Page 19 of The Swindler’s Daughter

How horribly tragic.

Unable to resist, I turned over so that I could face him. He didn’t stir. As I studied his face, I could see a single tear still clinging to his pale cheek. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair, desperate to comfort him and not knowing how. I pressed my forehead to his, taking one deep breath before pulling away and sitting up. I carefully removed his hand from my waist, and it remained limp as I laid it on the mattress beside him. He seemed calmer now, as if the memory of this Isabel—no matter how painful—had somehow allowed him to rest.

I turned my face away, my chest aching with the tragic scenarios I couldn’t help but conjure. I would have to ask him about her, find out the truth. I had heard nothing about an Isabel in all my months of working here, so either people refused to speak of her or it was a secret he guarded so closely that most didn’t know.

How would he feel when he realized he’d revealed that secret to me?

***

I didn’t stay much longer. I couldn’t. The idea that this young man held such grief nearly undid me, especially as I tended to him in his weakened state. I stepped outside, needing space from the tragedy but unwilling to leave him alone. I stood at the edge of the garden that I knew he helped tend with his mother, deep in thought. Everything that I knew about Rowan seemed to shift and warp, taking on a different shape and color.

“Is that you, Miriam?”

I looked up at the sound of Mrs. Lockley’s voice. “Hello, Anne.”

“Did you get the herbs I left out for you?”

“Yes, but when I came…” It took me a moment to order my thoughts. “Rowan seems very ill. He’s feverish.”

She looked toward the house. “Oh dear. He mentioned feeling a bit off, but he assured me he’d be fine. Stubborn lad.” She hurried toward the cottage. “Thank you for looking after him, Miriam.”

“You’re welcome, and I left some soup on the table,” I said as she slipped inside.

Well. That was that. Rowan no longer needed me and I was free to go. So then why did I hesitate? Why did it feel wrong to leave him? Was it because I now carried the weight of what I knew? Or was it simply that I knew what it was like to be so ill, and I wanted to help if I could?

I walked away from their cottage, telling myself firmly that it didn’t matter. I’d do well to forget Rowan’s delirious ramblings and continue with life as usual.

***

That night, I sat on my bed in my chemise, brushing through my red curls as I stared out the window. I could see the moon, nearly full, rising above the horizon. And though it was a beautiful sight, it couldn’t hold my attention. I was too distracted by the memory of a sad Rowan pulling me to his chest, missing a woman I hadn’t known existed before today.

Nellie walked into the room, untying her apron to hang it on one of the hooks that lined our wall. She gave me a smile when she caught my eye but didn’t say anything.

“Are you enjoying the extra free time?” I asked her.

She smiled. “It’s different, certainly,” she answered as she unhooked the back of her skirt.

“It is,” I agreed, then couldn’t hold my dilemma inside anymore. “Nellie, can I tell you something?”

“Course you can.”

“I know something. Or, I found out something. But the person who said it didn’t intend for me to know. I sort of…overheard them speaking about something.”

“Was it a bad something?” she asked as she stepped out of her skirt and petticoat.

“No,” I assured her. “Not bad or dangerous, just…personal. I don’t believe this person would want me to know. But I didn’t mean to overhear, it just happened.”

“How personal was it?”

“Very personal,” I answered as I thought of the way his arm had curled around me, pulling me down beside him. “And sad. And surprising.”

“Surprising how?”

I pinched the ends of my fingers as I thought. “I didn’t expect this person to have that kind of secret.”

“A sad secret?”

I nodded.