The Reluctant Earl by C.J. Chase

matron in a dress as white as the grounds.
    “A bad night, Miss Vance.”
    “But she is better now?”
    “As much as we can expect.”
    As if any of them had expectations for Phoebe. Leah lingered on the stoop, then forced her feet across the threshold. The heavy oak door slammed in place, the sliding of the bolt echoing like a thunderclap through the empty entrance hall. The familiar sense of panic squeezed around her stomach.
    Unlike a typical home, no personal touches warmed the interior. No rugs blanketed the floors. No sideboard sported a vase presented to some long-forgotten ancestor. No flowers filled the air with perfume. Only cold utilitarian sterility filled the rooms.
    “Alice will take you to your sister’s chamber.” The matron gestured to an orderly who marched up the staircase, shoes tapping against a flight of bare risers.
    Leah removed her hat and gloves, then willed reluctant feet to follow.
    Down a hallway the orderly paused by a door and retrieved her keys. “We had to administer a double dose of laudanum last night. Your sister was most agitated—tried to kill herself. Took three of us to get the laudanum into her.” Alice pushed open the door.
    Leah stepped into a room that reeked of sweat and urine. Despair washed over her. Phoebe lay still and deathlike on the mattress that comprised the room’s only furnishing. Filth dulled the shorn blond locks that had once been her glory. “Why hasn’t she at least been bathed?” Phoebe’s care cost enough coin.
    “We have to wait until she regains her senses. She could drown in her current state.”
    Leah stared through the bars that prevented escape via the window, feeling as trapped as her sister. The sun glared against the snow-swathed grounds so brightly as to cause her eyes to sting. And yet the thought persisted. Did Phoebe, in her more lucid moments, seek to flee her mental and physical prison, even by death?
    “If you need anything, or if you decide to leave before your usual time, ring for me.” Alice passed Leah a small silver bell.
    Leah sat on the mattress beside her sister’s motionless form and closed her ears to the sound of the lock imprisoning her in the cold, barren chamber. Why the need for locks for an insensate woman? “Phoebe?” She shook a thin shoulder. Phoebe’s head rolled to the side, her cold cheek coming to rest against the back of Leah’s hand. But for the gentle rise and fall of Phoebe’s breathing, she could have been dead. Leah raised one of her sister’s wrists and examined the skin for welts or bruises. Relief welled within her at the sight of the unblemished skin. While she disapproved of the matron’s enthusiasm for laudanum, at least here the orderlies eschewed binding unruly patients.
    Leah retrieved a comb from her reticule and set to work unsnarling the tangled nest of Phoebe’s hair. The golden strands gleamed with memories despite their dirty condition. If only Leah had thought to have Alice bring a warm, wet cloth to wipe the dried sweat and grime from the porcelain skin.
    Guilt welled in her, spilling out at the corners of Leah’s eyes. Clever David had been their parents’ pride and lovely Phoebe their joy. For years Leah had resented her role as the plain, overlooked middle child, had envied David his quick wit and Phoebe her beauty.
    What kind of malicious God would spare her while taking everyone else?
    * * *
    “That the house?” Caroline pointed out the window as the carriage pulled up before Rowan Abbey.
    Julian glanced past his youngest sister to the forbidding pile of redbricks. The many-paned windows sparkled in the sunshine, an ironic counterpoint to the anything-but-sunny welcome he expected inside. “Yes, that’s the house.” Unfortunately.
    He could already imagine Elizabeth’s reaction. If only he could have left Caro with Felicity...but Maman needed respite. Grief and exhaustion had drained her body and mind—not that Caro could understand. No, she demanded the same care