His face tensed, every muscle tightening to breaking.
I knew Daniel, how important words were to him, and I knew how to twist them to make him feel my rage. “The Earl of Ashbrook will use the power given to him by the king and the Church and his father, all those men, to command his wife?”
“Technically, it was my uncle. He’s the man from whom I received my title.” Daniel clasped his buttons, raking them back and forth. “Jemina, let me tell you our secret. You, me, and Hope, we’re a miracle. That’s our secret. That’s why we’ve come to love each other.”
“Love? Do you think my screaming for my daughter made me seem more of a lunatic? Was it pushing everything out of my head to forget them ripping her from my arms, did that make me a loon, perfect for Bedlam?”
“I’m so sorry.” Daniel took me in his embrace.
I wavered and rested in strong arms that should be fighting for my truth.
“I screamed for her the moment I awoke. I didn’t know my own name, but I knew her. They said she didn’t exist. They wanted me to lie, and I refused.”
Linking my finger to his, I lifted them. The moonlight and the candles glowed upon our union, light and dark, calloused and smooth, lively and learned. “My daughter and I were apart because no one believed I could be her mother. My face did that.”
His embrace tightened about me. “If I’d known, I would’ve found you, would’ve fixed it.”
My heart believed him. Daniel was my mast, strong and tall and unmoving. I wrapped my arms about him, kept my head up, above the water, above a sea of sobs pouring from my lungs.
Strong, silent Daniel kept me upright and secure until everything stopped pounding, until my pulse slowed its popping in my ears.
My throat constricted, but I had to ask the worst secret. “You only rescued me from Bedlam because you thought I was Phoebe. You wished that it was her who lived.”
He stiffened, released me, and moved to the window. Time stood still until he turned back, nodding. “I arrived at Bethlehem Hospital, Bedlam, in January on a mission for the Widow’s Grace and saw the name Jemina St. Maur on the list of inmates. I’d memorized that name from the list you crumpled. Then I saw the duchess, her bronzed skin, and assumed a mistake had been made.”
“Patience? Of course. My dearest friend rescued me again. She gave me purpose. She listened to me. No one had, not in Bedlam or that other place with echoes.”
He wiped at his neck, then completed the motion across his mouth, his trim beard. “I returned to this office and crafted paperwork, like I’d done so many times, and went to Bedlam hoping for another miracle. But the future duchess wasn’t Phoebe. She was gone again.”
“Oh, Daniel.”
He bit his lip. “Cheatedisn’t the word for what I felt. Losing my dream again was miserable. Then I talked with you. It took a minute to realize you were of sound mind. Someone had wrongly committed you. It became my duty to get you both to the Widow’s Grace. Knowing what you must have suffered, I determined to do what I could for you, to give you your life back; I just didn’t know you’d destroy mine.”
“Daniel—”
“You wanted my secrets. Let me finish telling you about the one time in my life I made the decision to break the rules for me. That day on the docks with that little miracle in my arms, I became judge and jury. I awarded myself custody of a babe set to be abandoned. I invented birth registries from a parish in Kingston; I formalized Phoebe’s will to legitimize my custody of her daughter. Then I made sure to be convincing, that I knew of the child and was expecting her. This baby had survived a sinking. She wouldn’t be ripped away from me. Do you know how many times little girls, known as exotic, are sold to the brothels? Very few victims get their day in court.”
Daniel took his handkerchief and wiped at my eyes. “I waited—weeks, months—no claims or inquiries. The Dunns never even wrote back when I informed them about Phoebe.”
He took up the passenger list. “No one on this list is of mixed race or Blackamoor but Phoebe Dunn. No children are listed at all. If Hope wasn’t Phoebe’s, at best, I liberated an enslaved child. At worse, the love of my life forgot to mention she had a daughter and decided never to speak of that angel. I tortured myself rereading her letters to determine if Phoebe thought so little of me to never say a word. Or to find the line I’d written that made her fearful her proxy groom wouldn’t accept her if she brought a babe from Jamaica. I would’ve accepted her child. She was part of Phoebe. How could I not?”
He splayed his fingers down the buttons of his dark waistcoat. “I owe Phoebe Dunn the deepest apology. For two years, I’ve acted like the most tragic widower so no one would question why a bachelor who’d never met his proxy wife decided to raise her little girl. Then I thanked her for Hope. That child is my heart.”
“Is Phoebe’s sketch true or part of the act?”
“It’s true. Phoebe sent it early on. A friend of hers drew it.”
“Is that everything, Daniel? No more secrets.”
He sat on the desk. “Since I’ve said I love you a half dozen times today, even when you ruthlessly seduced me to hide the fact that you took back your hook and rope and stole a pair of my pantaloons, I’m not sure how to conclude this trial.”
“You did give me your troth and worldly possessions. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“I didn’t. Didn’t mind the seduction part until you left. My tailor definitely needs to make you some items. Your shapeliness is quite appealing.”
“Daniel, must you joke?”
“It’s all I have. You’d rather break into buildings than stay.”
