The Brynthwaite Boys

Episode Four – A Grand To-Do

Flossie

Let it never be said that Flossie Stowe did not take her responsibilities seriously. She took them very seriously, even when those responsibilities were of a unique and peculiar nature.

“You can’t tell, can you?” Jason Throckmorton asked her as he stood in front of the tall mirror in his bedroom, tucking his shirt into his trousers.

“Not at all,” Flossie assured him. She reached into his wardrobe and selected a midnight blue waistcoat with scarlet worked through it. “No one would think it the least bit peculiar for you to sneak up to your room to bathe and change clothes for the opening ceremonies this evening.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I came up here for, is it.” He sent her a frank, almost comically concerned look through the mirror, fitting his suspenders over his shoulders. “And not that waistcoat. I want to wear the black one.”

Flossie shook her head. “The black is too somber for a hotel opening. The blue is stronger, and the touch of scarlet suggests boldness.”

“All right, all right then.” He brushed away his defeated objections with a nervous wave of his hand. He studied himself in the mirror as Flossie held the waistcoat up from behind for him to shrug into. “And you’re certain that no one saw you slip up here behind me?”

“No one,” she said, leaving him to do up the buttons of his waistcoat. She stepped around him to fetch his newest coat, freshly back from the cleaners, from where it was draped over the arm of the chair. “I was upstairs helping guests. They’ve been arriving in droves this afternoon.” She treated him to an excited grin in the mirror.

Jason—she should really still be thinking of him as Mr. Throckmorton, but she just couldn’t, not after everything they’d shared in the past week—broke into an excited grin of his own, his eyes flashing like a child on Christmas morn.

“It’s finally happening,” he sighed with satisfaction.

He turned to his wardrobe and selected a maroon cravat from the rack of neck-ware, arranged by color. Halfway through looping it around his neck, he faced Flossie and raised his eyebrows, asking for her opinion. Flossie nodded in approval at his choice. He resumed tying the cravat.

“It doesn’t matter how many hotels I have or how many openings I’ve been to, each one is thrilling. But this one more than all the others combined.”

“Oh?” Flossie crossed to Jason’s bureau, selecting a pin for his cravat, then walking it over to hand to him. “What’s so special about this one?”

“I’m home,” he said with passion. “I left Brynthwaite twenty years ago, an orphan and a near pauper, forced to learn business any way I could and to claw my way to the top, and I am returning a conquering hero, a self-made man, someone to look up to.”

The pride with which he addressed himself in the mirror tickled Flossie and brightened the smile on her face. She liked Jason. She liked everything about him, from his cherished pride to his quick mind to his bold attitude toward life. She even liked his crippling insecurity and his inability to sit still for five minutes on end. It made him more human somehow. He may have lashed himself with the whip of self-loathing before and after each time he took her into his bed to relieve himself, but Flossie liked him even more for every one of those encounters. They made him heartbreakingly vulnerable, which made her feel as though she had a purpose far more important than any labor she’d ever done.

And it didn’t hurt that he had a fine, pleasing body that, contrary to what he had attested that first night, he did know how to use to pleasure a woman. She may not have lost herself in ecstasy with him yet, but the potential was most definitely there.

“Flossie.”

“Hmm?” She shook herself out of her heated thoughts, cheeks reddening.

Jason fixed her with a stare that told her he knew where her mind had gone and wasn’t sure he approved. It wasn’t difficult to read her, seeing as her gaze had rested on his unmade bed, sheets still bunched from their recent activity.

“My coat.”

With a bold grin that told him he was in on her secret and that she enjoyed it, she held up his coat. He shrugged into it, fitting it over his shoulders. Flossie brushed those shoulders and the back, then moved to stand in front of him, doing up his buttons.

“How do I look?” Jason asked, stepping back and both surveying himself in the mirror and glancing hopefully to her.

“Perfect,” Flossie answered.

“No…bulges?”

She stepped closer to him, laying a hand on his cheek. “Of course not. There shouldn’t be for hours after that.” Her glance flickered to the bed.

He met her eyes with a sheepish grin. Sheepish was a huge improvement from ashamed or pained, where they had been a week ago.

“It’s a good thing I picked out uniforms for my staff with high collars,” he said, raising a hand and touching the line of Flossie’s jaw for only a second. “It’ll hide that mark.”

He arched a brow with a look that was somewhere between proud and scolding, possibly even teasing. Indeed, she did have a rather large red spot lower on her neck, but that was from the night before. The fact that he could tease her about it—even if that light-heartedness evaporated in seconds, only to be replaced by renewed anxiety—was good.

“It all comes down to this,” he said, turning square to the mirror and standing straight. “The final test.”

“The final test this time,” Flossie corrected him. She took a moment to check her own appearance and, satisfied that she was put-together straight, let out a breath. “Well, I’d better leave first and get back to work.”

“Yes, you better had.” Jason nodded, resuming his businesslike exterior.

“You’ll do fine, sir,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Everything will run smoothly, you’ll see.”

He sent her a look that was heavy with doubt. Flossie found herself wanting to kiss his cheek, the way she would with a friend or a loved one. She swallowed that impulse and let go of his arm, reminding herself that he was her employer and turning to march out of the room. She’d made her decision to help Jason Throckmorton with the assumption that they could each get what they needed from the arrangement as coolly and impartially as every encounter she’d had with male staff members at Crestmont Grange, but there was nothing cool or impartial about the cordiality that had existed between her and Jason from the start.

She told herself that it was best not to think about it too much as she stepped discreetly out of his apartment and into the upstairs hall. Within seconds, she didn’t have time to think about anything but work.

“You there.” One of the guests flagged her down from the doorway to his room the moment she turned around.

“Yes, sir?” Flossie walked quickly down the hall to his door. “How can I help you?”

“What are these infernal things all about the room?” He asked, his grey moustache and whiskers quivering.

“Which infernal things are you referring to?” She returned his question with a polite smile.

“These!” The man stepped aside and gestured to the room’s electric lights.

“Oh,” Flossie laughed. “Those are electric lights, sir.”

“Well, I don’t want them,” the man said. “Can I be shown to a room without ’em?”

“I’m afraid you’ll find that all of the rooms at The Dragon’s Head are equipped with the latest in modern technology, sir.”

“But what about the danger of electrocution?” the man continued to quiver. “Is it safe to touch the walls?”

“Very safe, sir, I can assure you,” she answered with a smile.

Down the hall behind her, Jason’s door opened, and he stepped out. To all appearances, he didn’t even see her as he shut the door behind him and strode on to the stairs, but Flossie sensed his awareness of her. She was glad to already be smiling at the hotel guest, for at that moment she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep herself from smiling at the thought of him.

“Well, if you say they’re safe,” the guest grumbled. He waved Flossie away and shut the door to his room.

Flossie turned and headed back up the hall toward the stairs. When she reached the junction of the building’s two wings, just outside of Jason’s door, Dora rushed toward her from the other hallway.

“Flossie, there you are,” Dora said in a rush. “Do you have any idea where the guest bathrobes are kept?” she continued in a whisper.

Flossie glanced past Dora’s shoulder to find a young woman peeping out into the hallway, only her head and bare shoulders showing, hair in disarray.

“They’re in the linen closet at the end of the hall, third shelf down, folded on the right side,” she told Dora.

Dora let out a breath. “Thank heavens. You’re a life-saver!”

As Dora pivoted and scurried back down the hall to her guest, Flossie continued on, heading downstairs to the lobby.

A short line of guests stood at the concierge’s desk, waiting to check in. Behind them, the door to the dining room was closed. Mad preparations were probably going on behind it. The hotel opening was set to consist of a reception in the garden at five o’clock, followed by a formal supper at half past six. Then the guests would retire to the garden again as the sun set to see the fantastical electric lights that Jason had had installed. That was, of course, simply an excuse to shoo guests out of the dining room so that the staff could break their necks to transform it into a ballroom, complete with a small orchestra. Jason was giving them twenty minutes to make the change. Flossie was determined to execute it within fifteen. Once set, the guests would be invited back in for a ball that would, if all went well, be the crowning glory of the day’s festivities.

If they could pull it off. The clock in the lobby was just about to strike four.

“Oh no, no, no. I specifically asked for a room with a view of the lake.” A middle-aged gentleman had his nose turned up as he addressed Samuel at the desk.

“It says here that you’ve reserved a garden room,” Samuel told him.

Flossie started toward the desk, but the dining room door cracked open, and the new head cook peeked out. She was a middle-aged woman, as round as she was tall. Her hair was hidden by a white cap similar to the one Flossie wore. The cook gestured to Flossie, and she changed directions to go to her.

“What is it, Mrs. Wood?” Flossie whispered, checking over her shoulder to be sure none of the guests took notice of her.

“There’s been a mishap with the ovens,” Mrs. Wood murmured, lips hardly moving.

Flossie’s heart caught in her throat. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. At least Jason was nowhere in earshot. She’d keep this from him if she could.

“What mishap?” Flossie asked.

“That flighty little kitchen maid, Nan, was flirting with that bellboy, Frank. She was so wrapped up in talking to him, that she forgot to add more fuel to the fire, and one of the ovens went out. It was some time before we discovered the problem.”

Flossie searched the lobby for young Frank. He was there, or rather halfway up the stairs with suitcases under each arm, a stately couple following behind.

“Then there must be some sort of mistake,” the man at the desk was still arguing with Samuel.

“I am very sorry, sir, but there is not,” Samuel replied. His back was ramrod straight and he wore a perfectly serene expression, but he was flushed.

Flossie turned back to Mrs. Wood. “Have the ovens been lit now?”

“Yes, they have, and everything that needs to be put in is in. But it’ll mean a delay of at least fifteen minutes come supper time,” she said.

“Good. It’s the best we can do,” Flossie said.

“Shouldn’t Mr. Throckmorton be told?” Mrs. Wood asked. “Where is the man anyhow?”

“I’m not sure,” Flossie said, “but I’ll find him and tell him.” Or not. Mrs. Wood didn’t need to know that.

She gave Flossie a quick, sly smile. “I know who truly keeps this clock ticking. Mr. Throckmorton was a smart one to give you the responsibility he’s given you.”

A sliver of alarm zinged down Flossie’s back. The more she stood out, the more people would be inclined to ask questions. The more they asked questions, the more Jason risked embarrassment. Then again, she didn’t have it in her to hold back when someone handed her the reins and said go.

She gave Mrs. Wood a smile, then both of them turned to get on with things. Flossie crossed back to the stairs and called up, “Frank.”

“Yes, ma’am?” Frank paused nearly at the top to glance over his shoulder.

“Come talk to me later.”

She didn’t frown or speak harshly, but Frank blushed and said, “Yes, ma’am.” At least he knew what he would be told off for.

When Flossie turned to head to the desk, Samuel was staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“I am most certain that I reserved a room with a lake view.” The gentleman was still at it.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” the older woman in line behind him huffed. “The brochure says that all rooms have an exquisite view. Can’t you just take what you’re given?”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the ruffled gentleman said.

“What seems to be the trouble here?” Flossie approached the desk.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, Flossie,” Samuel said, addressing her like he was her better.

Flossie responded with a bright smile, even if she did want to give Samuel a look as sour as his own. The gentleman grabbed at his chance to get someone else on his side.

“I’ve been given the wrong room,” he said, even as he looked her up and down, then wrinkled his nose as if concluding she was just another lowly maid. “This upstart won’t fix things.”

“Let’s just see what we can do for you, sir.” Flossie walked around the desk, took a look at the reservation book, then said, “Ah. We are all booked up for the weekend, sir, but perhaps we can do a little finagling for you.” To Samuel she said in a soft voice, “See, if you just switch the guest in room fourteen for—”

“Excuse me,” Samuel snapped at her. “Who went and made you queen of the castle?”

Flossie lost her smile. “I’m just saying that—”

“Mr. Throckmorton, sir.” Samuel raised his voice and glanced around the guests waiting at the desk.

Flossie turned to see Jason striding in through the open door from the garden. He cut a fine figure in his suit, the sunlight surrounding him. It only took one look at the line growing longer at the desk for him to lose the pleasant smile he wore.

“What’s all this?” He strode across the lobby to the desk.

“Just a bit of a misunderstanding about room assignments, sir,” Samuel said with a serpentine smile, turning his venom on Flossie. “Which for some reason, Flossie here seems to feel the need to take on herself.”

Flossie held her breath as Jason met her eyes. Without blinking and without hesitation, he said, “Samuel is the concierge. Let him do his job and you do yours.”

The sting of his dismissal brought a flush to Flossie’s cheeks. “Yes, sir,” she murmured, stepping away from the desk.

She made it a few steps away before Jason stopped her with, “Flossie, I’ll see you in my office.”

She froze, then turned and walked meekly back behind the desk. Samuel gave her a smug smirk, as though she was in trouble, as she passed him and crossed through the open door to stand in Jason’s office.

“What seems to be the problem?” Jason asked, his voice calm and businesslike.

“I booked a lake-view room, but I wasn’t given one,” the gentleman at the desk said, as if exhausted from explaining so many times.

“I’m sorry, your name sir?” Jason asked him.

“Kent. Percival Kent.”

“Ah yes.” There was a pause. Through the doorway, Flossie watched Jason lean over the reservation book. “Samuel, give Mr. Kent room fourteen. We’ll move the guest due to occupy that room to room twenty.”

Around the corner, out of Samuel’s sight, Flossie grinned in victory, especially when Samuel muttered, “Yes, sir.”

“I do hope you will enjoy your stay here, sir,” Jason said to the guest, then turned to stride into the office. “As for you….” He shut the door.

As soon as it was closed, he let out a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, posture melting as he leaned toward her. “I had to be hard on you. It is Samuel’s job to handle the bookings.”

“I know,” Flossie sighed. “And you weren’t any harder on me than was right.”

“I just don’t want any of the staff to get it in their heads that I’m giving you favorable treatment,” he went on, worry clouding his brow.

“Sir, you’ve already given me increased responsibility. Not a soul has questioned that.”

“Because they know you are competent, and it makes sense to them that I would rely on you,” he finished her thought. “But I don’t want to let it go any further than that.”

“No inviting questions,” she agreed.

“Exactly.”

She nodded, her smile returning. He met and held her eyes with sudden affection, breaking into a smile. The understanding between them was intact.

“Now have the good sense to look chastised,” he said in a low voice that held far more heat than it should have.

“I will, sir,” she replied, on the verge of breaking into giggles.

She could tell by the look in his eye that those giggles would be contagious. He forced and frown and said, “Stop it.”

She curtsied and assumed an air of being put in her place. “Yes, sir.”

By the time Jason opened the door and shooed her out, anyone who had been in the lobby would have assumed that Flossie has just been given a dressing down. Samuel’s grin had grown even more smug, and he practically crowed as Flossie scurried out from around the desk and headed for the stairs.

“Rev. Albright.”

Jason’s cheery greeting stopped Flossie where she was between the stairs and the front door. Dora was on her way down, and the two of them turned to watch as Jason strode across the lobby to meet an unassuming older man who had just stepped over the threshold. Flossie had never seen Jason’s eyes light up quite like that. It dropped at least ten years from his age and sent her heart racing.

“Rev. Albright, you made it.” He reached the man and took his hand, pumping it enthusiastically.

“Young Jason,” Rev. Albright returned the greeting with a wide smile. “Look at you, dressed so fine and acting the gentleman.”

“I’m not quite the rascal you pushed out the door of the Brynthwaite orphanage all those years ago, am I?” Jason stood tall and proud, then instantly dropped the pose for cordial informality.

“Lor, who’s he?” Dora whispered in Flossie’s ear.

Flossie shrugged, beyond curious.

“I was surprised to get your invitation,” Rev. Albright went on. “A fussy old man like me.”

“Nonsense,” Jason said. “There’s no one else I would rather have with me on this grand day, Rev. Albright. You were practically a father to me growing up.” He sent the briefest of looks to Flossie.

Flossie got the message. Jason wanted her to know this man was important to her. Warmth spread through her chest.

“Thank you, my boy, but I’m not a reverend anymore, you know,” Rev. Albright said, lowering his voice.

Jason made a face and a noise as though dismissing the suggestion. “You’ll always be a man deserving the highest respect to me. I could never think of you as anything less. Come. Lawrence and Marshall should be here any moment. I’m certain they’d love to see you again.”

Jason escorted not-Rev. Albright back outside. Flossie heard him continue their conversation, but couldn’t make out the words.

“What do you suppose that means?” Dora asked as the two of them headed upstairs.

“What what means?”

“That he’s not a reverend anymore,” Dora said. “I thought that once you were a reverend, you were a reverend forever.”

“I guess not.” Flossie shrugged.

“And that about Mr. Throckmorton not wanting to think any less of him. What do you suppose happened?”

Flossie laughed. “Why should anything have happened?”

“I dunno. It seems odd to me,” Dora went on.

They reached the top of the stairs. Flossie spotted Frank halfway down the hall, rushing back with empty hands.

“I’ll tell you what seems odd to me,” Flossie said, raising her voice a bit. “Bellboys who flirt with the kitchen maids until both of them forget their duties.”

Frank turned bright red. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again, ma’am.”

“You’d better see that it doesn’t,” she scolded him, not unkindly. Frank tipped his hat as he rushed past her and downstairs, and Flossie turned to Dora. “Now we’d better finish checking the remaining rooms before all the guests arrive.”

Matty

Stepping through the gate into the front garden of The Dragon’s Head hotel was like stepping into a world that Matty had only ever dreamed about. Even without her memory, she was certain that nothing had ever looked so fine. The flagstone path leading from the arched gateway to the hotel’s door was lined with flowerbeds that were packed with bright purples and pinks, and accented by shades of yellow and gold. Rose bushes lined the walks closer to the hotel, curving around the building’s two wings to beckon guests into a world that was like something from a fairy story. A tall, white gazebo sat in the center of the back garden, a group of musicians playing cheerful music to entertain the gathering guests.

“I made that trellis over there.” Lawrence pointed to a gorgeous, high trellis, climbing with roses. There were roses and leaves worked into the design, so that Matty wasn’t sure where nature ended and art began. But that was Lawrence’s way. “Jason told me to make something that would inspire his guests to consider having a marriage ceremony at the hotel.”

“How romantic,” she sighed.

Lawrence laughed. “Far from it. He knows just how much money there is to be made by hosting a full wedding party. Jason is the shrewdest businessman I know.” He paused, steering her around an older couple who stood in the middle of the path, staring up at the slope of the hill to the upper garden, where guests could look out over the hotel to take in a view of the lake. “I suppose Jason had to be as shrewd as they come to start out with nothing and end up with so much.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Matty said. The statement was next door to ridiculous. She wasn’t sure she had ever thought of much before.

They continued through the back garden, climbing the stairs to the observation deck.

“I made those as well,” Lawrence said, pointing to short poles with hooks on top through which strands of electric lights were woven. There were electric lights all throughout the garden, and once the sun had gone down, they would get to see the spectacle of a lights show.

From the wide, flat stand of land carved into the hill about a story above the roof of the hotel, the view was spectacular. At that height, Matty looked down not only into the entirety of the hotel garden, but into the town as well. And directly in front of the hotel was a view of the lake that was so breathtaking in its beauty that she pressed a hand to her chest. The late afternoon sun sparkled off of the lake’s still water. Beyond that, on the other side, hills rose up to a blue sky.

“What a spectacular view,” one of the other guests voiced the thoughts Matty was having.

The woman was young and regal, and dressed in a gown of lace over some soft violet fabric. Her hair was done up in the latest fashion. Matty found herself patting her own hair, wondering if it was up to scratch. She had it done up in a simple style with just a ribbon for ornament. Her dress, though newly made from the fabric Lawrence had bought her, was simple as well. Next to the majority of the other guests, she looked as though she might have escaped from the kitchen rather than having walked through the front door with an invitation.

“What’s that look for?” Lawrence asked, taking her hand and drawing it into his arm. He strolled along the edge of the upper garden with her to one of the side paths that circled down around the edge of the property to the lower garden.

“Nothing,” Matty sighed. “I’m just admiring all of the fine people who have come out tonight along with the fine view.”

Lawrence chuckled. “Coming up short?”

She didn’t answer out of bashfulness. She had no right to complain about her clothes or her hair or anything at all considering the state she’d been in two weeks ago. Besides, Lawrence was dressed just as simply. His clothes were clean, but they were just trousers and a shirt with a vest. He even had his sleeves rolled up, as if going on a stroll in the woods instead of to the event of the summer. He stood out amongst the crowd of men buttoned tight in suits and squeezed into shiny shoes as the most handsome and relaxed man in attendance.

Matty’s cheeks burned at the thought of Lawrence as handsome. Facts were facts, but she couldn’t help but feel a warm stirring in her gut, knowing that she was on his arm. He’d been unfailingly kind to her these last two weeks. She’d slept in his bed, slept beside him, and not once had he crossed any lines. Even though she kept hoping….

“I think I see Mary Pycroft,” Matty said, her voice an uncomfortable squeak. She cleared her throat.

“Yes, that’s them,” Lawrence said.

“Mary was looking forward to the party tonight. All of the girls were,” she went on. She’d spent a few afternoons with the Pycroft girls in the last week, much to the gratitude of Dr. Pycroft who had used it as an excuse to send the aunt from London packing. Matty suspected that wasn’t the last they would see of that aunt, though.

“Do you want to go down and meet them?” Lawrence asked.

“Yes, please.”

Unlike the stairs that led straight up from the hotel’s back garden and the gazebo, the side path—and it’s twin on the hotel’s opposite side—arched gradually around, carved into the hillside and planted with flowers, shrubs, and trees to mimic wilderness. It was like a grand, double stairway in some estate’s front hall, only blended so perfectly with nature that it seemed as though God Himself had designed it. Lawrence seemed in no hurry to make the descent, even though Dr. Pycroft had caught his eye and nodded to him. Matty didn’t mind his leisure. She rather liked the feeling of her arm in his.

The side path let out through a small arbor, under branches of fruit trees that had been planted to create a short tunnel effect. From there, a flagstone path led back toward the hotel’s front door. Lawrence and Matty were no more than a few feet along the path when Mr. Throckmorton came striding toward them with an older gentleman by his side.

“Rev. Albright,” Lawrence exclaimed before Mr. Throckmorton drew near enough to introduce the man. Lawrence’s whole face broke into a mask of joy. He broke away from Matty to meet him. “This is a surprise.”

“Lawrence,” the older man, Rev. Albright, said. He picked up his pace to grasp Lawrence’s hand. “It’s good to see you, looking as much like the wild thing that you are as I expected.”

Rather than just taking the man’s hand, Lawrence pulled him into an embrace. Matty blinked at the overflow of affection and glanced around. Indeed, a few people were watching the meeting with curiosity.

Lawrence let go of Rev. Albright and turned to Mr. Throckmorton. “You didn’t tell me you’d invited Rev. Albright.”

“I couldn’t reveal all my surprises now, could I?” Mr. Throckmorton replied with a conspiratorial wink. Lawrence’s smile widened at the wink and he paused to study his friend.

“I should remind both of you that it’s not Reverend anymore,” Rev. Albright smiled. “Just Mr. Albright now.”

“And a crying shame that is too,” Lawrence said with a sudden fit of frustration.

Rev.—Mr. Albright shrugged. “Who am I to question the hand of fate? My secrets were all uncovered, before God and man. I have none now, and that in itself is a relief.”

“But still,” Lawrence went on, frustration clear in his expression. “To be deprived of your livelihood for such a petty and insignificant reason.”

“We shouldn’t talk of this,” Mr. Throckmorton said with a somber expression, lowering his voice.

“I agree,” Mr. Albright followed. “This is a night for celebration, not remorse. And I have not been left without a livelihood.”

“No?” Lawrence asked.

“No. I own a small shop up Grasmere way, a garden shop, actually. I sell—”

You’re worth nothing, Mathilda Wright. You’re just a jumped up shop girl who can’t keep her tongue where it belongs. Well, young missy, I’ll show you how a tongue should be used. And if you’re not grateful for it, I’ll cut that tongue right out of your head. What’s this? I’ll have no back-talking from you, you little wench, or your mother. You’re a sorry pair, the both of you. Filth that don’t deserve to be treated any better than—

“Matty? Matty?”

With a gasp, Matty snapped out of her memory. She wasn’t sure how long it had had her in its clutches. In the space of what could have been a few seconds or an hour, she’d gone cold. Her heart trembled in her chest, and her stomach flopped over itself, but along with that, the long-gone ache of blows and bruises flared. Beside that, the faint remembrance of heat, desperation, and a scream that faded away, fell back into the mist with the rest of her memory.

“Matty, love, are you all right?”

She didn’t realize that Lawrence had closed his arm around her until she caught the strange look of one of the hotel’s other guests.

“Oh dear,” she breathed, righting herself and pushing away from Lawrence. As comforting as his arms were, it wasn’t seemly for him to hold her at such a public gathering. “I felt faint for a moment there.”

An awkward pause followed. Mr. Albright’s brow was furrowed as he glanced from Matty to Lawrence to Jason.

“Forgive me, Rev. Albright, this is Matty, a friend who has been staying with me these last few weeks. “Matty, this is Rev. Albright. He was one of the staff at Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage when Jason, Marshall, and I were growing up there. Unlike the other staff members, he truly cared about us.”

“More folk than I cared about you boys, young Lawrence,” Mr. Albright said. “Though, if I recall, the three of you didn’t think much of anyone else.”

“We were young,” Jason brushed the censorious look Mr. Albright gave him away with a grin.

Mr. Albright turned to Matty. “And you said your name was Matty….”

Mathilda Wright. The name choked Matty into silence. Her throat closed up, banishing any hope she had of being able to repeat it.

“Matty came to me without a memory,” Lawrence explained. “I’ve been working on figuring out who she is.”

But not too intently, for which Matty was grateful. She was also grateful that the Pycroft family had found them and was walking down the path toward them en masse.

“Ah, Marshall,” Mr. Throckmorton turned to greet them. “I have a surprise for you.”

As Mary broke away from her father and skipped up to Matty’s side, Mr. Albright turned to face Dr. Pycroft. The mild expression that Dr. Pycroft wore turned into a reserved frown.

“Young Marshall,” Mr. Albright greeted him with a smile. “How good to see you. I was so sorry to hear about your wife.”

“Thank you, sir,” Marshall replied without emotion.

Matty’s worries dissolved into curiosity at the blankness of Dr. Pycroft’s expression and his cold attitude. She relished the chance to have something else to think about.

“Come now,” Jason said, shifting from foot to foot with the anxious look of a man who’s grand plans had gone awry. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Dr. Pycroft’s frown deepened and turned on Mr. Throckmorton. “Girls,” he said. “Why don’t you run off and take a look at the roses.”

Mr. Throckmorton huffed in exasperation.

“Yes, Papa,” Mary said, taking Martha’s hand.

“I’ll come with you,” Matty spoke up. She glanced to Lawrence. “That will give the men a chance to talk about old times without us.” In truth, it would give her a chance to get away from the strange feelings Mr. Albright riled in her. Something about him screamed danger.

Lawrence gave her a questioning look as she took Molly’s hand, but she returned that with a smile, heading off along the path with Mary and the others. She made sure they walked quickly to the other side of the hotel before Mr. Albright could worry her any further.

“Look at all the flowers,” Molly said, breathless, as they slowed their pace at the far side of the garden. “Have you ever seen anything so pretty in your life?”

“Papa said we could stay at the party all night,” Martha informed Matty.

Mary burst into an uncharacteristic smile. “He really did. We’re to stay for supper and the ball too.”

“Really?” Matty asked. “Even though you’re children?”

“Uncle Jason is my godfather,” Mary explained.

“He’s nice,” Martha added.

“He sent each of use special invitations, individually addressed,” Mary went on. “The little girls don’t remember, but when I was Martha’s age, we lived in London, and so did Uncle Jason. He would visit and take me out for ices.”

“How very kind.”

“Hello?” a soft, woman’s voice spoke from behind Matty.

Matty saw Mary frown just before turning to find a beautifully dressed woman, about twice as old as her, hurrying forward across the garden path. Her hair was caught up in the latest fashion, and she wore a smile that managed to put Matty on guard while still appearing lovely.

“Mrs. Crimpley,” Mary said. She curtsied and gestured for the younger girls to curtsy as well.

“H-hello, Miss Pycroft,” Mrs. Crimpley stuttered, as if nervous to be addressing such a young girl so formally. “I was wondering if I might talk to your…friend alone.”

Warning bells clamored in Matty’s head. Mary arched an eyebrow, and Matty had the feeling that her young friend would stick by her side to the gates of hell if she was asked to. Bolstered by that thought, Matty nodded, indicating it was all right for her to go. Mary took Martha and Molly’s hands and walked off, checking on Matty over her shoulder.

As soon as they were out of earshot, swallowed up by the growing, noisy crowd, Mrs. Crimpley said, “I’ve been so hoping to meet you…Matty is it?” She clasped her hands in front of her, her eyelids fluttering as though she was being put to a great test.

“Yes,” Matty said and bobbed a short curtsy. “Ma’am.”

“Oh, Mrs. Crimpley, please. No need to be that formal.”

“Mrs. Crimpley,” Matty repeated.

For an awkward moment, the two of them stood there, looking at each other.

At last, Mrs. Crimpley cleared her throat, refreshed her smile, and said, “My dear, I have been wondering. How do you like staying at the forge?”

“I like it very much, ma’am,” Matty answered. She didn’t like the question. It was deceptively simple.

“Oh.” Mrs. Crimpley seemed surprised. “You find the accommodations there…suitable?”

“They’re good enough for me, ma’am,” Matty said. “I don’t need much.”

Mrs. Crimpley pressed her lips together. “You don’t find them…cramped? Or…or overly…intimate?”

Yes, the woman was definitely fishing for something. “I am quite happy.”

Mrs. Crimpley took a breath and slid closer to her. “My dear, I have been greatly concerned for you since my husband told me the state in which you were found.”

Crimpley. Matty put the pieces together. This woman was the wife of the loud, frightening man who had come to the forge a week ago. Matty’s guard went up even higher. She kept silent, waiting for the woman to say her piece.

“It’s just that Mr. Smith has something of a reputation,” she went on, wringing her hands now.

“He has been very kind to me,” Matty said.

“Yes, well, my concern is that he will be too kind.” When Matty showed no reaction to the statement, Mrs. Crimpley inched closer still and lowered her voice further. “He’s…he’s a hedonist, you see.”

Prickles of worry raced down Matty’s spine. She didn’t like the way Mrs. Crimpley said the word, but since Matty didn’t know what it meant, she had no way of knowing if the woman was lying or revealing something she should be afraid of.

Mrs. Crimpley must have seen the lack of understanding in her eyes. She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “He’s not Christian.”

Pieces fit into place. “Yes,” she said. “He’s explained to me that he follows the older religion of times long past.”

Evidently, Mrs. Crimpley didn’t expect Matty to know about that. She opened her mouth in shock, blinked a few times, then shut it.

“Well…I…it would seem to me that knowing this, you would want to leave the forge at once,” she said.

“No, ma’am,” Matty told her. “I am quite content where I am.”

“But…but the man is a heathen. A gypsy. How could you possibly—”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Throckmorton called out. He had moved away from the conversation with his friends and was now standing at the top of the steps in front of the hotel’s open door. Someone had strung a thick, red ribbon across the entry. “Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please.”

As the crowd stopped milling around the garden and gathered between the hotel door and the gate, Matty spotted Lawrence striding easily toward her. He saw Mrs. Crimpley standing beside her, but his expression and posture betrayed no alarm. He must not have seen the woman as a threat.

“Excuse me,” Matty said with a smile.

She broke away from Mrs. Crimpley and headed toward Lawrence. The threat was passed for the moment, but an eerie tickle at the back of her neck told her the real confrontation was yet to come.

Alexandra

“Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please.”

“Oh bother. I told you we would be late because of you,” Lady Charlotte muttered as she shuffled Alex through the hotel’s front gate.

“We aren’t late at all, Aunt Charlotte,” Elizabeth said with a smile as bright as ever. “Why, Mr. Throckmorton has only just begun talking. We’re right on time.”

In fact, as soon as Mr. Throckmorton spotted the three of them slipping in through the gate at the last minute, his shoulders relaxed and his look of fierce command softened into a welcoming smile. He nodded to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was busy fussing with the hem of her gown, which had caught on one of the rose bushes. Alex sighed for the poor man.

“I would like to welcome you all to the grand opening celebration of The Dragon’s Head hotel,” Mr. Throckmorton went on. “It is a pleasure to be able to welcome so many from Brynthwaite and beyond to this very special achievement of mine. I may have lived the past twenty years of my life in London, but with the opening of The Dragon’s Head, I have come home.”

Alex thought Mr. Throckmorton rather liked the sound of his own voice. He had a lovely, sonorous bass, but she wasn’t in the least bit interested in a thing he had to say. She had been forced into attending this useless display of wealth and circumstance. If she’d had any chance at all of getting out of it, if there was any justice in the world, she would be at the hospital right now, tucking the resident patients into bed and making sure they would last through the night. They needed her careful attendance far more than her mother did.

“…but no efforts bring with them such an amount of satisfaction as those we endeavor for at home,” Mr. Throckmorton spoke on.

Alex lifted to her toes, searching the crowd for the friendly face of Dr. Pycroft. Marshall was like a brother to Mr. Throckmorton, so he would surely be front and center.

“Alexandra,” her mother hissed through clenched teeth. “You will stand still like a lady.”

Alex huffed out a breath and rocked back to her feet. “I’ll thank you not to treat me like a child, mother.”

“And I’ll thank you not to act like one,” Lady Charlotte snapped.

Alex pressed her lips together and ignored her. She caught Elizabeth’s eye as she searched the back of the assembled crowd. Elizabeth made a face at Lady Charlotte, which caused Alex to break into laughter. At least she wasn’t entirely alone. Better still, she spotted Marshall over to one side of the assembly. His daughters were with him, as was Mr. Smith and the mysterious woman, Matty.

“And so, without further ado,” Mr. Throckmorton wrapped up his speech, “I invite you all to come inside for supper.” He turned and cut the ribbon blocking the doorway with a large pair of scissors that had materialized out of thin air, for all Alex was paying attention.

Lady Charlotte turned to face Alex with a sharp stare. “You will behave yourself at supper. You will be cordial to your fellow guests and refrain from boring them with talk of medicine.”

Alex’s only reply was to meet her mother’s stare with one of her own. She knew enough by now to know that what her mother was truly saying was that if any eligible young men were thrown her way, Alex had a moral obligation to appear as acquiescent and charming to them as was humanly possible. Well, they would just see about that.

“It is a very grand hotel,” Elizabeth said, taking Alex’s arm. Whether it was a show of camaraderie or an extension of Lady Charlotte’s insistence that Alex behave, Alex wasn’t sure. She decided to give her cousin the benefit of the doubt. “When I was here last week for tea, I was heartily impressed. Mr. Throckmorton has spared no expense in creating an oasis in the wilderness that is the height of luxury.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Alex replied, following the press of the crowd as they funneled into the hotel. “One does wonder why he would build such a hotel in Brynthwaite, of all places. Isn’t a bit out of the way for such opulence?”

“Of course not,” Lady Charlotte huffed. “Holidays at the lakes are all the rage right now. Mr. Throckmorton has foresight and initiative. I find him to be quite brilliant.” As she finished her praise, a light of inspiration lifted her features. She turned to Alex with a wide smile.

“No, mother,” Alex said. “His interests lie elsewhere.”

Immediately, Lady Charlotte’s face fell. “True.”

Alex peeked at Elizabeth raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that, Alexandra Dyson,” Elizabeth said as they climbed the broad front steps and entered the hotel’s high-ceilinged lobby. “I have done nothing to encourage him.”

“Why not?” Alex teased her. “He’s rich enough, and he’s quite handsome.”

“Mmm.” Elizabeth gave a noncommittal hum, but couldn’t say more. Mr. Throckmorton was waiting for them at the entrance to the dining room.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said with a gracious brow. “How delightful to see that you’ve arrived.”

A hint of impatience about the man as he rose and greeted Lady Charlotte and Alex gave Alex the feeling that he was scolding her cousin for being late rather than welcoming her.

“It’s all so magnificent,” Elizabeth replied to him with a cheery smile. She let go of Alex’s arm and moved smoothly to take Mr. Throckmorton’s when he offered it. Elizabeth may not have considered the ambitious hotelier to be a serious suitor, but she wasn’t above being seen on the arm of the man of the hour when it suited her.

The dining room was as impressive as Elizabeth had reported it to be. Its high ceilings were inlaid with gold-toned wood, and the half dozen electric chandeliers that illuminated it gave the room the feel of something out of a fairy tale. Paired with the wood, the light-rose wallpaper, flecked with gold, and the tall, wide windows lent an airy feel to the space. Dozens of round tables draped with white cloths and adorned with spreading arrangements of flowers and shining table-settings made Alex feel as though she had walked into a royal feast. The scent of rich food hung in the air as well, unusual, but decidedly appealing. A row of hotel staff lined one wall, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice if needed, while a few other, key staff members in black uniforms, the women with crisp white aprons and caps, moved discretely amongst the tables, helping guests to find their seats.

“I stand corrected,” Alex murmured, glancing around at the splendor of it all.

“What’s that, my dear?” her mother asked.

“Nothing,” Alex said aloud, but inwardly, Mr. Throckmorton had just risen immeasurably in Alex’s esteem from social-climber to genius. He’d created a small miracle in the form of a hotel. The awed murmurs and comments of the other guests only confirmed that opinion. Had she thought that Brynthwaite had nothing that would draw tourists to visit? She was wrong. The Dragon’s Head was the attraction. Mr. Throckmorton was brilliant. He must also have been wealthier than her wildest imaginings.

“I’ve taken the liberty of seating you and your family at my table,” the man himself said, leading Lady Elizabeth to a table in the very heart of the room. “It would be an honor to have the most notable personage of the county dine with me on such an eventful evening.” He moved to hold a chair out for Elizabeth.

“You are too kind, Mr. Throckmorton,” Elizabeth said, sinking into the chair as gracefully as a fairy queen taking possession of her castle.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Throckmorton,” Alex said with far more magnanimity when he held out a chair for her at Elizabeth’s side, and then her mother to her other side.

“It is my pleasure,” Mr. Throckmorton replied. He had eyes only for Elizabeth though, and Elizabeth played her part with relish.

Alex’s smile grew tight with suspicion over her cousin’s behavior. She was enjoying the attention lavished on her too much. If she had any grace at all, she wouldn’t lead poor Mr. Throckmorton along, like a girl promising a schoolboy a lock of her hair if he carried her books. It was almost a relief when Mr. Throckmorton straightened and glanced away from Elizabeth for a moment, his gaze landing on one of the maids helping guest finds their seats.

Within a few minutes, the majority of the guests had taken their seats. Alex quickly surveyed their table to judge what she was up against. Mr. Throckmorton took a seat on Elizabeth’s other side, and an older gentleman with grey hair sat beside him. As Mayor Crimpley and his wife joined them at the table, Mr. Throckmorton introduced the grey-haired gentleman.

“Mayor Crimpley, do you remember Rev. Albright?”

To Alex’s surprise, the mayor spared only a curt nod for Rev. Albright and said, “I do.” He then switched places with her wife, moving her away from the reverend and taking the seat beside the man himself, but scooting his chair as far away as he could. A startled Mrs. Crimpley was forced to take a seat on her husband’s other side, next to a man who couldn’t have been much older than Alex, but who was dressed in a fine suite and had his hair neatly parted and combed.

Mr. Throckmorton covered the mayor’s rudeness by pushing on with, “And I’m not sure if you have made the acquaintance of Lord Ramsey.” He gestured to the gentleman across the table.

“Lord Ramsey?” Lady Charlotte perked up. “No, no I don’t believe we have met.”

The lord in question had the unfortunate honor of sitting at Lady Charlotte’s side.

“How do you do, madam,” Lord Ramsey nodded to Lady Charlotte, then on to Alex. His smile widened when he glanced on to Elizabeth.

Mr. Throckmorton tensed. “Lord Ramsey holds an estate on the other side of the Brynswater, a few miles north,” he said. “Lady Elizabeth represents her father, Lord Dyson, Earl of Thornwell in matters of importance.”

“Oh?” Lord Ramsey said. “I’ve heard the name, of course, but I never imagined.”

“My daughter, Lady Alexandra Dyson,” Lady Charlotte jumped in before the very mention of Elizabeth could steal all of Lord Ramsey’s attention, “is newly moved to Cumbria. Perhaps you could educate her about the charms of the county.”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” Lord Ramsey said with an over-wide smile.

Oh lord, Alexandra sighed. As supper was served by the hotel’s quick but slightly baffled-looking staff, Alex was forced to keep a smile on her face. Lord Ramsey rambled on to her about fishing and hunting and the joys of country life. She would have given anything to be allowed to eat her excellent supper in peace, but every time Lord Ramsey wrapped up one topic of conversation and attempted to engage Mrs. Crimpley on his other side, Lady Charlotte would bring up another topic and snag the gentleman’s attention all over again. Fishing indeed.

By the time Elizabeth nudged her under the table, Alex was exhausted from pretending to find the man interesting.

Elizabeth leaned close and whispered, “Be my second.”

“In what?” Alex asked.

“I’m about to go to battle with Mayor Crimpley.”

“Don’t you already have a valiant knight sitting on your other side?” Alex teased.

Elizabeth giggled. Mr. Throckmorton didn’t notice. He was looking the other way, surveying his staff to make sure the event was being carried off without a hitch, no doubt. His mouth twitched when one of the maids, the same one as earlier, met his eyes for a moment.

“I need someone who can argue the point,” Elizabeth whispered on.

“What point?”

Elizabeth sat straighter, cleared her throat, and sent her full attention across the table. “Mayor Crimpley.”

Conversation at the table stopped. The mayor glanced up from his meal as though Elizabeth had fired a warning shot. Mr. Throckmorton’s attention snapped back to Elizabeth.

“Mayor Crimpley,” Elizabeth launched her offensive, “I should like to bring up the topic of the Main and River Street intersection with you.”

The mayor paled. “Lady Elizabeth, I have assured you that every effort is being made to look into the matter.”

“What’s this?” Lord Ramsey asked.

He gave Elizabeth just the opening she needed. “We have a dreadful intersection in the center of town, Lord Ramsey. It is a terrible hazard, and two weeks ago a woman was killed there. She was struck down by a speeding carriage that had no thought for the traffic in Brynthwaite or the lives that he was putting in danger.”

“Lady Elizabeth, perhaps a celebration supper, such as this, is not the time nor the place to bring up such grave matters,” Mayor Crimpley said, moustache quivering.

“On the contrary, Mayor Crimpley,” Elizabeth replied with all the distain of her position. “I have made two attempts in the last week to schedule an appointment to discuss this matter and the safety of our town with you, but I have been denied. Why would I be denied over something so vital?”

“My lady,” the mayor fumbled, “I understand that this topic is a sensitive one, and that you have taken it to heart, but the incident in question was a mere two weeks ago. Perhaps we should allow for more time to mourn our—”

“But it is not just two weeks, sir,” Elizabeth pushed on. “That intersection has been dangerous for far longer. It was poorly designed to begin with and needs immediate improvement. Don’t you think so, Mr. Throckmorton?”

“Yes, of course,” poor Mr. Throckmorton answered, directly on cue. Alex winced for the man. Elizabeth could suggest the town sponsor a mass drowning of puppies in the lake and he would lend his support without giving it a second thought. He was that smitten.

Or was he? The maid he’d exchanged a glance with a few minutes before walked directly behind his chair, and Alex was certain she saw him tense and flush. The maid wore a smile that could feasibly be labeled mysterious as well, and Mr. Throckmorton’s gaze flickered after her for the barest of moments. No one else at the table caught the lightning-fast interchange, but to Alex—who had had to rely on the slightest changes in expression and body language to diagnose the ills her patients over the years—it was significant. And why not? Rich and powerful he may be, but Mr. Throckmorton was still an orphan who had his beginnings as a ward of the crown—something Elizabeth certainly hadn’t forgotten, no matter how fervently she lapped up the man’s attention.

“So what I propose is a series of stop-signs placed around the intersection,” Elizabeth had gone on haranguing Mayor Crimpley with her ideas for improvement. “That way, all carriages driving through Brynthwaite would be forced to go slowly and to stop to allow pedestrians the right of way, thus avoiding any further catastrophes.”

“Well, my lady, I…I can see the point of your suggestions,” the mayor was in a huff as he tried to dismiss the idea without dismissing Elizabeth. “It’s just that there would be an expense. And an outcry from carriage owners. And the constable might not have the men to spare to police the intersection.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth brushed him off. “What else do the constable’s men do? Don’t you agree, Alexandra?”

“Oh yes,” Alex answered as fast as Mr. Throckmorton had. “Absolutely.” It seemed that she was just as well-trained.

Elizabeth smiled, far too pleased with the wave of support she had on each side. She did love it when one and all agreed with her.

“I’m just not sure there is precedent for this kind of measure,” Mayor Crimpley went on.

Alex had no interest in listening to the debate. She took another quick bite of her supper, noticing that the staff had already begun to clear plates away. She sat a little straighter and peeked as casually as she could around the room. At last, she spotted Marshall sitting on the far side near the windows at a table with his daughters, Lawrence and Matty, and a few others who she didn’t know. Marshall happened to catch her looking. He broke into a weary smile and raised a hand in greeting.

Relief flooded Alex. She couldn’t wave back the way she wanted to, but she smiled and nodded. What she wouldn’t give to be sitting at that table, far from the center of attention and maneuvering. She wanted nothing more than to discuss the day’s cases from the hospital with Marshall, to get his opinion on courses of treatment and other things that truly mattered. She would have settled on simply standing by his side, making observations about the finery of the hotel and the pretension of some of the guests. A night spent in conversation with Marshall Pycroft would be worth a thousand nights of being stuck at a table with her mother and Elizabeth on a mission.

“So you see, it’s a matter of necessity,” Elizabeth finished her call to arms.

“I suppose the town council could look into it,” Mayor Crimpley said, defeat etched in the lines of his face. Of course it was, Elizabeth always got her way.

“I’ve had the most delightful idea, and now seems like as good a time to share it as any,” Lady Charlotte snatched up the reins of the conversation before anyone else could. “I’ve decided to throw a house party at Huntingdon Hall.”

“A house party? What a splendid idea,” Lord Ramsey said.

“Have you agreed to this?” Mr. Throckmorton asked Elizabeth, full of concern.

“Yes, I have,” Elizabeth said, her smile not entirely enthusiastic. She had agreed, but only after a week’s worth of brow-beating on Lady Charlotte’s behalf. As Alex had suspected, Elizabeth wasn’t as enthusiastic about inviting a dozen or more strangers to stay at her home for a month, eating her food, occupying her rooms, and disrupting her life.

“Then it sounds as though it could be a pleasant diversion,” Mr. Throckmorton went on.

“Yes, I thought so,” Lady Charlotte said. “I’ve already complied a dazzling list of acquaintances I shall invite, including some old friends of ours from Hampshire, Mr. Anthony Fretwell and his son, George.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know them,” Mr. Throckmorton said, “Though perhaps this will be an opportunity to remedy that.”

Alex bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Mr. Throckmorton wasted no time fishing for an invitation.

“Perhaps some of the guest could stay here, in your lovely hotel,” Elizabeth suggested. The genuineness of her suggestion put a smile on Mr. Throckmorton’s face. If only he knew that the suggestion had been made to keep as many people out of Elizabeth’s hair as possible.

“I would be honored to provide accommodations,” Mr. Throckmorton answered. “Perhaps a few days of entertainment as well.”

“Yes, that would be brilliant,” Lady Charlotte said. “I may enlist your help in planning several events.”

Planning, Alex thought, hiding a wry grin. Planning events for her mother was a far cry from being invited to stay and attend as one of the guests. A twist of pity for Mr. Throckmorton struck at Alex’s heart. He’d done nothing to deserve the treatment he was likely to get if he wasn’t careful. She found herself hoping that there was something brewing between him and that maid after all.

Jason

The chance to host guests of a country house party. The chance to attend himself. Never in his wildest imagination had Jason seen himself blending business and pleasure so perfectly. On the one hand, if he could convince Lady Charlotte to direct some of her guests to the hotel and to let the hotel play host to tea parties, soirees, and outings, he could stand to make a large amount of money. The toffs who attended house parties tended to be loaded, and since, as often as not, parties were just excuses to show off one’s wealth in an attempt to snag a spouse, he could manufacture plenty of items for the guests to splurge on. On the other hand, he himself could impress Lady E. with the fruits of years’ worth of his own efforts. His mind reeled with possibilities.

But one thing at a time. The night was only half-done.

“Lady Elizabeth.” He turned to Lady E. “Have you finished with your supper?”

“Why yes, I have.” She smiled.

“Then if you will permit me, I will move the evening along to its next event.”

“Please do, Mr. Throckmorton.”

With a wide smile, Jason stood, taking a knife and one of the crystal wine goblets with him. He tapped the glass, causing it to chime, until the room quieted.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would, I invite you now to return to the gardens. The sun is setting, and very soon you will be able to see the secret splendor of what electricity can do to enhance nature.”

Oohs and aahs sounded from all around him. Good. People were impressed. If enough of them were impressed, then Lady E. would be too, and hers was the only opinion that mattered.

He stepped behind her chair and pulled it back so that she could stand. All around, his guests stood from their places and began moving toward the doors leading to the garden. The side doors had been opened along with the front door to allow access to all parts of the garden. Jason helped Lady E. to her feet, then let her go on ahead of him. He sought out Flossie in the milling mass of people. Now was when the magic began.

“Everything is under control,” Flossie told him before he could even ask the question as he approached her.

The center of the room was already empty, and each member of his staff knew their jobs. The kitchen staff was already rescuing whatever food was left-over to feed the entire staff once the night was done. The upstairs women were clearing dishes and silver. Flossie had devised a system where each one was responsible for two tables. The male staff had started removing the chairs and would roll away the tables as soon as everything else was carted off.

“Twenty minutes?” Jason asked her.

“I’ll do it in fifteen,” she replied with a wink.

His whole body reacted to her confidence and her wit. Delicious and damnably inconvenient. He’d gone a full three hours without so much as a pip from the taskmaster in his trousers, but now he would have to waltz through the rest of the evening at full attention. At least he had the promise of release in the small hours of the night when both he and Flossie were done with their work. If they both weren’t too exhausted. Knowing what was waiting made it easier to ignore the strain.

“The flower arrangements will be taken up to each guest room once you’re all dancing,” Flossie went on, “except for Lady Eagan, who told Samuel when she checked in that lilies give her hay fever. While you’re dancing, I’ll be putting together a special arrangement for her.”

“Good.” Jason nodded. He glanced over his shoulder at the door Lady E. had left through. She had to be impressed by this. Converting a gala supper into a sparkling ball in twenty—no, fifteen—minutes? If that didn’t make her sit up and take notice…well then he’d just had to think of something else.

“Go,” Flossie shooed him, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve got work to do, and so do you.”

He wanted to kiss her. No, that would have to wait for later. He nodded to her with a grin that was far too heated for the number of staff members scurrying around them, then pivoted and marched for the door leading to the lobby. Behind him, his staff worked with the efficiency of the clock and the heart of a lion. They would all receive bonuses in their pay packets this week.

Outside, his guests were murmuring with awe and wonder. He was eager to see the full effect of his electric garden himself. The idea had come to him in London, while touring exhibits on the modern use of electric lights and while at the theater. No one that he knew of had thought to bring a show quite like this to the lazy environs of Brynthwaite. It would cost him a staggering sum, and he wouldn’t be able to turn all of the lights on every night the way they were turned on tonight, but this was the grand opening, and as such it had to be a grand to-do. Rows of lights ran along every path at calf length, illuminating the way. In the back garden, lights outlined the gazebo and the trellis that Lawrence had outdone himself to make. Beyond that, discreetly placed lights shone on the finest of the rose bushes and lit up the fountains that splashed merrily in the front garden. Not a soul who attended tonight would ever see anything as fantastical again if he had anything to do about it.

“It’s simply breathtaking,” Lady E. said when he caught up to her and her aunt at the far side of the front garden. “I’m speechless.”

Deep, stirring pride filled Jason. The only thing that was better than Lady E’s astounded smile was the thought of Flossie racing away in the dining room, preparing his next spectacle. The curtains had been closed as his staff worked to provide the maximum effect when it came time for the revelation. After tonight, his reputation would be set in stone. No, in gold.

“I am so very pleased that you are enjoying yourself, Lady Elizabeth,” he said with all of the outward calm and grace of a dignitary, even as his heart raced like a child.

He spotted Rev. Albright standing by himself to one side.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “Though you were seated at the same table, I’m afraid there wasn’t sufficient time for me to introduce you to a dear old friend and mentor of mine. Would you allow me?”

“Elizabeth. No.” Lady Charlotte whispered.

“Of course, Mr. Throckmorton,” Lady E. said at the same time, ignoring her aunt.

Jason did his best not to frown at the disagreeable older woman as he took Lady E’s arm and escorted her through the marveling crowd toward Rev. Albright. To his relief, Lady Charlotte hung far back, as though torn between not wanting a thing to do with them but feeling responsible for chaperoning.

“Lady Elizabeth Dyson, I would like you to formally meet Rev. Curt Albright,” he said as they approached. “Rev. Albright was one of the housemasters at—” He stopped and cleared his throat, face burning hot, then finished with, “Growing up.” The less he reminded Lady E. of his origins, the better. “Rev. Albright, this is Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the Earl of Thornwell.”

“Ah yes, I knew your father, Lady Elizabeth,” Rev. Albright said.

“Oh?” Lady E. brightened. “Then you should come up to Huntingdon Hall to wish him well, for his health prevents him from getting out much. He does like to visit with old friends, though.”

“Alas,” Rev. Albright lowered his head, “I’m not certain my company would be welcome.”

“Why not?” Lady E. asked with a sweet smile.

Anxiety grabbed Jason by the throat without warning. It hadn’t crossed his mind that old rumor and innuendo could rear its ugly head at an event like this. Could that explain why so many people were avoiding the company of a fine and caring man? He didn’t want to think about it, and most certainly didn’t want it to get out of hand, but he would put anyone in their place who tried to insult Rev. Albright to his face.

“I’m certain Rev. Albright could tell a hundred different stories about the boy I was,” he said, attempting to be charming and steer the conversation away from dangerous territory.

“Really?” Lady E’s face lit even more. In the glow of electric lights, she was radiant as she turned her smile to Rev. Albright. “I would love to hear a few naughty tales.”

“I have plenty of those,” Rev. Albright laughed. “Young Jason and his friends were particularly rambunctious. They got into more trouble than half the rest of the orphanage combined, and somehow managed to get out of more trouble than the others too.”

“How delightful.” Lady E. clapped her hands together and slid closer to Rev. Albright’s side. “What did he do?”

Jason’s pleased grin faltered at the mischievous look Rev. Albright shared with her. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea after all.

“Well, there was the time that Jason and Marshall and Lawrence snuck out of the orphanage one night to go visit old Mother Grace in the woods.”

“I’ve heard of Mother Grace,” Lady E. said. “Isn’t she a witch?”

“Oh yes,” Rev. Albright said with all due gravity. “She had them dancing in the moonlight, painted with woad, acting out some pagan ritual or another.”

Lady E. laughed merrily. “No!”

Jason cleared his throat, dread sinking into his stomach. “Yes, well, we were young.” He glanced around for a way of escaping embarrassment while still saving face.

“Were they caught?” Lady E. asked.

“Yes they were,” Rev. Albright said. “Red-handed. The rest of the staff of the orphanage was terrified of Mother Grace, though, so I was sent to go fetch them. Grace and I are old friends, you see, and—”

“If you will excuse me, I need to check on…on the preparations.”

Jason peeled away from the conversation before Rev. Albright reached the point of telling about the punishment that was doled out to him and Marshall and Lawrence, or about the unfortunate permanence of the blue dye they’d taken for woad. With any luck, Lady Charlotte would step in and put a stop to the stories. What was he thinking, letting Rev. Albright tell tales on him? He was thinking his old mentor would say something complimentary, about how hard “Young Jason” had studied or how he had scored top marks in his class every year. Well, there was still hope that topic would come up.

He raced back into the hotel, checking the clock in the lobby. Only ten minutes? More time than that had to have passed. He would have checked it against his pocket-watch, but that would mean unbuttoning his coat, which was utterly out of the question at the moment. Instead, he slipped into the dining room-turned-ballroom through the closed door.

The tables were mostly cleared, though stacks of chairs stood in the center of the floor and the long buffet tables were laden with dirty dishes. The sight struck panic into Jason’s chest. How could they possibly finish the transformation in time?

He searched for Flossie, finding her near the dais that had been set up for the orchestra, directing the musicians where to sit. She saw him coming as he marched across the empty floor toward her.

“Well?” he asked with several yards still between them.

“Five more minutes,” she said, holding her hands up as she came to meet him. “The tables are mostly put away and, look, the hall boys are taking the chairs into the hall.”

“You promised me fifteen minutes, Flossie,” he said, stepping closer to her.

“And I’ll deliver, sir,” she snapped right back.

His panic ebbed, and he relaxed enough to breathe.

“How are you holding up?” Flossie asked, leaning toward him.

“I’ll manage,” he said, nodded, and turned to go.

“Oy, how come she gets to talk to the boss like that?” he heard Samuel say as soon as his back was turned, resorting to his common accent instead of the posh one he put on for guests.

“She’s Flossie,” one of the girls answered.

Damn, he thought to himself. He had to be more careful. If he was smart, he wouldn’t address Flossie at all in public. Unfortunately, with the amount of things he relied on her for, he had to address her and work closely with her on a daily basis. Maybe their arrangement wouldn’t work out after—

He didn’t bother to finish the thought. It had to work out. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Though he might have to take measures with the rest of the staff if lips became too loose.

“Jason, I demand to know why on earth you invited that man to your hotel opening,” Marshall snagged him the moment he was out the side door and into the back garden.

Night had fallen, and the hundreds of lights made the whole garden sparkle like a fairy paradise. Jason barely noticed it, turning to his friend instead.

“You always liked Rev. Albright,” he said, baffled. “When did that change?”

“It changed when the man was revealed to be a sodomite,” Marshall hissed.

Jason balked. “So? He never did anything to you or me or Lawrence, or any of the others, for that matter. He had a companion, and now that man is dead.”

“It’s a sin,” Marshall went on. “It’s—”

He was forced to press his lips shut when Lawrence, Matty, and his girls rushed to meet them. Lawrence escorted Matty, looking decidedly content with his lot, but the girls ran and scampered toward him.

“Oh, Uncle Jason, it’s beautiful,” Mary exclaimed, charging right into him and hugging him tight.

Jason reeled, pushing Mary away as soon as he could. He would have loved to hug her back with all the enthusiasm she deserved, but things were still entirely too…pronounced where they shouldn’t be.

“I arranged all of this for you, my sweet,” he smiled instead. He saved the best smiles he had for Mary to make up for his fear of being physically close to her.

“I love you, Uncle Jason,” she said, tugging his arm to make him bend down far enough for her to kiss his cheek.

A wave of longing, so intense it took his breath away, washed through him at the innocent gesture. He wanted children. Desperately, hopelessly. The impossibility of it crushed him.

As soon as the thought rose up to strike him, he pushed it away and buried it deep.

“What were the two of you talking about, looking so intense?” Lawrence asked.

“Albright,” Marshall said.

“I’m not going to argue with you on this, Marshall,” Jason replied, glad to have something to keep his thoughts away from places where they didn’t belong. “The evening is progressing splendidly.”

“Yes it is,” Lawrence agreed with a smile. He turned that smile to Matty, who echoed it, squeezing his arm.

Jason’s brow flew up. Well, it would be keeping perfectly in his friend’s character to seduce a beautiful young woman under his charge. Whether that would lead to good or bad, though, particularly with the girl’s lack of memory or identity, was another thing. She could belong to someone else, for all they knew.

“You’re looking exceptionally well,” Lawrence said, turning back to Jason and catching him in his thoughts. “You seem downright relaxed.”

“The event is going well,” Jason replied with a shrug.

“That’s not what I meant.”

The look Lawrence gave him was as prying as if he’d asked about his sex life in a loud voice in the middle of a crowded but quiet ballroom. Jason returned the look with a stern warning to keep his thoughts to himself. Which was as good as an admonition to him that he had no business wondering if Lawrence was bedding Matty. They were on equal footing of minding their own business.

“Psst! Sir!”

Jason spun to find Flossie waving to him from the ballroom’s outer door. He raised his brow in question, holding out his arms.

Flossie nodded, a proud smile on her beautiful face. “Fifteen minutes, as promised.”

You beautiful angel, he thought. Aloud he said, “Excellent.” He turned back to the others. “If you will excuse me, it’s time to open the ball.”

“Go right ahead,” Marshall waved him off. “Don’t mind us. We’re just your closest friends, the ones you shuffled off to the side of the room.”

“Ignore him,” Lawrence laughed.

“I plan to,” Jason said. He had better things to do. Things such as finding Lady E, praying she still had a modicum of respect for him, and asking her to open the ball with him.

Marshall

“Right,” Marshall turned to his girls, each one prettier than the next in their best dresses, but drooping as the excitement of the evening wore down. “And now it’s time for the Pycroft family to go home.” And good riddance. He hadn’t spent a more uncomfortable, awkward evening in his life.

“Aw, no, Papa!” All three of his girls whined in unison. The sound was nearly enough to drive a man to distraction.

“Your dear Uncle Jason was mad to invite such young children to a ball in the first place,” he argued. “There isn’t a single other child here.”

“Uncle Jason loves us,” Molly protested.

“That may be,” Marshall told them, “but it’s still hours past your bedtime.”

“No it’s not.” Mary crossed her arms, not fooled for a moment. “The clock in the lobby said eight, and that couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes ago.”

“Let them stay for at least one dance,” Lawrence added his argument to the pile. He wore as wicked a grin as any of the girls. “Chances are they’ll be treated to the sight of their beloved Uncle Jason opening the dance with the illustrious Lady Elizabeth.”

That wound the girls up even more. “Oh, oh, please, Papa? Please?”

Marshall knew when he was beaten. He sighed, reaching out to lay a hand on Martha’s head. “Oh, all right. One dance.”

The girls erupted into cheers, and as a group they headed back into the dining room, which was now a ballroom.

“Jason should pay for this,” Marshall commented, walking alongside Lawrence. “I should send the girls up to follow him around all day tomorrow, exhausted and cranky little demons.”

“Jason will be more of a demon than any of them,” Lawrence laughed.

“True.”

“Send them down to the forge instead,” Lawrence went on, slapping him on the back. “They can nap outside in the back garden. I’ll even send for Mother Grace to watch them.”

“Don’t you bring that woman anywhere near my daughters,” Marshall complained.

“What’s gotten into you today, man?” Lawrence chided him. “First you turn your back on Rev. Albright, then you bite back at Jason, and now Mother Grace?”

“In case you had forgotten,” Marshall muttered through clenched jaw as they stepped into the ballroom along with the rest of the crowd, “my wife is not two weeks in her grave, but here I am, parading about at a ball. And you expect me to laugh and caper?”

Lawrence schooled his face to contrition. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was insensitive of me.”

That was the end of it for the moment. The noise in the ballroom as all of the guests who had fled to the gardens earlier returned was too deafening for casual conversation. Marshall caught up to his girls and took Molly and Martha’s hands to lead them to the side of the room where they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. It warmed his heart to see the way their eyes went round at the glitter of the chandeliers, the color and grandeur of the ladies’ ball gowns, and the proud stance of the men in their suits. Of course Jason would invite them to this ball. Jason’s heart was made of treacle when you got down to it, and he would see this ball as a child would see it, as magical.

And sure enough, he came striding into the room from the lobby door, Lady Elizabeth Dyson on his arm. Lady E. beamed and nodded to as many people as she could as Jason led her to the center of the room. Mary gasped at the artful swirl of the woman’s ball gown, the jeweled pin in her hair and the diamond and pearl choker she wore. She was a princess and Jason was…a frog with no chance at all of being kissed. At least he didn’t give another speech. The orchestra started playing a waltz, and the guests moved to allow ample room for Jason and Lady E. to open the ball.

“The great, bloody fool,” Marshall muttered as he watched.

“What?” Lawrence shrugged. “They look stunning together. He’s rich and she’s titled.”

“She’s an exhibitionist and he’s the man of the hour, you mean,” Marshall grumbled.

Lawrence laughed at him. “He’s happy. I haven’t seen him so happy since he moved back here.”

“That’s because he’s living in a fool’s paradise at the moment,” Marshall insisted.

“Papa, what’s a fool’s paradise?” Molly asked.

“Never mind, love,” Marshall silenced her.

Lawrence continued to chuckle. “I tell you, something has changed with him. I haven’t talked to him much in the past week, but we had quite a conversation in the churchyard after,” he paused, winced, and finished with, “Clara’s funeral.”

“Did you now?” Marshall said. He crossed his arms, focusing on the dance, no wish to talk about the funeral or anything touching on the subject of Clara.

Two weeks. It had only been two weeks since that dreadful afternoon. He could still close his eyes and see the speeding carriage, hear Clara’s cry cut short, smell the dust and the horses and the blood. And yet, when he opened his eyes, it was almost as though Clara had never existed. She had vanished from their lives, leaving only silence. And now, here they were, two weeks later, attending the ball she had eaten her heart out over. The girls were alive with wonder and he….

Hugging himself tighter to keep from shaking with misery, Marshall turned and glanced out the ballroom’s tall windows to the glittering garden. Clara would have loved what Jason had done with the gardens. She would have been one of the ladies walking along the electric-lit paths, mesmerized, transported. And as soon as they’d gotten home, she would have demanded to know why they didn’t have electric lights and browbeat him about how it was his fault that she was denied every little thing she wanted. She would have added one more arrow to the quiver full of acid that she’d shot him down with every day.

He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped loving her, nor could he imagine when he would cease feeling this bone-crushing guilt over the peace he enjoyed now that she was gone. He didn’t deserve that peace.

The orchestra finished their song, and Jason led Lady E. through one final turn before bowing to her as the assembled guests applauded. He stepped closer to say something to her.

“Well, there you have it.” Marshall turned to his girls, holding his arms out. “The ball is opened, and now it’s time for the Pycrofts to leave.”

“But Papa.” Another round of whining blossomed. At least this time Martha wasn’t taking part. She’d come over to wrap her arms around Marshall’s leg and stood there now, her head pressed against his hip.

“No, no. Your sister is near to falling asleep on her feet,” Marshall went on. “I’ll have to carry her home as it is, and I’ve only strength enough for one of you. Unless you wish to curl up in my pocket.”

“Papa,” Molly laughed.

“I wouldn’t hear of you leaving.” Jason strode up to them as the guests who had been watching chose partners for the next dance. “I haven’t danced with the most beautiful girl in the room yet.” He turned to Mary and executed a perfect formal bow. “Miss Pycroft, would you do me the honor?”

Mary’s face filled with such joy and surprise that she looked…she looked like the child she was, for a change, and not a little woman worn with care.

“Can I, Papa, can I?” she begged of him.

“Of course. Go on.” Marshall met Jason’s eyes with a grateful smile and a nod.

Jason held out his arm and led Mary onto the dance floor. Several of the guests within earshot murmured their approval, saying how charming it was. At least Mary was tall enough now that she could dance with Jason properly instead of standing on his feet and circling the room as she’d done when she was Martha’s age. Although Marshall did note, with a sigh, that Jason was keeping a large distance between the two of them. The man needed to stop believing he was contaminated.

“Miss Matty, would you like to dance?” Lawrence asked Matty.

Just like Mary, Matty blushed a deep pink and nodded. Lawrence winked at Marshall as though he’d taken the prize, then led Matty out into the waltz. They made a fine pair, but Marshall knew he had the real prize.

“Papa, can we dance?” Molly asked. The exhaustion was beginning to show on her face.

“Come here, child.” He held out his free arm, and Molly dragged herself over to hug him from the side the way Martha was. Marshall stood in place and swayed, a girl clinging to each side, their sleepy heads resting against his sides. God help him, even his girls seemed happier now with Clara gone. What a pitiful tribute to the woman he had once fancied himself in love with.

“I was coming over to say that I thought the sight of Mr. Throckmorton dancing with your Mary was the sweetest thing I’ve seen all evening,” Alexandra said as she approached him. “But I do believe the sight in front of me is a great deal more charming.”

Marshall greeted Alexandra with a smile, continuing to sway. “Do not be deceived, Dr. Dyson. We’re being kept here against our will. I’m only trying to lull these two monsters into sleep so that I can toss them in a sack and steal away home.”

“Papa,” Molly scolded him, but she didn’t raise her head from his side.

He smoothed a hand over her head, then turned to Alexandra. “Jason Throckmorton is Mary’s godfather,” he explained.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Alexandra said, as though that answered everything. “Well, I hope he will forgive me for feeling as though I’ve had a wretched time at this entire affair.”

“You too?” Marshall asked. Finally, someone who didn’t find the whole thing bliss beyond telling.

Alexandra gave him a wary laugh. “My mother forced me to come so that she could foist me off on the first eligible bachelor to glance my way. She seems to think it’s necessary for me to show my face at every social function going, as if my presence were flypaper to attract a husband.”

“In the short while I’ve known your mother, I do not find that at all surprising,” he said.

They shared another knowing look. Alexandra relaxed into a weary laugh.

“To tell you the truth,” she said. “I would so much rather be at the hospital now, in an apron and carrying a stethoscope, than putting myself on display here in this gown.”

“It’s a lovely gown,” Marshall teased her. Though it was a lovely gown. The shade of green was complimentary to her complexion, and the low cut of the shoulders and neck reminded him that she was a woman. Quite a comely woman at that. No wonder some of the men on the ward didn’t want her treating them. At least not as a physician.

“I suppose it is fun to dress up once in a while,” she admitted with a shrug that was both artless and feminine. “I would still rather be at the hospital. I’m concerned that Mr. Thatcher’s boil won’t come to a head without being lanced.”

“What a charming thought at such a gathering as this,” Marshall smiled.

“Yes, well, I can see quite a few boils that stand no chance of coming to a head,” Alex muttered.

Something warm and expansive sliced through Marshall’s chest and he smiled. “I think you may be right there, Dr. Dyson,” he laughed.

“I know these people, Dr. Pycroft,” she replied. “I am right.”

“They shall all have to be lanced then.”

He laughed harder. The orchestra played the final strains of the dance, then ended with a flourish. Marshall breathed a sigh of relief as Jason escorted Mary back in his direction and as Lawrence and Matty returned as well. He was bone-weary, feeling defeated with guilt, and aside from Alexandra, hadn’t had a pleasant exchange all night. It was most definitely time for him to be in his bed.

“Oh no, no,” Alexandra whispered beside him. “Dammit.”

That expletive woke Marshall right up. “What?”

He followed Alexandra’s eyes to see where she was looking as the orchestra struck up the next song. Her mother was at the far end of the room with a middle-aged gentleman who looked as though he’d had too much champagne. She had spotted Alexandra and was coming their way.

“Thank you for a wonderful dance, Miss Pycroft,” Jason said to Mary as he returned her.

Before he could say more or before Mary could tell him about the dance, Alexandra twisted to grab hold of Marshall’s arm. “Quick, Dr. Pycroft. You must rescue me.”

“Me?” Marshall balked. His surprise dislodged Molly from his side, but not Martha.

“Yes,” Alexandra rushed on. “Oh dear, she’s picked up speed. I need you to dance with me, Dr. Pycroft. Now.”

“Oh yes, Papa,” Mary got involved, her eyes still full of stars from dancing with Jason. “It’s your turn.”

“Yes, Papa, yes,” Molly added, suddenly awake again.

“Please?” Alexandra pleaded, as desperate as his girls.

“I think you’re honor bound as a gentleman to go,” Jason informed him with that damnable mock solemnity of his.

“All right, all right.” Marshall pried Martha off of his leg and handed her over to Jason as punishment. The girl was already mostly asleep, and as soon as Jason had her in his arms, her tiny head thunked onto his shoulder. Jason took it like a natural, and Marshall turned to Alexandra. “Dr. Dyson, would you do me the honor of granting me this dance?”

“Yes, yes,” Alexandra answered, almost before he was finished asking the question. “Hurry.”

He took her hand and led her out to the dance floor just as her mother was approaching the group. The snooty woman glanced at them in horror. Well, if she was going to play it like that, then he would treat Alexandra to the finest dance she had ever known.

As soon as they reached an appropriate spot on the dance floor, Marshall turned Alexandra into his arms, holding her closer than he should to tweak her mother’s nose. Alexandra played along perfectly, resting a hand on his shoulder as he fixed his hand on her back to lead her through the steps of a waltz.

“It’s been ages since I’ve danced, Dr. Dyson,” Marshall warned her.

“My feet have been duly warned, Dr. Pycroft,” she replied.

“You may need to alert your ankles to the dangers as well,” he said.

“All is well. There are two of them and two doctors to treat them if anything should go amiss.”

He laughed. For the second time that night, the odd burst of warmth spread through his chest. He wasn’t a particularly tall man. Alexandra was of a height with him. It put her face, her eyes, her smile right on level with his. Standing close in the dance, it felt as though they were equals on every level.

And she did look beautiful that night. He hadn’t thought her hair was anything special. It was just brown. But done up as it was that night in a style that was both soft and feminine, he had the sudden urge to touch it. Her eyes danced with mischief as well, likely at out-foxing her mother. There was more there, though. She was among the most intelligent and witty women he’d ever met. Talking to her didn’t feel like an exercise in speaking a foreign language. She understood him, understood what he was trying to say. She didn’t talk back at him, unless he deserved it, and never harangued him. He didn’t think women like that existed.

“You will have to converse with me at some point if we are going to dance, Dr. Pycroft,” she said.

“I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Dyson. I fear the strain of escorting three beautiful ladies to such a grand outing as this has completely worn me out,” he replied, not sure how he managed to sound so teasing when his heart was thumping enough to throw him off the beat of the waltz.

“Three! Well, well, Dr. Dyson. I see what sort of man you are.”

But he wasn’t that sort of man. Not at all. Thirteen years of marriage to Clara, and he had never once looked seriously at another woman, never once strayed. Not even when his lack of love for her had bordered on hate and his natural urges had turned his temper foul. But here he was, carried away by the feel of Alexandra’s slender waist under his hand and her breasts close to his chest as they danced.

Two weeks after Clara had died. With the woman who had crouched on the ground beside him, trying to patch her bloody, broken form.

“I’m sorry,” Alexandra said, her face suddenly grave. “What an unforgiveable comment. Your wife. Of course.”

His throat closed up, robbing him of the ability to say anything. They continued to turn and glide in the steps of a waltz. His eyes stung, but all he wanted to do was hold her closer.

“Dr. Pycroft, are you quite well?” she asked at last. The orchestra trilled through the final chords of the song, the swirling couples stopped, and those watching applauded. “Marshall?”

His name on her lips cracked through the weight that had settled over his heart. If he could have kissed her right then, he would have. But he would have brought the world down with him if he did.

“I really must take my girls home,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

Her eyes were so full of compassion and caring that after one brief glance, he couldn’t look at them. He took her arm and led her to the side of the floor where his girls waited. It was a blessed relief when Jason handed his sleeping Martha into his arms along with apologies and the need to get back to his guests.

“Alexandra, I’d like you to meet Lord David Jagmire,” Lady Charlotte started before Alexandra could flee. “I’m sure he would love this next dance, wouldn’t you, Lord Jagmire?”

As Marshall turned to take his girls out of the ballroom and home, he met Alexandra’s eyes. She looked at him as though dancing with Lord Jagmire would likely do her in. He rolled his eyes in response, and she grinned. As if they were friends. Best of friends.

His already guilty heart fell hopelessly into the unique despair of love.

Lawrence

The night was getting late, but Lawrence felt no rush to leave the ball. He may not have cared much for the airs and graces of the high and mighty, who thought quite a lot of themselves, particularly Lady Elizabeth. He didn’t hold any special fascination for the gowns and colors and swelling strains of the orchestra. He did think the electric garden was a marvel of modern technology and would have loved to explore it more and pick Jason’s brains over how he had conceived of the idea, but as long as it was packed with awed guests, he had no need to study it.

What Lawrence loved about the night and what kept a lazy smile on his face was seeing his friends happy. Marshall may have been an old curmudgeon before his time, but he doted on his girls, and as long as they were happy, he was happy, Clara or not. He’d seemed awfully happy dancing with Alexandra Dyson too. Lawrence made a note to keep an eye on that one. Jason was a happy as Lawrence had ever seen him between showing off Lady E, making fine speeches, and generally having high and low swamp him with praise. His friend basked in that praise—in that acceptance and outpouring of approval, more like—like a cat stretching in the sun. Although Lawrence thought the lion’s share of the credit should really have gone to his staff, particularly the black-haired beauty with the blue eyes, Flossie, who Jason kept trying not to look at. That was another development for him to keep his eyes on.

“You seem pensive,” Matty asked as she stood beside him, hands clasped behind her back.

Lawrence’s contented smile grew, and he slipped his arm through Matty’s, drawing her closer. “I’m simply enjoying the knowledge that for this one moment, all of my friends are happy.”

“Happiness is such a fleeting thing,” she said with a sigh.

Lawrence’s brow went up. “Is it?”

“Well yes, I suppose it is,” she said, then frowned, eyes becoming unfocused. “I’m not sure why I think so.”

He did. It confirmed the suspicions he’d been forming for two weeks. Whatever there was for Matty to remember, it wasn’t pleasant, and part of her had no interest in remembering. He wasn’t inclined to help her remember at all.

“Would you like one more dance before we go?” he asked, bending close to her. She smelled of flowers and sunlight.

“Yes,” she replied, tilting her head up to him.

It would have been more enjoyable to kiss her instead of dance with her, but there would be time for that later. He took Matty’s hand and led her out to the dance floor.

The fairy tales he’d grown up with all wove stories of common girls who found themselves enchanted into beauty and splendor, but as he took Matty in his arms and led her through the steps of a waltz, it dawned on him that they were playing the fairy tale in reverse. Everyone around them looked grand, while they wore simple cotton without any frills. Rather than discovering she was a princess, Matty was swept away in the comfort of having no idea at all of who she was.

She felt good in his arms. In two weeks, she’d already managed to put on a few pounds. Her bruises were gone, and her cuts had healed into faint lines that wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone who hadn’t seen her before. More than that, she glowed with the warmth of a woman who felt she was safe. Safe in his arms. He liked the thought of that. He liked the thought of more than that.

When the dance ended, he held Matty close for one final moment. “Are you ready to go home now?” he asked with all the languidness of a classic seduction.

“Yes,” she answered, breathless enough to put a smile on his face. Let the likes of Mayor Crimpley call him wicked and immoral. He would enjoy this seduction, and so would Matty.

“Come,” he said, slipping his hand into hers and striding out of the ballroom as if walking through a sunlit meadow.

He met Jason’s eyes across the room as he spoke to some of his guests and nodded. Jason nodded in return, then continued his conversation. He would have to catch up with his friend later to ask all of his questions, and likely answer a few of his own. They crossed into the lobby and headed for the door.

“Young Lawrence,” Rev. Albright called to him from a spot where he was lingering close to the door. He coughed. “I was hoping to catch you on your way out.” He coughed again.

“Rev. Albright,” Lawrence said, steering Matty over to the older man. “It was so good to see you. Are you in town for a while?”

Albright coughed, then said, “No, no, I’ll be heading home the day after tomorrow, and only that because Jason begged me to stay one extra day so we could catch up.” He coughed again, and just as Lawrence was beginning to be concerned, Albright said to Matty, “My dear, I wonder if you wouldn’t be of help to an old man and see if you could fetch me a glass of water from the kitchens?”

“Certainly,” Matty agreed. She nodded, then turned to look around and get her bearings, then headed back into the ballroom.

Lawrence opened his mouth to say something, but as soon as Matty was gone, Albright said, “I hope you can forgive me for sending her away, but I had to speak to you alone.” His cough was gone as though it’d never been.

All of the warm, relaxed happiness Lawrence had been enjoying faded. “Is something wrong?” he asked as Albright motioned for him to retreat farther into the corner of the room.

“Possibly,” Albright said. “What do you know about that girl?”

“Matty?”

Albright nodded.

Lawrence shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Not much. She arrived about two weeks ago at the forge in the middle of a storm, ragged and bruised. She has no memory of anything before that.”

“Two weeks,” Albright nodded, rubbing his chin as if considering. “That would be about right.”

Alarm rushed in to chase away all good feelings. “Do you know who she is?”

Albright made a pinched face. “Possibly. I never met the girl before, so I could be wrong.”

“Tell me,” Lawrence said.

Albright took a breath, then said, “A little more than two weeks ago, there was a murder in Grasmere.”

Lawrence’s stomach clenched. “Who? Why?”

“A woman of middle years. A shopkeeper’s wife. No one truly knows what happened, only that the woman was found dead, and the shopkeeper bruised and badly burned. He tells a story of an argument between himself and the woman’s daughter, who worked in the shop, that turned violent. His claim is that the daughter murdered her mother and tried to kill him as well before fleeing.”

It couldn’t be. That wasn’t like Matty at all. She was the one who had been covered with bruises. She was the battered one.

“He claims the daughter did it?” Lawrence asked.

Albright shook his head and let out a breath. “They were a very closed family. Didn’t talk to much of anyone. Grasmere is swarming with rumors about them, about their doings.”

“Do the police have any leads?”

“No,” Albright said. “The daughter disappeared without a trace. Simply vanished.”

“And you think Matty might be that girl.”

“The girl’s name was Mathilda Wright. Matty is a pet name for Mathilda.”

“Had you ever seen this Mathilda Wright before?”

Albright winced, rubbing his face. “I have, but only in as much as once sees any shop girl or chimney sweep. I can’t say that your Matty looks like what I remember this Mathilda looking like, but I can’t say she doesn’t either.”

“You think it’s her.” Lawrence let out a breath, concern so deep it verged on anxiety burrowing into his gut.

“I’m only saying that it might be her,” Albright said. “And if it might be, then you could have more on your hands than a sweet young woman with no memory.”

Lawrence frowned. He refused to believe that his Matty was a murderer, not the way she’d looked when she came to him. There had to be more to the story. Part of him wanted to ask Matty, to see if a few gentle suggestions would bring her memory back, but if it did and she wasn’t ready to face it, those memories could hurt her. He refused to bring pain to someone so gentle.

“Thank you, Rev. Albright,” Lawrence said. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Use the information wisely, Young Lawrence.”

He didn’t have time to say more. Matty came back into the lobby with a glass of water and a tired smile.

“Here you are, sir, and I hope it helps,” she said, bringing the glass to Albright.

He accepted it with a kind smile and drank it. “I’ll take this glass up to my room,” he said and turned to go.

“Good night, Rev. Albright,” Lawrence said his goodbyes.

He took Matty’s hand, but before they could go more than a few steps, Albright turned back to them.

“One other thing, Young Lawrence.”

“Sir?”

Albright arched a brow at him. “I know you’ve always liked to be different from those around you, but let me caution you, from my own experience, about being too different.”

The old, familiar urge to hunt down and teach a lesson to the men who had rejected the man who was the closest thing Lawrence had to a father filled him as it did every time he thought of Albright’s fate.

“A little difference is considered quaint,” Albright went on, “but too much and the teasing chuckles turn to sharp disapproval, and then persecution. You do not want to find yourself being persecuted if you should find yourself in a position where that would get in the way of efforts to uncover certain truths.”

Lawrence nodded solemnly. “I understand.” He did understand, but he wasn’t sure how well he would be able to keep his head down and go with the crowd if Matty turned out to be in any sort of danger. “Good night.”

Albright nodded and continued up the stairs. Lawrence took Matty and walked out through the hotel’s front door and into the glittering splendor of the garden, then on and into the drab familiarity of Brynthwaite. He walked through the town with Matty, heading for the forge and the safety of home, mulling over all he’d seen and heard that night. There were more things to think about than he had energy to think. Marshall, Jason, Rev. Albright. Matty. If any of them were in trouble or heading down dangerous paths, he would have to do something to protect them, but some of those paths could prove to be more dangerous than others.

“You’re pensive again,” Matty said when they reached the warm, natural light of the forge. “You didn’t say a word the whole way back.”

Lawrence broke into a lazy smile and a half laugh. “I suppose I’m just exhausted after all that finery and excitement,” he said. It was a half lie, but Matty would forgive him. Now was not the time to bring up her past, not when she seemed so contented with her lot.

They headed up the narrow stairs to his room and began preparations for bed. Lawrence considered it a mark of success in keeping Matty safe that she didn’t feel any shame in undressing in front of him. He watched her unapologetically, thoughts of seducing her sliding back in between the prickles of his worry. If they were lovers, he was sure he could feel the truth in her. If they were more than that, he might be able to protect her, even if the worst was true.

“Lawrence,” she asked as she hung her dress in his wardrobe. “What’s a hedonist?”

A smile spread across his face as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. “Where did you hear that word?”

“Mrs. Crimpley told me at the party that you were a hedonist,” she said. “Well, she called you a few other things too, which I dismissed, but I didn’t know what that one meant.” She closed the wardrobe door and walked back to the bed in nothing but her chemise and drawers. They didn’t leave much to the imagination.

He set his shoes aside and unbuttoned his vest. “Hedonist is a term that refers to someone who lives for pleasure,” he explained. Her eyes widened at the response. He smiled. “Too many good, upright citizens see that as a shameful or a scandalous thing, but all it really means is that you hold pleasure as the highest goal in life and pain as the worst evil.”

“What’s so wrong about that?” she asked.

“Nothing at all,” he answered with a soft laugh. “Although the moralists would tell you that living for pleasure without any concern for the sin of the matter is a bad thing.”

“Oh,” Matty said, frowning.

“A hedonist feels no guilt for enjoying pleasure, whether that’s the pleasure of good food, strong drink, fragrant gardens, stirring music, or sexual intimacy.”

Her cheeks flared bright red. “Oh. And you don’t feel guilty about those things?”

“Not at all. I see no point in it.”

She nodded, and oh so slowly, raised her eyes to meet his. The uncertainty there was nearly as charming as the curiosity. He could feel the questions and the need rippling through her, and he smiled.

“Matty, would you like to make love with me tonight?” he asked, simple and quiet, brushing a lock of hair away from her heated face.

She bit her lip, and his body reacted with a surge of wanting that would rival anything Jason could lay claim to. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“I’m glad,” he said, standing to remove the rest of his clothes. “I’ve been hoping you’d want to make love with me for a while now.”

“You have?” she murmured.

“Of course.” He shed his clothes quickly, then climbed back onto the bed with her. “I’m honored that you would choose me to teach you about this part of life.”

He drew her into his arms and lay her on her back to kiss her. She responded freely, which did more than just arouse him. It filled him with the determination to make her his so that he could protect her, no matter who she was or how fast her past caught up with her.