Chapter 21

Lydia replaced the cooling cloth on Juliana's forehead and dabbed the sweat from her cheeks and neck. The little beads glistened in the firelight, tiny gems marking a lady's distress.

At least Juliana slept easier for the moment. The cold fit seemed like it would never pass. But it had, and the bricks were once again heating by the fire. Her fever was abating, just a little. The reprieve would not last very long. Still, it should be relished whilst it lasted.

Lydia dipped a handkerchief in the vinegar water and scoured the sweat from her face and neck. Dirty stains streaked across its length and it smelled more of sweat than vinegar now. Why must a sickroom be kept so hot and stuffy? She threw it into the corner pile of used linens and stretched.

Exhausted, beyond exhausted. How was one to describe a tiredness that leached the strength from one's bones? Perhaps one day she would draw it, but who would want to see such a thing?

The door edged open and Mrs. Drummond slipped in. Cool air that rushed in behind her. She looked a little better for a few hours' sleep, but deep creases still shadowed her face and a weariness beyond the mere physical washed over her being, dull, grey and worn.

"You have got her to sleep?" Mrs. Drummond touched Juliana's forehead with the back of her hand.

"Only just, and with the help of Mrs. Harrow's saline and laudanum draught."

Mrs. Drummond frown deepened. "I do not much like the use of laudanum in this house. Do not allow it to be known there is any within these walls."

"Someone here?"

"Yes, and it would not do to bring them into temptation."

Who? No, she could not ask and Mrs. Drummond surely would not tell her if she did.

Whose story did she not know? She rubbed her eyes. Lucy was the only one she had heard nothing of. Could that be? Well in any case, she would guard her tongue especially carefully around Lucy. Ames might have survived drinking too much laudanum, but Lydia was no Lizzy and she had not her father here to advise treatment in any case. A shudder coursed down her back.

"My father detests the stuff and decries all but a few uses of it."

"I am glad to hear you have no easy opinion of it." Mrs. Drummond straightened Juliana's blanket. "Go rest. You may use the settee in my office. Tomorrow we shall make arrangements for a room for you."

"Annabelle, that is Miss Fitzgilbert, asked me to stay with her."

"I had though you would prefer Joan and Amelia's room."

Lydia shook her head sharply. "No, madam, if you please…"

"You say Miss Fitzgilbert asked you?"

"Yes, madam."

Mrs. Drummond rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Very well."

"Thank you." Lydia tiptoed to the door, but paused before opening it. "May I…may I sit outside in the garden on the bench near the door? I cannot sleep now, not after being so stifled in this heat. I promise to be very quiet and go nowhere else. I…I need some fresh air. This room is so hot and stuffy."

Mrs. Drummond sighed. "You realize—"

"I know it very improper. I am sorry. Perhaps I might just open a window, then?"

"The garden is walled and gated and the moon is full. Stay to the bench near the door as you said. Do not stay out long. I understand the need for fresh air."

Lydia curtsied. "Thank you madam. Shall I come back afterwards?"

"No, Miss Honeywell will sit with her next." She patted Juliana's hand. "We are still hoping for a good outcome. It is still possible."

"I know it is. Juliana is so strong, more than any one of us realizes. She is strong."

"Yes, she is…yes she is."

Lydia slipped out the door and shut it softly behind her.

Moonlight through the hall window washed the corridor in cold, otherworldly light. Unladylike snores filtering through closed doors might be the muffled roars of some unnamed creature of darkness.

She rubbed away cold sharp prickles dancing up her arms. Silly, foolish girl. There were no such things and she must not allow ridiculous fears to take hold. No, there were far too many real, tangible things to be afraid of.

She sat on the top step. It creaked uncertainly beneath her, confused as it was called into service as a seat rather than a stair.

Back at home…in Papa's house…was that even her home anymore?... she had kept those fears at bay with gaiety and fun and flirtations. Without those well-placed defenses, those fears seemed close enough to touch. What would, what could hold them at bay? Would she ever feel safe again?

A moan, Juliana's, wafted down the hall. Mrs. Drummond's soothing murmurs followed.

Lydia rose. Best she go downstairs now lest she find herself back in the sick room.

Darkness enveloped the stairway and the short hall to the back door. Good that she knew the way so well or she might have turned away short of her goal.

A tiny sliver of moonlight poured in beside the back door. Who had left it open? Mrs. Drummond would be very cross to discover it open. She slipped outside and latched the door behind her.

How cool and wonderful the night air! Smooth and silky, caressing her sweat-ravaged limbs with a soothing silver balm. Night creatures chirruped and twittered, far less frightening than the sounds within.

The alms house widows believed it a very dangerous thing to be out in the night and perhaps they were generally correct, but in this moment there was nothing her soul needed more than this respite from the confines of the house.

What? Was that a groan?

That was not a normal night sound and that shadow near the bench—

"Mr. Amberson?"

"Miss Bennet?" He jumped to his feet. His lanky limbs cast exaggerated shadows along the garden path. How very much taller than usual he seemed. "You should not be out."

"Mrs. Drummond gave me permission. She just took my place with Juliana."

"I am astonished. Does she not think it improper?"

"What are you doing out here?" She peered up at him. Though deep shadows covered his face, tell-tale swollen eyes and glistening cheeks could not be hidden. She stretched to brush his cheek with fingertips. "What is wrong?"

What did it take to make a man cry? Papa…the only time he had ever shed tears was at little Thomas' death. Nothing else so moved him before or since.

Mr. Amberson grasped her wrist and pressed her palm to his cheek. Eyes closed, he leaned into her hand, sighing. The lines around his eyes softened.

"My heart is heavy and my soul, grieved, and only the night can contain it."

"Do you wish to speak of it?" She glanced over her shoulder. "We might sit…"

"I should not unburden myself upon you so…but I fear if I try to contain it any further I might shatter with the effort." He took her hand and led her to the bench. She perched upon it, but he hunkered tailor-style on the ground before her.

"You have listened to my griefs and grievances often enough. Tell me what troubles you." She bit her lip.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. "You will think ill of me for knowing."

"And you have not had the opportunity to think ill of me? How much have I told you? I should think that all the more reason for you to find me trustworthy. Besides, I cannot imagine what you could tell me that would make me think ill of you."

"You have great faith in me."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I am far more difficult to shock than a proper young lady ought to be." She chuckled, but it had a raw edge.

"I helped bury him today."

"Who?"

"The baby. The midwife christened him, wrapped him in a sheet and gave him to me. I took him to the vicar, and we buried him in the churchyard near some climbing roses. No marker, no mourners." He raked his hair into an unruly mass. "They say the loss of a baby or even a child is a negligible loss. A father, a husband, that is a life worth mourning."

"It sounds as though you do not agree."

"A father, has he not already given back into the society of man? Indeed, at an advanced age, he has given most of what he would have to give, perhaps even all. Is it wrong to mourn instead for the life that was never lived at all? The potential lost to us forever?"

Her chin quivered and she swallowed hard. Papa had gone alone to bury Thomas. "I suppose you are correct. But is it not worthwhile to consider, the babe spent the whole of his life staring into the eyes of one who loved him more deeply than you and I might even understand. Surely, there must be something of great beauty in such a life."

He grabbed her hands and pressed his forehead to them, great, heaving sobs wracking his bony shoulders.

Wispy clouds, carried on a thin, chill breeze obscured the book and draped them with darkness. She squeezed his hands hard, but the storm seized him harder still.

Another breeze whisked the clouds aside and a single moonbeam brightened his face. "I pray…I pray…"

"Pray what?"

"I pray my son might have lived the life you described."

"Your son?" Her cheeks flushed cold and her fingers numbed. She tried to pull them away, but he held her fast.

"My son, Miss Bennet." He lifted his head and stared into her eyes, so ragged, so exposed, she forced herself not to turn away.

Silence, punctuated with gasping breaths, filled the air between them, so heavy, so uncertain, she longed to dash back into the house.

"Do you not wonder why a man of my talent is merely a teacher at a school for sullied girls?"

She winced. "I have."

"There is good reason, I assure you. You will find my sins are no different to your own. I was a favorite among society in Derby. My skill gave me favor among those above me, and I grew to think far too well of myself. I was a favorite partner among young ladies at balls and assemblies. Though the proper mamas and papas frowned upon their daughters keeping company with a musician, there was something exhilarating in flaunting their restrictions and seeing whatever girls I chose."

Lydia held her breath.

"In time, one of them fell with child. I will never forget the moment she told me."

"What…what did you do?" Pray, let him not be as Wickham.

"I am not proud of my first inclinations. I was angry. I spoke harshly to her, but in truth, it was me I was angry at. It was true, she gave her virtue easily enough, but it was I who had asked, nay cajoled, it from her."

"What did you do?"

"I offered her marriage, but her father was a proud, wealthy man and wanted a titled family for her. I had some connections and thought I might be able to secure a knighthood. Not as good as a baronet, to be sure, but respectable enough. He seemed to embrace the notion. So I left to London to make what efforts I could to that end." He pushed to his feet and walked into a distant shaft of moonlight.

She followed a few steps behind.

"While I was gone, he sent her away to distant relations. He never intended to accept my offer, especially since I failed to secure the knighthood."

"Do you know what became of her?"

"I tried to find her, but my efforts led me to be run out of town by the magistrate."

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. What had he done? "That is why you are here?"

"Indeed, although it was nearly a year between leaving Derby and arriving to a sufficient degree of penance that my aunt would accept me at her establishment. Do not fear. I am much reformed." He dragged the back of his fist across his mouth. "But do not suppose I gave up easily. I did not. It was only six months ago, after learning of her wedding to the son of a baronet, that I relinquished all hope of her. I learned through clandestine communication with her abigail that she bore my son, but he survived only three days after birth. I pray he was loved even half so well as you describe."

"Even had you been there, the power of life and death is not in our hands."

"I know. I would never have known if he lived or died save for a servant who liked my coin better than the promise of silence made to her mistress. What disturbs me most is that I may have had a son, a child in the world, and never known. Natural child he may have been, but many a father has helped his natural child, has he not? To have that chance taken from me, I find it difficult to forgive."

"I am sure her father forbade her from any communications with you."

"As I am sure he would have forbidden the liberties I took with her. Yet, she was ready to cast aside her father's will when it was pleasing to her. I offered for her. I did not forsake her as she did me." He turned away and strode several steps into the darkness.

She swallowed hard. Enjoy your damaged goods. Whilst I tell everyone of the fine romp I had with your sister. Wickham's words still haunted her dreams.

She tiptoed into the darkness and laid her hand on his arm. "I know what it is to be forsaken by the one who you hoped loved you."

He whirled and caught her shoulders, his eyes flashing and wild. "Here we are, found among the ranks of the forsaken. A place I had never thought to be. Nor one I thought to find one such as you."

"Such as I?"

"You are a rare treasure, Miss Bennet. Such a heart, such a soul. I have met no one else who sees the world as I hear it. So sensitive, so perceptive." His hand strayed to a loose curl by her ear. He wound it around his fingers and gently pulled it through. "It seems my aunt has finally begun to appreciate you even as I do."

"You sir?"

"I have restrained myself for both our sakes, but tonight, grief has made me reckless, and I cannot bear the thought of losing you before we have even begun."

"Begun?"

"Begun, Miss Bennet." He caressed her cheek. "Or have I misunderstood the look in your eye and the tremor in your voice? For many weeks now, I have considered you as more than my student and hoped…wished, even dreamed that you might feel the same."

"Sir, I…"

"Then I have been mistaken." He released her shoulders and turned aside.

"Wait, no."

He stopped.

"I have been most pleased with your company, sir."

"Only pleased?" He stepped closer.

"I must not, I cannot, I should not consider anything more. I am here for improvement." That was the right answer, was it not?

"My aunt believes you have improved." He ran her curl through his fingers again.

"Would she approve? Or my…my brother Darcy approve?"

"The question now is do you approve?" He leaned close, into a moonbeam that bathed his profile in a silver-blue glow.

How strong and intense he was. Her heart surged and longed for closeness. But could she speak it? Could she tell him? What if she did not? Her head swam at the thought…he might leave and never return!

"I do, but what of them?"

"I do not care. Only your opinion matters." His palm cupped her cheek, running his calloused thumb along the crest of her cheek. He smoothed her eyebrow, and she closed her eyes. A feather-like touch glided over her eyelid, and he tipped her face up.

Warm, soft lips met hers, igniting an effusion of warmth that spread from her heart, filling her chest and all the way to her fingertips. Softly, gently, reverently, giving, not taking, offering her every opportunity to pull away, but she could not. The raw edge of hunger and lust present with Wickham was missing. Instead his longing rang as passionate and intense as his music.

She leaned into his kiss, though she should not. But this, just this and only this, she could not deny him.

He pulled away and whispered. "No one else's opinion matters." He sighed, a sound of hope. "I must leave you, lest temptations visit this garden, and it is too much to bear." He caressed her cheek and faded away into the darkness.

Emptiness swirled about her, cold and sharp. What did this mean? What would she do? Surely, he would not keep away from her for too long—would he?

She turned back toward the house. Something moved in one of the windows above. Mrs. Drummond truly needed a cat to keep down the mice in the house. Juliana loved cats—perhaps Mrs. Drummond might be willing to take in one of the farmer's barn cat's kittens to cheer Juliana and hunt mice. Yes, she would speak to Mrs. Drummond in the morning—after she spent the sleepless hours until dawn pondering cats and mice and Mr. Amberson.