Loving Bella (11 page)

It was an uncomfortable, thoroughly wonderful sensation.

“Are you all right?” He shoved at his hair, leaving a few ends sticking out when he pulled his hand away. “You appear upset.”

If only he knew the half of it. “I am quite well,” she said with enough over-the-top enthusiasm to make her sound like a rank amateur.

Disgusted with her inability to tap into her usual poise around this man, she took a step back, forced her gaze to a spot on the tip of her shoes. “I always find it hard to leave Lizzie.”

He placed a finger under her chin and applied gentle pressure until she looked at him again.

“Why is that?” he asked, his voice soothing. He was in full doctor mode, but there was something more personal in his eyes. For the first time since leaving London, Bella wanted to confess all. To him.
Only him.

Would he understand? Or would he pity her? Once he knew her secret, would he shove her into a different category of women and quit looking at her as if she mattered, truly mattered?

Bella couldn’t bear the possibility of this man thinking less of her. That, she realized, would be far worse than what William had done to her.

“Miss O’Toole,” he urged. “Tell me why you find it hard to leave Lizzie.”

She took note of his patient expression and was suddenly frightened. And oddly hopeful. Confused. And so very, very sad. “I…I don’t want her to be alone.”

Which was true enough.

“She has a house full of women around her.”

Which was also true. And completely beside the point. “It’s not the same. They don’t understand her.”

“And you do?”

Pressing her hands palm to palm, she threaded her fingers tightly together. “Yes.”

He reached out, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you trying to save her soul?”

He was so handsome, so pure-minded that she answered with complete honesty. “No. I am far from qualified.”

“No one is qualified,” he said gently. “As your own brother has said often enough, we humans plant the seeds. God does the rest.”

At the utter conviction in his voice, Bella clasped the necklace around her throat and whispered, “Perhaps I have no seed to plant.”

He stared at her so long that Bella was sure he could see straight into her soul. “Give it time.”

Bella sighed. “Yes, of course.”

But she feared time was running out for her. If she didn’t atone for her sin soon she might never be able to come back into the fold. And where would that leave her then?

S
everal mornings later, Bella stood alone in Beau and Hannah’s kitchen. Having slept poorly, her steps were sluggish as she headed to the window overlooking the backyard.

A misty fog slithered along the frozen ground, twisting around the base of each tree. A patch of pearly gray light hit the branches above declaring that a new day dawned. But Bella found no joy in the promise of a fresh morning.

Cold air slipped its icy fingers through a seam between glass and casement. Bella shivered. Familiar tension knotted along her spine. Seeking relief, she closed her eyes and clasped her hands together.
Dear Heavenly Father—

She cut herself off, desperately searching for the right words to pray. None came. She could confess her sin for the thousandth time, but it wouldn’t take away what she’d done. Oh, she knew her God was a forgiving God. She just couldn’t seem to forgive herself.

What had Paul said to the Ephesians? Something about forgetting what was behind and straining toward what was ahead. Yet, how could Bella move forward when she couldn’t let go of the past?

Opening her eyes, she wrapped her fingers around William’s locket and tugged. Hard. As always, she released the necklace before the chain broke.

Hot tears of frustration stung her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she remove the wretched piece of jewelry?

Oh, Lord, help me. Guide me.

“Bella?” Hannah’s soft voice sliced through her thoughts. “May I join you?”

Bella spun around to face her sister-in-law. “Of…of course.”

Hannah glided farther into the room. Thankfully, instead of dragging Bella into a conversation, she held out her hand and produced a sealed letter. “This came for you yesterday.” She rolled it in her palm. “It looks important.”

At the sight of the expensive paper, Bella sucked in a tight breath. One glance was all it took for her to recognize William’s seal. Her entire body turned ice-cold. She needed to sit, but she gathered her courage and accepted the letter with trembling fingers before her legs collapsed and she dropped into a nearby chair.

She’d half dreaded, half hoped this day would come, the day William recognized his mistake and called her back to him. But now that he had found her, Bella felt nothing. Wanted nothing.
Believed
nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

With little worry lines forming between her eyebrows, Hannah stooped in front of her and rested her hand on Bella’s knee. “I see I was right not to show this to your brother.”

Bella nodded, gulped in a ragged breath.

“It’s from a man.” Hannah said the words as a statement.

Unable to answer, Bella could only stare at her sister-in-law. She needed more control, less confusion. But her mind refused to cooperate.

“Is he the reason you left London?”

Biting her bottom lip, Bella studied the red seal with the viscount’s family crest pressed into the wax. “I…I…I don’t know how he found me.”

“He?”

The muscles in her stomach quivered. “William Gordon, Lord Crawley.”

“A suitor?”

“Yes.” Bella rubbed a shaky palm along the top of her thigh, shuttered. “No. Not in the way you would think.”

Tugging one of Bella’s hands into hers, Hannah spoke very softly. “Bella, whatever has happened, whatever he did to you, you can tell me.”

Bella fought back tears, a useless indulgence when control was needed. She wanted to rail, to pound her fists in the air. She sighed instead. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised.” Hannah kept her voice low. “For years I traveled with an acting troupe. Your brother, Tyler, was one of the more notorious members.
Thanks to his example alone, I’ve seen my share of shocking behavior.” She gave Bella an ironic smile. “He did run off with my sister, after all. My
engaged
sister.”

Of course. Bella knew the ugly details well enough. The scandal was still a sore subject in her family. Tyler had been wrong to travel alone with Hannah’s sister without the benefit of marriage, especially when she was engaged to another man. Tyler meant well, most of the time, but he could be selfish and an unconscionable rogue of the first order. Hannah had seen him at his worst.

Hot shame spread through Bella, shame for what Tyler had done to this woman and her family. No, Bella would not allow Beau’s new wife to discover that yet another member of the famous O’Toole family had a sinful heart.

“I’m sorry, Hannah.” She drew her hand free. “I…can’t.”

A look of disappointment spread across the other woman’s face. “I won’t press. But when you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen. No judgment. No condemnation.”

Shaken by her sister-in-law’s kindness, Bella refused to do anything so dramatic as cry.

“I’ll leave you to your letter now.” Hannah gave her hand one last pat, rose and then left the kitchen with her typical grace.

Alone again, Bella turned the letter over and over in her hand. The monumental significance of William actually finding her here in Colorado was staggering. Frightening.

What could he possibly have to say to her now? Had
his circumstances changed? Was he renewing his suit, this time with a more respectable end?

She fingered the locket around her neck. It felt lighter this morning. Surely, a trick of her imagination. After all, nothing had changed. Not for her.

Or had it? An image of Shane Bartlett flitted across her mind. Integrity. Courage. The doctor had both. Lord Crawley had little of either.

If Bella had an ounce of sense, she would toss William’s letter in the nearest fire and that would be the end of that.

Unfortunately, Bella was discovering her ratio of sense to senselessness was far out of balance, with senselessness winning hands down.

Read it? Toss it?

She would decide later.

Shoving the paper into the pocket of her apron, she tried to put the matter out of her mind and focus on the day ahead.

Then again…

Perhaps she should read the letter now, just get it over with. Or perhaps she would look at it tonight, when she was alone, with endless hours of solitude stretching before her. Yes, maybe then, when there was no chance of interruption, she would read the words William had sent halfway across the world to her.

Or…maybe not.

Something had happened since Shane had last seen Miss O’Toole, something that put her on edge. She was
pleasant enough, on the surface, but the difference was there. In her eyes. If he didn’t know better he’d say she had the look his mother always had right before his father made his weekly visit—an odd mixture of hope and dread, melancholy and joy.

With his own emotions still in a tangle from Sunday afternoon, Shane chose to ignore the change in Miss O’Toole. Jaw tight, he stepped aside in order to allow her to enter Charity House ahead of him.

As usual, they were met at the door by Laney Dupree, Marc’s wife and co-owner of the orphanage. Her arms were filled with a squirming miniature version of herself.

“Good morning, Laney.” Shane reached out and ruffled her young daughter’s hair. “Laurette. You’re both looking fine this morning.”

Laurette pulled her thumb out of her mouth and grinned. But Laney’s face scrunched into a frown. “Shane. Miss O’Toole, thank God you’ve finally arrived.”

She lowered her daughter to the ground. Laurette clutched Laney’s skirt with one hand and held a doll tight against her chest with the other. Sensing her mother’s tense mood, the child adopted an identical expression of worry on her face.

“What is it?” Miss O’Toole asked before Shane had a chance. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know, precisely,” Laney admitted, her gaze darting between them. “Six of the children came to me yesterday with runny noses and complaining of headaches, nothing we haven’t seen before. I kept the lot of
them home this morning and sent the rest on to school as usual. But in the last hour, two have grown worse.”

By the end of her explanation, Shane was already striding for the stairs. “Did you separate the children from the rest?”

“Last night. I put the boys in the tiger room. The girls are in the castle room.” She turned to Miss O’Toole, her eyes serious and worried, her hands wringing together in front of her. “We always try to keep the sick children separate from the rest. Illness can spread quickly.”

A thick blanket of tension fell between them, but Miss O’Toole patted Laney’s shoulder in a feminine gesture of solidarity. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

Shane continued forward, stopped.

“What about the babies?” he asked.

“Megan is with them. She’s kept them away from the others since yesterday.”

Shane was glad to hear it. And especially grateful they only had two babies in residence at the moment. If illness spread they would be hit the hardest.

Conflicting emotions tugged at him but he shoved them out of his mind. He needed to gather as much information as possible and he needed to do it with a clear head. “Tell me the precise symptoms of each.”

“All six have runny nose, coughing, sneezing and sore throats.” Laney’s tone never varied, her eyes never left his face, but Shane could feel her concern as though she were screaming at him. “Miles and Stacy have progressed to a loss of appetite.”

On the surface, the symptoms could mean anything.
Various diagnoses were shooting around one another in his mind like moths to light.

A tug on his pant leg broke his concentration and he glanced down.

“Stacy has goo in her eyes,” Laurette added gravely. “White goo.”

That certainly narrowed down the possibilities. He looked up at Laney again. “Do they feel hot to the touch?”

Laney nodded.

All right then. The symptoms could mean bad colds. But Shane noted that neither Laney nor Laurette showed any signs of illness. Added to the “white goo” description he feared they had another case of measles on their hands. The disease had spread through the orphanage six months ago. Laney, Laurette and half of the children had suffered.

The other half had been spared, Miles and Stacy among them.

Shane turned to Miss O’Toole and asked her a question he should have asked long before now. “What childhood illnesses have you had?”

Urgency made his voice clipped. She didn’t seem to mind. “Pox, mumps and measles.”

“Good. Then let’s go have a look.”

One by one they started up the stairs, but Miss O’Toole held up her hand to stop Laney and Laurette. “You two stay here. At least until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Laney looked prepared to argue, but Miss O’Toole spoke again. “We don’t want you and your daughter exposed.”

Normally, Shane would have had Laney join him in the sickroom. However, that was before he’d hired an assistant, a very smart assistant who had recognized the larger ramifications before Shane had himself.

“Miss O’Toole is right,” he said. “It would be better if you stayed downstairs. For now.”

Laney shook her head, started forward.

Miss O’Toole laid a gentle hand on her arm. “I’ll bring you a report as soon as we have more information.”

Eyebrows slamming together, Laney tried to push forward but Laurette tugged on her hand. “Mama? Why are you so ang-ery?”

An odd sound came out of Laney’s mouth, not quite a snort of frustration, not quite a sob.

Laurette popped her thumb in her mouth and whimpered.

With visible effort, Laney cleared her face of all emotion and forced a smile across her lips. “I’m not angry, baby. Just worried.”

Laurette gave her a dubious look that had four-year-old doubt written all over it.

Laney closed her eyes and blew out a long sigh. “Why don’t you come along and help me make bread for tonight’s supper?”

“Really?” The child grinned around her thumb. “You never letted me do that before.”

“There’s always a first time.” Laney lifted the child in her arms and hugged her tightly against her.

Laurette struggled. “You holding too tight.”

Sighing, Laney shifted the child in her arms and
glanced at Miss O’Toole. “We’ll be in the kitchen when you have more to tell me.”

Before setting off in the opposite direction, Laney blessed Shane with a sharp glare of warning, as if to say he better remember she was waiting for news.

Shane barely noticed. He was too busy marveling at how Miss O’Toole had taken control of the situation.

Yet again, the woman had surprised him. He was starting to like the sensation. He was starting to like it a lot.

But then she quirked her eyebrow at him. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Realizing he was staring and feeling like a besotted idiot, he turned slightly to his left and waved her forward. “After you.”

She sent him a quick lovely smile as she passed, but her eyes remained distant. Just as well. There were six miserable children needing his complete attention.

He stared up at the ceiling. Once he focused on his patients, he would be immune to Miss O’Toole’s surprises.

He was sure of it.

Of course, as self-deception went, this was one of his best efforts yet.