Page 24 of The Lost Lord
“Don’t be. I wish I’d known to put the top up. I thought…I didn’t know, and I didn’t ask,” Richard murmured. The words came from the small place in his heart that regretted his entire life. It mattered to him that his thoughtlessness might have cost Miriam her life. He didn’t know what to do with the strange new fear that he might lose her entirely.
Miriam kept her gaze downcast, avoiding his eyes during the short ride back to the Walsh’s home. The awkward silence felt like an eternity. When they turned the corner to her street, Livingston Walsh was out front of their residence. His dark brown jacket and dusty boots indicated he’d just returned. Her father turned from joyful to thunderous as he observed his daughter’s slumped form. Richard swallowed.
“Don’t tell Father I had an attack,” Miriam pleaded. As though they had any hope of concealing it, Richard thought. Not with her pretty spring-green dress damp with sweat.
“I am not in the habit of keeping secrets from Mr. Walsh,” Mrs. Kent replied crisply. The buggy pulled up.
“Lord Northcote, make yourself useful and fetch the kettle from the stove downstairs. Then, I need you to leave. The sooner I wash the dust from Miss Walsh, the better.”
Helpless, Richard made his way to the kitchen and did as he was asked. Boiling water had been one of his newly acquired skills upon arriving in America. Growing up, there had been servants to handle the tedious aspects of life. He had not appreciated how heavy water was until he was forced to carry it himself. With his stomach churning, he carried the hot water upstairs to what he assumed was Miriam’s bedroom. He found the family clustered in an airy, bright room where Miriam lay upon a white counterpane. Mrs. Kent accepted the kettle and poured a small dash into a silver bowl with a white powder.
“Breathe,” she ordered Miriam.
“Not with him standing here,” Miriam rasped.
“I’ll go.” Richard spun on his heel. He hadn’t understood the depth of Miriam’s illness until now. It terrified him to think that this sword of Damocles hung over her head at all times, waiting to strike at any moment. He paused with his back turned to her, respectful of her desire that he not see her in her suffering. “You are an extraordinary woman, Miss Walsh. I have never met anyone as brave as you.”
“I am nothing of the sort, Richard.” Miriam insisted in a pained tone. Her voice already sounded stronger. Richard exhaled a silent prayer of thanks. He closed his eyes and turned to face her.
“It takes you more courage to step out your front door each day than it takes most people to cross an ocean, Miriam.” Richard had to push the next words out past the hard lump in his throat. “You are worth protecting. I would be honored to be your protector.”
One of the lessons Richard had scoffed at whilst in Cambridge was that words had power. He felt their ability to manifest change as heavy, locked plates of hardened emotions shifted and cracked in his chest. Tears burned the insides of his eyelids when he blinked. For a horrifying moment Miriam’s wondering face blurred.
He’d spoken truth.
“Northcote.”
If Satan himself had called his name Richard would not have been surprised to turn and find his devil form over his shoulder. Instead, it was Livingston Walsh.
“My daughter needs to rest.” He jerked his head to the door.
“Of course.” Richard bowed to Miriam, belatedly realizing that Mrs. Kent had loosened her dress. The sight of her bodice sagging low enough to show the tops of her breasts seared into his memory instantaneously. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Miriam. Mrs. Kent.” He bowed again and followed Livingston down the stairway into the foyer. Livingston gestured for him to follow him outside. The horses and their driver sat in the street, streaked with dust. He must get back.
“I don’t care how it happened. You couldn’t even keep my daughter safe for a simple ride. You’ll go home and write her a letter. Praise her eyes, her fine teeth, her intelligence. Hell, tell Miriam her taste in gowns is nice, I don’t care. Say a few kind words to let her down easy.” He inhaled like Hades about to blow upon his forge. “If I ever see you darken this doorstep again, I’ll kill you. Just as surely as you’d kill her if you came near again. Understand?”
“Sir.” Richard cast a glance at the impatient driver, less in agreement than to stave off banishment. “I cannot agree to that.”
There was a child who depended upon him seeing this through. More compelling, there was a woman who had received her first kiss from his lips whom Richard would rather tear his own arm off than disappoint.
“Then I’ll shoot you,” Walsh replied with menace. He shifted his weight to reveal a large pistol in the waistband of his trousers.
“Right, then,” Richard said. It wasn’t the first time someone had threatened to shoot him, but it was the first time he’d believed the threat. There was nothing for him to do but retreat and reconsider his next move.
When he arrived home, Richard discovered that Lizzie had helped herself to the chicken pie he’d saved for supper. He found her eating the last slice with her legs draped over the arms of a wood-backed chair, artfully placed to catch the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the windows at the best possible angle. His newspapers were as he’d left them, stacked beneath his bedside table, undisturbed. Whatever she’d been up to, Richard couldn’t discern it.
“The horse and carriage are outside,” he declared, spent and wishing her gone.
“So, I gathered.” She bit into an apple and chewed loudly. “You’ve received a letter from your brother. He wants you to come home to England.”
“How do you…” Richard stopped. Lizzie’s skirts rustled as she stood up, revealing a creamy paper addressed to him. She had read the entire thing. Why should he be astonished at this invasion of his privacy?
“It arrived while you were out with Miriam. Progress, my love?” Lizzie tossed the letter at his chest as she passed by. Richard scrambled to catch it.
“How dare you—” he seethed, but there was no point in finishing the thought. Lizzie shrugged.
“For a man I had planned to leave my husband for, you are not especially concerned with for your family’s future.” She rubbed her belly. Was it a fraction rounder? Richard couldn’t decide. White-hot fury coursed through him.
“You’re the only one who ever planned that, Lizzie. I never even wanted you.” The truth slipped out so easily that it astonished Richard. Lizzie stopped short.
