The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

But one feeling dominated all others.

He had never felt more alone in his entire life.

Chapter Ten

“Finish your broth, and then you must rest.” Mr Erstwhile sat beside his wife’s bed and stroked her brow.

Estelle had passed the open door on her way downstairs to wait for Mr Hungerford. She stopped to listen merely to gauge if they were keeping something from her and if Mrs Erstwhile suffered from a more serious illness than a fever and upset stomach. But the love and devotion expressed between the couple touched her heart, and she felt compelled to watch.

“I’m so weak,” Mrs Erstwhile said. “It has been years since I felt so helpless.”

Mr Erstwhile brought his wife’s limp hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her pale skin. “You will get better, my love. But you must believe it will be so. Besides, what on earth would I do here without you?”

A lump formed in Estelle’s throat. In her experience, only a lucky few shared such a special connection.

“Do you remember the day we met, when you walked into the drawing room to lay the fire?” Mr Erstwhile said, feeding his wife a spoonful of broth. “You looked so nervous.”

She swallowed down his offering. “I was terrified. It was my first day working for your father, and I tripped over the rug. You helped me to my feet.” A warm smile lit up her face. “Always the gentleman.”

“In that moment when our eyes locked something wonderful happened — something truly beautiful. It was as though I had finally come home.”

“I remember.”

“Then just as our love was worth fighting for, so you must fight to regain your strength.”

“I will.”

“Promise me you will try.”

“I promise.”

Estelle crept away but returned to her room instead of heading for the stairs. Once inside she settled on the bed, curled into a ball and hugged her legs to her chest.

Oh, Ross!

Once, her heart swelled with the same soul-deep love Mr Erstwhile spoke of. But she had made a terrible mistake. One that had cost her everything she held dear. While the Erstwhiles had the strength to fight for what mattered, she had been too weak to battle with two patriarchs. Too easily coerced and manipulated.

If only she could go back to that fateful day.

Yes, she had made the ultimate sacrifice for Ross, and for Fabian, too. And yet not a day passed when she wished she had thought of herself. But it was too late. A marquess did not marry a criminal no matter how blue her blood.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Why could she not forget? Why could she not learn to live in the present, instead of dwelling on the past? Those thoughts echoed through her mind until sleep brought her temporary peace.

Estelle woke to a knock on her door. Mr Erstwhile called out, “Miss Brown?”

“Yes” came her drowsy reply.

“Mr Hungerford is here.”

“I’ll be down in a moment.”

The last thing she needed was to hear Mr Hungerford’s declaration. The gentleman could be quite determined when he put his mind to something. If he refused to accept her answer, she could always catch the next mail coach heading north. Running away from Faucheux had saved her from a truly terrible existence. If she had the strength to refuse the Frenchman, she had the strength to do anything.

After washing her face and changing her dress, Estelle hurried downstairs.

Mr Hungerford stood in the shop conversing with Mr Erstwhile who was still obsessed with spying on those in the street. Perhaps he suspected the intruder was still watching the premises, waiting for another opportunity to strike.