The next morning Charlotte attempted to stretch out her body, cramped from having slept all night at George’s side. Charlotte’s mother had visited last night, and Christopher had begrudgingly told her the truth. The shock of it had sent her back to her rooms, and Charlotte doubted she would surface again until several days had passed.
When Charlotte changed George’s bandage, it seemed his infection had lessened, but his fever still raged. The doctor visited again and warned that if the fever did not turn within the next two days, George would likely die.
All the guests had left, Ainscough having undertaken Christopher’s request to ask everyone to leave immediately, without seeking Charlotte. She was glad but felt the weight of her deception.
Now she sat once more in the armchair at George’s side, wiping at his hot forehead, and glanced out the window. She reached up absently toward her throat, grasping her necklace. She rolled the red stone between her fingers, remembering that it was Alex who’d found that stone and dropped it all those years ago, that the jewel had always represented hope for a future that would now most assuredly never be hers.
Soon she’d throw away her pendant—or, better yet, bury it back in the ruins. But in the past few days since the duel, she hadn’t found the strength to remove it from her neck. It reminded her that no matter how brief their time together had been, Alex loved her.
The heavily curtained room closed in on her as she dipped the cloth once more into the cool water. Thoughts of Alex plagued her: thoughts of his words, his plan for their future, his proposal. And then her thoughts brought her to one memory: the guilty look on his face when he hadn’t denied he wanted her land.
But that wasn’t why he loved her, was it? Closing her eyes, she remembered his kiss. It had conveyed true feeling. Care, longing, connection, hope. She opened her eyes and focused on George. What did any of that matter now? She’d never know how much of his interactions with her had been governed by his desire to own her land. She must forget him too. For Walter, for George, and so they could all move on.
She clasped her hands together, studying them. Therewasone thing Alex had helped her realize: the power of prayer. How many times a day this week had she appealed to God? Whenever she felt weak, whenever George seemed to get worse, whenever she thought of Alex.
Those prayers had seemed to help. Charlotte didn’t fully understand, but she knew now that there was power in it. As she’d done so many times already, she prayed for her brother’s improvement, knowing at the same time that it would take a long time to heal her own heart.
Christopher walked past George’s open door. He had been distant all day and hadn’t said much, but Charlotte found her heart softening toward him. Perhaps she was even beginning to forgive him, though she knew that too would take time and effort.
A tremor shot through George’s legs and sweat broke out anew on his brow.
Two more days.
By then he’d either evade death or succumb to it.
She thought next of the letter she’d hastily written to Harris. That letter and the one to George still sat on the dressing table in her room. Those words had never made it to Harris. Now she knew she must move on, and that could mean marrying him. Doing so would remove her from the most painful memories that hung in every corner of this house. But that wouldn’t be fair to Harris. She didn’t love him, and she never would. Her heart was completely Alex’s, and she knew she’d never give it to someone else.
Christopher would, no doubt, think her idiotic for refusing Harris, but Harris deserved better. As soon as she went back to her bedroom, she’d draft and mail a new letter and explain more clearly why she could no longer accept his proposal.
Forevermore, she must make her own decisions and direct her own future.
Chapter 37
“I will miss ye,” Moxhamsaid to Alex the next afternoon as he held Cobalt by the reins. “I just finished visiting Margaret at the castle. From what she’s heard, very few servants are allowed into George’s room, but they say his fever is raging.”
Alex closed his eyes, and the painful memories of a few days past flooded his thoughts. He opened his eyes and nodded at Moxham, who drew a rallying breath. “As for some good news, Margaret heard of a position in town, and I have decided to sign on as a clerk. Until she can be sure she’ll secure the position, she will remain at the castle.” A true smile then lit up his countenance. “If all goes according to plan, we’ll be married in three weeks. We owe our happiness to ye.”
“I am overjoyed to hear it.” Alex clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I do regret I can’t stay for the wedding.” He thumbed the few coins in his pocket. “But the faster I get to London, the faster I’ll find some kind of work.”
Moxham nodded. “I understand.”
Cartwright had been furious when Alex had severed all ties, as expected, but Alex’s conscience was now clear, though his savings would not last forever. Maybe there was some way in London to expose the plight of the miners all over the country. Lord Ashley might even listen to him again. For now, though, he knew he needed to get to Town and find some kind of employment.
“I’ll grab the rest of my things,” Alex said, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes by turning. “Consider Cobalt my wedding present.”
“I couldn’t take him, Jenkins.” Moxham shook his head.
“I insist,” Alex replied. “He can’t ride the train with me to London.” He chuckled. “And now that you can read, look for my letters.”
“I’ll be glad to receive them.” Moxham cleared his throat, holding back his emotions as he clasped Alex’s bicep. “Thank ye, Jenkins, for everything. Truly.”
Alex stared at him for a long moment and then turned to walk up the flight of stairs that led to his room as Moxham urged Cobalt down the street to his rented stable. He would miss his friend of so many years. Once inside the meager apartment, Alex withdrew a small box from under his bed that he’d taken from his house when he’d run away all those years ago. It contained no money then, nor did it now, but the box had kept his one possession safe.
He lifted the lid and glanced inside, then raised the small stone out of the box, turning it over in his hand. The deep red encased in silver glinted in the filtered light, the color of blood. All these years, he could have sold it for a pretty price.
It matched Charlotte’s stone perfectly, and it wasn’t until Alex had seen her fiddle with her necklace a few weeks ago that he’d realized there were two gems, not one. He guessed the stones had been couched on either side of the hilt of a sword from the ruins.
He clutched the stone tightly in his hand. He had one last thing he must do to fully absolve his guilt.
