Defying The Earl. Anabelle Bryant

become of them? But how would she ever repay her aunt’s generosity and concern? Of late she’d considered ideas to generate income independently, but hadn’t any luck. As a lady, opportunities were limited and if she were to accept funds and the arrangement became revealed, she would shame her aunt more than benefit her obligation. Aunt Kate had shown only kindness and consideration, and as their only blood relation, Wilhelmina was very fond of the endearing woman, as was her sister. She could never bring embarrassment and scandal to her aunt’s doorstep.

      The clink of china revived her attention and Wilhelmina replaced concern with relief. “I would be delighted to read Livie to sleep.” She turned to the bookshelf at her back and with the flick of her wrist tipped a volume into her palm. “Shall I share Byron, Blake, or Shelley?”

      “That sounds like a poem in itself, although I’m sure anything you choose will suit. Livie and I wouldn’t know the difference between the three. We trust your decision.” Aunt Kate nodded with candid assurance.

      “Perhaps I will teach her to recognize the subtle nuances between the poets’ styles.” Wilhelmina struggled to keep laughter from her voice.

      “Then I’m sure she’ll find a restorative nap soon after.”

      Warmed by her aunt’s teasing, Wilhelmina turned to the hallway and began the stairs leading to the second floor intent on seeing her sister well rested. She could never confess she’d memorized most of the poems before she’d sold her father’s book collection in an attempt to add to their meager savings. Sometimes she’d hold an open volume in her hands and turn the pages as she recited the poems of a different poet, giving the appearance of reading directly from the book even though it was the works of another. Livie never questioned why the book cover always looked the same and for that, Wilhelmina was thankful. She already carried the guilty knowledge many of her father’s volumes went to sale with pages torn loose, the same now glued firmly into her keepsake book downstairs.

      She knocked on Livie’s bedchamber door and entered without pause. Her sister sat upright in bed, her hair tied with a bright yellow ribbon, her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. Everything was as usual, the bright white of her night rail a stark echo of Livie’s complexion and a constant reminder her sister rarely ventured outside.

      “You should be resting.” Wilhelmina’s admonishing tone was ruined by her grin. “I’m sorry you were unable to sleep. Did the cramping hurt terribly?” When she reached the bedside, she resisted the urge to stroke her sister’s blanket-encased legs. Livie had made significant progress the last few weeks and it was distressing to hear she’d suffered through the night. What if they’d reached a barrier in the treatment and the daily massages would no longer relieve Livie’s pain? What if their greatest fear, that the atrophy would become permanent, proved a reality? How would anyone prevent the vicious leg spasms that began directly after the carriage accident and tortured Livie each night until the recent treatments? They’d consulted every reputable doctor in London to no avail until they’d discovered the massage technique practiced by Dr. Morris and his nurse. Wilhelmina’s chest grew tight at the threat of Livie’s painful episodes returning. She’d reassured Aunt Kate downstairs, but in truth, the same fear lurked in her heart.

      “What is it?” Livie’s soft voice drew her immediate attention. “Why do you look so sad all of a sudden?”

      Her mind reeled for a suitable answer; anything to reassure Livie and sustain the pretense she harbored no worry, yet lying was a skill she’d never perfected. One glance in her direction and Livie would know whatever she said was untrue. Wilhelmina dropped her eyes to the poetry book clenched so tightly in her hands her knuckles faded white. “Nothing. Now should we get started?”

      “Not yet.” Livie clasped her arm. “I’m worried about my treatments.”

      Sister kinship. Only a year separated them and they knew each other’s thoughts, emotions and ambitions without effort. “You needn’t worry. I’m sure last night was a minor setback. I believe your condition is temporary and your strength will return.” It was difficult for Wilhelmina to say more when her own concern dared surface.

      “No, not that.” Livie released a thorough breath. “These treatments are expensive and the cost of a full-time nurse and the various liniments must be devastating to Aunt Kate’s bank account. I overheard the doctor speaking to her about payment.” She splayed a hand toward the bedside table where bottles, lotions, and ointments littered the glass.

      “Are you sure you heard correctly? Was the doctor complaining?”

      “Oh, I am sure of the conversation. Dr. Morris needed to repeat it twice so Aunt could hear him clearly. I assume they thought I was asleep even though they’d moved to the hallway.” Livie sighed, her hands wringing the blanket in her lap. “How will Aunt Kate afford my continued care? What if these costly treatments are so financially straining it creates hardship? I couldn’t live with myself if Aunt Kate compromised her lifestyle to accommodate my disability.” Livie’s voice trailed off as she continued. “The chair is not so awful.”

      “What are you saying?” Wilhelmina’s eyes settled on the wheelchair abandoned near the window and she shook her head as if to refuse the notion, her heart aching at the thought.

      “I’m worried I will bankrupt Aunt Kate, when in fact she has been our saving grace. I could never live with myself if that occurred.” Livie’s voice dropped to a whisper and desperation tinged the words. “Oh Whimsy, what are we to do?”

      “Sisters think alike.” Wilhelmina settled on the corner of the bed and in consternation ran a finger along the coverlet’s lace edging. “I’ve had the very same thought for a fortnight, but for the life of me I can’t find a solution.” She set the book of poems down and wove her fingers in her lap before unfolding them to smooth her skirts. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”

      “Is it? We’ve sold everything we own that holds any value, the house, the land, Father’s books. I know we’ve discussed this before, but maybe we should sell Mother’s charm bracelet.”

      Wilhelmina’s attention shot to her sister. “What? No. I could never part with it. I’m sorry.” She searched the room for a distraction. Anywhere to rest her eyes besides her sister’s entreating face. “Mother believed it to be special and wore it always. It’s all we have of her now.” She fought against the lump of emotion in her throat. Why did everything have to be so difficult? “I could never sell it.”

      “I shouldn’t have made the suggestion. I’m sorry. It was a poor idea and a temporary one at best. The bracelet holds fond memories for me as well. I remember as a child counting the five charms as each dangled from the delicate chain on Mother’s wrist. I’m just at a loss for a solution to the dire situation we face.” She dropped her gaze to the coverlet and picked at a small bit of thread. Silence consumed the room for several ticks of the long case clock near the door.

      “Well, there must be some way I can generate income to assist Aunt Kate and pay for your treatments. Remember the evening Father gifted Mother with the bracelet? It was during their surprise anniversary party. The evening was such a success, everyone declared me the most delightful hostess. It was a joyous gathering.” She managed a slight smile with the reminiscent memory. “Perhaps there is some way I can arrange events to fit society’s needs.”

      “Mother and Father’s party was a small country gathering. However would you keep an undertaking as grand as a ton social from Aunt Kate? She may not mix with the most elite dowagers but somehow despite her hearing impairment, she manages to acquire every word of gossip at her weekly tea; every courtship, betrothal, and wedding. She lives for news of the latest liaisons.”

      Wilhelmina rose and paced the length of the bed before she spun, the quick juxtaposition causing her muslin skirts to wrap around her ankles. “That gives me an idea. Back home, friends were forever asking my advice. What if I served as a matchmaker of sorts? I could obtain the most pertinent information about suitors and present it to a young lady wishing to marry. It would be a useful service, but also one the lady would want to keep secret, securing my anonymity.”