Page 1 of The Countess's Awakening (The Lovers’ Arch #3)

CHAPTER 1

M ay 1864

London

Esther was no stranger to grief, but she was discovering there were many ways a heart could break. She sat in the drawing room of her London home—or rather, what used to be her home. She was the dowager now. The house belonged to the new Earl of Hartfield, her late husband’s son. As servants bustled about, preparing for her daughter’s presentation tea, she fought to suppress the sting of tears.

Elizabeth was at court.

Her daughter was standing before the Queen at this very moment, taking her first steps into society, and Esther was here, sitting idly while the world moved on without her.

How many teas had she hosted in this very room? How many grand affairs had she overseen? She had once commanded these events with such ease, orchestrating them with the confidence of a woman whose place in her home was unquestioned. And yet, today, she was no hostess. She could say it was because that role now belonged to Abigail, the new Lady Hartfield. But the truth was, Esther had relinquished her place as Lady Hartfield long before now.

It happened six years ago, when a carriage accident stole the life she had once known. In the immediate aftermath, when she lay bedridden in agony, she had thought nothing could be worse. But when the pain subsided, the crueler reality emerged—she was unable to walk. That was the true blow, the one that reshaped her world. The reason she withdrew from society to carve out a quiet existence in the country.

During that dark time, Abigail had been her biggest support. Recently widowed and in need of a position, she became Esther’s companion, but over time, she had become far more—a confidante, a friend, and, eventually, the one to take on the duties Esther could no longer manage. Esther had been grateful to relinquish the responsibilities of Lady Hartfield into Abigail’s capable hands, convinced she had found peace in her retreat.

Then, last year, her life had been upended once again with her husband’s death. And if the sorrow of his passing was not enough, it was compounded by the revelation that he had left her penniless. Not a settlement, not security, not even the dignity of true independence. Theirs had never been a love match, but she had believed they had built something—affection, respect. How could he have thought so little of her? How could he leave her with nothing, forcing her to depend on his heir?

That heir, his son from his first marriage, was a stranger to her. For a year, she, her daughter, and Abigail, had lived in limbo, unsure of whether they would be cast out or forced to endure the rule of a cruel new master. It had been a time of fear, of waiting for the ax to fall. But when Colin had finally arrived to claim his title, she found he was not the heartless man she had dreaded. He was kind, generous. Not only had he taken care of her as his father’s widow, providing the settlement her husband should have provided, but he had married Abigail, and had proven an indulgent older brother to Elizabeth.

All was well now. She had no reason to feel this anguish. Except everything was changing yet again. Her daughter had just left with Colin and Abigail for her presentation at court, radiant in her white gown, her eyes bright with dreams. Esther had once been like that. But she had faded from the life she had once commanded, retreating until she had become little more than a shadow.

She clutched her chair’s armrests with a white-knuckled grip as the bitter truth pressed in on her—she had become utterly useless. How could she be the mother her daughter needed if she remained locked away, an invalid with nothing to offer?

As if to underscore her thoughts, a shadow loomed beside her, and she glanced up to find a footman shifting awkwardly, his gloved hands clasped in front of him.

“Lady Hartfield, might I assist you to another location? We need to adjust the furniture.”

Esther forced a tight smile and inclined her head, allowing him to wheel her to a corner of the room. Out of the way. The footman murmured his apologies and disappeared, but she barely heard him. Her gaze had caught on a small, framed daguerreotype perched on the side table. A moment frozen in time.

Hartfield Park. Ten years ago.

The summer sunlight dappled the terrace, catching the gleam of silver teapots and the pale hues of ladies’ gowns. In the foreground, Elizabeth stood next to her, a wide grin on her mischievous face, her dark curls in disarray. Her daughter had been so small, merely eight years old. Most mothers kept their children away from such affairs, but Esther had never subscribed to those notions. She had delighted in her daughter’s presence and cherished every moment she could spend with her.

Elizabeth had been particularly restless that day, her boundless energy at odds with the decorum of a formal tea. To keep her entertained, Esther had devised a series of children’s games on the lawn. She had joined them, much to the scandalized amusement of the other ladies, running and laughing with her daughter and the other children. Skirts lifted just enough to keep from tangling.

Had that been only ten years ago?

It felt like another lifetime. As if the young matron in the photograph, full of life and laughter, was someone else entirely. She had gone from that woman to this—a dried-up, useless dowager, shunted into corners and moved about like a piece of furniture.

Her lungs constricted as a lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She seldom indulged in self-pity. It was a useless emotion. But even as she tried to squash the wave of despair that threatened to pull her under, a fat tear fell onto her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, as if the force of that grip was the only thing keeping her together.

“My lady? Are you well? May I be of assistance?” She froze and heat suffused her cheeks at the warm timbre of the familiar voice.

Oh, goodness! It was Mr. Wang. Colin’s friend had entered the room without her noticing. The man moved with the stealth of a ghost. And yet she knew the body under the layers of sober clothing was as solid as a rock. She had experienced his strength firsthand when he had carried her through Cremorne Gardens a mere few weeks ago.

As if it was not humiliating enough to be carried through Cremorne Gardens like a sack of potatoes, he also had to be the one who found her in such an emotional state. She turned her head away and tried to surreptitiously dab at her eyes.

“Perfectly fine, Mr. Wang.” The wobble in her voice belied that statement, and she knew she was unsuccessful at hiding her embarrassing tears. The man saw too much.

He crouched in front of her. Without a word, he extended a snow-white handkerchief. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Hers, skittish and flooded; his, calm and reassuring.

She took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, inhaling the faint sweet-and-spicy scent that lingered in the pristine square of fabric. “Thank you. You must think I’m a veritable watering pot.”

“I think nothing of the sort, my lady. I daresay it’s been an emotional day for you. Would you like to unburden yourself to someone? I am here.”

She would love to talk to someone, but her reasons seemed so trivial. So self-pitying and pathetic. And yet his calm demeanor reassured her. It promised a sympathetic ear.

“It’s silly.” She chuckled with self-deprecation.

He did not laugh. “It’s not if it makes you cry.”

“It’s just that I feel so useless. My daughter is being presented to the Queen today. I should be there by her side. Accompanying her to her presentation, advising her, guiding her in society through her first Season. Helping her secure a good husband who would love and cherish her. And yet, here I am. Useless in this chair. A burden everyone has to bear instead of being any kind of help.”

“You are not a burden, my lady. Your family loves you and enjoys having you be part of their lives.”

“How can they enjoy it when I ruin all the occasions? In Cremorne, I had to be carried around like an unwieldy sack of potatoes. Even here in the house, while everyone is working hard preparing for the presentation tea, I’m nothing but a piece of furniture standing in the way.”

The faintest of smiles curved Wang’s lips, drawing her attention to his mouth. How could a face so severe that it seemed sculpted from stone turn almost sensual with such a small smile?

“Not a sack of potatoes. At most, a very pretty, very light, feather pillow. I’d gladly carry you whenever you require it.”

His outrageous flattery had the power to penetrate her dark misery like the rays of the sun sifting through dark clouds.

“Thank you, Mr. Wang. At least your teasing has made me smile.”

“I am teasing, yes. But I am very serious about the offer as well. Although…”

“What?”

“I would much rather attempt to rehabilitate you, so you can stand on your own two feet.”

A bitter scoff escaped her. “That is very kind of you, but I’ve already tried without success and put myself through a lot of pain and disappointment in the process.”

“But you haven’t tried with me.”

The simple statement hung in the air, daring her to hope. Taunting her with its double meaning. Or was she just imagining it? She would like to dismiss a certain energy that shimmered between them. She had felt it the first time Mr. Wang had lifted her in his arms, that day in Cremorne, when her wheelchair had gotten stuck. He had done it so effortlessly and with such reverence.

Esther had thought herself immune to desire. Dead. She certainly had felt that way since her accident. But somehow, while held securely in this man’s arms, the side of her breast pressed against his chest and her arm wound around his muscular shoulders, awareness of his strength and athleticism had caused flutters in her belly, accompanied by an awakening of desires long dormant.

That same desire still simmered now. Unacknowledged, but real.

She had the strange urge to skim her fingers over his high cheekbones, cup her hand over the sharp edges of his jawline, and brush her thumb over his lush lips. And oh, that lock of hair. Straight and thick, defying any effort to confine it, falling over his brow in such a provocative manner. It gave him a playful appearance, so at odds with his usual reserved expression. She wanted to discover if it was as silky as it appeared.

It taunted her until, of its own volition, her hand lifted and brushed it aside. It was an innocent enough gesture. But then Mr. Wang lifted his slanted eyes to hers, and awareness sizzled in his dark gaze.

His gaze which had surely singed her, judging by the heat that blossomed on her cheeks. Esther licked her suddenly dry lips, and his gaze homed in on her mouth. She knew at that moment that he was aware of her inappropriate thoughts. But more surprisingly, he appeared to reciprocate.

Surely not. She was reading too much into the situation. What could a vital, strong, and athletic man such as him want with an invalid like her? She was being ridiculous. His offer to help her walk again was a simple kindness on his part. Maybe it had even been Hartfield’s idea. Her stepson was a doctor, and he had mentioned several times that he would like to help her. Regardless of the motive, maybe she should accept Mr. Wang’s offer. But…

“I’m afraid.”

She was not aware she had said it aloud until he replied in that same calm voice of his.

“If you do not enter the tiger’s den, how will you get the tiger’s cub?”

Esther frowned. “Why would I want a tiger’s cub?”

Wang smiled, this time fully, and the effect was dazzling. “It’s just an ancient Chinese saying. Tigers are valuable animals. They represent strength and power. To capture one means to face great odds and succeed. If you don’t take a chance, how will you achieve what you want?”

He didn’t boast, didn’t make outlandish promises. But there was something in his steady manner that inspired confidence. Esther frowned, biting her lips. She’d never hated her helplessness more than at this moment. Elizabeth needed her mother by her side to guide her through her Season, and she was a useless cripple. Her stepson and Abigail had been a godsend. They were taking on the responsibility of presenting her daughter and accompanying her to balls and other society events. Esther, however, knew that the duty was hers. That she was failing as a mother.

Colin and Abigail were a young couple. They needed to focus on themselves and their marriage. Abigail might conceive, and then they would have their own offspring to take care of. Esther couldn’t burden them anymore. She needed to become independent and fend for herself and her daughter. Colin had been very generous and offered to set her up in her own residence if she wished. It was more than what her own husband—Colin’s father—had provided.

But in order to become independent, she had to stand on her own two feet. Both in the literal and figurative sense. She looked at Wang, who had not moved. His gaze remained direct and patient. Supportive.

“Do you think it possible that I could walk again?”

“I don’t know yet, my lady. I will need to perform an examination. And much will depend on you. Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

And it was true. From the moment Mr. Wang had arrived with her stepson, he had been nothing but helpful, kind, respectful.

“Will you allow me to touch your feet? I will need to touch you often in the course of the therapies.”

A shiver ran through her. Not of fear or revulsion. Oh no. The exact opposite. It was unadulterated excitement.

“Very well.”

Slowly, with the utmost reverence, he cradled the back of her leg with one hand and removed her slipper. Then, while still holding the back of her heel, he pressed his thumb into the center of her sole, massaging it along the length of her foot. Her toes curled in. Was it her imagination that his fingers caressed with lingering touches? Molding her arch, enveloping her toes, learning the contours of her foot. It was almost…sensual.

“Do you feel my touch?”

To the very marrow of my being.

“Yes,” she said simply, her voice a little strained from holding back the scandalous thought.

He repeated the same procedure with the other foot, with the same result. Then he sat back on his haunches, and her eyes drank the sight of his trousers stretching over his thighs. But she was not prepared for her reaction when he placed her stockinged feet on his solid thighs.

“Are you able to curl your toes on your own?”

She very much wanted to. It surprised her how much she craved to dig her toes into his rock-hard thighs. Slide her feet up and down them. Her eagerness must have helped her complete the movement, for not only was she able to curl her toes, but her weak legs drew strength from somewhere to slide up his thighs, getting perilously close to—

His hands closed over her ankles, arresting the movement before her feet reached a sensitive area.

“I think there’s a very good chance you will recover. You have sensation in your feet, and you are capable of some movement. Your muscles are weak from disuse, but that’s what we are going to fix.”

He put her slippers back on and rearranged her skirts, rising to his feet in one smooth, controlled movement. What would it feel like to move with so much ease? To have such strength that every action appeared effortless?

“Indeed.” She forced out of a throat gone dry.

Jesus, she was shameless. The man had been focused on helping her. Meanwhile, her mind—and her morals—had gone straight to the gutter at the marvelous sensation of having his hands upon her feet and legs.

“Would you like to start tomorrow, then?” he asked.

“So soon?” She heard the note of panic in her voice. She wasn’t ready.

“Why wait? The sooner you start, the sooner you might be able to walk again.”

“You are right, of course. Tomorrow then.”

“Do you know how to swim, Countess?”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Swim? No, of course not!”

“Relax.” His hand came to rest on top of hers, warm, solid. Safe. It settled her alarm. And caused a fresh set of nerves to tingle all along her skin. “Don’t worry about any of it. I will be right by you. I shall see you through this, my lady.”

She looked into his eyes. Apprehension warred with hope inside her. But she must go forward. Because retreating into the shadows was no longer an option.