Anita Mills (13 page)

L
OUISE
T
REVOR PRESSED THE DAMP
, scented handkerchief to her temples, while Mrs. Pennyman hovered nearby. Had it not been for the coup of having Red Jack Rayne in her house, she would have wished for a different night. As it was, Charles had kept her up long after the doctor had left, and the quarrel had not been a very civil one.

He had, he told her furiously, offered for Kitty Gordon, and he’d be hanged before he would allow her to insult his intended again. And if that meant that Louise must leave Blackstone Hall, then so be it. As for the unfortunate incident at the cottage, he was not an infant in need of his mother’s protection, and “By God,” he’d roared in most unseemly fashion, “if I wished to have an assignation with anyone, which I do not, ’tis none of your affair, madam! I am nine and twenty, after all!”

It had been an ill-calculated mistake, and she realized it now. Dabbing at her eyes with the same cloth, she looked about her unhappily. Leave Blackstone Hall? Never.

“My lady, Mr. Merriman is come with Miss Gordon and his sister,” a footman ventured diffidently. “Kennet would know if you wish than turned away?”

“Of course, I wish them at Jericho!” her ladyship snapped, then she recalled herself. “No, no—must not say that precisely. He has brought Miss Gordon, you say?”

“And Miss Merriman.”

“Lud!”

“You like Miss Merriman,” Clara Pennyman reminded her timidly. “Said so to Lord Sturbridge but yesterday.”

“What time is it, Edward?” the dowager asked tiredly.

“Just after ten o’clock, madam.”

“They cannot have slept at all,” she muttered under her breath. Rising, she dropped the cloth into the basin of perfumed water. “I should rather tame lions at a menagerie, but there is no help for this, I suppose. I would not have Charles discover that I have sent the wretched girl away.”

Belowstairs, Kitty paced before the small fire that had been laid in the reception parlor, while Roland and Jessica sat at proper attention, waiting for Lady Sturbridge to come down. “Ain’t ladylike to go to and fro like a bear on a chain,” Roland chided her. “Sit down.”

“Why did you not ask how he fares?”

“Ask Lady Sturbridge. It ain’t the thing to gossip with the servants.”

“I should scarce call it gossip to inquire if—”

“Kitty dearest!” Lady Sturbridge swept into the room, her hands outstretched. “You poor child! You look positively hagged this morning!” She turned accusing eyes on Roland. “Young man, you ought to take better care of our little Catherine.” She caught Kitty’s fingers in her cold ones, then bent to brush the barest kiss against the girl’s cheek. “You need more rest, my love.”

“Lady Sturbridge—”

“Such formality, child! If you cannot bring yourself to call me Mama, it must be Louise.” Releasing her hands, she managed to keep her voice light as she added, “La, but I hope that you
will not refine too much on last night, my dear, for I can quite see I was wrong. I ought to have known you are just what you should be, after all, for how else would Charles have come to offer for you? Come—cry peace between us, for I am sure we both love him, do we not?”

“Kitty is not one to nurse ill feelings, Lady Sturbridge,” Jessica answered hastily for her cousin. Then, before Kitty could say anything untoward, she asked, “And how is Colonel Rayne? Lord Haverhill, that is?”

The dowager shot the younger girl a look of gratitude.
“Not well, I am afraid. Dr. Crawford could not come on such notice, so we had to make do with Ellis, you know, and I am not at all certain he knows his business.”

“But he’s better, ain’t he?”

“Alas, young man, but he is not. Dr. Ellis is of the opinion that had he not been brought here he possibly would not have survived. At first ’twas feared that there was still a fragment in him, but then after probing, he discovered ’twas not so. The poor, poor man.”

“He opened the wound?” Kitty uttered incredulously.

“Yes. Charles protested also, but what could we do? I mean,
I
am certainly not a physician.” She dropped into a chair. “We were up much of the night.”

“But what did Ellis say?” Kitty persisted.

“That if nothing else dreadful happens, he ought to mend. The greatest fear seems to be that the wound will putrify.”

“Red Jack’s been through worse,” Roland maintained stoutly. “Cannot have come through the war to die in bed here.”

“No, of course not. Though one could wish it will not take him so long to recover. I had hopes he would be better in time that we could have a small party to introduce him into the neighborhood ere everyone went to London,” she murmured regretfully. “But Dr. Ellis is of the opinion that he will not be up much before the fortnight, and then when I asked about having a soiree of sorts, he allowed as how the colonel should most definitely not have any excitement.”

“Shouldn’t think so,” Roland agreed. “Too weak to dance.”

“Yes, and by the time he is up, we shall be thin of company here,” Lady Sturbridge complained. “But I daresay he cannot help that, after all.” She looked up at Kitty, who still stood. “Tell me, love, do you think perhaps I ought to send a notice to the papers that he is here? I mean, there must be those who will worry about him,” she added, realizing how she sounded. “And I would wish that Mrs. Peavley and Mrs. Shoreham should know.”

“Why?” Kitty asked bluntly. “Do they know him?”

“Of course they do not, dearest,” the dowager admitted, the edge in her voice unmistakable. “But I have not forgotten how Emily Peavley carried on about the fact that Byron attended Cynthia’s come-out—as though he ought to be held up as desirable, which I am sure I do not think he is. Lud, but you would have thought ’twas Prinny. And everyone has heard of Colonel John Rayne, after all.”

“Well, I cannot but think ’twill appear self-serving,” Kitty pointed out reasonably.

“I assure you ’tis no such thing!” Affronted by the girl’s candor, Louise sought to disabuse her of the notion. “Surely you do not think that I would seek to—to—”

“Of course she does not,” Jessica murmured soothingly. “And I for one see nothing wrong with apprising people that Red Jack is here. Indeed, but as you said, there must be those who are worried about him.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Lord Sturbridge stepped into the room. “Kitty! And Miss Merriman! Hullo, Rollo.”

“They are come to see how Lord Haverhill does, Charles,” his mother explained. “And ’tis scarce a proper greeting for your betrothed.”

“Sorry.” He bent to plant a chaste kiss on Kitty’s cheek. “Forgot. He’s been asking for you, by the by.”

“Haverhill’s been asking for Kitty?” the dowager asked incredulously. “But he does not know her.”

“Uh—actually, he saw her last night. Asked if I thought the pretty female might be persuaded to call,” he improvised quickly.

“Then you mistook him. I am quite certain he must have meant Miss Merriman.”

“Uh—no, I believe he said Miss Gordon.”

“Oh, I should like to see him again—to inquire how he feels,” Kitty admitted quickly.

The dowager’s mouth drew into a thin, flat line. “I cannot think—well, after all he has been through—”

“Eh? Just the thing for him!” Roland insisted. “I’ll go up with her, in fact. Been wantin’ to talk to him, you know—great admirer.”

“Rollo, I do not think that—”

“Dash it, Kit! You don’t know a dragoon from a grenadier! Me and Red Jack got things to talk about, don’t you know?”

“Actually, Rollo, you have forgotten Mama,” Jessica reminded him. “I am sure that if Colonel Rayne—Lord Haverhill—is to be recovering for weeks, there will be more than enough time for you to speak with him.”

“Your mama?” Lady Sturbridge asked.

“Our carriage is down just now, so Rollo is to fetch Mama in the two-seater. She is wishful of helping you through this,” the girl responded, straight-faced.

“Well, I cannot think of anything she could do that I cannot,” the dowager protested peevishly. “Really—”

“Take you up to see him,” Charles told Kitty. “Miss Merriman?”

“Oh, no. I shall just wait with Lady Sturbridge, I think. It cannot be very good for him to have everyone hovering him while he mends.”

“But I thought you wished to see him,” her brother protested. “Told me so, in fact.”

Casting a quick look at die viscount, Jessica blushed rosily. “Oh—no, you mistook me. I am sure I said I wished to visit Lady Sturbridge.”

Resigned to the prospect of seeing her house at sixes and sevens, the dowager said nothing further until Roland, Kitty, and Charles had left the room. Then, sighing deeply, she murmured, “I have loved this house so much, Miss Merriman. I cannot think I shall like the dower house half so well, you know. It will be so confining with Mrs. Pennyman there.”

“Oh—no! Dear Lady Sturbridge, you must not think of it!” Jessica said warmly. “I am sure that Kitty will not expect such a thing. Indeed, but I would not—I should ask you to stay, and so she shall also. Why, ’twould not be Blackstone Hall without you!”

For a moment, the older woman stared into the girl’s face, expecting guile. But Jessica Merriman’s eyes mirrored her sincerity.

“You dear, dear child,” was all Louise could manage to say. Reaching out to clasp Jessica’s hand, she squeezed her fingers. “You are all that a mother could wish for,” she added finally.

Upstairs, Kitty approached the poster bed anxiously. The baron lay propped among a bank of pillows, his eyes closed. He appeared pale and drained of blood against the white of the sheets and nightshirt. As she leaned over him, his hazel eyes opened.

“You wretch,” he murmured.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered contritely.

“I cannot believe you gave up the field so easily.”

“What?”

“Ought to have taken me home with you.” He twisted to see what Charles did, but the viscount had already left the room. “As it was, the woman held my hand all the way here, prating about giving me a damned party.”

“Oh, dear. Yes, well, you have to understand Lady Sturbridge, you see,” she began, trying to suppress a giggle. “You are a social catch.”

“I’ve got a hole in my shoulder,” he retorted.

“But that is an inconvenience merely. And she will wait until you are better, even if it means that we shall be thin of company then,” she explained, her mouth twitching. “But it would be better socially if you could recover post haste, you understand. That way, perhaps not everyone will have already gone to London.”

“Egad.”

“But you do have something for which to be thankful,” she added impishly. “There are no daughters in the house. Otherwise, you would not get out of here without being legshackled, I assure you.”

“My dear Miss Gordon, even in my weakened state, I am not so easily taken.”

“As it is,” she went on blithely, “now that the other Lord Haverhill has departed this earth, Aunt Bella means to throw Jess at your head.” She pulled up a chair and leaned toward him. “It must be awful to have every matchmaking mama in the country casting out lures to you, I expect.”

“Awful.”

“But I daresay you are getting used to the notion,” she added impishly. “Or do you get tired of being toad-eaten?”

“Dashed tired of it already.” A faint smile played at his mouth. “But you seem to be rather impervious to my supposed charm.”

She regarded him for a moment, then answered evasively, “Well, there is Sturbridge, after all, is there not? And I must say, I have not seen you at your best.” A trace of mischief lurking within, her blue eyes regarded him for a long moment. “Under other circumstances, I should expect rather more heroism from Red Jack Rayne. If Rollo is to be believed, you won at least five battles by yourself.”

“Doing it too brown, Miss Gordon! And from the outset, you have held the advantage on me.”

“I own it must be difficult for a man of your stature to be abducted at all, and by—”

“Very lowering, thank you,” he admitted ruefully. “There is something about a pistol that makes for a rather poor introduction.” His hazel eyes betrayed a hint of amusement. “Tell me, did you never wonder how I came to go with you?”

“ ’Twas the pistol.”

“ ’Twas curiosity, Miss Gordon.” His hand crept to the bandage that bulged at his shoulder.
“ ’Twas a mistake. ’Pon reflection, I ought to have disarmed you and made you tell me the tale then and there. As it was, my curiosity very nearly killed me.”

He struggled to pull himself up against the pillows, and fell back. She moved to assist him, lifting him by his good arm, bracing her knee against the side of the bed for leverage. He was heavy, far heavier than she remembered even, and the thought crossed her mind that he was not helping her at all. In fact, he seemed to be pulling the other way, and she was in grave danger of sprawling over him. She let him fall and straightened up in exasperation.

“If you are in such bad case, my lord,” she told him severely, “you ought not to be bothered with company. I shall come again when you are feeling more the thing.”

“Sit down, Miss Gordon.”

“Really, sir, but—”

“Up in the boughs, eh? I shouldn’t stay there, were I you.” Grinning, he nodded. “Aye. You’d best consider what I mean to tell the magistrate.”

“The magistrate? But—”

“The magistrate,” he repeated definitely. “There is bound to be an inquiry of some sort, my dear—or did you think a man could get shot without comment in England? ’Tis not America, after all.” As she sank back into the chair, he met her eyes reproachfully. “Besides, ’tis a trifle difficult to explain how I came to be lying at the side of the road, my shoulder already bandaged. There will be those who will wonder at that, you know, for not too many highwaymen stop to tend to their victims.” Seeing that the color had drained from her face, he relented. “Not that I mean to tell anyone precisely what happened, I assure you. I should look the veriest fool, don’t you think?”

“No,” she answered low. “ ’Tis I who must appear the fool, for ’twas my mistake.”

“I suppose I can forgive you for that,” he allowed magnanimously, “but if you think to abandon me to that encroaching female, you are mistaken. The price of my silence, Miss Gordon, is
your
company. You at least amuse me.”