Mrs. Brownlow’s health has grown quickly fragile. She has been laid low these two or three days. The physician has been in attendance and is extremely concerned. He has suggested that should you wish to offer your farewells, you return quickly.
Yours, etc.,
Mrs. Millard
The blood rushed from Gillian’s face and pooled in her feet, leaving in its wake an icy cold. Every sight and sound around her faded into nothingness as her mind spun on one phrase:make your farewells.
How she managed to stay on her feet, she didn’t know. She couldn’t have found a chair anyway.
Make your farewells.
Mrs. Brownlow was dying. How could that be? She’d been a little unwell when Gillian had left, but there had been nothing alarming. That had been mere days ago.
From somewhere in the fog of her awareness, she heard Daria’s voice. Gillian forced her eyes to focus as much as they could and discovered her friend standing beside her, unmistakable concern on her face.
Gillian couldn’t put into words what she had read. She hadn’t the strength. More than that, she couldn’t bear to hear her own voice confirm what her mind was refusing to accept. She held the letter out. She was fully aware that the paper was shaking, but she couldn’t hear the rustling sound of it.
Make your farewells.
Daria made quick work of reading the short missive.
Someone in the group helped Gillian to a chair and saw her seated. Their voices swirled around her. She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to return to the moment. No matter her grief, no matter her shock, she needed to sort out her situation and what to do.
“I can have our things packed, and we can leave early tomorrow morning,” Daria was saying.
Gillian found the presence of mind to speak. “I’ll not pull you away from the house party, Daria. You need to stay and spend time with the Huntresses and enjoy yourself here. Who knows when that will happen again?”
“You need to get back to Houghton Manor,” Daria said. “I’ll not leave you to make the journey alone.”
“I will not be the reason you abandon a gathering you are enjoying. I would never forgive myself.”
“Before this devolves into fisticuffs,” Lisette said, “I have an idea. Allow me a moment.” On that, she rushed from the room, pins still in her sleeve.
Artemis sat beside Gillian and took comforting hold of her hand. “Charlie will see you back to Houghton Manor and make certain you arrive there safely. Anything you need—”
“No. His friends are here to see him. Being away from Cambridge means he doesn’t see them as often as he used to, and they will be returning to university soon. It will be months before they can be together again, if then.”
“Your thoughtfulness does you credit, but he is a Jonquil, Gillian. Jonquils save people. The compassion underlying their innate need to rush to the rescue is something he inherited from his father. Unbending determination, he gets from his mother. I assure you, it is a formidable combination.”
Gillian kept shaking her head. Even if Charlie made the journey simply to drop her at the house and return immediately, allowing him to miss less of the party than he would otherwise, a day spent in a carriage with someone grieving would dampen his spirits, and he would bring back that heaviness to this party. She refused to be the reason anyone’s enjoyment of the gathering was undermined.
A few other ideas were proposed, ones Gillian listened to halfheartedly. They all involved people leaving the house party. Charlie and Artemis did not have a large staff. Sparing any servants to make the journey would be a burden.
Lisette returned with Scott, of all people. He crossed to Gillian and offered a bow that she somehow knew was an acknowledgment of her grief. “You need only tell me when you would like to leave.”
“I won’t take you away from the house party. I will not be the reason people miss something they’d been anticipating.”
“Miss Phelps,” he said, “I was neither invited to this house party, nor have I lived in anticipation of it. I came to see that the dowager arrived safely and then had every intention of going on to North Yorkshire. I stayed because our hosts are gracious. My departure would not mark the dashing of long-held hopes.” He looked to Artemis. “Which I beg you not to misinterpret as my saying I’m not enjoying my stay.”
“Of course not,” Artemis said. “I understand exactly.”
“I had not intended to remain for the entirety of the party.” He spoke to Gillian once more. “I am able to leave the moment you wish to.”
Gillian breathed a sigh of relief as her mind began to accept that this was, in fact, a workable solution. She could get back to Houghton Manor. She could see Mrs. Brownlow.
She could . . . make her farewells.
Chapter Nine