“I think it will be a good move for us all,” Catherine said, bringing me back from my thoughts. She leaned down to scoop Hazel up from the blanket where she’d been playing on the floor. The chubby-cheeked little girl blew a spit bubble at her mother and grinned, making an equally luminous smile spread across Catherine’s face. “It will be nice to relax into ordinary life for a while.”
I knew what ‘ordinary life’ meant for Catherine. For her, it meant life as a mother and a wife. Life free of a private nurse and accusations of insanity. For Catherine, it meant going back to life as it had been.
For me, however, I wasn’t sure.
For the last year, my life had been anything but normal, and I was beginning to think that abnormality was my new normal.
Could I really see myself settling down with a nice husband? Could I imagine cradling my own child the way Catherine hugged Hazel?
I didn’t think so.
And yet, when the questions rose to my mind, a face came with them. The image of a tall man with dark hair and equally dark eyes floated in front of my eyes.
17
A week after the attack, I was able to go for walks again.
I only took them early in the mornings or in the early afternoons. Never in the evenings. Never when it was even close to getting dark. And never in the back of the house.
Instead of walking the trails, I walked the long dirt drive that led from the front of the house to the road. I passed by the Wilds sisters while they tended to their gardens out front and drank tea at their window. Sometimes I stopped to say hello, other times I kept going.
Nurse Gray had told me before she left that movement would help me heal so long as I was taking it easy and not pushing myself. So, every day, I walked a little farther. And I planned to continue the practice when I returned to London in the coming days.
Catherine had sent a letter to Mama and Papa telling them what had happened during my visit, so I wondered whether Mama wouldn’t try to bar the doors and windows to keep me inside and safe. I’d begged Catherine to keep it all a secret, but she explained that wouldn’t be possible, and I unwillingly agreed. The news would get out that Charles’ sister was mentally unwell and the rest of the story would follow.
Then too, the cut across my forehead was fading, but not fast enough for it to be gone by the time I returned. Mama would see it and the other scars I’d earned during my fight, and she would be able to tell if I was lying or not.
Today when I walked past the house where Margaret and Abigail Wilds lived, they were burning dead wood in a heap next to their house. Thankfully, they were not dancing around the flames, though the image from that night rose to my mind entirely unbidden and unwanted.
I wouldn’t have minded stopping to say hello, but not with the fire.
I didn’t want to admit it to Catherine, but when I was reminded of that night at all, panic gripped me. Usually, I could talk myself down, but it took a few minutes. My body would feel as though I was right back in the fight, as though I needed to fight for my life from enemies all around me even though I knew I wasn’t actually in danger.
Margaret lifted her hand and waved, grinning at me, and Abigail nodded in my direction. I smiled at the two women and made a silent promise to sit and have some of their terrible home-brewed tea before I left for London. Then, I turned and headed back for the house.
It was close to lunch, and my appetite was beginning to return. The exercise certainly helped that. Florence had been making scones with every meal, knowing how much I liked them, and I knew they were in thanks for getting both Camellia and Nurse Gray out of the house. She told me she would make me as many scones as I wanted for as long as I wanted them. It would be easy to keep that promise now that she would be moving to London to continue working for Catherine and Charles.
By the time I was nearing the house, my legs were tired and my stomach growled. My knee ached slightly, which was a sign that I needed to get inside and put it up, probably with a cool compress.
I was so focused on the state of my body that I didn’t notice the figure standing at the mouth of the driveway until he cleared his throat.
The sound startled me, and I yelped and jumped to a stop. Then, my mouth fell open.
For several long seconds, I convinced myself I was seeing things. I convinced myself that all of the stress of the last couple weeks had turned my mind to mush. There would be no saving it. Because certainly, Sherborne Sharp could not be standing at the end of my sister’s driveway waiting for me.
It made no sense.
And yet…
“Alice.” His voice sounded nothing like it had in my terrible nightmare that night on the moors. It wasn’t sharp or shrill or overwhelming. My name on his lips was deep and soothing and warm. More comforting than I ever could have imagined.
I blinked and shook my head. “Sherborne?”
He took off his hat and held it against his stomach, both hands folded over it, and bent his
