Page 65 of A Mayfair Maid

Marilee agreed.

“Marilee…” His use of her name, her true name, coaxed her gaze to return to his. “Do you know my first thought when we arrived at Blackwell house and you were nowhere to be found?”

She shook her head.

“I thought only that you must be in grave danger or worse dead and I scolded myself for having been too late. I blamed myself wholly. When I got the letter that said they were moving at once, I rushed over to be here when you were freed, to be sure you were not accused of being in league with these villains. I hadn’t had the time to tell the others who you were for they had already begun. Then, you weren’t there, and I felt… lost.”

“Peggy and I climbed out a window amidst the chaos thinking that they were rounding us up in an attempt to hide their misdeeds,” she explained. “We had no idea that it was a rescue. Peggy and I were certain that we were to meet our end, not our freedom.”

“When I saw you safe.” He brushed his fingers through the curls at her shoulder. “Any thought to be cross with you was the furthest thing from my mind. All I felt was pure joy and relief. It is still all that I feel. I could not lose another, since my wife…” He trailed off.

“Yes, your wife,” Marilee coaxed an explanation.

“She died,” he said. “The influenza. We had gone to visit my family. We should have stayed away. The influenza wracked Northwickshire in the winter past.”

“I remember,” Marilee said. “We all had friends and relatives who died. So, what Lady Lydia said. It was a lie. I expected as much.”

“Not exactly,” he said. “I will have no secrets between us, if you will allow me to tell you.”

Marilee nodded.

He seemed to steel himself for the memories. “She was coughing so much and so hard. She had no rest. With every breath, she was coughing up blood and phlegm and could barely breathe. She was suffering so! I only wanted to give her some rest.” He spoke barely above a whisper. “My brother was so busy; I took over her care. After I dosed her, she seemed to quiet. Sleep. I—I thought she would recover. She seemed better. Rest is what she needed; you see. She could not rest with all the coughing…” Tears filled his eyes. He seemed to be begging Marilee to understand.

“You loved her,” she said.

He nodded miserably. “I should have sat with her, and held her hand. I should have been there, but I fell asleep. In the morning she was dead.”

“Many died from the influenza,” Marilee comforted.

“But did she?” he asked, guilt-ridden. “Did she die of the influenza or the cure I gave her?”

“She is at rest now,” Marilee said, gathering him into her arms and letting him feel her acceptance and support.

At last, he spoke again. “Afterwards, I went back to London. I spent every farthing on herbs to help the poor. I drove myself into debt and did not care what happened to me. I think I wanted to assuage my guilt, by curing those I could cure.”

“There is no guilt,” Marilee said absently stroking his hair. “Sometimes, people are called home precipitously, and we here on earth must just wonder what Divine plan took them from us. I lost both of my parents when I was young. So many times, I have asked why?”

“Did you find an answer?” he asked.

“Only that it is not ours to know.”

“Perhaps the loss of your parents made you stronger,” he supplied.

She did not answer.

“I think she would have liked you,” he added. “She would want me to begin again. To live. Perhaps you were put in my path to shake me out of my melancholia.”

“And Lady Lydia?” Marilee asked.

“Even the devil has to bow to God’s plan,” he added, and Marilee laughed.

“She is the devil,” she replied.

“And you are my angel,” he said tucking a curl behind her ear.

“I am no angel,” she said.

“But do you care for me, as I do you?” he asked as if too afraid to hope.

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