inclined her head politely. “A pleasure, Doctor.”
“Please,” he said, motioning towards a door, “follow me. I’ll take you to the boy’s mother.”
Dorothea’s steps quickened. “How is she?”
Doctor Langley glanced over his shoulder with a flicker of a smile. “You can ask her yourself. She’s awake.”
