“I will always come for you. On that, have no doubt.” He held her to him so ruthlessly she could barely breathe. “I will always come for you because I love you. If you didn’t know that, then I can only apologise and say it again. I love you more than life itself because, to me, you are life.”
Elsie kissed him back, holding him tight. “I love you too.”
“Say it again,” he said. She was baffled to hear humour in his voice. But then his hands were on either side of her face, sinking into her grimy hair and smoke-blotched skin, kissing her until the horrors that they had endured to get here, seemed distant. Until she felt, despite her dirt, her cough, any of her faults, that he would always love her.
CHAPTER 24
Two weeks later
Kit pacedthrough his London property, the carpet beneath his feet would become worn if he kept it up. Inside the bedroom was Elsie, and Kit could not imagine being anywhere else. She was being tended to by a trusted doctor and her sister, and Kit had reluctantly promised to go and sleep, but the truth was that slumber was out of reach.
So, he had made himself a nest in the nearest parlour, with only Lancelot for company. The dog huddled close to his feet, the creature’s warm breath hitting against his feet created a sense of rest if only his worrying mind would allow such things.
It was impossible not to dwell on the final moments of their escape from the cove, the mad icy swim towards the pathway and the desperate grasping fingertip reaching out for land. He had thought Elsie right beside him, but when he turned it was to find her faint, and barely able to stand. So, he had carried her throughthe woods, talking to her all the way, promising to love her, marry her, do whatever she wished as long as she stayed with him.
The rest of the night, the journey out of Cornwall, meeting his cousin and Elsie’s sister Margot, had been something of a blur. Even the momentous moment when Margot had passed the family diamonds over to him had been somewhat diminished by Kit’s fears for Elsie. They were in Town where the best doctors were, but despite many a nighttime vigil, she was just starting to improve.
A tentative knock sounded, and Kit looked up to see his young sister enter the room. Flora was settling in, taking to Town with a delight that had surprised him, colour and vivaciousness flooding her once drained face. It brought a small measure of comfort to Kit.
“I have been looking for you and wondering if you might care for some supper?” Her voice was warm, and he saw she was starting to move with confidence.
“You managed to escape the clutches of Mrs. Bowley?” The London-based chaperone had been delighted to adopt Lady Flora, and plans were underway, it seemed, that she might enjoy a few delights of the Season. He had expected Flora to refuse, to wish to hide away, but he had been wrong, and Flora had even been to Vauxhall.
Kit shook his head, moving away from Flora to stand awkwardly by the fireplace, leaning on the wall as he looked at his sister, not certain what he should say to her, to allay her fears.
“I don’t think you’re actually supposed to pick at the wallpaper unless you’re an infant, and then in that case, am I supposed to play at being the nursemaid?” A leisurely voice sounded behind him, and in displeasure Kit looked to see his neighbour, the Earl of Langley, who also happened to be his future brother-in-law, enter the room.
There was something that touched on wickedness in the way Langley said his opening sentence, as if there was something illicitto his comment. Or just to his general being. The man was a libertine of the kind Kit had only seen from a distance at university and known second hand through his father’s tales about his uncles’ affairs.
Langley was the embodiment of the rakish ideal with all his sardonic grace, sage green waistcoat, combed blond hair, and black suit, topped off with the sort of smile and well-rested countenance. It made Kit feel his ruffled, country appearance and very much resented the man despite all the wonderful things Margot said about the earl.
Langley wandered in closer, and as the earl came to stand next to Kit, he reached out a hand and touched the paper that Kit had been picking at. “I mean it’s not my favourite pattern. Still, I didn’t think you would be thinking of interior design at this point in time.”
Words stuck in Kit’s throat. “I’m not,” he managed to say.
“Come, both of you.” Langley took hold of Kit’s arm and started to manoeuvre Kit down the hallway. “My brother is one of the best doctors in London. You have nothing to fret about. He says she’ll be right as rain. I am sure your sister is right about food or fresh air, or whatever it was she came in here for.”
“Where are we going?” It seemed as if with all of Langley’s charm, Kit had to retreat into as many gruff and monosyllabic responses as possible. It seemed that Langley found this terribly amusing, or at least was not remotely troubled by it, since he smiled breezily, his green eyes flashing.
“Since you’ve refused all neighbourly offers to visit mine, I’ve come here under feminine duress to distract you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, playing nursemaid, and getting underfoot apparently.” Langley managed to drag Kit into the neighbouring parlour and, none too gently, pushed him towards a padded armchair.
Flora followed after them with Lancelot at her heels, seeming to find the whole thing very amusing.
Kit surveyed the room. He hadn’t been into this one yet, still learning the layout of the town mansion. His townhouse. It was clad in garish blue with peacocks, and he pivoted back to look at Langley as the dratted man continued, “You know, it is at great cost to myself that I’ve taken off my normal activities of visiting Gentleman Jackson’s to come here and intercept you. I am now cast into the role of…” He waved his languid arm in such a manner that Kit was certain it was supposed to be appealing, but it just annoyed him.
“Miss Keating has been informing on me,” Kit said, shifting in his seat. He was not certain what the arrangement should be in terms of granting permission for their wedding, but he had his doubts it would matter, Langley would have Margot come hell or high water. The metaphor plunged Kit back down into the memory of Elsie struggling in the waves, and he hardly responded when Langley shoved a glass of whisky into his hands. The smell was sharp, and alcoholic, and Kit lowered the glass, certain it would put him to sleep.
“I did too,” Flora added, “when I called yesterday.”
“My fiancée wrote to the parents,” Langley said, swirling his glass as he leant against the sideboard. “And my brother complained when he left an hour ago.”
“Because—” Fear gripped him.
“Because Margot was concerned for you,” Langley said.
