The mood in the coach carrying the General and Tabitha Oliver away from Nightingale was dark. Gloom seemed to be the order of the October day, despite the sun poking tentatively through the steely gray clouds.

Finally, General Oliver broke the dour silence. “She is lost to us now, Tabitha.”

Tabitha said nothing in response. The rolling of her eyes announced her annoyance with her husband, but he did not take note of it.

“I am most miserable and cheerless. I thought weddings were to be happy affairs.”

Now her response came, and it was sarcastically shrill. “Are you surprised to be feeling melancholy, my dear? Surprised that your tough general’s heart might feel miserable and cheerless at having thrust your only child so far from you? What, pray tell, did you expect to feel?”

“Our only child,” he corrected.

“Indeed. Our only child. Thank you for the reminder.”

The General lifted his drooping head to look at her, her quip hitting its intended mark with painful accuracy. Though she wounded him with her heartless words, she did not regret speaking them. She was angry with him. She had spent her adult life both explaining him and placating him, and her efforts had come to naught. Despite her normally persevering nature, she felt very much finished with all of it.

“You are most unkind, wife.”

“As are you, Sir, but you have only yourself to blame for the miserable mess you have made. You have been the architect of your own pain. What you perpetrated on your daughter has come back to strike you hard. And rightly so.”

“I could not bear the thought of losing her.”

“And therein lies the great irony,” she simmered.

“All that I ever intended was to keep her safe!”

“I commend you, Sir, for you have done it! She is safely out of your reach.”

“Tabitha,” the General pleaded with her, his eyes filling with long-denied tears. “Have you no pity?”

“You have isolated us once and for all from our only child and ensured there is no remedy for it. She is the Marquess’ problem now.”

“Problem?” he balked at the callous characterization of his daughter.

“Isn’t that how you viewed the situation, Sir? Dare to deny it. She was a problem to be solved, plain and simple.”

“She was not a problem, Madam!” the General sniped angrily.

The truth was he loved his daughter, but he knew what was best for her, and she needed to conform. He feared her bold ideas would destroy any chance for happiness. If only she would be content to cover screens and master the pianoforte like other girls. Why couldn’t she just read novels and flirt over whist with his officers? Marrying her off to the Marquess was the best chance she had for a real future. There was no future for her in science! Why couldn’t Henrietta see that? Why couldn’t she just trust him?

“Tabitha, I only wanted to protect her, I say. To protect her from the gossipmongers, from the scorn society wields when they do not understand. From its judgment and censure!”

“So, you censured her yourself.” Another irony, though she hardly needed to point it out. “A beautiful child told again and again she should not be so smart. How was she supposed to help it?”

Tears now rolled silently over the hardened soldier’s chiseled cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

“I will make things right with Henrietta. I solemnly swear it to you this day.”

“As you wish. I don’t expect we will ever see her again.”

Neither Henrietta nor the Marquess felt particularly sociable, especially after tea, so they agreed to take their evening meal within their rooms. It would appear to Anna and Gerome to be a romantic supper together, but that notion was as false as the rest of it. After the two servants finally left them to enjoy their meal, the Marquess fled as well, plate in hand, shutting the connecting door with a resounding thud.

The night was long and passed slowly for Henrietta. She chided herself mercilessly for calling the Marquess a hypocrite. It was true, to be sure, but what had she hoped to achieve by pointing it out? It had been foolish and gained her nothing. Instead, it had clearly cost her. She wasn’t exactly sure what, but it had cost her something. It had cost them.

Still, he had deserved a bit of down dressing, prattling on about how he could not tolerate her enduring an insult. How had he not seen how ridiculous that was in light of how he had treated her?

Well, he’s seen it now. I made sure of it.

But somehow that didn’t make her feel better.

Henrietta wondered if all his talk of freedom was sincere. He said he believed in freedom for all, that he wanted his wife to enjoy freedom of thought and expression, freedom to choose and to dream. Did he mean it?

She wondered. It was one thing to affirm the right of his wife to express her thoughts, even as unpopular opinions, but it was something else entirely to give his blessing to her quest for knowledge, her love of science, and her application to medical school.

Anna’s cheerful voice interrupted her thoughts. “Do you have your letters ready for the post, my Lady? I can take them out for you if you like.”

“No need, Anna. I dropped them in the receiving box myself yesterday. The Old Bell will add my postage to the Marquess’ bill.”

“Very good, my Lady.”

Yes, it was very good. She had mailed off three letters of application to the medical colleges, renewing her quest. This time she signed them as H. Oliver Clark. It was intentionally ambiguous, yes, but it was technically correct. They still might not accept her, but it would not be because they thought she was a woman.

The girl made to leave, but Henrietta stopped her. She wanted to ask Anna the question that had nagged her since her first conversation with the Duchess.

“How did she die, Anna?”

“Who, my Lady?” the girl asked.

“His Lordship’s wife.”

“Oh, the Lady Patricia?” Anna dropped her voice to a hushed tone. “My apologies for the informality—that was how she asked us to address her. It has been a hard habit to break. Although, we do not speak of her, my Lady.”

“I understand, Anna, but you may speak freely with me. I will break no confidences.”

Anna looked only half convinced, her young face drawn into lines of concern. “Childbirth, my Lady. She was taken from us in childbirth.”

Henrietta sighed heavily. Childbirth was very dangerous, indeed. Both for mother and baby. There had been many advancements in the field of medicine, but in the end, it seemed to be all in the hands of God. The mystery and the miracle were all the work of the Divine.

“It is indeed a great irony that in the giving of life comes death.”

“Yes, my Lady, but no life was given. They both died. The baby would not turn.”

“Breech.”

Anna nodded again. “The midwives tried and tried but nothing worked to turn him, so they sent for the doctor. By the time he arrived, it was too late.”

“I see. Was there much blood?”

Anna’s eyes grew large with surprise. “Yes, my Lady. So much blood. Have you attended many births, my Lady?” Anna asked.

“No,” Henrietta said with a smile. “I’ve just a curious nature, gleaning knowledge when and where I can.”

“You look a bit like her, you know.”

Surprise seized her. “Anna?”

“I, I’m sorry, my Lady,” the girl stammered. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Henrietta wanted immediate clarification, because if what she said was true, that explained a few things.

“Anna, please tell me what you mean. I look like the Marquess’ wife?”

“Some, my Lady.”

“You mean to say my appearance? My appearance resembles that of his first wife?”

Anna nodded slowly as Henrietta, equally slowly, tried to grasp the meaning of her words. She was at a loss.

“You share some features, my Lady.”

Now Henrietta’s mind raced, making her head spin. She sat down on the edge of the settee as she remembered their wedding day, the heavy veil that hid her face from him until the very last moment, his horrified reaction. He must have thought he’d seen a ghost.

Insult to injury.

Anna moved quickly to pour a glass of water for her mistress. “My Lady, you look unwell. Forgive me for speaking about these things. It was wrong for me and not my place.”

“You are forgiven, Anna,” Henrietta whispered, “but please do tell me, what features do we share?”

The girl hesitated. Henrietta tried to make her expression as reassuring as possible.

“You share her coloring, my Lady. She was fair like you, same blue eyes. Your hair is the same in shade, though hers was straight and thin. She had not your,” Anna paused as she looked over her mistress’s unruly curls in question, “mass.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“You are the same in height and weight. I’d wager you could slip right into her gowns. If we had kept them.”

Of course, they wouldn’t have kept them. They would have sent them back to her family.

“Her family was from where?

“She had no family, My Lady,” Anna answered flatly. “Not being of noble birth, that was why she asked us to call her Lady Patricia.”

Henrietta’s confusion was only growing, not abating. The more she questioned the abigail, the answers proved all the stranger. How does a woman with no family marry the son of a duke? Such a thing was rarely done among the members of the ton. It would have meant unprecedented scandal, the degree of scandal that few families could recover from. It would be a disgrace.

“But who arranged the match?”

“The Marquess, my Lady.”

None of this made any sense. “The Marquess arranged his own marriage? The son of a Duke?”

“Yes, my Lady. He married for love.”