I remembered the young woman at Kellaway Manor the year before, the one Dr. Owen Kellaway had chosen over me. The whole ordeal played out in my mind as if it were a painting, covered in a sheet that only now was lifted. Of course he had loved her more. She was kind, selfless, and good-hearted. So was my friend Alice, and I had even tried to steal her true love from her in Brighton. I had been nothing in comparison to those women. I had been nothing but a golden shell, pretty and valued without, but hopelessly empty and dull within. The revelation stabbed at me with shame, and I scrubbed harder.
I did not want to be that woman anymore. But still, I missed the old life I had enjoyed. The elegance, refinement, and parties. I missed my home, bright sunshine, and Mama’s approval. I missed it all so much my heart and soul ached for it. But I did not miss the wicked person I had once been. Looking at the wall I had just washed, I took a deep breath and ran my hand over the surface, smooth and clean.Smooth and clean. Kind and selfless. Honest and thoughtful. Trustworthy and caring. Happy.
Day after day, I watched Clara and Lord Trowbridge as he brought her home. Although he lived just down the road, he always walked with her. Surely he would have sent her on the short journey in a carriage if she had let him. Clara and I always conversed for hours about her day when she returned, and how he had looked at her as he bid her farewell, and the complimentshe had offered. It would be only a short time before he proposed. I was sure of it.
Miss Bentford joined our conversations often, and I was learning that she was not nearly as boring as I had first assumed. She had traveled the continent with her mother years before, studying birds, artifacts, and tasting exotic foods from around the world. She had even traveled to India, spending months on a boat being seasick, though she claimed it was worth every moment. I took genuine interest in her stories, growing increasingly fond of her companionship during the day when Clara was at Brackenridge Hall. I had been cruel to assume Miss Bentford was pitiful for the path she had taken. In fact, I found her quite courageous.
Mrs. Abbot’s cook taught me how to bake a set of my favorite cakes, and Mrs. Abbot even sent me home with some of their extra ingredients. I failed the first few batches I attempted, struggling with lighting the fire on my own and mixing the ingredients in the proper order, but eventually I made a batch I was quite proud of. My injured hand was hardly a nuisance anymore, and I was learning to function quite well without all the fingers.
By the end of the fortnight, as Mr. Watkins had promised, he removed the bandages, instructing me to use my hand carefully, but frequently. I hadn’t imagined it possible, but I missed the bandages. Now there was nothing to hide the sight of my deformed hand from myself. Or anyone else.
I wandered into the village one morning despite the cold, eager to do something other than cook and clean. With Clara working as Sophia’s governess, we were earning more than enough money to keep us alive with food and other necessities. So I decided it was acceptable for me to make one small purchase for myself. Wrapping up in my warmest cloak and shawl, I stepped out the door into the chilly air.
It was not snowing today, and the sun shone gently over my head, cutting through the cold with an unexpected warmth. Old snow crunched under my boots as I walked along the path to the village. When the first people came into view, I slipped my hand out of sight under my cloak. I carried with me a small pouch of coins, but held those also concealed, desperately hoping the past would not be repeated with a large bearded man stealing my money.
I shook off the worry, but walked faster between the narrow shop streets.
I scanned the faces I passed, secretly hoping to see James’s among them. The last time I had seen him was when we had played music together, and the fortnight that followed had been the longest of my life. I still worried that I had done something to upset him. I hoped to see him, if only to ask—or even guess—at his behavior. Had he been offended, or was he truly as disgusted by me as I thought?
My eyes drifted to the steps of a tiny, familiar house. A young girl sat on the lap of a man—I assumed he was her father. The girl was shivering, face smudged in dirt. My heart ached keenly at the sight, and then her eyes raised to meet mine. They were large and brown and wet with tears.
I recognized her.
The first morning Clara and I had ventured to the village, I had seen this same girl and her father, sitting on the same steps, wearing the same clothes. James had tried to offer the man money, and he had refused.
But would he also refuse something for his daughter?
I greeted the man with a brief nod, stopping in front of the girl. I bent down with a gentle smile. “What is your name?”
“Caroline,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Are you very cold, Miss Caroline?”
She nodded, shivering yet again in her thin layer of clothing. My eyes flickered to the man, and he watched me through narrowed eyes. I had come equipped with two shawls and a cloak, so I took off the softer, warmer of the two shawls and extended it to the girl. As I did, my cloak slipped away from my right hand and she saw it, but she didn’t stare. I draped the pale blue shawl over her shoulders and she quickly wrapped it around herself.
I covered my hand again and watched her face. She was so young and shy, lost in the world and a stranger to everything I had known as a child. I had been so very fortunate, and the realization of the life I could have had—the life this girl had—brought tears to my eyes. Even my life here in the cold, grey North was far more fortunate than the life of this young girl.
“This is very pretty,” Caroline’s voice was rasped and quiet. I followed her gaze to the necklace I wore. It was one of the few pieces of jewelry I still owned.
“Do you like it?” I smiled at her as she nodded. “Would you like to have it?”
The man interrupted. “No, ma’am. We can’t accept anythin’ else from ye.”
I quickly reached behind my head and unclasped the necklace. I let it fall gently into Caroline’s outstretched hand. Her eyes were wide as she watched the light reflect off the tiny gems.
“It is nothing.” I gave the man a reassuring smile before walking away.
I was warm despite the cold, humbled by my heightened understanding of everything I had. This poor girl had nothing. Little food, little clothing, little shelter. All I lacked was a few fingers.
Suddenly it didn’t seem so very bad.
The shop I had come to the village for was right down the road from here, so I headed in that direction. When I walked through the door I was greeted by the smell of leather. The shopkeeper directed me to a selection of gloves, and I settled on a pair of black ones lined in fur. I tried them on, but the right side was still noticeably different, especially where my fifth finger should have been. Using a few strips of fabric, I could easily stuff the empty areas of the glove. To the undiscerning eye, my hand would appear completely ordinary.
I made the purchase quickly, wearing the gloves as I exited the store. A cold blast of air stole my breath as I started down the street again.
And then my eyes met a pair of handsome, sea-green ones.
Chapter Seventeen
