Delilah Marvelle - Forever a Lord

She shrugged away his hands, knowing he didn’t understand. “I will debut, for that is what you want of me, but based upon my health, I am not about to submit. It would be nothing but a hardship for whatever man takes me. I would rather we speculate. Think of what all that money could do for us. We would never be dependent on anyone ever again.”

He shook his head. “No, Gene. After having lost everything in a venture I should have never invested in, I know better than to embark upon this. We simply have to accept that neither of us will ever rise above what we have. It is what it is.”

Tears pricked her eyes and what felt like her soul. “There has to be more to life than me choking on medicine and you choking on a bad decision. We can’t—” Her throat tightened beyond its ability to let her breathe. She jumped toward him and grabbed his hands, causing his top hat to roll to the floor.

Feeling a stutter coming on, she fiercely clamped her teeth together, wishing she had been born with a different life. She wanted so desperately to convey everything within her, but knew it would only tumble forth broken and stupid and worthless.

So instead, she shook his hands and kept shaking and shaking them within her own, letting him know that if they didn’t try to change their lives it was never going to change. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right!

“Gene!” Firmly prying his hands from hers, Henry nudged her chin up hard, forcing her to look at him. “Do you need me to send a missive to Dr. Filbert?”

She winced and shook her head, knowing it would only cost them money for the call. Trying desperately to calm herself, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on what always helped. Envisioning a field. Swallows dipping low. The sun rising, causing hues of pink to smear the sky. And the soft wind caressing her face, sending strands of hair floating.

Shades of her panic lulled and the strain on her throat faded. She opened her eyes and drew in a shaky breath, letting it out in renewed calm. She could breathe. Though, oddly, her limbs felt like they were floating and the room was swaying.

Henry’s features tightened in concern. “I will send a missive to Dr. Filbert at once.”

She shook her head.

“He can help you. And he has. You know that.”

“No,” she choked out, forcing her words to obey. Fortunately, the stutter had passed. “I…I have my medicine. I…I’m fine.”

“He is genuinely concerned for the state of your health and mind, Gene. As am I. It isn’t normal what you keep doing. It isn’t normal to keep playing the role of a goddamn mute when you get riled or panic. Are you telling me it is?”

She plastered her hands against her ears, not wanting to listen to him anymore. She hated when he reminded her of what she was. She knew what she was.

Henry flinched. Tugging her close, he smoothed her bundled hair with a comforting hand. “I’m sorry. You know all I ever do is worry. Ever since the incident, you…you’ve never been the same.”

She lowered her hands and nodded against him, fingering his embroidered waistcoat that pressed into her cheek. Sometimes, she wished she had enough money to buy everything. Including the happiness her brother deserved. And maybe, if there was any money left over, she could buy a new life for herself. One where she was in control of everything and one word from her and it was done. “Let me do this,” she pleaded against him. “For you and for me. Please. We won’t know until we try.”

He drew away, rubbing her shoulders, and slowly released her. Raking both hands through his hair, he let them drop and eyed her. “And what if we lose it all? What then?”

She inwardly cringed. “Then our lives remain the same. We remain under the jurisdiction of your wife. And…Banbury.” It was cruel, but the man needed a little push.

Henry shifted from boot to boot, his features tightening. Glancing intently toward the stairwell, he met her gaze again. “If we do this, you can’t breathe a word of it to anyone. Especially Mary. Aside from the investment itself, divorce is a messy and barbarous business. Do you understand?”

Her heart skipped, knowing that both of their lives were about to change with this decision. “I won’t say a word.”

He swiped his face. “I’ve been watching fights long enough to know exactly which men to invest in. Give me time. The best pugilists are usually hidden between the cracks.” He hesitated. “All I ask in turn is that you debut and take on the Season. Not necessarily a husband, but the Season. You never know how things will turn out or who you will meet. Can you agree to that much? For me? Knowing what I’m about to agree to myself?”

Imogene half nodded. “Yes. Of course. I can. I…” She blinked rapidly against the dizziness overtaking her ability to focus or speak. The edges of her vision frayed. Oh, no. It was happening again.

“Gene?” her brother echoed.

She fainted.

On the other side of the ocean

NATHANIEL—AS HE’D become accustomed to calling himself again—could see the boys still waving in the distance as they blurred against the horizon of buildings. It was surreal to be leaving the Forty Thieves and New York behind. It was like abandoning the only family he’d ever known.

But at least Matthew was still at his side.

It would make the transition easier.

It was also the best way to keep the man alive.

The chugging vessel trailed constant veils of sooty smoke from its stacks, strong winds sweeping them out toward cloud-ridden skies and massive waves that relentlessly swayed the packing ship.

Knotting his hair back against the whipping wind, Nathaniel drew in a deep breath of cold, sea air. His sister’s words, which he had tucked against the inside of his great coat, weighed in reminder. Although he had undone the journal’s sash many a time throughout the months, he only ever tied it back up, unable to read a single word. He still didn’t have it in him to swallow the reality that all he had left of his sister was pages.

Matthew leaned in against the iron railing of the boat beside him, still staring out at the coast of New York City that had shrunk to the size of a hand, fading against the sea’s vast horizon. “So you’re telling me you’re an aristo and that your father was an aristo who pissed on another aristo who then pissed on you?”

Nathaniel paused. God bless the son of a bitch for oversimplifying everything. “More or less.”

Matthew glanced toward him, his patch shifting against his cheekbone. “So what do you want me to call you? By what name?”

Nathaniel gripped the iron railing hard. “It doesn’t matter. I can still be Coleman, if you want. The boxing circles, even in London, won’t know me as anything else. So I have no choice but to abide by that name. I just wanted you to know the truth. I’ve kept it from you long enough.”

“I’d say. None of this seems real. How the feck could your own father—”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Nathaniel tapped an agitated fist against the railing. “Your mess is what we need to focus on. I suggest you sleep with your pistols in hand until we get to London. God only knows who is on this ship and it only takes one man to slit your throat.”

Matthew groaned. “I appreciate your concern, and going through all this trouble of dragging me along to ensure I don’t end up dead, but sleeping with pistols in hand is a bit much.”

Nathaniel pointed rigidly at Matthew’s head. “In my opinion, it isn’t enough. Sleep with the goddamn pistols before I up and knock your domino box out of your mouth. I’m not about to let you get lynched by some street boyo who has no understanding of how invaluable you are, not only to me but the ward. The boys need you back alive. Without you there is no them and you know it.”