The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(19)

Save one.

A small child lay sleeping in the last bed.

The other girls were occupied with their daily chores, then their exercises for the day. But nine-year-old Emily Higgins remained behind to linger abed. It was horribly unfair.

But then, life wasn’t fair, was it?

It was a bitter lesson Chloe had learned years ago.

Chloe approached Emily’s bedside and watched the sleeping girl. Dark curls contrasted with her pale skin. Her eyelids were as fragile as paper, and long eyelashes formed crescents against her skin. Her small chest rose and fell, her breathing labored. Even ill, she was a beautiful child, and Chloe felt a tug in the center of her chest.

Reaching out, she touched the girl’s small hand. “Hello, Emily.”

Eyelashes fluttered open to reveal jewel-green eyes. A second passed, then pink lips formed a perfect O. “Miss Chloe! I’m so happy you’re here.”

Emily struggled to sit up and raised her arms. Chloe’s heart tugged as she embraced the girl’s small frame. The strong scent of rhubarb ointment that the nurse had rubbed on Emily’s chest wafted to Chloe.

“How do you feel?” Chloe asked.

Emily coughed. “The nurse says I’m not well enough to join the other girls. I don’t like staying in bed.”

A knot formed in Chloe’s throat. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Everyone at the orphanage believed that Emily was born sickly. Chloe refused to believe it. There had to be a medical explanation for the child’s lethargy and weak lungs. Every time Emily attempted to join the other girls outside, she would start wheezing and gasping for breath. Then the coughing fits would start and she would lack the energy to do anything more than walk.

Chloe pulled up a wooden chair and sat at Emily’s bedside. “I made some pictures for you.” Chloe pulled out small lithographs of a young girl Emily’s age playing with a hoop. The skill with a burin was a talent she had learned from her father. She wasn’t a gifted artist like her sister, Amelia, but she enjoyed creating artwork as a pastime.

“It’s beautiful. Is it really for me?”

“Yes. You can look at it anytime. I hope it lifts your spirits.”

“What else do you have?”

“I brought a book of fairy tales. Would you like me to read to you?”

“Oh yes. My mother used to read to me before she got sick and went to Heaven. Do you remember your mother?”

Chloe rested the book on her lap. “I have vague memories. She was kind and loving and gave lots of hugs. But she passed when I was young.”

“What about your father?” Emily asked.

Chloe’s fingers tightened around the book’s spine. “My father was an artist. I remember when he taught me how to draw and use a burin to engrave a picture. He knew I preferred engraving to charcoal sketching, but the truth was I did it to please him. It was never my strongest interest. I would much rather have climbed a tree in our garden or fed the horses carrots in the mews.”

Emily smiled. “That sounds like fun. How old were you when he died?”

“He never died. At least not that I’ve heard. He left us.”

“Oh,” Emily said. “I never knew my father, either.”

“Then we have that in common as well.”

“What else do we have in common, Miss Chloe?

Chloe hesitated, debating how much to tell. “I was sickly as a child.”

“You were?”

If her story could give Emily hope, then she should share it with her. “It started as a simple cold, but I soon developed a cough. Then the cough lingered and lingered and wouldn’t go away. A doctor said I had weak lungs. But now I’m healthy.”

Emily’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be healthy, Miss Chloe.”

“Never say that.” Chloe’s voice was firm. She refused to believe the child would suffer forever, or worse, die. As she gazed down at Emily, her throat ached. She clutched Emily’s hand. “Please promise that you will never give up hope.”

“I promise.” Emily’s little fingers entwined with hers, and the motion felt like a squeeze to Chloe’s heart.

“Shall I read?” Chloe asked.

Emily nodded and leaned against her pillow.

Chloe picked up the book and opened it to the first chapter. She swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled. “Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a beautiful princess…”

…

Later that afternoon, Chloe returned to her sister’s home in Mayfair. The butler came forward to take her cloak. Sunlight glinted off the magnificent crystal chandelier and cast a kaleidoscope of color on the marble floor. The contrast between the scratched wood floorboards of the orphanage and the black-and-white marble of Huntingdon’s vestibule never ceased to amaze her. Her memories of her lodgings in the rookeries of St. Giles lingered in the back of her mind like specters in a closet that could never entirely be forgotten.

“There’s a package for you, Miss Chloe,” the butler said. “I put it in the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burke.”

Another package? Her curiosity rose as she entered the drawing room to find a box wrapped in lovely flowered paper. The simple card was embossed vellum, and she broke the seal.