Page 42 of Loving an Earl
Lilly stayed silentas Emmeline explained. “We belong to a ladies’ club. We help the less fortunate. Most of the time we travel there during the day, but last night a woman was in labor and needed help.”
“I hope it was worth risking your lives and you helped her,” Blackstone said, clearly exasperated.
Tears trickled down Lilly’s face. “She died. The baby was breech and couldn’t be born. They both died. Her husband had recently passed, and she left three young children.”
“I’m sorry,” both Caldwell and Blackstone said.
“Then what happened?” Blackstone inquired.
Lilly continued. “Apparently, the mother, Annabelle, was the daughter of a baron. The baron arrived right before we left.”
Blackstone and Caldwell exchanged an intense look. “Which baron?” Blackstone asked.
“She said her father was Baron Winslow.” Lilly looked at Emmeline questioningly. Why should the two men grow so somber at the name? But Emmeline looked as confused as she felt.
Blackstone looked at Langford, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Annabelle is the one Langford was looking for. I trust you to keep the information about her and her death to yourselves until Langford recovers. I don’t want this to interfere with his healing. When he is better, I will tell him.”
Lilly and Emmeline exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Who is she to him?” Emmeline asked. “I never heard her name mentioned, and I have known Langford for ten years.”
“She is someone from his past. That’s all I can say, as it’s not my story to tell,” Blackstone replied in a monotone voice. His eyes went to Langford once again.
Lilly excused herself. She needed air and she couldn’t get any into her lungs—the room was suddenly closing in around her. Her chest constricted while her heart ran wild. After exiting the room, she hurried to hers, poured water from a pitcher into the basin and splashed it on her face. She breathed in and out several times, hoping to get her heart and breathing under control. What Blackstone said about Annabelle, God rest her soul, had strange things happening to her. Had Langford loved Annabelle? Blackstone made it sound as though he had. And now poor Annabelle was dead, a baron’s daughter dying in the slums of London. Why? How? Except Lilly knew the how and why. Using her dying breath, Annabelle had told her, but it didn’t make it any easier for Lilly to understand. How could she feel a love so deep and strong that she would leave the safety and security of her home and venture out into the world penniless, all for the love of a man?
What would a love like that feel like? Lilly splashed water on her face again and patted it dry with a cloth. She met her reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize the stranger looking back at her. She was pale, her hair a bird’s nest, her clothes wrinkled, dirty, and bloody, and her eyes were sad and lost and very innocent. She’d been sheltered her entire life right up until she moved in with Emmeline. She didn’t know if she could be the woman she needed to become in order to survive, a woman with real knowledge of the world around her. There were so many things she didn’t know or understand. It was good she had Emmeline, Aunt Vivian, and the Ladies’ Society of Mayfair members. One could never have too many friends at their side. Not that she ever really had any friends before, but it was nice to know she did now.
She’d almost begun to consider Langford a friend, too. But after what had happened the other day with the documents he’d found, would he ever be again? Would he even still feel obligated to Henry and honor a dead man’s wishes and see her settled into a happy marriage? If he chose not to, it wasn’t as though Henry would know.
Regardless, for the time being, she would take care of his health and well-being. She would speak to Emmeline and find out if Langford could stay here until he was healed. It would be much easier than Lilly having to travel back and forth to his townhome, even though it was a short walk away. She would feel better being in charge of his recovery, especially with Mullens and Mrs. Lewis here to help as well.
She would simply learn to ignore her feelings for him and help him heal. If she didn’t help him recover she just knew she would feel guilty, even though she had no reason to feel that way.
*
Edmund’s mind struggledthrough the dense fog trying to keep him trapped. He wanted to wake up, but his mind refused because when he was coherent everything hurt. He supposed it was his brain’s way of keeping the pain at bay.
He had a feeling this was what being drawn and quartered felt like, right before your limbs were ripped from your body and you bled to death. Death. He did remember Lilly saying he was lucky to be alive. It didn’t feel that way. What he wouldn’t give to feel nothing. He may have been sleeping or unconscious when his friends were talking—he couldn’t really tell—but somehow he’d heard what was said. Now his heart joined the unbearable pain slicing through his body.
Annabelle was dead.
Edmund, Quincy, Caldwell, and Fitzpatrick were young, privileged gentlemen of thetonenjoying a London Season. At eighteen years of age and attending university, none were in the market for a wife. The Marriage Mart mamas left them alone, knowing it wasn’t worth their time to fawn over them and foist their daughters on them—not yet. But that didn’t mean the young friends didn’t enjoy their time and quickly become rakish. Some more than others.
Edmund enjoyed a brief liaison with a widow. Unfortunately, she became possessive of his time, and he wanted to enjoy his freedom. That was until he met Miss Annabelle Brown, daughter of a baron. She was making her come-out at the tender age of seventeen. The moment Edmund managed an introduction, he was lost in a haze of infatuation. He called on her daily. Sent flower arrangements from a hothouse several times a week. Danced with her as much as was proper. And when she was dancing in another’s arms, he stood on the side seething. Quincy was worried for his friend, for he noticed Annabelle wasn’t as taken with Edmund as he was with her.
That bothered Quincy, but whenever he mentioned it to Edmund, they argued, and it put a strain on their friendship. Never had Quincy thought a lady would come between them.
As the Season went on, Edmund spent more and more time at Annabelle’s townhouse, monopolizing her time. Even though Edmund had begun the Season with no intention of getting married so young, he could not let Annabelle marry another, and she had many other suitors. He requested an audience with her father, the baron, and asked for his permission to propose marriage to his daughter. The baron favored Edmund. It was evident in the conversations they shared. He believed Edmund was young to marry but gave his permission nonetheless. Even without a title yet, he was an heir to a prosperous earldom.
Edmund retrieved his mother’s sapphire ring, the one his father had given her when he proposed. The baron invited Edmund to dinner that night, and the three of them had a lovely dinner and retired to the drawing room after. The baron excused himself, leaving Edmund alone with Annabelle. His heart pounded inside his chest and his hands sweated at the seriousness of what he was about to do. He loved Annabelle with all his heart and had convinced himself that he was ready, that he couldn’t wait to be married. As he got down on one knee and held out his mother’s ring, the look on Annabelle’s face, shock and disbelief—and not of a favorable sort—eviscerated his insides. Her head turned from side to side.
Edmund jumped up, blinded by the rejection. He fumbled out of the room into the hall, looking for his hat and cloak. The butler handed them to him, opened the door, and Edmund ran outside and down the street and kept going, ignoring all the stares, until he couldn’t take in another breath of air, bent over, and lost the contents of his stomach in someone’s bushes.
He walked the streets of London in a stupor for hours, finding his way to the docks on the banks of the Thames, which were bustling at all hours of the night, loading and unloading cargo from large and small shipping vessels.
As he stood there taking it all in, he wondered if he should jump into the Thames and drown himself, making the agony splitting his heart in two go away. He couldn’t imagine going on living in such immense pain. And that didn’t even take into account his mortification and embarrassment. How could he ever face Society or Annabella again without feeling like a worthless fool? He had contemplated leaving Cambridge when they married. Now he couldn’t wait to get back to his studies. He would hide from the world and bury his heart so deep inside himself that it would never be found. He would never love another for as long as he lived.
A strange mixture of dream and memory buffeted Edmund as he struggled back toward consciousness. But when he finally achieved it, he regretted it immediately as immeasurable pain from his leg and shoulder bombarded him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on breathing through the pain he felt deep inside his bones. When he believed he could ignore the pain and speak, he opened his eyes to find Blackstone and Caldwell standing at the end of his bed.
