Part 18 (1/2)
She drew in a breath.
And then it was like a cloudburst.
”Oh, Lyon. I'm sorry I behaved like such a child. It's just . . . the gloves were so beautiful and thoughtful, and I . . . I've been wretched thinking about how I hurt your feelings. And I thought-”
”It's my fault,” he interjected hurriedly. ”I just didn't think it through. I never, never meant to hurt you. And all I wanted-”
”-I thought . . . what if I never see him again? What if he had a carriage accident or rode his horse into a ditch and lay there, broken and alone?”
He gave a startled laugh. ”That's quite a vivid picture, but I'm a very good rider.”
”Don't laugh! And I'd been so beastly to you, and you wouldn't have anything to remember me by, as you lay in the ditch alone. So . . .”
She fished about in her ap.r.o.n pocket, and then drew in a steadying breath. ”Before another moment goes by I wanted to give this to you. If you'll accept it. Hold out your hand.”
Eyebrows raised, he hesitated, then did as ordered.
She settled something into his palm. And then bit her lip, waiting for his response.
He looked down. From his cupped hand, her sweet face looked up at him: the blue eyes, the soft clouds of dark hair, lovely and so vibrantly alive. The miniature wasn't nearly as beautiful as the original standing before him, of course, but the spirit of her was captured so perfectly in strokes of paint he was too moved to speak. It was the best, most perfect thing he'd ever been given.
He was a grown man, but he didn't quite trust himself to look up yet.
A little hush had fallen over them.
He cleared his throat. ”I shall cherish it forever, Liv.”
His voice had gone a bit husky.
He closed his hand gently around it, and tucked it into his coat.
”I should hope so,” she said, sounding a bit more like herself. But her voice was husky, too.
He looked up then. They smiled at each other, and his world and hers began to restore itself to rights, but she was still shadowed.
”Liv,” he said abruptly. ”There's something you're not telling me.”
She went still.
And then alarmingly, she brought her hands up to her face and covered it.
And then she took a deep breath, sighed it out, and when she swiped her hands down again her grief was plain and frightened him.
”Very well. I may as well tell you . . . Lyon . . . it's just . . . it's the Duffys' baby. She's so ill. I don't think she's going to live. And it's so heartbreaking. She needs a doctor. And they don't even have enough money for the rent this month. That's not unusual, of course. Except that they're so late they'll likely be evicted and then the baby will die for c-c-certain.”
She drew in a shuddering breath.
His gut clutched. By now he felt as though he knew every Duffy intimately and was invested in their collective well-being.
He produced his handkerchief and gave it to her just as the tears welled, and the wheels of his mind began turning. Relieved that he'd found the source of what was troubling her, because now he could set about fixing it.
”I'm so terribly sorry to be so weepy, Lyon. It's just been difficult to witness. She's such a pretty baby, doesn't fuss at all, and she hasn't a prayer of a decent life, really, even if she does live. I've asked my father for help with them before and he's been indulgent with me but they're hardly the only poor family in Suss.e.x and he says they'll simply come to expect it and he can't feed everyone. I can't ask him again.”
”Sounds very much like my father.”
Lyon was, at his core, pragmatic. He agreed with both fathers. Some families navigated poverty with dignity and resourcefulness. The Duffys, thanks to Mr. Duffy, weren't one of them.
Still, he couldn't stop himself from doing what he did next. It was more reflex than thought, born of need.
He thrust his hand into his pocket. ”Take this.” He pressed his pocket watch into Olivia's hand.
”Your watch? Why?”
”Take it,” he insisted. ”Give it to their landlord. He'll be able to p.a.w.n it for a year's rent, at least. Instruct him to return the balance, if any, to an attorney in London named Bartholomew Tolliver, to be held in trust for the children. Good sort, Tolliver.”
She stared down at the watch, dumbstruck.
”But . . . your initials are on it . . . Lyon, you love this watch . . . was a gift . . . I can't . . .”
”It was a gift to me, and now I'm giving it to you. If I had a sack of guineas in my coat pocket right now, I'd give that to you, but I don't. If I could, Liv, I'd feed all the hungry myself, and wipe out the Triangle Trade forever for you. But the need is now and urgent, and we have a solution. Take the watch. I'll have another watch, one day.”
And still she hesitated. ”But Lyon-”
”Olivia.”
She looked up at the tone in his voice, her eyes widening.
”You must allow me to give you something.” He said this slowly, a subtle anguish thrumming through all of those words.
She closed her fingers over it.
”I don't know what to say,” she whispered.
”Say thank you.”
”Thank you.” She looked down at it, running her thumb gently over the satiny metal he had opened and closed countless times. He'd cherished that watch. And somehow he felt only relief that he could ease her troubles.
She looked up at him, smiling faintly. ”It's round. Like the moon.”
”So it is.”
He smiled at her, too.
”What a ninny I am, Lyon. I didn't mean to cry.”
”Ninny?” He was incensed. ”What 'ninny' walks into a house, gets their heart shredded, and still goes back, over and over again because she's needed? You're a tigress.”
And that's when the tears spilled again in earnest.
He didn't remember doing it, but one moment she was glowing up at him, tears beading her eyelashes, the next his arms were circling her and she was clinging to his coat. She tipped her forehead against his chest. He cradled the back of her head with one hand, and slid the other down her spine to rest in that sweet small scoop right before the curve of her a.r.s.e, and murmured things he'd never dreamed would ever pa.s.s his lips.