The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (10 page)

He turned to Donna. “I don’t know how much they were giving her. But it was a fair amount.”

“She’ll have to be weaned off of it. Slowly and carefully, James.”

James nodded. He intended to consult with a doctor here in Edinburgh, whom he knew and trusted. But there was no need to explain himself to Donna. She simply believed this to be a woman’s matter and wished to insert what she felt was her natural authority over such a situation.

Under other circumstances, he might have gladly handed Sunny over to her.

But trusting in women’s judgment was what had led to this current coil. He wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

“You’ll need a woman to care for her,” Donna said. “I can send you some recommendations. Someone with skill as a nurse.”

I want privacy. I want to be away from here and to find someplace where there are no lady’s maids, no aunts or dowagers or doctors.

His stomach tensed. The memory of the emotion in Sunny’s voice was like a strike to his gut. His neglect had resulted in her being hurt—how deeply, he wasn’t yet sure, but deeply enough that he was determined to act with caution. He must be personally responsible for her.

He took a quick glance at Sunny. God, she looked pale. And she still wasn’t eating.

His sense of inner agitation increased.

“James?”

He returned his attention to Donna.

“Do you want me to find some women to care for her?”

”No. No maids. No servants.” He heard himself speak the words, heard the finality in his tone. But his mind had just begun to grasp the enormity of what he had just said.

The potential for scandal was considerable.

His stomach tightened even more. He couldn’t afford any scandal. His reputation must be spotless. The risk was too great.

Donna’s dark auburn brows rose. “No servants?”

Her eyes mirrored the disquiet within himself. He compressed his lips. What the hell was he supposed to do with Sunny?

“James.” Donna’s voice was sharper. “What are you about here? You can’t simply take your cousin’s widow away from her home and travel with her without some adult woman to accompany the two of you.”

Then propriety be damned.

The thought as well as the vehemence of it shook him. He glanced at Sunny again and immediately experienced an odd tugging sensation in his chest, and a tightness in his throat.

She didn’t wish to be around other women. Yes, women had betrayed her. Over and over again. He understood her anxiety.

Unbidden, an image of Sunny’s face as it had been years ago, girlish, her lush mouth too wide for her then thin face, appeared in his mind’s eye. Sunlight illuminated gold lights in her brown hair. She had grinned at him, her green eyes and small, white teeth sparkling like precious jewels and perfect ivory.

Dimples had shown in her cheeks.

Dimples. He had forgotten about that. There had been no sign of them since he had come back home, for she hadn’t smiled broadly enough.

She was so very unhappy. His profound awareness of her despondency was a crushing weight upon his chest.

“Unless you intend to wed her?” Donna’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“What?” he said absently.

“Do you intend to wed her?” Donna said more insistently. Her gaze narrowed on him.

“Donna,” Sir Duncan said, a warning in his tone.

Donna leaned forward a bit, frowning. “James, how well do you really know Lady Blayne?” She had lowered her voice to the point where he could barely hear her. “She’s clearly developed a dependency on laudanum, and who knows what other difficulties she may present with.”

He kept his expression blank, not wanting to delve any further into the matter with the Carsons. “I shall deal with it,” he said.

“I am concerned for you.” Donna pointed at James’ face. “Those scratches—”

There was a look he’d developed early on in his career as an officer, a look that at once put the other person into a subordinate position and forbade any further inquiries.

He gave that look now to his dear friend’s wife. All because he’d not been able to bear the cool, distrusting tone she’d taken when speaking of Sunny.

Donna blanched and pulled away from him.

“Woman, mind your own business,” Carson said.

Donna stiffened. “He isn’t acting like himself. Someone needs to speak up.”

Carson nodded at where Sunny sat. “The lass hasn’t eaten much. Why don’t you go and see if there is something she’d like better. Maybe you ought to send out for some cakes?”

Donna gave her husband a steady stare. “He can’t just take her away, alone. There are proprieties that must be observed. Even for famous naval heroes.”

“Go on and see to the lass.” Carson glanced at James. “Lord Blayne and I will have a little chat.”

Donna continued to glare at her husband. “You know what he suggests is madness.”

“The better part of life is often madness. Now go see to the lass.”

She arose and hurried away in a rustle of crisp skirts.

“So, what’s all this?” Carson asked in a confidential, slightly conspiratorial tone.

James sat stone-faced, suddenly seething at the implied salaciousness in Carson’s tone.

Carson reached out and grasped James’ shoulder. Gave it a stout squeeze. “You’re talking to me now, not Donna. I have eyes, man. I can see the temptation.”

“She’s Freddy’s widow.” James ground the words out past his clenched jaw. “I owe her nothing but the highest respect.”

Carson chuckled softly. “I had not remembered Lady Blayne as being quite so beautiful. I can see your dilemma.”

Earlier, James had caught the glint of lustful admiration in Carson’s gaze when he had first seen Sunny. That had angered him, though against all reason, and now he wasn’t pleased to be reminded of it. But even more infuriating was Carson’s shameful implication that James would consider Sunny fair game.

God, had James been gone from so-called “polite” Society so long as to have forgotten the lockstep mindlessness of it all?

Well, perhaps he had. But he had returned to it to some degree in London. Apparently, he hadn’t readjusted himself to it deeply enough.

Of course everyone would assume that either he played completely by the rules or else he would fall into utter, depraved debauchery with his cousin’s widow.

But he’d believed he could trust his friends not to make the same judgments.

He’d made a mistake in coming here. He could see that now. He would not make the same mistake again. He needed to take Sunny someplace where there were no prying eyes to recognize either of them. Somewhere they might blend in.

But it was all so damned risky. For them both. He didn’t fancy being the cause of her ruination. Nor did he wish to endanger his own political ambitions.

But she wanted complete privacy.

Indeed, it might be absolutely vital to her recovery that she have it.

What the blazes was he to do? Take her to the countryside? Yes, surely. But he would also need to employ a doctor.

Anywhere near Landbrae was out of the question.

He could take her to his new estate in Sussex, Wyndwick Court, however, those were new servants he had there. He hadn’t had the time to fully engage their loyalties, nor to weed out the bad sorts.

Yes, generous bribes might ensure silence. But such was not always a given. He’d feel a lot better if he knew the people.

Where to take her?

France?

Probably the safest thing.

But how would she do, crossing the Channel?

“Where will you take her?” Carson asked, as though reading his mind.

James said nothing, studying Sunny’s pale profile. Donna was fussing over the younger woman. Sunny didn’t seem very responsive.

“Why don’t you come to Brownwood? There’s a grange at the edge of our property. ’Tis quite cozy. You can take her there, alone. No one will know her. If someone were to catch a glimpse of her, they would simply think her your mistress.”

At the last two words, at the wickedly amused note in Carson’s voice, James’ spine went rigid. He jerked his gaze to his longtime friend’s. “Watch yourself, Carson.”

Carson paled. He placed a hand up between himself and James. “God, man, don’t look at me like that. I was merely making a suggestion about how best to handle the situation.”

Rage seethed inside James. He was being ridiculous, yes, he knew that. Wearing his feelings emblazoned on his face, plain as day for the whole damned world to see. But he couldn’t help it.

God help him.

He made an effort to ease his expression. To relax his stance.

However, Carson was still staring at him, the look in his eyes changing from one of alarmed concern to one that burned with probing curiosity.

And why not? James had just made a first-rate coxcomb of himself.

“She’s in a very fragile state,” James said, trying to replace the tension in his tone with something halfway rational.

“Yes, of course she is. And you feel protective of her. I understand, James,” Carson said, his expression returning to one of concern.

“I don’t know about her traveling at the moment.”

“Well, you cannot stay in town with her. Not without some woman of her own station to act as chaperon.” Carson offered a slight smile. “Even an old reprobate like myself knows this.”

Despite the smile, the concern in Carson’s gaze had intensified.

“I’ll handle it,” James said, his tone still somewhat stiff.

Carson frowned. He reached for the empty glass on the table beside James. “Shall I handle this?”

James opened his mouth to say no. It wasn’t his custom to drink more than two glasses of strong spirits at any one sitting. At least, it hadn’t been until last night. He was suddenly aware of a slight pounding behind his temples and the damnable dryness of his throat.

God, he could definitely use a drink.

He nodded.

Duncan stood and went to the sideboard and poured them more whisky. They drank in silence for a time. The fiery liquor spread through James like an elixir. He felt his tension begin to melt away.

A dangerously seductive self-indulgence.

“Donna wanted to keep this a secret,” Duncan said, leaning close once more. “But under the circumstances, I don’t think she’ll mind you knowing. She’s with child again.”

“Congratulations,” James said with a guarded smile, relieved beyond measure at the change in subject. He lifted his glass to Duncan’s in a manner of a toast, which the other man accepted with a grin. Ease had returned between them.

“’Tis just the very start. We’ve told no one else.”

“Then I am honored.” James’ smile became more natural.

“I wanted her to have one last chance to kick up her heels. To behave in less than ladylike fashion if she chooses before this next lying-in. But I have asked Dr. Stephens to travel with us. He will be staying at Brownwood Place with us. You’ll be close by, if you need him.”

It might be just the solution. It would raise no brows. And Duncan was correct; the servants would simply take Sunny for his a mistress. He could come and go without questions.

Sunny could recover free from the ever-watchful gazes of Society. In a week or two, he could reevaluate the situation and decide what to do from there.

It could work very well.

As long as no one discovered Sunny’s true identity.

They would have to take great pains to ensure that didn’t happen. But what the devil? Had he suddenly gone mad? Would he really risk so much just so Sunny could have the privacy she craved?

It’s my fault she’s been hurt. My neglect led to it all.

That thought closed off any further protest that his rational mind might have made.

So this was to be James Blayne ashore? James Blayne, the nobleman? A man who took to heavy drinking and made impetuous decisions with his heart?

His heart.

Why should he have so much trouble from such a closed off, atrophied organ?

Sunny is nothing to me now but an obligation. I should simply find her a new doctor and a new set of maids. I could take her to the Highlands and let my female cousins care for her until she is stronger. I don’t owe her any more than basic safety and comfort.

Yet he couldn’t wipe from his mind the memory of Sunny’s stricken eyes this morning, the fear quavering in her voice.

I loved her once. God above, how I loved her.

Sunny didn’t want to be around others right now.

She wanted to be with only him.

Only him.

Carson cleared his throat.

Pulled from his tormented thoughts, James made his expression pleasant. “Yes, I think it will be a workable solution to the matter of Lady Blayne.” He frowned. “But I cannot take Freddy’s widow to a mere cottage. She’s used to a finer life.”

Carson made a wry expression. “I’ll see what can be done to make the arrangements less rustic. But I can make no firm promises.”