A Night to Surrender (32 page)

Twenty-nine

S
he’ll recover soon enough. If she doesn’t take a fever.

Those had been Daniels’s words to him, after the procedure was complete. But it could not have been so easy. A few hours later—almost as soon as they’d seen her settled back at Summerfield—the fever had set in.

Now Bram hadn’t left her side in days.

He kept an unceasing vigil at her bedside. He passed the hours tending her in small ways. Coaxing her to take spoonfuls of willow bark tea, or sponging the fevered sweat from her brow. Sometimes he talked to her. Read aloud to her from the newspaper, or told her stories of his childhood and his years on campaign. Anything that crossed his mind. Other times, he shamelessly pleaded with her, begging her to just wake up and be well.

He ate, when coaxed. The indefinite postponement of the village festivities had left Spindle Cove with a surfeit of Fosbury’s cakes. There always seemed to be a tray of the pastel-iced things close at hand. Bram found himself developing a taste for them, in a wistful sort of way.

He slept, infrequently and fitfully. He prayed, with a regularity and intensity that would do a Benedictine proud.

Others came and went from the sickroom. Daniels. The housemaids. Sir Lewis Finch. Even Colin and Thorne came by. They all urged Bram to take a break now and then. Go downstairs for a proper meal, they said. Have a rest in the bedchamber they’d made up down the corridor.

He refused all their well-meant suggestions. Every last one. He’d made a promise not to leave her. To stay at her side, until this was done. And he’d be damned if he’d give Susanna any excuse to drop her end of the bargain.

So long as he stayed right here, she could not die.

Sir Lewis sat with him one afternoon, occupying the chair on the other side of the bed. The old man rubbed the back of his neck. “She looks better today, I think.”

Bram nodded. “She is better. We think.”

That morning, as he’d been adjusting the pillows beneath her head, his forearm had brushed against her cheek. Instead of scalding with fever, her skin had felt cool to his touch. He’d called in Daniels to confirm it, not trusting himself after so many hours of vain hoping.

But it seemed to be true. The fever had broken. Now it only remained to be seen if she would wake from it with no ill effects. The vigil was easier now, and yet unbearable in its suspense.

“Sir Lewis, there’s something you should know.” Bram took Susanna’s hand in his. It lay wonderfully cool and limp across his palm. “I plan to marry her.”

“Oh. You
plan
to marry her?” The old man fixed him with a watery blue stare. “That’s how you ask a gentleman for his only daughter’s hand? Bramwell, I would think your father had raised you better than that.”

“Your blessing would be welcome,” he said evenly. “But no, I’m not asking you for her hand. Susanna’s wise enough to make her own decisions.”

That was as close as he could bring himself to requesting Sir Lewis’s approval. He damned well wouldn’t ask the man’s permission. As far as Bram was concerned, the moment Sir Lewis had lit that cannon fuse, he’d surrendered all responsibility for Susanna’s welfare. The old man had endangered his daughter’s work, her friends, her very life—and all in the name of glory.

Bram would protect her now. As her husband, if she’d have him.

“My only daughter, getting married. She is all grown now, isn’t she?” With a trembling hand, Sir Lewis touched his sleeping daughter’s hair. “Seems just yesterday she was a babe in arms.”

“That wasn’t yesterday,” Bram said, unable to restrain himself. “Yesterday, she lay in this bed, burning with fever and hovering near death.”

“I know. I know. And you blame me. You think me a self-serving monster.” He paused, as if waiting for Bram to argue otherwise.

Bram didn’t.

“One day,” Sir Lewis said, pointing to himself, “this self-serving monster’s greatest invention will be perfected, and it will see battle. That cannon will shorten the duration of sieges. Allow troops to attack from a safer distance. It will save the lives and limbs of many English soldiers.”

“Perhaps.”

“I love my daughter.” The old man’s voice went hoarse. “You’ll never know the sacrifices I’ve made for her. You have no idea.”

“Perhaps not, but I know the sacrifices she’s made for you. And you have no idea what a remarkable person she’s become. You’re so absorbed in your own work, your own accomplishments. I’ve no doubt you do love Susanna, Sir Lewis. But you’re bollocks bad at it.”

Sir Lewis paled. “How dare you speak to me that way?”

“I believe I can speak to you any way I wish. I’m the Earl of Rycliff, remember?”

“I should have never secured you that title.”

“It’s not in your power to take it back. I’m the lord now.” Bram drew a slow, deep breath, trying to calm his rage. He was furious with Sir Lewis for putting Susanna and Finn and all the others in danger. But with any good fortune, this man would soon be his father-in-law. For Susanna’s sake, they would need to make peace.

“My father held you in the highest regard,” Bram said. “So do I, on professional merits. You’re a brilliant inventor, without question. Your creations have helped the British army prevail on many a battlefield, and as many times as I’ve lifted my Finch pistol in defense, I probably owe you my life. But your daughter, Sir Lewis . . .”

Bram turned his gaze to the sleeping Susanna and squeezed her hand. “Your daughter puts people back together. Young ladies, no less—who defy all rational formula. And she still finds time for the occasional washed-up, wounded officer. I may not owe her my life, but I owe her my heart.”

His eyes burned at the corners. He blinked hard. “If you think that rifled cannon will be your greatest invention, you’re a fool. Your greatest invention is right here, sleeping in this bed. Susanna is your legacy. And in your pride, you almost lost her.”

Bram had almost lost her, too. He hadn’t truly allowed himself to consider what that would mean, earlier. He’d been too focused on the next spoonful of tea, the new change of wound dressing, the fresh cloth for her brow. But now that her fever had broken, and Daniels had given her excellent odds for a full recovery . . . Jesus. The possibilities swept through him like a freezing, gale-force wind. A blast strong enough to strip the earth of everything warm and green.

He’d almost lost her. If this hellish ordeal had taught him one lesson, it was to never allow his pride to come between them again.

“You’re right, Bramwell.” The old man’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I know you’re right. I can only hope she’ll find it in her heart to forgive me.”

“Of course she will, good as she is. But hoping for her forgiveness is
not
the only thing you can do, Sir Lewis. You can try to deserve it.”

The bed linens rustled, and he whipped his gaze to Susanna. Her bronze lashes fluttered against her cheek.

Forget birds singing, bells ringing, brooks quaintly babbling over rocks. Choirs of angels could go hang. Her voice, even scratchy and weak, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“Bram? Is that you?”

S
usanna’s eyes fluttered open to what seemed just another lovely dream. Bram was there, beside her. And they had a proper bed, at long last. She’d had quite enough of loving him in coves and arbors.

“Bram,” she whispered.

“It’s me.” He pressed a firm kiss to her hand, and several days’ growth of whiskers scraped her skin.

She started to rise up on her elbow, but then some mischievous imp set the mattress spinning like a top.

“Don’t try to sit up,” he said. “You’re weak yet.”

She nodded, closing her eyes until the room stopped whirling.

“Do you want water?” He reached for a glass.

“In a moment. First . . .” With great effort, she turned her head. “Papa?”

Her father’s work-roughened hands clasped hers. “I’m here, dear girl. I’m here.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I want you to know I love you very much, Papa.”

“I—” His voice broke. “I love you too, Susanna Jane.”

“Good.” To hear those words from her father was unexpected, and unexpectedly freeing. She drew a deep breath. “Now would you go down to the kitchen and ask Cook for some beef tea?”

“I’ll send Gertrude right away.”

“No, Papa. I’d prefer for you to fetch it. I’d like some time alone with Bram.”

Her father sniffed and nodded. “I see.”

“Thank you for understanding.” She waited until he rose from his chair, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and made his way to the bedchamber door. When she heard the door latch click, she turned to Bram.

“Did you hear much of that conversation?” His gaze was wary.

“Enough of it. Oh, Bram. You were wonderful. I can’t even tell you how much I wanted—”

He clucked his tongue. “Time enough for that later. For now, drink.” He held a glass of water to her lips, and she took several cautious sips. “Are you in terrible pain?”

“Not too terrible,” she answered, once he lowered the glass. She tried for a smile. “It only hurts when I breathe.”

His answer was a stern rebuke. “Don’t joke. It’s not funny. I can’t stand to see you in pain.”

Dear, sweet man. “I’ll be fine. Truly. The pain’s so much better than before. How’s Finn?”

“Recovering well, Daniels tells me. He’s in a great deal of pain, but it’s mitigated by a great deal of female attention.”

She smiled. “I can imagine. What day is it?”

He rubbed his face with one hand. “Tuesday, I think.”

Tuesday.
There was something important about Tuesday.

“Oh no.” She pushed herself up on the pillows, wincing. “Bram, your orders. The ship. I thought it left today.”

He shrugged. “It probably did.”

“But . . . you didn’t leave.”

“You didn’t die.” Finally, he smiled a little. “One kept promise deserves another.”

He sat there, at her bedside, unmoving. As he likely had remained for days now. And she lay there, gazing at him in the warm light of day—his hair askew, shirt rumpled, jaw unshaven, and eyes rimmed with red. Only a man could be so unkempt and manage to look more endearingly handsome than ever.

“Goodness,” she said with sudden horror. She reached up with one hand to investigate her hair. Just as she’d feared, she found it a hopeless tangle. And after all those days of illness—the blood loss, fever . . . “I must look a perfect fright.”

“Are you mad? Susanna, you’re alive and awake. You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She pressed her cracked lips together. “Then why don’t you touch me? Hold me?”

“It’s not for lack of wanting to.” He reached one hand toward her face, then hesitated for a moment—before finally brushing a single fingertip down her cheek. “Love, you have at least three cracked ribs and a chest wound. I’m not permitted to hold you. In fact, Daniels put me under strict orders if you awoke. I’m not to hold you, kiss you, touch you. I’m not to make you laugh, make you cry, make you angry, or excite your emotions in any way. Which means”—he inched his chair closer to the head of the bed—“that if we’re going to talk at all right now . . .”

“Of course we are.”

“. . . we have to make this a very calm, completely dispassionate conversation.”

She nodded, making her tone serious. “I can do that.”

“You see . . .” He tenderly clasped her hand. “I have a question to ask Miss Finch.”

“Oh.” She adopted a formal tone. “And what would that question be, Lord Rycliff?”

“I’m wondering if you, Miss Finch, with your keen eye and discerning taste, would be so good as to help me choose some fabrics for upholstery.”

She blinked at him. “Upholstery?”

He nodded. “I think it would be a safe enough occupation for you, while you convalesce. I’ll have some samples sent over.”

“Very well,” she said slowly. “Is that all you mean to ask of me?”

“No. Of course not. If all goes well and your recovery permits, by next week perhaps you can advance to draperies.”

“Draperies.” She narrowed her eyes. “Bram, I know you’ve been forbidden to provoke me. But did Mr. Daniels say nothing about the dangers of confusing me?”

“I’ll start again.” He paused, staring down at their linked hands. “I’ve written to my superiors.”

“About upholstery? Or draperies?”

“Neither. About my commission.”

She gasped. “Bram, you didn’t. You didn’t resign.”

“Hush,” he warned, squeezing her fingers. “Very calm, completely dispassionate. Remember?”

She nodded, pausing to draw a cautious breath.

“I didn’t resign.” His thumb traced a circle on the back of her hand. “I accepted a promotion I was offered some time ago. I’ll be assigned to the War Office, making sure the infantry regiments have the supplies they need at the front. It’s not field command, but it’s important work.”