It was her new identity, her future.
She set the letter on the pallet beside her and studied the paper underneath it. It was a doctor’s letter declaring that Gemma Kincaid Milligan had died of injuries from a carriage accident. It even contained a magistrate’s signature, likely forged, which’d give it the authority she needed. The date of the “accident” was two weeks from that very day.
She could be declared dead. Her family, if they cared to look into things, would believe she was. Baz’d be a widow. He could marry again if he wanted. In two more weeks, they’d both be free.
And she would be utterly alone.
Chapter 18
Barnabus had spent more than enough time vacillating on the matter of Gemma’s departure from London and his growing wish for her to remain. It was time he decided how to move forward.
He wished he could turn to his parents for advice in situations like this. But his mother had been dead for years, and neither of them had any idea who his father was. He was rather alone in the world.
But he had Mrs. Simms. She had a good head on her shoulders and, perhaps most significant of all, seemed to genuinely care about him.
“Would you mind terribly if I poured some worries in your ear while we clean up for the day?” he asked her. This was not one of those evenings where he was known to be at home to his patients. She would be leaving soon enough.
“Go on, then.”
“I know you didn’t care overly much for Gemma when she first arrived here.” He set a jar of powders back on the shelf where it belonged.
Mrs. Simms gave him a stern look. “I never disliked her. I simply didn’t know her or what to make of her.”
“And what have you decided on that score?” he asked.
“I’ve seen the way you look when you talk about her. I’ve seen trust on your face when you look at her, which ain’t a small thing. I don’t know quite what it is that exists between the both of you, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing. And, seeing as you’remarried already, it’s in both of your best interest to sort all this out.”
“Idotrust her.” He, who trusted so few people, trusted Gemma. “I like her. And I like the person I am when I’m with her.”
“And ...” Mrs. Simms watched him expectantly.
“And I think she’s happy when she’s here and when we’re together. I missed her while she was away, and she’s said she missed me.”
“And . . .”
“My mind is calmer when I hold her.”
Her look shifted into one of almost maternal urging. “And...”
“And I think she feels that too.”
“You’re close as razors to the heart of the matter, Doc.” She eyed him pointedly.
“And ... I don’t want to lose her again, because I ... I love her.”
On a whisper, Mrs. Simms said, “There you are.”
“That’s me betwattled, it is.” He lowered himself onto a chair, mind spinning with surprise. “I love her. When did—when did that happen?”
“I’d wager a bit over three years ago,” Mrs. Simms said.
He shook his head, but not really in disagreement. “She asked me—asked me directly—if I loved her. I told her I didn’t. I didn’t think I did. Heavens, I didn’t think Icould. It’s not something I’ve ...” He didn’t even know how to finish the explanation. Too many thoughts spun in far too fast a swirl.
“Have you ever been in love before?” Mrs. Simms asked.
“I didn’t know I was in lovenow.” He rubbed his temples with his fingers. “She left because of this. She asked me if I thought I could fall in love with her, and I told her that wasn’t the person I was or the type of marriage we had.”
“Oi, but she’s here now. Seems to me you could clear that fog out right quick.”