Once Beloved

by Amara Royce

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance

Synopsis

In bustling Victorian London, a desperate woman turns to the last man who would ever want to come to her aid... Years ago, when Helena Martin escaped to London with a dashing captain, she had no idea she was endangering her entire village. Little did she know, the arranged match she fled was the little town's last chance at prosperity. Now, with her beloved grandmother's health failing, Helena must face the damage she wrought. And she must do it with an unlikely escort: her jilted fiance’s brother. Daniel Lanfield is undoubtedly attracted to Helena—and furious with her. Though it was unintentional, her thoughtlessness has caused great misery to their village. Yet Daniel is uniquely positioned to help her return home, and strangely compelled to keep her close along the way. For no matter what their pasts, the desire between them now is ever-present...

Release date: November 10, 2015

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 224

Sample

Helena paced through the small sitting room while her boys raced through the halls. Mrs. Clarke and Mrs. Duchamp were due upon the hour, and then they would all be on their way. Her stomach clenched at the thought of exiting through that safe, solid door. A brief and familiar trip to the market was one thing; this outing to the Great Exhibition was quite another. Still, she couldn’t renege now; Mark and Tommy would be so disappointed. She closed her eyes and pictured a stone fortress. She built its walls in her mind, one large stone at a time, girding her for the upcoming assault on her senses. A crash from the vicinity of the back parlor disrupted her thoughts.

“Boys!” she said to herself as she made her way toward them. “What was that?” She asked it without expecting an answer. They were trying to entertain and divert each other as they waited. Could she blame them? “Do not tire yourselves before we get there!”

Mark appeared in the hallway, his brown eyes tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry, Mum. We did no harm. Tommy tripped and knocked over a chair. He’s fine.” Tommy walked warily into the hallway, his hair mussed and his knees scuffed. It was a familiar condition for him. “I’ll see that he behaves himself,” Mark added.

“I know you are both trying your best,” she replied gently, as she gave each boy a quick hug, startled anew that Mark’s height was now level with her own. If he was this tall at fourteen, he’d tower over her as an adult. “Just do not tire yourselves before we get there.”

His expression brightening, Mark led his younger brother to look out the front windows. Their heads glowed like halos. Such good boys they were, so deserving of a day of fun. Realizing she didn’t tell them this as often as she should, she went over and did just that. She didn’t miss the glint of pride in Mark’s eyes at that, although he still seemed to brace himself, as if he knew that their trip could be canceled any moment now. She laid her hand on little Tommy’s bright head, feeling the warmth from his exertions, and noticed one of his shoes had come undone. Both children were growing so quickly they would need new shoes before the summer ended. Too quickly. She could hardly believe Bartholomew was already grown and out at sea. It would be a year soon. How had that happened? Her handsome boys growing too quickly into men, men she hoped her husband would have been proud of.

Tommy tried to fix his shoe, but his young fingers struggled. As she bent to help him, she said firmly, “We shall have a lovely day, shall we not?”

Tommy bobbed his head vigorously, and Mark’s narrow shoulders relaxed a bit.

“What are you two looking forward to seeing today?”

“Mum, it shall be grand!” Tommy said. “Mark read me all the news about it. It’s a huge palace! And it’s filled with all sorts of amazements. Do you think I’ll get to see a train?”

“Not a complete train, no, dear. But perhaps you can see parts of one.” She smiled at his unrestrained enthusiasm, the kind only a five-year-old could muster, an exuberance she hadn’t felt herself in years, not since Isaiah’s passing. He would have enjoyed this as much as their sons. She tucked those thoughts away, knowing all too well how they’d derail her efforts to make this a good day.

Tommy dug into his pocket. “Here’s all my savings so we can get in.” He held out his hand, proudly displaying his precious coins.

Her heart swelled at the sight. “Oh, my dear boy, how sweet of you! That is yours to keep. I have more than enough for us.”

He grinned as he put his money away and then hugged her tight.

“They’re here!” Mark exclaimed, as he jumped up to open the front door. “Mrs. Clarke! It’s a pleasure to see you! How fares your family? I hope the Clarke children are well.” He gave Marissa an amusingly formal bow before turning to a bewildered Honoria. “Mrs. Duchamp! How pleased I am to see you as well! I hope your bookshop is thriving.” Helena was equal parts amused, startled, and dismayed by her son’s precociously sociable greeting. He was always polite, but this was a bit more formal than usual. Her friends’ faces indicated they were equally surprised. He was trying far too hard to display his best behavior.

In characteristic take-charge fashion, Marissa swept into the house, giving each boy a dramatic buss on the cheek before announcing, “I’ve no doubt you boys are nearly jumping out of your skin to be on our way. Why don’t you go outside with Mrs. Duchamp and hail us a cab while your mother and I make sure all is in readiness?”

Tommy bounded toward the door until Honoria held out her hand toward him. He dutifully took it and walked out calmly with just a residual spring in his step. Mark paused by the hall mirror and adjusted his hat before following them.

Before Helena could so much as open her mouth to thank Marissa for helping to chaperone the boys, her friend grasped her shoulders firmly and looked her full in the face. “You’re fretting. Cease that nonsense immediately. You planned carefully. Today should have light attendance. We shall arrive at the opening hour. Honoria and I are here for whatever you need. All will be well. The best, the most innovative, the most exemplary of British industry is on display, along with all manner of international finery. Your sons shall be enraptured. You may even find that you enjoy yourself!” Marissa winked at her and gave a securing tug on her bonnet ribbons, as if she were a girl again.

Helena recalled the seemingly endless catalog of things the boys wished to see there and nodded. She hugged her dear friend tight and echoed, “All will be well.” She pasted a smile on her face, despite the weight of dread in her chest. After closing up the house, she focused on the boys’ happy faces as they climbed into the hired coach and the heaviness in her lifted. They would enjoy this tour of the Great Exhibition, no matter what she had to do to get through it.

It wasn’t until the cab approached the entrance to the famed Crystal Palace that Helena felt the familiar but unwelcome tingling along her scalp and neck. The sight of the crowds waiting to enter set her heart beating faster. Flanking her, the boys buzzed with excitement. Mrs. Duchamp listened attentively to little Tommy’s chatter; her quiet, studious nature balanced so well with his relentless inquiries, those endless “whys” and “hows” to which the very young are so prone. Meanwhile Mrs. Clarke maintained a lively discussion about the unusual architecture with Mark, who had been reading every article he could find about the building and its designer, Mr. Joseph Paxton. With everyone else in the cab preoccupied, she looked away from the crowds and out on the expanse of Hyde Park. Even with the crowded skyline beyond, the grassy areas were enough to calm her nerves a bit. Without Honoria and Marissa, though, she would not have been able to cross the opulent threshold of this massive glass and iron cage.

Mark must have noticed something on her face because he sat straighter, touched her arm, and said, “Mama, are you all right?” So sensitive to the tenor of others, that child. So eager to please and to smooth over rough spots for everyone else. Since his older brother left, he’d become even more sensitive, taken on even more responsibility. If she didn’t make too many mistakes, he would be as fine a man as his father was.

Before she could answer, dear Mrs. Clarke said, “Of course, she’s all right, dear. Your mother is just enjoying the lovely day. Isn’t that right, Helena?”

She nodded and tried to smile. She could do this. Her boys asked for so little and had already lost so much. Her husband would have made this such an adventure for them, as enthusiastic about all the wonders and trinkets as they were. She could endure a morning stroll—just a simple morning stroll—for their sakes. It might even be enjoyable. Everyone else seemed to think so. As soon as the carriage came to a halt, both boys popped up from their seats with mad grins. She could endure a few hours here for them.

By the time they entered, the waiting visitors had spread out to various exhibits, giving her some blessed room to breathe. The sky helped too. What a marvelous sight . . . being able to see the world from inside this towering greenhouse. As long as she focused on the metal and glass above and around them, she felt secure. Her heart lifted as Tommy grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a large and elaborate elephant statue. All went swimmingly until they entered the technology wing.

She’d underestimated the popularity of the exhibits that would be of greatest interest to her boys: the engines. They were fascinated by the massive fire-engine pump and got as close as they could to watch the new electro-magnetic engine running. As the crowd grew, she lost sight of her children, and her throat seized. She tried to call out to them, but she couldn’t even hear her own voice amid the din of the ever-increasing crowd. On some level, she recognized that tightening of her chest, the rising panic jangling in her ears, as the crush of bodies swelled around her, everyone jockeying for the best view. Don’t be silly, she thought. You’re far too old to be done in by such irrationalities. It’s just people. She told herself this every time, tried to quell her physical reactions by sheer force of will. It wasn’t helping this time. It never helped. She struggled for breath. How had all the inhabitants of London conspired to flood the alcove for this demonstration?

The boys are fine. Marissa and Honoria will watch over them. Simply make your way to another room, she reasoned with herself. Already she could see Honoria inching closer to where she’d last seen the boys. Her skin prickled as perspiration broke out along her back and throat. Get out. Go now.

Marissa was close to her; she grabbed for her friend’s hand and barely caught it. When her friend turned to face her, she couldn’t find enough air to speak. Her trusty companion immediately went into action, trying to shoulder through the swelling crowd. The press and overbearing smell of the throng choked her as she clung to Marissa’s hand with a sharp sense of desperation. She was caught in a sea of strangers, all jostling and crashing against her.

Now Mark stood close by Tommy on the far side of the display as Mrs. Duchamp hovered behind them. The boys were too focused on the machinery to notice her distress, thank goodness. The sight of them eased her distress a fraction.

Then a surge of humanity shoved her against a pillar, and she almost lost her grip on Marissa’s hand. An invisible vise constricted her throat, and her field of vision shrank. God in heaven, please get me out of here. Another ripple in the crowd made her stumble and lose contact with Marissa. Panic. Tiny bright lights flashed before her eyes, and a strange but familiar tang flooded her mouth. She tried to speak, tried to cry out for help, but nothing would come out. Dizzy, she couldn’t feel her arms or her legs. She tried to push through a couple to her right, but they simply frowned at her and said something she couldn’t hear over the clamor in her head. Her chest seized. Colored lights flooded her view just before the world went black. Her last thought was Heavenly Father, the boys shouldn’t have to see me like this.

“Make way,” Daniel bellowed as he waded across the alcove. He had the advantage of bulk. In most situations, people moved out of the way when he approached. Why should London not follow the same pattern? “There’s a lass injured. Make way.”

In retrospect, he had no idea why that matronly woman had caught his attention. She could have been anyone, just another nameless, nondescript woman. And yet, she wasn’t. She had an air of fragility, a vulnerability that he could sense from yards away. He’d noticed her perhaps three-quarters of an hour before, standing with her companions, glancing periodically at the children who were undoubtedly her offspring. This mother and her boys all had the same dark hair, the same thin faces, the same high cheekbones and sharp noses. At first, she’d seemed somehow familiar, but he could not place her. What was most peculiar about her was that, unlike everyone else, she paid no attention to the actual exhibits. People came to the Great Exhibition either to see the myriad wonders or to see—and be seen—by the populace. At least that was what he’d observed thus far during his trip. This woman appeared to have no interest any of that. In fact, she appeared to be suffering, enfolding like a moonflower at dawn, intimidated by the vibrantly intrusive sun. If that were the case, why come at all? As a massive group invaded the alcove, her agitation increased conspicuously as she was separated from the rest of her party. When she clawed at her throat with a panicked expression, an alarm sounded in his head, urging him to close the distance between them. Could no one else see her distress? When the woman’s head lolled back like a rag doll and she suddenly dropped from view, Daniel knew he had to move quickly.

A sharp feminine voice cried out, “Back away, all of you! You’ll crush her!” When he was within a few feet of where he’d last seen the woman, the crowd parted enough for him to see one of her companions pushing people away from her lifeless body, slumped on the ground with dusty shoe marks on her skirt. He gathered the woman into his arms, careful to cushion her head. Her dead weight disturbed him, but her breath blew warm and regular against his jaw.

“Please, I say again, make way.” He used the voice he reserved for calling to farmhands across the Lanfield grazing hills. “This woman needs medical assistance.” When he used that voice, he expected to be obeyed. It worked about as well here as it did with the farmhands, the sea of people parting immediately as they murmured and gawked. He made his way out of the alcove toward a secluded bench, where he cradled her in his arms. Later, when he knew more about the woman in his arms, he would feel uneasy about holding her so intimately, so insistently. Something about her warmth and her softness called to his protective nature. But in this moment, the low whimper that escaped her simply made him clench her to his chest more tightly.

“Your assistance, sir, is appreciated,” said that same feminine voice, a bit more softly and gently, “but perhaps you might give her some room to breathe.”

He looked up to see one of the woman’s companions looming over him, frowning, but with her eyes focused on the woman he held.

“Beg pardon?” he said, as his arms tensed.

“No need to beg pardon, sir. Simply unhand my friend so that I may attend to her properly. You might also make yourself useful by fetching a physician.”

He opened his mouth to object, but this singularly bold woman had already moved to untie the ribbons on her unconscious friend’s bonnet. Some pins clattered to the bench and to the ground from the removal, and dark brown waves of hair, nearly ebony but glowing with red and gold and silver in spots where stray beams of light fell, went askew. He’d only caught a glimpse of the dark locks framing her face, but free of the bonnet, the soft strands that brushed his supporting arm may as well have been on fire, so visceral was his body’s reaction to them.

“Helena,” the woman said, as she fanned her friend with the bonnet. “Helena, can you hear me? You must wake. Your sons are worried.”

That startled him, the mention of the boys he’d seen her watching. Her sons, of course. They now stood a small distance away, watching intently. Even if they hadn’t looked so similar, anyone could tell by their seriousness that she was their mother. The younger boy looked as if he wanted nothing more than to run to his mother and cling to her, but the older boy took his hand and whispered something unintelligible in his brother’s ear, something pacifying that straightened the young one’s spine with resolve. Their controlled concern made him suspect they’d witnessed her collapsing before. Only then did the woman’s words sink fully into his consciousness; he was embracing a total stranger, a respectable woman, in front of her children, no less. He ought to establish a proper distance, lest her people, including the husband she must have, be outraged by his familiarity.

“Is this your mother, young man?” he said to the older child, who nodded solemnly. “She’s breathing easy but should be watched. Your coat’d make a fine cushion for her head. Be a good lad and bring it here.”

The boy rushed over as he tried to shrug out of his coat without releasing his brother’s hand. It would have been comical seeing them bluster along, if their expressions weren’t so somber. Something nagged at him as he looked at them, that strange and fleeting sense of familiarity. As gently as he could, he laid the woman on the bench with her son’s coat pillowing her head and moved a respectable pace away. He should go see if he could find a physician, as the other woman had suggested, but he found himself reluctant to leave her side, reluctant to lose sight of her.

She was lighter than she looked. When he carried her, he felt her soft, fleshy curves against his arms and chest, reminding him of a painting he’d once seen by some famous painter. Yet she felt light in his embrace. But then, ladies probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing that they felt lighter than the average ram or on par with a ewe ready for breeding.

“Thank you, sir. This is most kind of you,” her companion said, her attention focused on her friend. She rapped the woman’s hand and said firmly, “Helena, you must wake up.” But she didn’t appear to be alarmed.

“Has this happened to your friend before?”

“Unfortunately, yes. She sometimes has these spells, especially when surrounded by large groups of people. Fortunately, they don’t last long. She should wake on her own momentarily.”

That explained the unconscious woman’s odd demeanor earlier. Still, why would she choose to come here voluntarily with such a condition?

“She could have been severely injured if you hadn’t caught her,” the woman continued. “Is there some way I can repay you for your assistance.”

“No man worth his salt would ignore a woman in distress. Nor would he accept repayment for his aid.”

“I wish all men thought as you do.” He thought he heard her sigh and she straightened. Her flowered hat tilted rather precariously from all the activity. “I am Mrs. Frederick Clarke, and my husband and I would be delighted if you would join us for dinner.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clarke. Daniel Lanfield. I’m in London only for a short time. Your hospitality is—”

The woman he now knew was named Helena gasped as she revived.

“I must get out of here!” she exclaimed as she tried to rise, only to be restrained by Mrs. Clarke, who admonished, “Mrs. Martin, you shall do no such thing. You’ve just had an episode, so you will now sit quietly until we are certain you have suffered no ill effects.”

“Marissa! I can’t breathe! Let me go!” She pushed Mrs. Clarke away, her expression filled with unseeing panic.

“Ma’am, you’ve had a spell,” Daniel said quietly. When she focused her glazed eyes on him, he continued, still unsure whether she truly heard, “You were breathing just fine during your episode.” He knelt near her head, conscious of maintaining enough space to keep her from feeling trapped. “It appears you may be a bit overwrought. Mind you, your fine lads are just over there, quite worried for your health.”

A play of emotions ranged over her face as she listened, and then confusion and indignation shifted to clarity and concern when she turned to look at her sons. Slowly, she sat up and composed herself. He was struck then by her fine features, which conveyed a gentle demeanor and undeniable motherly affection. He wondered at the husband who must watch over her, wondered what type of man he was, wondered whether he roused his wife’s fear or tamed it, and wondered why he would allow her to visit this place without his care.

That nagging sense of familiarity struck him again. He knew this woman somehow. Yet, strangely, his instinct told him he should leave. Immediately. With his first appointment for the day scheduled after noon, Daniel had sufficient time, he hoped, to enjoy what he’d come to London for. Of course, for the sake of furthering Lanfield business, he’d spent the past few weeks taking every meeting he could wrangle in order to propose supplying major London manufacturers with their family’s materials. And, of course, he was much more adept at such business dealings than his elder brother, Gordon. But this was what he’d been looking forward to, the opportunity to examine all these clever machines up close, the opportunity to explore these modern engineering marvels, ones he should have been designing himself.

Warmth. Firm, secure warmth beneath her. A murmur seemed to grow louder, though, a discomfiting mélange of people, so many people. If she could just focus on the warmth surrounding her, she could ignore the mob. Then the warmth left, replaced by a cool, hard slab. A familiar voice cut through the chatter, Marissa’s usual commanding tone. She adored her friend, but really Marissa could be so overbearing. For the first time in years, she’d felt comfort and relief, at least until the cold slab beneath her. If Marissa would quiet down, perhaps she could find that warmth again. But, no, of course, Marissa would not be deterred. And then a different voice entered her consciousness, a deep and resonating voice that warmed her from the inside. And that voice spoke of her sons.

Helena opened her eyes and sat up. It took her a few moments to comprehend the situation. Above, beams of light passing through clouds were crisscrossed by the iron grid of the roof. But something dark eclipsed half of the cloud-framing roof—a man’s hat. A silhouette loomed above her, large and broad, and the faint but comforting scent of fresh wool that somehow made its way through the myriad odors that always seemed to accompany large gatherings of people.

Merciful heavens, what has become of me?

She tried to stand, and a sharp pain reverberated through her skull as she heard her head crack ag. . .