Thirteen
L ucas Quintrell arrived just before Mother and I were to leave for our luncheon just two days later. Mother insisted on getting out of the house, taking me out of the house—though she never cared to ask why I was uncharacteristically quiet—and had the driver waiting for us outside to take us to a hotel a few blocks away for a luxurious lunch. One of her ladies had recommended the spot for its roast.
She was ushering me down the stairs of our townhome, after fussing at my hair for an hour, when our front door suddenly opened, and Lucas stepped in, a single suitcase in hand.
“Lucas!”
She gasped as though the air was stolen from her and rushed toward him, gathering him in her arms, like he was a child all over again. I froze halfway down the steps, my shoes suddenly glued to the velvet runner .
Lucas was all smiles, his golden hair perfectly coiffed, his cheeks clean-shaven, grinning at her and her alone. Surveying the room, taking in all the paneled wood, the portraits of family members, racing across the electric wires connected to the small light fixture in the foyer. Breathing in the scent of the house, that smell you can never find anywhere else. But those brown eyes darkened in indifference as soon as they landed on me.
“Oh, we’re so happy you’re home,” my mother exclaimed, holding him tight to her.
He shrugged out of her grasp and set his suitcase down on the ground with a thunk . “Happy to make the trip,” he said, pulling his lips back in a forced smile. “And to see my dear mother again.”
She nearly wept and wrapped her arms around him once more.
Forever her boy, even if he was the head of the family now.
Chills ran down my spine, my fingers digging into the wooden railing. I knew he was coming; Mother had warned me. But I thought we had another day or so—
All my wasting away in bed had made the days pass like a blur, time molten and rushing toward me all at once. I cursed inwardly that I spent the whole week wasting away, forgetting about his arrival. Not preparing myself and instead wallowing.
Mother sniffled. “Where is Lucy?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, a tick in his jaw the only sign he was surprised at the question. “At home. Doctor’s orders—She can’t travel after until she delivers.”
I was surprised he even knew that much about her current condition.
If anyone could make his visit any more bearable, it would have been his wife. But, seven months pregnant, she was constantly uncomfortable, as her sparse letters to me indicated, and was unable to even get out of bed some days.
I did not envy her. I did not envy that she was tied so permanently to my brother. I was sure, with Lucas as her husband, she was driven to madness.
“Well, we will miss her.” Mother patted Lucas’ arm. She remembered that I was still upon the stairs, and turned to me with a scowl. “Helena, come greet your brother.”
I nearly shook my head like a petulant child.
Lucas was here.
Adam was back.
It all swirled within me, a dark cloud gathering in my chest, in my lungs, threatening to drown me from the inside.
The stubborn ache in my throat, my chest, tightened. I had half a mind to turn around and retreat to my room. Let them have lunch, just the two of them. They wouldn’t miss me. But she would drag me down by my ear if I did not comply.
Meeting them on the ground floor, I gave my dearest brother a clipped smile, if only to make my mother happy. “Lucas,” I said, by way of greeting. My hands shook behind my back, clasped tight to dampen their movement.
Those dark eyes, so similar to mine, looked down his nose at me. But he had no words for me, nothing to say. I could have sworn his lip almost curled, disgust flashing in his irises.
His disdain for me, so strong, even after months apart, was so unlike his fondness for me in childhood. A few years my senior, when we were children, I looked up to him, following him around like a puppy. We had played together all day; we were tutored separately, but in the same room, so he was always making me laugh with the funny faces he would throw at me.
Yet, as soon as his duty as the heir to the family name began to grow clearer to him, to become more tangible and real, he grew distant, until I felt I did not know him at all. It was solidified with Father’s death, and further when he found out about Adam and me.
What would Mother think, huh? Father? He must be rolling in his grave.
Every day was an effort to block out replaying that night in my mind, over and over again, like a skipping phonograph. The fear, the hurt, would come back so viscerally, I couldn’t breathe.
Our butler grabbed Lucas’ suitcase and hastily brought it out of the room, and it was as if Lucas had been here all along. The perfect boy at home with his doting mother, ditzy sister.
“We will be late if we do not leave now.” Mother sniffled, opening the front door. Our driver waited outside, the car idling against the curb.
The cloud inside my chest was circling, thunderous, seeping through my ribs, squeezing my muscles.
“I can just stay here,” I said, instinct pulling at me to turn and go back up the stairs. The little girl inside me insisting my room was safer. Dark, comfortable, lockable .
Mother turned to me with a sharp reply ready, but I interrupted her. “The reservation was only for two people.”
“Nonsense.” Lucas’ voice was icy low. “I’m sure we can convince the club to accommodate one more.”
Shards in his eyes, daring me to refuse.
How dare you , he had said that night. I slammed my eyes shut .
He didn’t want me there, for any other reason than perhaps to inspect me, to glare down his nose at me and figure out what I’ve been doing in his absence. Whoring around .
Did he think I was the same little girl? That I hadn’t changed? Had I changed?
“You will not stay home when your brother has just returned.” My mother glared at me. “If I leave you here, then God knows where you’ll run off to.” Never mind that I hadn’t left the sanctuary of the house in seven days. “No, you will dine with us and catch up with your brother.”
She grabbed my hand, and thus, against my will, I was forced into a family luncheon that felt more like making appearances in public, a happy family, an heir with a grandchild to come, a daughter soon to be engaged with a bachelor of high standing. A bachelor of said heir’s choosing.
The club we arrived at was busy at the lunch hour; the maitre d’ was kind enough to add another chair to our reserved table, though upon our arrival, his face turned a flushed red at three people, not two. But it was Lucas, head of the Quintrell Company, and he could not refuse.
I found myself sitting across from Lucas, my mother to my left.
The food was untouchable. Though it looked delicious, my stomach rolled. Ignoring the salads, biscuits, and roasted beef brought out to us, I could hardly even sip on the chilled water served to me.
How I wanted a drink. A real drink.
The wealth in the room was immense, gold detailing all along the lights, gold-plated china, the clearest crystal glassware. The servers were all well-dressed and kept, even the buttons on their vests polished to shine, not a hair out of place. Gelled, made up. They never looked at us directly, averting their eyes downward, toward the floor, or at the dish in their hands.
Yet they didn’t whirl like those at the church-turned-mansion on Long Island. Didn’t appear out of nowhere with ambrosial gin. Didn’t work in a house where blood was being drained and served on ice .
“How are business ventures?” my mother asked Lucas.
He gave some reply that his investments were paying off, likely a story to make her feel confident in his station. And Mother wouldn’t really know otherwise. She felt business was a man’s responsibility, and as the woman of the family, it was none of her concern. A sentiment he mirrored.
“I daresay that child of yours will be lucky to take over,” she laughed to herself. “One day.”
To her, it was just revenue. The means of buying herself new dresses, of paying the cook, of equipping the house with electricity. She likely didn’t even know what the company really did.
Lucas nodded once. “Yes. Sure. Absolutely.” Like he was convincing himself of this, that the financial security was all for his children, and nothing more. A pause. “Unless, of course, Lucy bears a girl.”
I abandoned my water glass, looking at him through my lashes. I had held my lips all day. The words came forth, quiet, “Can not a woman manage an estate?”
Lucas scoffed. My mother shot me a look.
I shouldn’t have said it. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Is that not part of what I’ll be doing when I marry? Helping manage whatever estate of my husband?” The thought of marriage—of me, married —was unfathomable. The finality of it still hadn’t sunken in, but I knew, deep within myself, I would not be marrying—I couldn’t —because whoever Lucas chose would be just as insufferable.
“Your job as a wife is to keep up appearances,” Mother said, straightening her cloth napkin. “Remember? You must always be above reproach, like we’ve talked about .” A pointed look in my direction. “You will do whatever your husband asks of you.”
She had drilled this into my head countless times before, but her words still fueled a frustration within me.
“You wouldn’t be able to handle managing an estate,” Lucas muttered. His voice was low but its iciness scraped like knives in my skin.
Heat crawled up my neck. The cloud inside sparked like flint and steel. Fire roiled in my gut, my spine. “And what would you know about what I can handle?”
At this, Lucas’ look of disdain turned to a glare.
Those eyes locked on to me, and it was as if I could read the thoughts he pushed my way. That I should remain quiet, because he knew exactly what I’d done, what my mother feared, and he could blab to everyone—but he wouldn’t, at least not publicly, because he would never let what I’d done reflect poorly on him. What I did years ago, when I was still young and foolish. When my heart was easily captured.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, fist on the tablecloth. No words.
I averted my eyes, his stare too daunting .
“Anyway,” Lucas leaned back in his chair, satisfied at his subduing me. He turned back to Mother. “I had the pleasure of visiting who I believe will be my future brother-in-law, and he seems to be managing quite well over in England.”
“ England? ” The word shot out of me before I could stop it.
He had already chosen a bachelor? Already decided?
I had thought I would still have time, that Lucas would be surveying the eligible men in the city, in our circles. That I’d be able to stall, to push the decision as long as possible. Or even that I’d be able to convince them to drop the whole thing, that his time was better spent with his wife, away from here.
But no, I was just a bargaining chip. A thing to be traded.
And the question was—what was he getting in return? Shares in some company? Status?
My mother gasped. Though she smiled, I could see she was just as surprised. “England? I suppose they do have quite the gentlemen over there. Titled men, no less.”
Why so far away ?
It was a stupid question. Of course I knew why.
We’d been so close one day, long ago. And now, he wanted nothing more than to ship me across the ocean.
Lucas gave her a calming smile, a hand on her arm, all ire dissolving from his gaze. “I had a few empty days in my schedule and decided I would see a friend, who just so happens to be looking for a wife.”
Sourness bloomed on my tongue.
“He’s willing and is the heir of a barony.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Mother grinned, clasping her hands.
As if I wasn’t there, as if I had no say in the matter .
As if it was decided.
It was .
“He’s willing to make a visit over here, should we decide to secure an engagement.” Lucas looks at me pointedly, lifting his glass to his lips but never taking his cool eyes off of me. It remained unsaid between us, settling in the air atop the table, tainting the food like poison. His mind was made up, and so Mother’s might as well have been, too.
I fisted my hands in my lap, grasping at my skirt. Nails digging into my thighs beneath the fabric.
How had this happened so quickly?
“Wait.” I shook my head, forcing my voice to remain strong, unwavering. “How can I marry someone I’ve never met?”
A shrug as though it was inconsequential. “It happens all the time,” he said. “You will not be the first, and certainly not the last.”
Mother placed her hand on my arm, her face soft for one of the first times in months. There was a genuine spark of happiness in her eyes. “You will be fine, I assure you.”
Yes, and you hated your husband , I wanted to shout. Because you didn’t get the choice .
The fire within my lungs turned suffocating, smoke eating up all the breathable air. My heart thumped quickly against the cage of my chest, and though I willed myself to calm, it beat on, the rhythm like a runaway train.
I shut my eyes like I could turn off the light of the world, to pause the dreadful melodrama that was my current situation.
Lucas kept talking, kept filling Mother in on my potential husband—the family’s wealth, the grandness of their estate in the country, the past accomplishments of the heir—but I didn’t hear it.
Mother was elated—all her fussing and primping finally coming to fruition.
Perhaps she was happy I’d be a whole ocean away. That I would quiet down and become someone else’s problem, though she’d never say it.
What if I traveled all the way across the ocean just to find a bitter man that wanted nothing to do with me? I would be trapped, with a vast expanse of water in between me and the world I knew. Far away from New York and my family and Flora and… Adam .
“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” Mother suddenly beamed at Lucas, and her excitement at the prospect of my marrying was clear on her face—almost as if she was the one excited to marry. “I don’t believe I’ve been this happy since you married Lucille,” my mother nearly swooned. Her hand found Lucas’ arm, steadying herself in her seat.
He grimaced. “Yes, what a happy time in our lives. My dear sister will finally be wed.” Loathing dripped from him.
“And look where Lucy is now,” I bit out, unable to stop myself. “Bedridden and miserable.”
Mother looked aghast. “Helena!”
Lucas only laughed. “Lucy is doing what every wife does: providing the family with an heir.”
“An heir to what ?” It was a stupid question—money, of course. The company. The family name. “Is that all she is good for?”
Mother gasped. “Of course not!” But she sputtered and could not provide any evidence to the contrary .
Lucas waved a hand. “So what, if that’s all I need her for?”
I scowled. “Lucy is a woman, a human being. She is not your wife simply so you can use her.” I believed the words wholeheartedly, but I knew it was foolish speaking them aloud. What else was a wife good for?
“What do you think your husband would be using you for?”
The words sent an icy chill down my spine, bile in my mouth.
Lucas looked down his nose at me. “You will marry, and your union will be consummated, and he will bed you until you give him an heir.”
I wanted to vomit.
“Lucas,” my mother said in soft reprimand, a glance around the room. “This is not proper talk for the table—”
“When he is your husband—when you are his wife—he is free to do with you as he pleases,” Lucas went on. “ You do not make that choice. Your husband will.”
I stood from my seat. I was shaking my head, the room spinning.
“Sit down,” Mother hissed. The patrons at tables near us began to glance our way at the commotion. She turned to Lucas with pleading in her eyes. “Son, please.”
My heart pounded against my ribs, and I felt myself shrinking under the smirk of my brother, under the eyes of all those around us.
Mother laughed nervously when Lucas only continued to glare at me. “We can talk further about this later—”
“No.”
“Yes, do sit down, sister ,” Lucas sneered. “You are making a fool of yourself. ”
I narrowed my eyes at him and resisted the urge to throw my glass of water in his face, knowing it would only ruin me in the eyes of the society that watched us, ruin what reputation I did have.
But did I even really care anymore?
Instead, I whirled on my heels, nearly running into a server with a tray of food, about to place our luncheon on the table.
“Helena!”
Ignoring my mother’s calling, I stormed out of the dining room, my heels clacking on the marble floor of the hotel’s foyer, shocked and concerned eyes following me until I was outside, leaning against the stone exterior wall, bent at the waist and wheezing.
I sucked air into my lungs, a sour taste coating my tongue.
No. No.
I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.
I braced a hand on the wall, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to ground myself in the cold air around me. I had rushed out so quickly I had not grabbed my coat and goosebumps were sprouting on my arms, the light sweater doing nothing against the cool early-spring breeze. But I relished in it, in the lack of warmth. It felt like I was alone, like no one was touching me, no hands grasping at my throat, no hands pulling my wrists down, no glowers or glares digging into me.
My back hit the wall of the hotel, my head falling back. Pedestrians passed me, all quizzical looks, proper women trying their best not to stare at the hyperventilating woman without a coat in the cool weather, all on her own. Clearly hysterical .
Heat bunched under my eyes, and I wiped my cheek, only to notice my face was wet. Angrily, I wiped my eyes, as delicately as I could, not to mess up what makeup lined my eyes.
How dare he . How dare Lucas even come here, under the guise of wanting to see me off.
He knew exactly what he was doing, stirring those memories up in me. Knew that it haunted me.
Reminding me to behave, to stay in my place, lest he reveal the truth to Mother—
Adam’s face flashed in my mind and I willed it away, my throat already tight with dread, with grief, with frustration.
Was it so wrong to wish the happiest time of my life had never happened, only so I would not feel the pain that I do now?
A sob caught in my throat, and when I opened my eyes, my breath was stolen.
Because there, across the bustling street, people and carriages and cars passing between us, was a familiar face.
Dark auburn hair framing pallid skin, strong cheekbones, hazel eyes, though eyes not full of cruelty, but a sort of concern, a recognition. Eyes that had stared into mine nights before. Eyes I had become intimately familiar with.
I sniffled, wiping my cheek once more.
But as soon as a large carriage passed between us, completely blocking the familiar face from view, he vanished, the spot on the sidewalk where he had stood, empty.