smiled softly as she thought of her late husband. A kind and gentle man close to twenty years her senior, she grew to adore him, if not exactly love him. He had assisted her out of a tight spot, and because of it, she would be eternally grateful and cherish his memory.
At the tender age of eighteen, she found herself in a frightening predicament: unwed, alone, and pregnant. Until a friend of her father’s, the kindly Dr. Hughes, came to her rescue. It was another reason to esteem her late husband. Her heart ached that she could not love him as he deserved, but he often said he would take what she had to offer and be glad of it.
Striding along the lane, the sound of thundering horses’ hooves filled her hearing. A black carriage whizzed by her at a rapid pace, nearly spinning her like a child’s toy top and running over a couple of sheep grazing lazily on bits of grass visible on the snow-covered ground. What on earth?
Curious, Abbie hurried along the lane until the sanatorium came into view. Three men emerged from the carriage. Two of them were assisting another, who looked to be unconscious or close to it. Her blood stilled, and she dropped her basket. No. It couldn’t be him. Not here in this tiny village. Not after all these years.
But there was no mistaking the breadth and height, or the shoulder-length hair the shade of a fire blazing in the hearth. He seemed bigger than life, larger than she remembered. But then they were both barely eighteen when last they spoke. Curling an arm about her stomach to stem the nausea, she shook her head as if to convince herself that it was not Garrett Wollstonecraft heading into Gethin’s medical facility. They stood near the door, and the large man turned slightly.
Dear Lord, it was him. There was no mistaking the handsome perfection. She stumbled, her vision turning hazy as if she’d been pulled into a heavy mist. The memories she’d buried broke free and roared to the surface. Along with it came the intense emotions, whether she wanted them or not. For years she’d packed them neatly away, to the point she wondered if what had transpired between her and Garrett that summer had been merely a dream.
A younger version of Garrett stepped into the mist of her mind, tall, leaner, handsome beyond measuring. She’d first encountered him in the woods riding a large stallion. When he pulled up on the reins and smiled warmly at her, time stood still.
As it did now. Blood thundered in her ears, her heart racing. More memories flickered through her dizzying brain, of stolen kisses and fumbling in the hayloft and weeks of heated, clandestine meetings where they had taught each other about love and passion. The glorious moment when he had first entered her. A doleful sob escaped her throat with the remembrances.
It had all started with a summer visit to Alberta Eaton’s uncle’s small estate in Kent. The holiday had changed her life. Her future. She and Alberta were dear friends, and they had kept in contact through the years. Alberta and her brother-in-law, Jonas, had visited her in Standon twice. They exchanged long, gossipy letters, so Abbie was aware of Uncle Keenan’s death and Alberta’s inheriting the small manor house. But during those visits and letters one truth held firm: the name Garrett Wollstonecraft was never to be mentioned.
It was as if it had all happened yesterday, not more than fourteen years past. The emotions were still powerful and passionate. Prickles of searing electricity tore along Abbie’s spine as she gazed at him. Through the years, she’d often wondered what she would do if she’d ever encountered Garrett. Considering that he had broken her heart, would she rail and scream, pound his massive chest and curse him to the depths of hell? Or would she weaken and throw herself into his strong, warm embrace and sob uncontrollably?
Well, she would do none of it here. This was not the time nor place. Bending, she almost fell forward as her shaking legs buckled. Taking a deep breath, Abbie gathered up her basket, then broke into a run.
In the opposite direction.
The dam had burst. The unruly water rushing out of control. There would be no gathering all the memories and emotions and hiding them away ever again. First, she must write to Alberta and find out all she could about Garrett. Then she must decide if the past should be confronted at long last.
* * * *
“Damn it, this is nothing more than a barn. Where have you brought my nephew?” Garrett hissed through clenched teeth as they carried Aidan into the exam room.
“It’s a converted barn, actually,” Dr. Bevan replied. “All paid for from treatment fees. You may lay Mr. Black there.”
A young woman came to stand beside the doctor. Garrett cast a sidelong glance at her and made note of her beauty. Petite, dark haired, and fair skinned, with eyes the shade of a field of violets.
“Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Cristyn. She is training under me as a nurse, and is my trusted assistant.” The doctor turned to her. “My dear, burn the blanket. The clothes will be next.” Glancing up, he said to Edwin and Garrett, “If you will wait outside. There is usually someone here from the village to see to you, but she is late. Cristyn will be out directly to fetch you something to eat and drink while I perform my exam. Opium, you say?”
“And gin. God knows what else,” Garrett muttered.
Aidan stirred and started to thrash about. “I’m sorry…so…so sorry.”
Garrett clasped his hand and squeezed it tight. “It’s all right, Nephew. I’m here.”
“I take it your name is Black as well?” the doctor questioned.
Hesitating, Garrett nodded. It would be best to keep the name Wollstonecraft out of this tragic situation. At least initially.
“Then, Mr. Black, I will have a more inclusive picture to discuss shortly.”
Reluctantly, Garrett released Aidan, who didn’t even seem aware of his presence.
Edwin clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come. Dr. Bevan knows what he’s about.”
He followed Edwin out into the hallway. Before he sat, he took a moment to inspect the premises. The large barn structure had been cordoned off into a long hallway with numerous rooms on either side. It was clean, bright, and not at all what he’d expected when they had first arrived. His initial thought was Edwin had brought him to a place out of the medieval era. The ancient stones and wood timbers that made up the bulk of the facade proved his theory.
He’d never been to Hertfordshire. Unlike Julian, who had travelled extensively, Garrett had not been north of London. Except for Scotland. He never believed he would find a sanatorium here in the middle of farm country. Exhausted, he plunked down on the large chair in the hallway. They sat in silence for God knows how long, and while they did, Garrett tried to think of a way to break this to the family. However he framed the narrative, it would be a jarring shock.
The trip to Standon had been harrowing. As Edwin had predicted, Aidan’s symptoms of withdrawal began about halfway through the journey. The chills and vomiting were the first to appear. Garrett glanced down at his shirt. A good thing he’d brought his valise, for he needed a wash and a change of clothes.
Cristyn stepped into the hall. “If you gentlemen will follow me. I hope you don’t mind sharing a room. It’s at the end of this hall. You can freshen up, and I will bring you a bite to eat. Slices of bara brith and tea.”
Garrett stood and fell in step beside Miss Bevan. “I am very much obliged. What is bara brith?”
She smiled. “It’s Welsh for speckled bread.
