Send My Love to London Town

By Reilly Vore

Nellie Perry has made a life for herself in London. The war touched everyone, but it also gave her a life she never could have imagined. It gave her purpose. 

The Perrys and the Harlows have suffered. In Reilly Vore's sequel, 

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Aug 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885048279

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Send My Love to London Town

Send My Love to London Town

Reilly Vore

New Degree Press

Copyright © 2022 Reilly Vore

All rights reserved.

Send My Love to London Town

ISBN

979-8-88504-646-6 Paperback

979-8-88504-938-2 Kindle Ebook

979-8-88504-827-9 Ebook

For Josie

and all you will dream and become.

Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Dear readers, 

First thing’s first: I did not intend for this story to exist. My characters were going to begin and end with All My Love, From the Trenches. But I soon realized something. The characters were complete but unfinished. They were people who lived and tried to live well, but they weren’t done. The time period had crucial moments they had yet to reach. They had made it to the war, and even most of the way through it. But what happened after? What happened when people were faced with moving forward after a worldwide tragedy? How would the Perry family and the Harlows begin to face the world again? 

Life before the war was seen as predictable and safe. It was idolized in many ways for its beauty and its peace—not unlike other eras before a war or a tragedy. But the time period that followed World War I is slightly more famous, mostly for being everything that Edwardian England was not. 

The Jazz Age. The Roaring Twenties. The Golden Twenties. Années Folles. 

The decade that was the 1920s, only a few years after the end of the Great War, became an infamous time in history. It was full of light, art, expression, the shedding of inhibitions, and a distinct movement away from life before the war. Années Folles translates to mean The Crazy Years—and they were. 

But there was more to the 1920s than the excitement and the parties that made them roar. Underneath it all was a generation and multiple nations trying to heal, rebuild, and move forward. For many, the 1920s were a time of remembrance. But for more, they were a time full of the desire to forget. The parties, the drinking, the excess of almost everything—all served as a distraction. Sadness and grief were present for most people of the time. The creation of art, music, and literature served as a kind of recovery for both artist and consumer. Through it all, there was a very visible choice. One could either try to recover what came before the war or move forward into whatever came next—whatever came after. 

That decision is so much of Nellie Perry’s story. All My Love, From the Trenches belonged to her brother, Samuel Perry. It belonged to the war, the uncertainty, the confusion, the hurt. Send My Love to London Town is Nellie’s story. It belongs to recovery and excitement, the newness of a fresh start, and the ambiguity of the future. 

The next piece of the story begins in the spring of 1919—not even a year after the war has ended. It begins before the completeness of the 1920s, but on the brink of the excitement and everything else that came with it. These characters are not far enough from the war to have truly begun to forget, but they’re far enough to try. 

After a trauma, a global tragedy, Nellie is forced to examine her life. More importantly, she is forced to examine what she wants her life to be. She, like so many others, has to decide what comes next. She has to decide what she wants, who she wants to be, and perhaps even who she wants to be with. She has more decisions to make than ever before. 

The decision to go back or go forward lies in history repeatedly. This moment in time is no different. In many ways, the time after World War I is a clear, visible representation of that choice. The hard part? There is truly no right answer. One could rebuild, refresh, and return to what came before, or move toward the future—whatever that means. 

So, Nellie must answer the big question. But before she can truly know, she must first make the small decisions. She has to decide what she wants and what she thinks the world might hold for her. In truth, all the little decisions might just lead her to the answer she’s been looking for all along. 

So, here is the next chapter of the Perry and Harlow families. Here are their lives and the decisions they must make. Here are the moments after a tragedy—the moments after a war. 

Here is Nellie’s discovery. Here is her journey to find herself. 

Here is what comes next. 

All My Love, 

Reilly Vore

Prologue

November 1918

Nellie stood in a sea of bodies and raised her arm to block the stench that rose from them. She wiped the sweat from her forehead that had been pooling for the better part of an hour. Her hands had more than one man’s blood on them and her back practically screamed in misery from bending over hundreds of beds. She kept reminding herself that they had made it through the horrors of the Somme—so they could make it through anything. But each day seemed to creep further and further from her old life. Not long into 1918, she accepted she could never return to it truly. But standing in November—almost 1919—she wasn’t sure she cared. 

Lean forward, please, she said to one of the more terrible cases. The man had shrapnel scattered throughout his chest that no one could reach. Not Dr. Walker and not even James. 

Nellie marveled at the man who was James Harlow—her unrequited childhood love turned comrade and dear friend. With the death of his brother, Daniel, James had been pushed forward into the life he never thought he would have. But he stayed in London, at the hospital, refusing to leave until the last shot was fired. She wondered if he would have made such a choice if he knew the war would last so long. Then again, perhaps that’s precisely why he made such a vow. 

She had watched him drink himself sick but then pull himself together and earn the position of head doctor. His new role made him far too happy with the change in command and he often lorded it above Walker, who had once possessed the title. 

Her thoughts broke when she heard groans coming from the soldier whose bandages she was changing.

I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? she asked.

Rather a pretty face than another German, the soldier answered with a cheeky grin. Nellie smiled and laid him back down slowly before leaving the room for her first break in ages.

In the four years since the war began, Nellie had grown from a nineteen-year-old girl who desperately wanted to do the right thing to a twenty-three-year-old woman who knew she was.

Her ginger hair had grown long and she had kept her spritely features—her gentle eyes and freckles that laid softly on her pale skin. She yearned for the tanned glow she used to retain from roaming the grounds of the Harlow estate. But in 1918, her skin was more commonly stained by blood than sunlight.

She wandered up to James’s office where she knocked but didn’t pause before entering.

James sat at his large oak desk. He wore his uniform rather than the surgery coverings he preferred. He always said the uniform felt dishonest since he refused to serve in the way he wanted. Sweat had formed on his head just like hers and caused his perfectly positioned curls to go rogue, a handful of them having flopped over his forehead. He ran one hand over them, trying to put them right to no avail. Nellie snickered at his futile attempt to appear professional as she made her way to him.

Nel, you really have to start waiting for me to say come in… he admonished, not looking up from the stack of papers he was signing. 

Why? she asked. There’s never anyone in here but you.

What if I was indecent? he asked teasingly, looking up to meet her eyes. 

Male anatomy? That’s honestly what you’re going to use to try and deter me from barging in? Come now, you can do better than that. She laughed. In the years since she’d come to the hospital, she had seen more than she wanted—in more than one sense. 

Oh, fine. It’s not exactly proper that you come to see me in my office with the door closed, he said, moving to stand in front of the desk. He sat on the front of it, his arms crossed and wearing a teasing grin. You’ll want to find a man when this is over, I’m guessing? It would be easier if your reputation wasn’t put into question. 

If any are left alive. And with my brother marrying the belle of the county and thus snatching her away from all proper society, I’m sure any association with the Perry family is already deemed improper. She laughed, but each of her words held truth. 

You know no one truly cared when Samuel married Lillian besides Mother and Father. 

Nellie knew he was right. Samuel had always been an additional brother to the Harlow boys, and Lillian had always been like a sister to her. But when Samuel stole Lillian away from the life her parents thought she should have, Frederick and Mary Harlow might as well have disowned them all. 

You’re right, I suppose. But life for Lily certainly isn’t as grand as it used to be. It was kind of you to offer Samuel a job at the house again—whenever all of this ends. 

Mother threw an absolute fit. But with Father gone, I make the decisions about the running and management of the estate. She couldn’t truly put up much of a fight. And I’m sure somewhere deep down she knows it’s right, having him around again. I tried to get them both to move into the house, but my stubborn sister wouldn’t hear of it. 

Nellie would never say it, but she could understand why. She had witnessed the aftermath of Lillian’s choice to marry Samuel. Mary Harlow had gone from motherly—at least as motherly as she could muster—to hateful. She remained polite, but cold, even to Nellie. 

Frederick Harlow suffered a heart attack not long after Samuel and Lillian were wed. Mary Harlow would go to her grave claiming Lillian had sent her father to his. But Nellie remembered seeing how the poor man had withered after the sudden death of Daniel. He simply never recovered. 

Nellie snapped back to reality when a commotion broke out below them. She could hear weeping and screams coming from all corners of the hospital. 

James moved from his spot and past her, giving her hand the smallest squeeze as he brushed by. Nellie followed him out of the office and down the stairs—fully prepared for the worst to have pulled her from her break and nostalgia. 

When the pair arrived at the bottom of the staircase, Nellie could see that the weeping came from joy and each man in a bed who could stand was suddenly on his feet. Nellie’s eyes covered the length of the room as men smiled and laughed. Joy filled the space for the first time in months. Nellie gasped as she wondered if every person’s prayer had finally been answered. She wondered if it could truly be over.

Nurse, what’s going on here? Why are these men out of bed? James spoke firmly but hopefully as he commanded the attention of Nellie’s friend Briar Eastlyn. 

Oh, Dr. Harlow, Nellie—we just got a call from the war office. It’s over. The war’s over. They’re coming home. They’re all coming home. Her soft, sandy curls bounced with her feet as she spoke. Tears began to stream but her smile could not be contained. 

Nellie suddenly felt tears of her own making their way to her eyes, but she could find no words, and no sound came from her. She turned to face James as Briar got swept back into the crowd of celebrating soldiers. She watched him, waiting for a clue as to what he was thinking. The end of the war would also mean he would finally have to return home and truly accept his new role as head of the estate and the Harlow family. 

His dazed look broke into laughter as he threw both arms around her and lifted her off her feet, swinging her in a circle around him. Nellie laughed with him but turned breathless with her own arms around his neck, feeling like she did so many years ago. He finally returned her to earth, and she lowered her hands with his and smiled. 

It’s over. He’s coming home, she said, still laughing through the tears that had now fallen. 

James slid his hand across her face, catching each droplet, but then suddenly lowered his hand. The head doctor must have remembered himself. Although Nellie was sure that no one even noticed, with the war over, convention would surely return—at least what was left of it.

Well, don’t just stand there. Go write him, he said. 

She smiled, squeezed his hand as she strode past him, and reached the small writing desk in the corner of the next room. She sat down at the little broken-down chair that had held many nurses writing the saddest of letters to the loved ones of the men they served. But this time, she sat and wrote the letter she had been waiting to pen for four long years. 

Dear Samuel,

I’m sure you already know the news. Undoubtedly, you’ve known it much longer than us. It’s just now reached us, and I’m overwhelmed. Words cannot express how ready I am to see you again. Don’t go doing anything stupid. Don’t go and try to be a hero now—not when you’re so close to coming home to us for good. I’m sending all my love to you, always.

Your sister,

Nellie

Chapter 1

June 1919

The last shots had been fired months earlier, but Nellie still felt lost in the newness. She had entered the war as a nineteen-year-old girl and had emerged as a twenty-three-year-old woman. In truth, she had no idea who she was now—let alone what she wanted her life to be. She only knew that she wanted to be a nurse until they were no longer needed. She was unsure if that day would come soon or even come at all. 

The last time she had even considered or dreamt of a future, she was still harboring little girl, lovesick feelings for James Harlow—feelings that had been put away quickly after arriving in London. But, through it all, she had made him a friend—her dearest friend, really. 

James had returned to the Harlow estate more out of necessity than desire. Nellie knew that while he had always wanted the responsibility of the family title and fortune, the Great War had delivered it to him in the worst way possible. With Daniel Harlow’s death, the duty fell to him. But now, he didn’t want it. Nellie saw it on his face every single time he spoke of home. She had always loved home and the Harlows and the smallness of her life before. But she had lived through a war, and nothing felt the same—not even her. 

The city that once held a stench of bodies and bullets had changed to hold possibilities and promise. The moments of worry had faded and made way for dreams that she allowed herself to dream for the first time in years. She could not ignore the time that had passed and the hurt that had been inflicted on everyone she saw. But she could see the potential in the uncertainty. 

Shortly after the announcement of the ceasefire, she knew the nurses would not be allowed to inhabit the hospital forever. She had managed to find a boarding house in London that quickly filled with girls like her—nurses who saw the needs of the men still shattered by the war. 

She shared a little room with her friend, Briar Eastlyn. Briar had made her way to the hospital soon after Nellie. She came in trousers and carried gumption with her. She was cultured and wonderful and delightfully in love with her fiancé at the front. Nellie and Briar were trained together, practically vomited over open wounds side by side, and huddled around every letter that came from the front. Nellie’s were typically filled with news from her brother, Samuel, but Briar’s were full of love and romance from her almost-husband, Caleb. The pair would sit and giggle each time Briar received a letter that contained the words I can’t wait to marry you. 

Briar had been a constant for Nellie after the trauma and tragedy of Daniel’s death. Nellie had the unfortunate opportunity to return the favor when news of Caleb’s death came in the middle of the Somme. Now, the letters lived under Briar’s pillow and would only emerge when she thought Nellie couldn’t see. She was strong and brave. She wouldn’t let just anyone see tears fall. The one with the biggest and brightest spirit undoubtedly had suffered along with the rest of them. Perhaps she had even lost more than the other girls. She had lost the promise of a future—the guarantee of someone to love forever. But from the moment Briar appeared on the