Once Beloved Read Free Page B

as she realized what must have occurred.
    â€œSweetheart, you had a bit of a fainting spell,” Marissa explained. “With the press of the crowds, we were quite lucky that this gentleman rescued you from being trampled.”
    Trampled. The mere word filled her vision with the memory of Isaiah’s broken and bloodied form, and along with it the impotent fear and rage as she knelt by him. She swallowed hard as a sharp pang hit her chest at the thought of him, a stab no less trenchant for the passage of time. Gone two years, he loomed large and close in her mind, the loss of him no less devastating. She’d soldiered on, of course, for their children, all of them lost and wounded, bereft of the sun around which their family had revolved. Over those years, this clawing panic when among masses of strangers had grown and dug deeper into her mind. She knew her reactions were irrational, but the fear became stronger, enveloped her faster at each succeeding occasion.
    She’d thought being here would be different. Or at least, she’d wanted to believe her Needlework for the Needy partners when they’d said it was time, she would be fine, and the Exhibition wouldn’t be as crowded now that it was winding down.
    But something about the crowd sparked that ageless fear all over again. And now, Mark and Tommy looked so distressed. She’d ruined it.
    â€œCome here, boys,” she said, as she sat up and reached her hands out to them. She cupped Mark’s cheek. “No harm done. I suppose all this was just too much excitement for me.” She glanced at Marissa and inclined her head in question. Relieved by her friend’s smiling nod, she continued, “You two should go on exploring. Just don’t stray too far from Mrs. Clarke and Mrs. Duchamp. I shall rest here for the time being. Then perhaps we can stop for ices on our way home.”
    She tried to sound strong, calm, unperturbed, and the boys seemed to take her at her word, both of them pressing Marissa and Honoria to return to the machinery exhibits.
    Honoria went with them easily, but Marissa hesitated and said, “I would feel better if you received medical attention, dear.”
    â€œYou are sweet, but I assure you I am fine, especially in this quiet corner. The boys deserve to have their outing.”
    Still, Marissa wouldn’t leave. With a little shake of her head, she said, “Silly me. Introductions are in order! Mr. Lanfield, we really cannot thank you enough for your kindness. Helena, please allow me to introduce your rescuer, Mr. Lanfield, I believe?” He nodded and Marissa continued, “Sir, I am pleased to introduce you to one of my dearest friends, Mrs. Martin. I cannot thank you enough for coming to our aid. You handled her distress quite well. This world could use more thoughtful and capable men like you.”
    As her friend spoke, Helena froze, a chill spreading downward from the crown of her head to engulf her. Daniel Lanfield. It couldn’t be. There must be plenty of Lanfields in England. After so many years and so many miles, what were the odds that one of the Marksby Lanfields would visit London—would be here at this place and this time? Inconceivable. They were devoted to the village and to their family’s business and held a disdain for anything metropolitan. Still, with dread sinking into her skin, she turned to look fully at the man beside her.
    He looked nothing like the boys—young men—she remembered, but much change was bound to happen over a score of years. No, she was wrong. He did look like the boy who was supposed to be her brother-in-law. His brown eyes could be Daniel’s eyes. The shape of his face was perhaps broader from time and age but still that same strong square that marked the Lanfield men. His broad shoulders and his bearing reminded her of the elder Mr. Lanfield. The fall of curling hair beneath his cap, that was what had always distinguished him