Marianne, however, was admitted and tucked into one of the hospital’s two dozen beds. With great relief she learned she was not consumptive. The doctor diagnosed chronic bronchitis, though had she waited much longer to seek treatment her condition might have become irreversible.
I promised to help her once she was discharged, and she gripped my hand as tears rolled over her cheeks to darken the pillow beneath her head.
“I don’t deserve it, Miss Cross.”
“Nonsense, Marianne. You deserve a chance to start over. I’ll help you through the police questioning and then we’ll see about finding you employment. This might sound boastful, but I do have some rather lofty connections in this town. In the meantime, you’ll stay with me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose—I can’t pay you.”
“No talk of that. I live in a drafty old house by the sea, with more room than I know what to do with.” I leaned in closer to her and whispered, “Besides, Aunt Sadie demands you stay with me.”
“Aunt Sadie?”
I smiled. “You’ll soon learn all about Aunt Sadie. Suffice it to say you won’t be the first lost soul to find her way to Gull Manor. Myself included.”
With Marianne finally calmed and drifting off to sleep—poor thing was exhausted, both physically and emotionally—I rejoined Derrick and Consuelo in the small lobby that had once served merely as the central hall of a private home. Hefting Muffy’s basket, Consuelo came to her feet.
“Are you ready?” I asked her.
“I think so,” she said. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course I will.” I shot a glance at Derrick. “We both will.”
Consuelo frowned. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Mama might object to an outsider hearing about family matters.”
“I think it’s a perfect idea. After what Derrick endured on our behalf he’s hardly an outsider. And besides, bringing him will set your mother off-kilter just enough for you and me to be able to get a word in edgewise. But . . .” I hesitated, my sweeping glance encompassing her from head to foot and back. “What are you going to do?”
I meant about the Duke. Consuelo let a long moment pass before replying, “I’m not entirely sure. I’m hoping the answer comes to me on the ride home. But I’ve learned something, Emma, about both the world and myself. There are realities that cannot be ignored and rules that cannot be broken, or chaos results. I was raised in a certain way and I can’t hide from that. I can’t pretend I’m something I’m not any more than you can.”
With her head held high she swept away and pushed through the street door. She hadn’t answered my question, but neither had she avoided it. Something in those final words bored through me, especially when Derrick offered me his arm. I took it and we joined Consuelo outside, but her voice echoed inside me. I broke rules and too often found myself swimming in chaos. Repeatedly I told Derrick I wouldn’t marry him, yet here I was, on his arm. Like Consuelo, I had a decision to make. Wholly accept the person I was—and send Derrick away once and for all—or continue pretending I could have my independence . . . and him, too.
When we arrived at Marble House some twenty minutes later, Aunt Alva astonished us all. Instead of launching into the expected tirade about where Consuelo had been and how she could have been so inconsiderate as to have caused so much worry, she silently, tearfully wrapped Consuelo in her arms and held her tight.
This happened right inside the front door, amid the cold, formal surroundings of marble floor and walls and soaring ceiling. Hardly what one envisions for a joyous reunion . Grafton, quick to act, had shooed any servants in the vicinity below stairs, relieved Consuelo of Muffy’s basket, and now skillfully ushered mother and daughter through the house and into the relative privacy of the morning room, where, at this time of day, no one would likely happen by. Derrick and I followed at a distance, respectful of this intensely personal moment while at the same time cognizant of my promise to remain at hand for Consuelo.
He and I lingered in the corridor just outside the doorway. While Derrick turned to gaze out the French doors at the rear of the property, I couldn’t help watching as Consuelo and Alva parted just enough to look at each other.
Shock filled Consuelo’s expression. “Mother! You’re ill!”
“No, dearest, not ill. Only worried about you. Are you well? Did you . . . come to any harm?”
“No, Mama. I am quite well. And I’m sorry I ran off.”
“Are you? I’m sorry I forced you into an engagement you didn’t want.”