Page 5 of The Valentine Skates

She and Jane had spent hours wondering at what hid beneath the dark eyes with thick lashes and his black shock of hair. He went to great pains to remain polite and address each of them carefully after greeting Jane’s father. From that moment, however, until the end of the grueling lesson, his eyes never strayed from his lesson book. Jane caused herself a headache on one memorable occasion by crossing her eyes in the hopes she could distract him for the few minutes her father turned away while they studied lists of verbs to conjugate.

When Frederick had first come to their class, he’d been only twelve years old, with long, coltish arms and legs he seemed unable to operate properly. If by some chance one of them encountered him in the village, he would redden and lower his head, but still manage to acknowledge them with a mumbled greeting.

He’d joined them after her father had convinced old Squire Meredith the boy needed to be sent away to school, and would benefit from the vicar’s Latin class. He left for Eton the next term and after that, came home only once a year at the winter term holidays. Those were the times she lived for and still held close to her heart. The long moonlit hours skating, often for miles on the river.

Even as he matured into his long arms and legs, and grew a dark beard, he continued his childhood pretense of not noticing Jane or her. But Lilianne had known better. There were times when he thought no one was looking. Times when the look she saw in his eyes burned with an unexpected intensity.

“Do I want to know your thoughts, Lili?”

She flashed a quick smile for her old teacher and confidante. “Probably not.”

“You do realize he still loves you.”

“He loves the girl I was back then. I can’t allow my shame to drag down both him and poor little Emily.”

“But don’t you think he deserves to make that choice?”

“If I let him, what kind of friend would I be?”

Frederick’s eyes kept fluttering shut despite his best efforts. He’d been at Emily’s bedside since Lilianne had left days before. He not only needed to stay awake, but he had keep his wits about him. In less than a week, he’d have to oversee the community sheep shearing in the huge Guildford common barn before lambing season commenced.

He always began with a demonstration of shearing for newcomers before tackling his own flock, but usually ended up helping his neighbors all day anyway. His height and strength made it easier for him to control the woolly creatures for a quick shearing before their struggling caused the blade to slip. Bloody nicks in the animals’ skins could lower the value of the wool.

Dr. Towle had returned to Guildford after giving the housekeeper, Mrs. Miller, instructions for Emily’s care. Why did everyone always assume fathers were incapable of caring for their own children?

They had plenty of the cough elixir, but he’d warned them she would probably sleep most of the time for the rest of the week. He’d promised to return on the following Monday to see how she was doing, but he was cautious about giving Frederick too much hope. She’d inhaled a good bit of river water into her lungs, and the possibility of pneumonia still loomed. He’d advised Mrs. Miller to prepare willow bark tea for when the inevitable fever set in. Frederick had brushed Emily’s forehead with the back of his hand several times every hour when they were alone together. He knew he was becoming obsessive, but she was all he had left of his little family.

If Jane were here, she’d… He stopped that line of thought before it began. His episodes of thinking of Jane as still with him, possibly just around the corner in the manor kitchen, clanging pots and pans and trying out a new recipe, had finally receded, just a few months before Emily’s fifth birthday. Jane was dead, but Emily was alive, and he would do whatever it took to make sure she stayed happy and healthy.

He couldn’t stop blaming himself for being too indulgent when his daughter had begged and pleaded to spend the night before her birthday ice skating on the river. Ice skating with their neighbor who had fascinated the child ever since his father-in-law’s housekeeper had spun all the exaggerated tales of Lilianne’s time in captivity in the harem.

In truth, he had to admit, if only to himself, he too wanted to know how she’d spent those years. How the touch of another man had affected her. Had she welcomed her duties in the old dey’s bed? Had she borne him a child? Her time in Algiers was bathed in a cloud of mystery. Not only did she refuse to discuss her captivity, but she’d locked herself away from all of society ever since she’d regained her freedom. She’d refused to acknowledge his presence even once over the last four years, although he’d called on her at least once a month ever since her return.

They’d shared so much the years before she went away. And then she was gone. And now, just the thought of her had made his body harden. He hoped to God no one walked in and saw him like this.

“Papa—.” The sound of Emily’s voice brought him back with a jolt to the world around him. And made his physical problem fade.

“Yes, Poppet, I’m here.” He stood and leaned over the bed to feel her forehead again, expecting the same cool touch he’d felt many times earlier in the night. This time the heat was undeniable. The spectre of fever had arrived. He walked to the bell on the wall and yanked hard before turning back to the chair he’d just vacated where he settled in to hold Emily’s hand for however many hours it took to have her whole and well again. He would not let her go.

Mrs. Miller soon arrived with a tray with two teapots, one with the willow bark drink for Emily and one with a bracing black tea for Frederick.

Lilianne hated not being able to help Frederick nurse Emily through her fever, but Mrs. Miller sent word each day to Helena’s cottage in Guildford to let them know how the child was doing. She’d also sent a message to Dodds to make sure Emily’s bear, Mr. Withers, was sent for from the Meredith home at Weyford Manor. She also made sure he brought down the velvet rabbit from Wembledon Park’s old nursery, in case Emily needed company in the wide bed where she convalesced.

She wrote a short note each day just for the small girl to let her know she was thinking of her, even though Lilianne was staying with her former governess in Guildford.

Walking around the village or running errands for Helena seemed out of the question, considering her circumstances, until one day she noticed the cloak her lady’s maid, Margaret, wore to visit the market. It was made of deep russet red wool and nearly swept the ground. The hood, when draped over her head, made it difficult to discern her identity when viewed from the side or rear.

“Margaret, where did you have that cloak made?”

“Why, I made it myself, Lady Howick.”

“Was it hard to make?”

“Oh, no. It didn’t take me but a night or two to sew it together.”

“Would you make one for me? In that same wool?”

Her maid gave her a slow, impish smile, like that of a wood sprite plotting a tryst. “Of course, milady.”