As the evening went on, he didn’t return. We went about our usual business, eating dinner, playing games and music in the drawing room, and eventually retiring to our rooms.
After Lizzie braided my hair, I sat on the center of my bed, tucking my knees to my chest. My candle flickered on the desk, but I didn’t want to blow it out. The clock read eleven. The rest of the house was dark and quiet, but Owen still hadn’t come home.
I rested my chin on my hands, letting my eyes drift closed. There was nothing I could do to help Owen by staying awake. I didn’t have the slightest idea of where he was.
The sound of the front door made my eyes fly open. From the floor below, I heard boots clicking on the marble. The footfalls continued up the stairs, and I saw a sliver of candlelight under my door. It quickly disappeared.
I jumped off my bed, wrapping my cloak over my nightdress and grabbing my candle. If I peeked outside my door, I might be able to see if it was Owen returning home. At least then I would be able to sleep without picturing that crestfallen expression on his face over and over again.
I slipped into the corridor, but Owen was nowhere in sight. After scouring the entire floor, I still found no sign of him, so I started quietly up the stairs. At the top, I felt an odd wave of guilt, like I was trespassing, but my curiosity carried me forward into the long corridor.
Moonlight streamed through tall, arched windows. Besides that, the only light came from my candle. My footsteps were quiet as I took in the many portraits lining both walls. I continued down the corridor and turned right. Just as I did, thesound of a pianoforte reached my ears. It played a soft, simple tune, and stopped.
I paused where I was, waiting to hear more, but the sound never came. It was enough, though, for me to follow. I hurried to the end of the hall and peeked through the doorway of the music room. The space was dim and large, with a lofty ceiling and one small window. Light from a single candle illuminated the space.
Sitting on the bench of the pianoforte, was Owen.
He couldn’t see me from his angle, but I could see his profile clearly. My heart twisted. The blank surprise he had exhibited when he first read that letter had now turned into raw sadness.
I looked away, certain that the expression was not meant for my eyes. Or anyone’s. He had come here to be alone. What I had sensed upon walking to the second floor had been correct; I was indeed trespassing.
An unpleasant clamor of musical notes rang through the air, making me jump. I stole another peek into the room. Owen’s fist had fallen forcefully on the keys. I was startled. I had never seen him so emotionally disheveled. The closest thing I had seen to this was when I had spoken to him about Aunt Ruth.
I cursed myself silently. I shouldn’t have come up here. I tried to put myself in his situation, and I knew that I would have certainly preferred to be alone, rather than have someone sneak up on me because they were curious about business that was not their own.
My decision was clear: I needed to leave. But as I leaned away, the ribbon at my waist snagged on the latch of the doorframe. My sharp intake of breath echoed in the vast space.
“Is someone there?” Owen asked.
Drat.There would be no hiding from him now. My heart pounded in my ears as I stepped out from my hiding place. The light from my candle betrayed me.
“I know I shouldn’t have followed you up here, but I was worried,” I said. My cheeks burned. I had no right to worry about him. He was not mine to fret over like my little brothers.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes taking me in. I froze under his examination, remembering that I wore my nightdress and cloak, with my hair in a hasty braid.
“I’m sorry to have worried you,” he said finally. “I was called away on urgent business.” He released a sigh and raked a hand over his hair. “It wasn’t pleasant.”
Hardly aware of my own movements, I crossed the room and sat beside him on the bench. I was aware of how improper it was to be here alone with him, but I was more concerned with how troubled he seemed.
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the keys of the pianoforte before glancing at my face. I realized with a rush of hot embarrassment how close I had sat to him. I shifted a few inches away discreetly.
“A patient of mine…she—” His voice was throaty and quiet, and he struggled to finish the sentence. “I thought she was healing. The family didn’t call for me again until today.” He shook his head. “She must have taken a rapid turn for the worse. She died a few hours after I arrived. I couldn’t save her.” His eyes flashed with guilt.
My heart ached. “Owen—it’s not your fault.”
“Of course it’s my fault,” he whispered. “Her family trusted me. I know that feeling of disappointment and anger. I’m the doctor I swore I’d never be.”
“You can’t be expected to work miracles,” I said. “Did you do everything you could?”
He swallowed. “Everything.”
I turned so I faced him completely. “Then you are not like the doctor who treated your cousin. You told me that he was lazy and uncaring. You told me that he performed the minimalamount of work and treated Theodore’s illness like nothing. Yes, the outcome was the same for you, but the difference between yourself and that physician is significant. You didn’t give up.”
Owen’s brow twinged with pain. “My knowledge must have been insufficient, then. If I could have known this would happen, I would have stayed at the house prior to today and given her constant care.”
I shook my head fast, gripping his forearm softly. “There are matters that are out of our hands.” A quiet confession burned in my throat, making my eyes cloud with unexpected moisture. “I have thought many times about the last time my parents left for Kellaway Manor. They invited me to come, but I declined. If I had agreed to go with them that day, we would have required a carriage to fit us all, not the phaeton they took. If I had gone with them in a carriage, perhaps the wheel would not have broken and they would not have fallen off that cliff.”
I fought the tightness in my throat. “But I couldn’t have guessed what would happen that day. I thought my duty was best served helping the nursemaid with my brothers. I did the best I could, and so did you. Do you know what your mother said to me in the carriage today?” I asked. “We passed Willowbourne, and she told me about Theodore. She spoke of your bond and how it inspired you to become the great man and physician that you are today. I agreed with her.”
