Chapter Seventeen

October 19, 1812

Dodo looked out of the carriage window. The lanes they were now traversing should have been familiar, and in a way, they were. The last time she had seen them, the leaves had been green, newly furled and ready to dazzle in the spring sunshine.

Now they were dead. Oranges, reds, and yellows cascaded from the branches, crunching under the wheels of the carriage that had already taken her so far along the journey.

But not quite far enough.

How long had it been? Weeks? A month. A long time. Part of her had wondered if she would make it back in time for Christmas and now here she was, coming in… in disgrace.

"I trusted you. And I—"

"I don't know why. I never told you that you could!"

The small village of Croscombe appeared as the carriage turned a corner, the low afternoon sun dazzling on the windows. Strange. The village had always seemed so large, full of possibilities, lanes and lanes to get lost in on lazy summer days.

Now it looked small. Bath had seemed huge when Dodo had first arrived, but somehow—she had not noticed how—the place had become small itself. It made Croscombe look minuscule.

How could she have not noticed there were only twenty or so buildings in the whole village?

The coach slowed as it entered the main street of Croscombe, and Dodo leaned back from the window. She didn't need to look out any longer. The place was just as she remembered. Change did not happen to places like Croscombe.

No, if its inhabitants wanted change, they would have to leave and find themselves in new locales. As she had.

And she had found it, even if she had not realized it at the time.

Dodo pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She had been changed by George—and if she hadn't been so foolish as to prioritize money and wealth over him, then perhaps…

"George, I have to tell you something—"

She forced the thought aside, knowing that it would only bring her pain. Whatever George had been intending to say, she would never know. The man had always acted out of the kindness of his heart, and what had she done?

Cheated him. Lied to him. Beggared him, on some of the larger bets.

It was right , Dodo told herself, that I should leave Bath . She'd had enough of pretending a chaperone was around every corner. Of being whispered about. And the idea that she could accidentally run into George again, pass him on the street, see him across McBarland's…

No. She would not be able to bear it. Far better to come here.

The coach slowed, eventually coming to a stop right beside the village green. The driver dismounted, stretching after the long ride, then stepped around and opened up the carriage door.

"Miss," he said with an inclined head.

Dodo tried not to pretend her surprise at the additional cordiality. But then, she had traveled to Bath months ago on the mail coach, sharing the space with two men, a woman who knitted aggressively, and a chicken. Now she came to think on it, she wasn't sure to whom the chicken had belonged.

The idea of waiting for the weekly mail coach that would pass by Croscombe was intolerable. The instant she had left Lindow House, she had rushed back to Johnson's Buildings, packed up her meager belongings, told Mrs. Bryson she was leaving, ignoring the landlady's gibes about Dodo's "cousin," and gone to the Francis Hotel. A coach could be hired from there, she knew. And she still had a few pounds left.

Perhaps they were not pounds well spent , Dodo thought as she was helped out of the coach by the polite driver. But she'd had to get away. She'd had to leave him behind.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

The man nodded as he dropped her hand, clambering up to the top of the coach to retrieve her trunk. Her only luggage.

"You'll be safe 'ere, will ye?" he said, glancing about suspiciously. She didn't think he was worried only because she was traveling without an escort.

Despite the pain and regret that had been circling it for hours now, Dodo could not help but sigh contentedly.

Her driver evidently had the classic suspicion of country life as a man of the town. He must consider this some sort of wilderness , she thought dryly. Without civilization.

"I'll be quite fine," she said aloud. "I was born here."

"Ah," said the driver, eyebrows raised.

Well, she supposed everyone had to be born somewhere. Why wouldn't it be Croscombe?

"Thank you for driving me out here so swiftly," Dodo said, hoping he would understand this as a taciturn dismissal.

He did. Bowing his head again and checking quickly on the whinnying horses, the driver closed the carriage door and mounted up to the driver's ledge.

"And you're sure—"

"My parents' house is just two streets over, and there's plenty of light left in the day," said Dodo brightly, as though she could think of nothing better than returning home in disgrace. "Good day, sir."

The man nodded, and within a moment, the carriage was rattling around the green, the horses returning the way they'd come.

Dodo stood and watched as the carriage disappeared off into the distance. Only when the horses had turned a corner, taking their load with them and disappearing from view, did she take a long, deep breath and look at the trunk by her feet.

Well . She had come all this way. The journey that remained could easily be done on foot. No time like the present.

The trunk was heavier than she remembered, and the handle was frayed, digging into her palm. Dodo found herself leaning to the left as she walked slowly around the green toward Vicarage Lane.

There were very few people about. She had expected crowds, but that was Bath. In Croscombe, there were only a handful of people. If half of them were helping bring in the last of the harvest, and the rest were at home, that left very few people to be milling about.

Dodo turned a corner. Everything was so familiar; the streets along which she'd learned to walk, the windows with their leaded panes, the roofs that tilted with moss growing on some, others thatched.

And yet it was all so different. A few doors were painted different colors. Mr. Michaels had decided to cut down the yew tree that had stood before his house.

Small differences that were sufficient to make it unsettling.

You're home , Dodo tried to tell herself. Was this not the goal? Wasn't it the plan, to earn enough money to get your parents out of debt, then return to the life you loved?

She took another left and stood on Vicarage Lane. There were only three houses here, and right at the end of the lane was Vicarage House.

Her home.

Dodo sighed as she approached it, though whether with happiness or exhaustion, she could hardly tell. Her trunk was getting heavier with every step, and she was starting to wonder why she hadn't asked the driver to escort her home—and carry the trunk—when a shriek echoed down the street.

"As I live and—Dodo? Is that you?"

Reaching the gate and depositing her trunk there, Dodo straightened up and tried to plaster a smile across her face as a cherub-cheeked woman who looked very like her hastened forward.

"Hello, Mama. I hope you do not mind that—"

"Mind?" Mrs. Loughty engulfed her daughter, pulling her into such a tight embrace, it was a tad difficult to inhale. "Why did you not telling us you were coming? Foolish girl, going off to Bath like that!"

"Mama, you're choking—"

"When your father found out, he wanted to send your aunt to watch over you, but I told him, his sister is not one for traveling, and in any case, look at what dear Dodo is sending! She writes of a Mrs. Bryson, her kind and watchful landlady. Our daughter must be well cared for, well regarded. Well, and what proof we had of that!"

"Mama—"

"If you'd written to tell me you were coming, I could have met the mail coach at the inn at Croscombe over the way. You didn't have to walk—"

"I can't breathe—"

"And in this heat too, what a gorgeous day it is! I am sure you will agree, the place has never been looking better. See, I've—"

Dodo gave out a strangled sigh.

Her mother pushed her back and examined her. "You sound like you're sickening for something."

Inhaling huge amounts of air as her lungs ached, Dodo shook her head. "You knocked the wind out of me, that's all."

It was difficult to blink back the tears. After months of worrying, weeks of receiving letters that boded ill, of hoping she would somehow earn enough money to send back to her parents to pay for a quality doctor, to keep the doctor treating them…

Here Dodo was. And here her mother was—well, and happy, and strong.

Mrs. Loughty cast a careful eye over her. "It is good to see you, Dodo."

Dodo brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. Not because she was about to cry. Most definitely not.

"Come on in. See your father."

"And he's… How is he?" Dodo was almost afraid to ask as she and her mother stepped along the garden path to the house. "In your last letter, you said he—"

"If I'd been permitted to write my own letter, you would have known," said a cheerful, deep voice emanating from the hallway. "What are you doing here, my little Dodo?"

Her tired feet, aching legs, and sore back from being cramped in that carriage all day no longer mattered. Dodo ran forward, her pulse hammering as she saw a sight she had not witnessed in months.

Her father. Standing on his own.

Well, not entirely on his own. As she grew closer and stepped over the threshold into Vicarage House, she noticed that Mr. Loughty was still leaning on a cane.

But he was standing—and not in pain, as far as she could see, and without that breathlessness in his voice that had so frightened them last winter.

Oh, to think that all her hard work, all the toil, the worry, the fears, the risks she had taken… they had all been worth it. To see her father like this, to hear her mother speak so strongly after the fever…

"You look so well!" Dodo exclaimed, hugging her father.

"No need to sound so surprised," said her mother jovially as she shut the front door behind them. "Anyone would think we had been ill!"

Dodo cast her mother a sharp look over her father's shoulder.

Mrs. Loughty had to the good grace to look a tad sheepish. "Well, perhaps we have—but that is all a thing of the past now. And you're home."

Closing her eyes and hoping the tears she felt did not fall, Dodo nodded and clung to her father.

Home .

It had felt so far away. She had been determined not to return until every last penny was paid off, and in a way, she had.

"And I paid off their mortgage, too—you never mentioned they had to mortgage their home, so awful—and I have given Doctor Hollister a thousand pounds, against any future needs they may have!"

And a part of her had wondered, had worried, had attempted not to think about the fact that when she did return home, it may be to a Vicarage House devoid of inhabitants…

"You both look—well, you look… well ," Dodo said as she pulled back from her father and attempted to examine him. There were still bags under his eyes, but there was some color in his cheeks now. His skin, which had sagged with wrinkles, had regained some buoyancy. "You've been taking all your medicine?"

"Like your mother would permit anything else," said Mr. Loughty with a wink. "Come on, let's sit in the drawing room. The light will be wonderful in there."

"And you don't have any pain?" asked Dodo, watching carefully as her father navigated around the coat stand and a chair to reach the drawing room door.

It was a miracle. Yes, he was holding a cane, but from what she could see, he was hardly leaning on it. In fact, she was almost certain that if he left it behind, he could still traverse the space with little difficulty.

"Oh, when you get to our age, Dodo, you'll soon learn that aches and pains are a way of life," said her father heartily, dropping heavily into an armchair.

By a fire, Dodo noticed, that was lit. And with a bottle of brandy on the side, half-empty. The little riches her parents had sacrificed immediately when their health had started to deteriorate.

And now…

She swallowed her relief as she sat on the sofa opposite her father with her mother beside her. Now they could enjoy their middle age in the way they deserved. Comfortably.

"My child, I wish you had not felt the need to deceive us," her father said softly.

Dodo glanced at her folded hands in her lap. "I'm sorry. I did not know how else you might permit me to go. You and Mother were ill. You needed Jenny here. My aunt would never have consented to join me in Bath. I had no choice."

"You had a choice—"

Mrs. Loughty waved a hand in the air. "Now, dear, what's done is done." She beamed. "Just look at her! Look at us all, as a result of our Dodo's little adventure. Though I admit, we are astonished to see you." She rang a silver bell that sat on a nearby console table. "Tea, Jenny," she instructed the maid who poked her head in the doorway.

The maid's doe-like eyes bulged. "Miss Doris! No one said you were—"

"Thank you, Jenny," Mrs. Loughty said, not unkindly.

Dodo suppressed a smile. Jenny had been with the family for as long as she could remember, and her curiosity was a habit her mother had never managed to alter.

"We received your letter only this morning, with the fifty-pound note," her father said, ignoring the coming tea and pouring himself a large brandy. "You did not mention that you intended to return home."

And that was when Dodo swallowed.

She'd had a great deal of time in the coach, on her own, during which she could have conceived of an explanation for this. But she had not. Each time she had considered how to explain it, something would rise and strangle her words.

Mentioning George—mentioning the Earl of Lindow would be a complete disaster…

And yet not mentioning him, when he had been such a part of her life, when he had been the one to save her parents, to save her from this constant financial fear…

Did they know the identity of their benefactor? She had not thought to ask George that. Perhaps not. But she had mentioned him in that letter that had apparently only arrived today, had she not?

I have spent time at the racecourse with an acquaintance, George Chance, the Earl of Lindow.

Was there a risk they could ask about him? Only a one in four, Dodo hazarded. She had only mentioned him the once, and in that single letter. There was no reason for them to—

"Tell me about this earl," said Mrs. Loughty genially as Jenny entered with a tea tray. "I want to know—"

"Thank you, Jenny," Dodo said hastily.

Her mother caught her eye and immediately sat back and fussed over the tea tray. That was one of the wonderful things about her mother, Dodo thought. Unlike so many people in Society, her mother could take a hint.

Though it appeared she did not have much patience. The instant Jenny had departed the room and the door was definitely closed behind her, Mrs. Loughty turned on the sofa to face her daughter.

"Lord Lindow," she said firmly.

"Lord who?" Mr. Loughty asked vaguely. So he was not aware of the man who had saved them all.

Dodo's stomach lurched. She was not prepared to have this conversation, so that meant she would need to calculate precisely how much she wanted to reveal. She would need time to do that—perhaps this evening, before bed. Then tomorrow, she could—

"I'm in love with him," she blurted out.

There was silence in the drawing room. She looked into her mother's eyes, who appeared to have frozen in shock. Then she turned to her father, who had halted midway through bringing his glass of brandy to his mouth.

Dodo sighed weakly. "I… He's a complete rake, Mama, and he's careless with his money, and he's overly reckless, a complete charmer, and he bets on horses—without even understanding the probability system. Papa, you would be mortified how he—"

"He's an earl, isn't he?" her mother said, attention darting about the room. "Your letter said—"

"And he doesn't share any of my values, and he doesn't like mathematics, and he's a complete fool half the time and completely wonderful the other half," Dodo continued. It didn't seem possible to stop speaking—the words poured out of her. "And worse, he's overruled me, and argued with me, and made me like music, and…"

The words dried up. They did so the instant Dodo noticed precisely two things.

First, her mother was smiling.

And second, her father was grinning.

"Just what is so amusing?" she asked icily.

It was certainly not the appropriate reaction. Here she had been, pouring out her heart, holding back her tears, and her parents were looking at her as though she were making a quip.

"Made you like music, eh?" said Mr. Loughty, taking a sip of his brandy. "That's when you know you're in trouble."

Dodo's mouth fell open. "Are… Are you laughing at me, Papa?"

"Doesn't like mathematics?" Mrs. Loughty shook her head. "Goodness, I cannot imagine what that must be like."

There was a twinkle in her eye.

Dodo frowned. "But Mama, you hate—"

"Oh, my dear child, I thought you more intelligent than this," her father said, interrupting her in his deep voice. "You must realize that you are describing your mother and I!"

His words rang out in the drawing room.

Blinking, Dodo stared, unable to understand what her parents were saying. Could they possibly mean…? They could not be suggesting she and George were anything like her parents.

Could they?

"Of course, I assume your courtship has been done properly," said Mrs. Loughty, nodding. "Your landlady acting as a substitute for your father and me? Since your father has been ill, it's understandable his lordship might not have made overtures to him first."

Dodo's head sunk into her shoulders, and she swallowed back her answer. There had been nothing proper about their courtship—if one could call it that. It was like her mother hadn't heard Dodo proclaim the earl a rake to begin with.

Mrs. Loughty didn't seem to notice, though, and took the opportunity in the break in conversation to thrust a cup of tea into her hands. "Drink that."

"The girl doesn't need to drink tea," said her father. "The girl needs to—"

"I know what's right for our daughter, thank you for your input," said Mrs. Loughty cheerfully without a hint of malice.

Dodo pointed at her mother, glad for an excuse to shift the topic away from the propriety of her courtship. "Yes, that's what he's like!"

"Yes," said her father wryly.

"It's infuriating!"

"She has her moments, yes."

Mrs. Loughty glared good-naturedly at her husband. "I'll thank you to not speak about me as though I'm not in the room."

"Oh, well," said Mr. Loughty, eyes twinkling. "You have your moments, my dear."

"Thank you," said his wife graciously, a grin dancing in her lips.

Dodo looked from one to the other, attempting to follow this most egregious carrying on.

She had always known her parents had wed in a love match. It was rare, indeed, for someone of her own generation, but for couples thirty or so years ago… Well, it was almost unheard of. The odds had never been in Dodo's favor to repeat the feat.

"He does whatever he likes," Dodo said uncertainly. "Whatever he likes, without any reference to me."

"Yes, that's a man's prerogative, apparently, my dear," her mother said dryly.

Mr. Loughty spluttered into his brandy. "Now just what—"

"And I suppose he is the one to thank for the bills paid, and the mortgage recompensed, and the bottle of your brandy your father is doing such an excellent job at emptying?" continued Mrs. Loughty calmly.

Dodo opened her mouth, hesitated, wondered what on earth she could say to that, then closed it again.

Seeing her parents like this—safe, content, happy, healthy…

It had been easy to argue with George in Lindow House when she could not see the results of his actions. Easy to tell him he should not have interfered, that she had already taken so much from him.

"I trusted you. And I—"

"I don't know why. I never told you that you could!"

But here, with the proof of the pudding directly before her, it was much harder to retain her ire toward him. George had done what he had thought was right, and here they were. Her parents. Happy.

"He treated me like a fool," Dodo said, once again blinking back tears. "He didn't tell me he was going to… He just went ahead and did it!"

"I think he treats you like someone he wants to care for," said her mother softly. "Like someone he cares for, deeply."

Dodo swallowed. "Cares for?"

Her father nodded as he sipped his brandy. "Like an equal, but in a different set. Mathematically, you're probably a negative integer, say minus x, whereas he—"

"You cannot reduce this to mathematics!" Dodo said.

"Well, that's a first," said her mother with a chuckle. "Besides, I believe your father would prefer pure algebra. If we take the two of you as constants—"

"Inconstants," muttered Dodo, despite herself.

It was all so infuriating. She had assumed, once she had been able to tell her parents about what had happened with George, that they would immediately be on her side.

It wasn't like they could give the money back, obviously. That was going to be its own delicate problem.

But she presumed they would understand just why the whole situation was impossible. Why George was impossible.

"Fine, let's keep it simple," Mr. Loughty said quietly. "With this earl of yours subtracted from your life, how do you feel?"

Dodo hesitated.

She felt wretched. The instant she had revealed the truth to him, that she had used him for his information and lied about it, used him to gain money behind his back, she had felt dirty. Like a traitor.

Seeing the pain on his face, it was awful. And with every mile that the carriage had taken her away from Bath, away from him, the aching pain had only increased. Exponentially.

There was a heavy sigh. Dodo looked up to see her father shaking his head.

"Let's try it another way," he said, placing his brandy glass down. "What are the odds that you will meet someone like him again?"

Dodo twisted her fingers together in her lap. "An outside chance, I would say. I'd require pen and paper to precisely work out—"

"No, you don't," her mother said. "You know the answer."

The two of them looked at her, nothing but kindness and understanding on their faces.

And it was perhaps that overwhelming kindness that finally pushed her over the edge. Dodo attempted to gasp, but every movement was agony in her lungs. That was when the tears started to fall.

"Zero. There's a zero chance," she said, taking in a jagged breath. "And I betrayed him. He'll never forgive me. It's all my fault… and I'll never meet anyone like him again."