Page 3 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
“Archie… don’t mourn for me,” she said, and he looked up to find his sister looking at him, her eyes barely open, her lips trembling.
“But I will. I won’t ever forget you, Gwendolene. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. What cruel fate took you from me? It can’t be natural. Why would God do this to us?” he exclaimed, glancing again at the crucifix hanging above the bed.
“We can’t ask such questions,” Gwendolene replied, her voice growing fainter with every word.
“But it’s so unfair. It’s not right. I’ll find the reason, I’ve got to,” Archie said.
He did not believe a woman so full of life, so full of hope for all that was to come, could succumb to such a dreadful fate. It had all been so sudden, and despite knowing the foolishness of his thoughts, Archie could not help but think someone was to blame for what had happened. This was not natural, it could not be…
“No, Archie. Let me rest in peace. This is all that matters,” Gwendolene whispered.
“What? What is it that matters?” Archie replied, staring at his sister imploringly as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Live your life as I’d have lived mine. Don’t shut yourself away. Don’t hide from what can be. If I’m to die, I don’t want you to die in kind, Archie. Promise me you’ll live your life as I’d have done,” she said.
It was a promise Archie could not bear to make, even as he knew doing so would allow his sister to depart in peace. The thought of life without her was unbearable. He could not imagine it, even as he knew its inevitability.
“Don’t leave me, Gwendolene. I don’t know how I can go on living without you,” he said, but Gwendolene shook her head.
“We’ll meet again—on another shore,” she said, and now she squeezed his hand, her grip lessening, her eyes closing.
“Gwendolene, please…” Archie implored her.
“Promise me,” she said, and he nodded.
“I promise. I promise I’ll live the life you deserved. Until we meet again. I love you,” he said, and a faint smile came over her lips.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, and now she breathed her last.
Archie buried his face in the blankets, sobbing uncontrollably, and now his mother put her arm around him, kneeling at his side. For a moment, their heads were bowed in the heartbreak of loss, sobbing together, even as Archie tried to pray, just as the priest had told them, too.
“My poor Gwendolene,” the dowager said, and as Archie looked up, she made the sign of the cross over herself.
Archie did the same. But as he looked up at the crucifix above the bed, he could not help but feel a sudden sense of anger at the loss of his sister, who now lay still and lifeless before them.
“I don’t know how I’ll go on,” he said, knowing the promise he had made, but hardly daring to believe he could ever find happiness again when his sister had left him for another shore…
Chapter 1
Tall Chimneys, Wimborne, Dorset, England, August 1812.
“It’s all right, Burns, I’ll fetch it,” Lavinia Stuart rose from the breakfast table as the butler turned to bring the coffeepot from the sideboard.
Her grandfather, Viscount Cranborne, cleared his throat.
“Sit down, Lavinia. You’ll embarrass the poor man,” he said, and Lavinia paused, already halfway out of her seat.
The butler, his face flushed red with embarrassment, hurried to fetch the coffeepot to fill Lavinia’s cup. She glanced at her grandfather, who smiled and shook his head.
“I was only trying to help. It seems silly for me to sit at the table and wait, when it’s just as easy for me to get up and help myself,” Lavinia said.
Her grandfather laughed.
“Tell me this, Lavinia. When you were a maid, would you have liked it if your mistress had deprived you of your function and served herself? And if she’d got a taste for it, and realized she could do without you, would you have been glad if she’d told you to leave because you were no longer needed?
We all have our place in the natural order, Lavinia. I know you’re still getting used to your change in circumstances, but allow me to be your guide in such matters. I know you want to help, but don’t deprive Burns—or any of the other servants—of their proper function,” he said.
Lavinia had not thought about it like that. She was still getting used to the fact she was no longer a servant. Her position had dramatically altered some months previously when, following the death of her father, her grandfather had arrived at the home she had shared with her parents, desiring a reunion with her mother—his estranged daughter. It had been the mostremarkable turn of fortune, revealing a history Lavinia had been entirely unaware of.
