A Curse of the Heart

“We know it was you,” she suddenly blurted, releasing the fear she had held on to for more than a week. “We know you arranged it all.”

“I take it Mr. Pearce confessed,” George said with a hapless shrug. “What do you want me to say, Rebecca? That I’m sorry. Because I’m not.” He ignored Mr. Stone’s sudden intake of breath. “You were never in any danger, and it is only a matter of time before something untoward happens to you.”

Mr. Stone thrust himself forward. “You’re wrong,” he said. “She was in danger, in danger of losing her sanity. In her desperation, she could have fled the house in the dead of night. Do you know how many unpleasant characters wander the streets at such an ungodly hour?”

His words appeared to have some effect and for the first time, George’s cobalt-blue eyes flashed with remorse.

“What else was I to do?” George asked, pushing his hand through his golden locks. “She refuses to heed my advice, insists on calling herself Miss Linwood when it is clearly not the name of her birth. She needs the protection of her family.”

No matter what George said, Rebecca would never be a Wellford. He could plead, protest and dress it all up in a fancy ribbon, but it would not change the fact she was not part of his family.

Mr. Stone sighed. “What do you want from her?”

“I know what he wants,” she said. “He wants to chase me out of my home so he can claim it for himself.”

“You know that is not true, Rebecca,” George said softly. “What need do I have for a house full of dusty old relics? I want you to accept you have a place here, with your family, that is all.” He turned his attention to Mr. Stone. “You have kin. I recall there being a younger sister. Tell me you do not want what is best for her.”

Rebecca turned sharply. Why had he not mentioned he had a sister? When her eyes met his, the pain she saw there made her heart ache.

“My sister is only ten,” he said, with a hint of sadness in his voice, “and while I can understand your motives, I cannot condone your methods. Miss Linwood shares your father’s passion for the ancient world. Her home is a place filled with magic and wonder. It is a place where she feels connected to her parents.”

Rebecca continued to stare at him, her surprise at discovering he had a sister overshadowed by his insightful response.

She had not considered it before, but there we

re times when the house felt alive with memories of the past. She often imagined hearing her father’s enthusiastic cries upon discovering a new Egyptian piece. Or seeing her mother’s emotive expressions as she rehearsed her lines whilst looking in the mirror. The house was like a shrine to their memory, a reminder she was once part of a loving family, and she would never forsake them.

Tears threatened to fall.

“I just want to be left alone,” she whispered looking down into her lap.

She just wanted to be at home with her precious memories.

Mr. Stone placed his hand on the seat between them and edged a little closer to her. Suddenly, she wished she was alone with him in his carriage, wished to hear his salacious banter, wished he could ease the crippling feeling of loneliness that took hold of her in moments of weakness.

George shuffled to the edge of his chair and sat forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Perhaps I have gone about things in the wrong way,” he confessed. “Is there nothing I can do or say to make you reconsider your place there?” When she shook her head, he gave a deep sigh. “Will you not, at least, agree to meet with me on occasion? It is what father would have wanted.”

Rebecca looked up at his angelic face, a stab of guilt hitting her squarely in the chest. There was a softness to his features that reminded her so much of her father and some part of her wanted to reach out to him, desperate for the comfort that comes with familiarity.

“You may call on me at the museum,” she heard herself say and was quick to add, “but no one else, only you and only on occasion.”

“I should leave,” Mr. Stone said standing abruptly, and she could not determine whether his tone held a hint of sadness or hostility. “I shall leave you to talk privately. Will you arrange to see Miss Linwood home?”

George nodded. “Of course.”

Mr. Stone seemed distant now, and she could feel him drifting further away from her, as though retreating to his private sanctuary and barring the door.

Her mind and body were fraught with anguish and pain: for the loss of her parents, for the fear of being hurt by the Wellfords, for thinking Gabriel Stone would walk away and she would never see him again.

Knots formed in her stomach, and she wanted to jump up and beg him to stay, beg him not to leave her.

“Before you leave, Stone. Can you not persuade Rebecca to accompany me to Lord Chelton’s ball this evening?”

“I am not the sort of gentleman to express excitement for such activities,” he replied coldly. “Besides, Miss Linwood is quite capable of making up her own mind.” He stood and offered her a respectful bow as her fear turned to anger for his indifference.

“Yes, I will come with you tonight,” she suddenly said, brandishing the words like a weapon with the intention of hurting Gabriel Stone.

He turned to face her, his stern countenance reminding her of the time she sat on his steps and watched him draw the curtains. The first time he’d shut her out. “Goodbye, Miss Linwood,” he said, not good day or good afternoon. “I trust you will have an enjoyable evening.”