Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Eugenie Frye patted Edwina Hollander's hand sympathetically. It was very early in the day for a call. Indeed, Mrs. Hollander had been on her doorstep almost as the sun came up. "He will be found, Mrs. Hollander."

"When he didn't return the first night, I should have rallied others to search. But—" Mrs. Hollander looked away, as if uncomfortable with the subject.

"But he is a fully grown man who is entitled to spend his nights elsewhere if he chooses," Genie finished for her.

Edwina sighed with relief. "Precisely. But he would never have stayed gone so long without sending word. Not unless something had occurred that had rendered him incapable. What should I do, Mrs. Hollander? You are the only person I could think of to ask for guidance in this situation."

Eugenie nodded. "I know that Highgate-on-Trent has changed. That the past six months under the guidance of Reverend Stalker has seen formerly reasonable people turned into zealots… and others into recluses, lest they court his censure."

Mrs. Hollander stared at her curiously for a moment. Then lowering her eyes to conceal her expression, she asked, "You speak of Miss Goodwynne, don't you?"

Eugenie leaned forward and picked up the teapot, refilling both their cups. "I do. The good reverend has made her already tenuous position in the community one that is fraught with constant discord."

"I know very little of her. But what I do know has given me pause," Mrs. Hollander admitted. "There is something about her, an air of otherworldliness that makes me quite uncomfortable."

"Belladonna is my friend," Eugenie insisted. "And while there is such an element about her, I can promise you, she would never harm anyone."

"My brother was very taken with her," Edwina admitted. "And I confess that I caught her looking at him several times during the course of your gathering. Enough that I think perhaps she might have been taken with him, as well. Would she… Could she help in some way?"

Eugnie lifted her brows in surprise. "I presume you do not mean in searching?"

"It would be searching," Edwina insisted, "But in a way that utilized her very unique skills."

Eugenie had never asked Belladonna for spells. She'd never asked her for readings, though they had been offered from time to time over the years of their acquaintance. She'd looked at them as a sort of entertainment, but that did not mean she dismissed her friend's abilities. Too much had been seen and heard not to take them seriously. "There is only one way to find out," Eugenie said, ringing the bell for a servant.

Millworthy, the man who served as butler, footman and sometimes driver, entered the drawing room. "Mrs. Hollander, you rang?"

"Have my chaise readied. I'll be escorting Mrs. Hollander on an important errand."

"Yes, ma'am," Millworthy replied and slipped from the room.

Eugenie looked back to Edwina. "We shall simply pay a call on Belladonna and ask her for assistance. I cannot imagine she would refuse—regardless of any fancy she might have for your brother. Contrary to what others say of her, she is a remarkably kind and generous person. Indeed, she is simply the best and most giving friend I have ever known."

Edwina appeared doubtful. But Eugenie understood why. They had only just moved to Highgate shortly before her young husband's untimely death. She'd had a full month to listen to Reverend Stalker's persecutorial diatribe's against sinful women consorting with dark forces. Still, Edwina Hollander was no one's fool to be led blindly. She was on shaky footing at present, something that Eugenie understood only too well. Losing one's husband wasn't simply about grief or loss. Losing one's husband altered one's place in the world. It made one either an object of pity or a mark to be taken advantage of. Mrs. Hollander had at least had her brother to lean on during the worst of the months in the immediate aftermath. No doubt he had protected her from those who would exploit her grief. For Eugenie, she'd had only Belladonna. But that had been enough.

She uttered a silent prayer that whatever it was that had delayed Mr. Crane from returning to his sister's home was not so terrible as the fate that had befallen her husband. There was a fragility to her that made one question whether or not the woman could bear another loss of that magnitude. Eugenie prayed they would not find out.

Their conversation had died into silence that had now stretched for several hours. Belladonna was in her small kitchen, kneading dough with a force that revealed just how troubled she was by all that had been revealed.

The quiet became intolerable. Despite his dizziness, Desmond rose from the narrow bed and closed the distance between himself and Belladonna. "You need to understand something, Belladonna. I am not some weakling who will be easy for this man to dispose of him. I am injured now because I was taken unawares by him. Because… well, because I had presumed the only threat he posed was to you. I was quite obviously mistaken in that assumption. But I shan't underestimate him again. With my last breath, I vow that I will not let him hurt you."

She shook her head. "Those are promises you cannot possibly keep, Desmond. Promises that I do not wish for you to! You will not be with me every minute of every day. Nor would I expect you to place your entire life on hold—or worse, at risk— to play guard for me."

He took her hands, turning her to face him. "You could stay at Highwood Abbey. I know that Edwina would not mind. She would be glad of the company, and under the circumstances would certainly wish to offer you the protection that can be had there… and it would give us time."

"Time for what?"

"To know one another. To discern if what is between us is real or simply infatuation… But there is another option."

"And what is that precisely?"

"We could marry." The moment the words escaped him, he knew that it wasn't simply an option. It was the only option. It was what he wanted above all else. "We should marry."

She shook her head. "You don't know what you're saying. You've been insensible for days."

"I know that when I was unconscious, I could feel your touch—gentle, tender. I know that nothing in my life has ever offered me so much comfort or soothed me in such a way."

"It's part of the curse?—"

"This is not a curse. I will not deny that terrible things have happened to your family, that your past has been difficult… but a curse is a burden, Belladonna, and you will never be that. Be my wife. I will work every day to ensure that you never have cause to regret it."

There was no answer. Indeed, both of them were stunned into silence when the door to Belladonna's cottage opened and both Mrs. Eugenie Frye and his sister walked in. Edwina's eyes went wide with shock, then narrowed in immediate disapproval.

Edwina was the first to speak. "What is the meaning of this, Desmond? You cannot have been here in Miss Goodwynne's cottage for the past several days. What were you thinking?"

Mrs. Frye simply looked from one to the other, her gaze passing from him to Belladonna and back. Then when she spoke, he could have bowed at her feet in gratitude.

"That is it," she began. "You will have to marry. There is no other choice."

"There is a choice!" Belladonna insisted. "There is always a choice. No one need know that Mr. Crane was here but the four of us and he is only here because he was too injured to travel further and too injured for me to leave him alone to get word to you."

"Someone will find out," Edwina offered in support. "Someone will always find out. If there is one thing I know about Highgate-on-Trent, it is that the community thrives on gossip… And you, Miss Goodwynne, are their favorite subject."

"Reverend Stalker would never allow me to cross the threshold of his church, much less be married there, Mrs. Hollander. Can you imagine the row it would cause if we asked him to perform the service?" Belladonna stepped away from him as she spoke, putting greater distance between them. "I cannot imagine how one manages to be both the officiant and the protester of such a union. And he would protest. Loudly and at length."

"Then we shall go to London," Desmond suggested. "We shall go to London and marry by common license. When we return here, you will be my wife and far beyond the reach of Reverend Lynden Stalker."