2. A Second Chance
A SECOND CHANCE
Irene
My late mother had always said that diplomacy was the art of convincing someone that your idea belonged to them.
Judging by Papa’s scowl, I wasn’t doing a good job.
The fact I was able to detect his feelings confirmed he was annoyed by my insistence.
People’s feelings had always assaulted my senses. Mama had been afflicted with the same curse. Sadness, happiness, pain, anger… I experienced people’s emotions as if they were mine. Growing up, I’d learnt to protect myself from external feelings, but it was an exhausting struggle I often lost.
If I focused on breathing deeply and on the feelings of one person, I might avoid a seizure.
“Would you please listen?” I sat next to him on the sofa in the sitting room.
Our physician was visiting the thief Papa had knocked out that morning.
“That young man is our responsibility. He’s unconscious, and who knows what kind of injury you inflicted on him?
Not to mention that you caught him because he’d stopped to help me.
” Which filled me with gratitude and awe.
Papa’s facial muscles twitched in an attempt to contain his botheration, and light brown tinted his aura. My curse also allowed me to see feelings as colours glowing around people’s heads.
Papa didn’t soften. “I listened to you when you told me to bring him home and send for Dr. Fletcher. I think that’s enough.”
“Don’t send for the police.” I put a hand on his arm.
“He stole my wallet.”
“Did you take a good look at him? He’s so thin, pale, and weak. He must be starving. Being imprisoned won’t help him.”
Not often did I meet someone who showed understanding towards my condition. A condition I tried to keep secret, but when I failed, people would call me names or suggest I go to an asylum. Never mind help.
“Darling.” He touched his temples. “He chose to steal.”
“We don’t know what happened to him.”
I regretted having shouted when the thief had taken Papa’s wallet. His mischievous feelings and sudden triumph had given him away, and I’d reacted on impulse. But I’d had no idea that Papa would have slammed him against the cobbles with such strength.
“We should listen to him first,” I said.
He sipped his tea, half hiding behind the cup. “How many people should I listen to today?”
“Oh, please.” I shot up and paced on the thick carpet. It’d been Mama’s favourite, as had the blue silk sofa and the pretty vases full of white daisies, and the painting of a stormy sea. “Mama would have agreed with me.”
Since I was a terrible diplomat, I might be a good blackmailer.
He put down the cup. The veil of indigo sadness crossing his aura made me regret my words. “Irene…”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I rushed to sit next to him and took his big hand in mine.
When I was a child, he would lift me with one hand while I squealed in delight as he made me swing up and down.
Mama would laugh, too. Good feelings were easier to handle than sadness.
Sadness had sneaked into her mind and taken residence there until she’d stopped caring for her life.
When she’d caught the flu during the outbreak four years ago, the struggle to get better had been too great, and she’d let herself fade.
“You’re right.” He stared at Mama’s portrait on the mantel, his breathing changing subtly. His love for her glowed pink around him. “She would have taken care of the thief.”
The butler opened the door to let Dr. Fletcher in.
I sat upright. “How is the man?”
“He has a bump on his head that should heal in a few days,” Dr. Fletcher said. “His weak constitution is more worrying. The fellow needs a few good meals and rest.”
I exchanged a glance with Papa. “Can we see him now?”
Dr. Fletcher pushed his round glasses up his nose. “Of course.”
Since the young man had been unconscious when we’d brought him home, Papa had asked the footman to lay him in the library.
When we entered, the man was halfway through the window, his pitch-black hair ruffled by the wind. His aura was a pulsating deep purple halo, and his fear pinched my chest. I took a few deep breaths and tried to block my power.
“What are you doing?” Papa crossed the room with two long strides and grabbed the man by the jacket.
“Let me go!” He struggled, his spidery limbs moving this way and that.
As his shirt rode up his torso, it showed his ribs and a few dark bruises.
“Papa, be careful.”
Papa put him down, and the man straightened his jacket, scowling.
“We don’t want to hurt you.” I tried to sound as sweet as possible, but his expression remained pinched.
“You were fleeing.” Papa shut the window. “Without a word. Is this how you repay our generosity?”
“What generosity?” To be short and thin, he had a fierce look.
I was glad he didn’t mention my seizure or his help to use it for leverage.
“I can send for the police anytime.” Papa made the gesture of ringing the bell for the butler.
“What do you want?” He widened his stance as if preparing for a fight.
“Why do you steal?” I asked before Papa frightened him again.
He lost his cocksure expression, only to glower more ferociously. He looked as if he’d never considered anyone might ask him that. “Is this a joke?”
Papa opened his mouth, but I spoke quickly. “No. We want to help you.” I gestured towards the door. “Why don’t we have a cup of tea in the sitting room?”
“Irene.” A warning rang out in Papa’s voice.
The man was stunned. His surprise appeared as an orange flame through his aura.
“We can have a chat.” I headed to the sitting room, followed by two grumbling men. “Have a seat.” I took my place on the sofa.
The man shuffled his feet and gazed around, fear darkening his glow. Papa was a walking storm cloud, but at least he didn’t protest.
I poured the tea when everyone was sitting. “What’s your name?”
He stared at the food with enough hunger to make me sad. “Alex.” He tentatively reached for a sandwich.
“Do you have a family name, Alex?” Papa didn’t sound encouraging.
Alex devoured half a sandwich before answering, “Hart.”
“I’m Viscount Mansel, and this is my daughter, Miss Irene Harlowe,” Papa said. “And this is my house, Harlowe House. If it weren’t for my daughter, I would have sent for the police two hours ago.”
Alex stopped eating. A few breadcrumbs dropped onto his trousers, and he picked them up with a finger. “Thank you.” He stared at me, his silver-grey eyes widening.
I probed him. A flare of his resentment scratched my skin, but underneath that, there was also sweet gratitude.
“Thank you for helping me.” My muscles were still sore after the seizure.
He shrugged and kept eating.
“Tell us about yourself.” I pushed the sandwich plate towards him. “Where are your parents?”
He took a long sip of tea. “They died four years ago. The flu outbreak.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
A quick twitch of his mouth was his only reaction. My power shot out again and caught deep sadness. His aura lost its brightness as well. He seemed about to say something but didn’t.
“Can’t you find a job?” Papa kept his gaze on him.
“I tried, my lord.” Alex’s voice sounded steadier. “But my parents left behind a substantial debt, and the only cheap thing in London is pity, which is also useless.”
That shut us up. A young man with no family and a debt didn’t have many options. I touched my father’s hand to discourage him from being harsh.
He coughed into his fist. “I may find you a job here.”
“Papa.” I hugged him and squeezed him tightly.
Alex didn’t react as joyfully as I expected. A charcoal-coloured light glowed around him as he looked at us with suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
Papa patted my back. “That you stop stealing, especially from me.” He rose. “Wait here.”
“I don’t understand.” Alex angled towards me after Papa left. “Why are you so generous?”
“Everyone deserves a chance at a better life, and fate was unkind to you. It’s a pleasure for us to help you.”
“Right.” He ate another sandwich, giving me a sideways glance.
“We don’t want to trick you.”
If I had to be honest, the idea of having someone close who understood my condition thrilled me. We could be friends, and I would talk to him without worrying about being called insane.
I fiddled with a napkin. “You’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t find me disgusting because of…you know.”
He lowered his gaze. “My sister, Odette, suffered from seizures.”
“That’s why you knew what to do.”
He jumped when Papa returned, almost spilling his tea.
“For you.” Papa handed him an envelope. “Buy something to eat and come here tomorrow morning at seven. My butler, Jones, will find you something to do.”
Alex opened the envelope and parted his lips in silent shock that tickled my neck. “My lord?”
“Stop stealing.” Papa used the stern voice he reserved for when he was annoyed. “I mean it.”
“I will be here.” Alex gave a solemn nod and stood up. “My lord, Miss Harlowe, thank you.” He left the room as if chased by a hellhound.
Papa exhaled. “I hope we did the right thing.”
I was sure of it.