Barbara Metzger (7 page)

It was also aggravating. His throat was sore, his head was aching, his eyes felt as if someone had kicked dirt in them, and he was about ready to fall onto that thin pallet next to Renslow’s bed—but how could he? Worse, how could he seek his own vast feather bed while Miss Renslow worked and kept watch? She never rested, taking only moments for a cup of tea or a bite of a biscuit, half of which she fed to the dog.

Hopkins came to take his turn, but Ian could not let himself prove less stouthearted than a schoolgirl. The valet shook his head when Lord Marden refused to give up his place, and left to find his own bed. Mrs. Birchfield in her nightcap and robe came in, saw her master in his shirtsleeves, and almost dropped the candle she held. Maids and footmen toiled through the long hours, bearing more coal, more hot water, more fresh towels and linen.

“Make sure the staff is rewarded,” Ian told his butler, once he recovered from seeing Hull without his wig for the first time in memory. “And let anyone who needs to, sleep in, in the morning. The dusting and the silver polishing can wait, or we can hire more people. We will not be receiving callers tomorrow, either.”

“Very good, my lord,” Hull replied and bowed himself out as if it were four in the afternoon instead of four in the morning.

“That was very kind of you, my lord,” Athena said when the butler had gone.

“What, not mentioning that the fire’s red glow was reflected on the top of his shiny bald skull?”

Athena’s lips twitched, to Ian’s satisfaction. The poor little puss needed a bit of silliness amid the frantic worry, and her brother seemed to be resting easier after the last bout of fever.

“No,” she told him, “it was kind of you to remember that your servants have to arise early in the morning to get their assigned tasks done. Many employers simply expect their staff to be at their beck and call, day and night, without additional recompense, and without concern for their health and well-being. Not that I am surprised at your consideration, my lord. In the short time I have known you I have found you to be both generous and caring. Troy and I could not have found ourselves in better hands.”

Embarrassed at the girl’s praise, Ian changed the subject. “You sound as if you have experience with demanding masters. Is your brother’s household one where the maids’ hands are worked raw and the grooms have barely enough to eat?”

Now her lips turned down. “My brother and his wife are…difficult employers. Jobs are scarce in the country, so the workers cannot simply quit and move on. Which Lady Rensdale fully knows and takes advantage of.”

“Does she also take advantage of having an unpaid servant to boss around—an unmarried sister-in-law, perhaps?”

Athena smiled. “She tries. But I do what I can to make the servants’ lives easier, not to please Veronica.”

Good for her for standing up for the less fortunate. Not so good for her, Ian thought, to be under the thumb of a mean-spirited, money-hoarding relation. “It sounds uncomfortable. Is that why you came to London?”

“Only partly. I love my life in the country, where I know everyone and feel useful. We came to visit our uncle and a physician I had heard highly recommended. Rensdale was opposed, of course.”

“He does know you are here, doesn’t be?” Ian asked, worried that this young pair might have slipped their leashes without permission. He could be charged with kidnapping, next.

“Of course he knows. Did you think Troy and I stole away in the middle of the night?” She carefully dribbled a spoonful of willow bark tea into her brother’s mouth. “It was no such thing. Rensdale was happy enough to see us leave, as long as we took the Reverend Mr. Wiggs with us. As I said, Lady Rensdale and I do not agree on the proper management of Renslow Hall, although I am well aware that she is mistress. Not that Veronica would let anyone forget for an instant. Anyway, my older brother was not averse to our leaving, as long as it did not cost him anything.”

Ian nodded. “I’d heard he was a squeeze-penny. But how did you finance the journey?”

“I had some monies put aside, gifts from my mother’s family, mostly, and both Troy and I had been saving our allowances.”

He could tell the frugal lass had not been spending her pin money on new gowns and fripperies, and he was disgusted that any man of means should keep his own kin in such straitened circumstances. Ian’s own sister had never wanted for anything he could provide, and never would. “Your brother’s care for his dependents leaves much to be desired,” he noted.

Athena bit her lip. “Rensdale is my brother and I owe him my loyalty. Forgive me, my lord, I should never have spoken. Please excuse my mention of such personal matters as a product of the late hour.”

“Nonsense—we have come to be friends, have we not?” To his own surprise, Ian found that to be true.

They had talked and worked together, and yes, they had sung together. He found the chit intelligent and interesting, when she was not being impertinent.

As for Athena, she was comfortable enough in his lordship’s presence now that she was sitting cross-legged beside Troy on the bed, her feet tucked under her skirts, while the earl relaxed in the comfortable chair she had been using.

The idea that ordinary Attie Renslow could be friends with a London buck of the first water brought a smile to her lips. She liked the notion very well, and liked his lordship, when he was not trying to order her around. Then she grinned. “If we are friends, my lord, I am forced to admit that Rensdale does not know my uncle is not in town. The captain was supposed to take leave this month, but bad weather delayed his ship. We told Wiggy—Mr. Wiggs, that is—that dear Uncle Barnaby suffered a relapse of an old malady and is resting. Otherwise, Spartacus would have known as soon as the first post was delivered.”

“He knows now.”

She looked over at him through a curtain of damp curls that framed her face. “Pardon?”

“I say, your brother knows you and Troy are alone—were alone—here in London. I wrote to him.”

Athena sucked in her breath and mumbled a word suspiciously like one no gently bred miss should know, much less say. Ian doubted she’d learned it at the Reverend Mr. Wiggs’s side, and blamed the old sailor Macelmore. Now he said, “Pardon?”

She had the grace to blush. “Excuse me. But that was a remarkably forward, presumptuous, managing kind of action for you to take.”

Ian did not like being called forward or presumptuous. As for managing, that was what a gentleman did.

He unrolled his shirtsleeves for a more dignified appearance, lest the chit forget that while they might be friends, he was still in charge. “How could I not write to Viscount Rensdale when his brother—his current heir, I understand—was injured and taken to my home? What if he heard gossip or such, from your Mr. Wiggs or another acquaintance? Do you not think he should know his brother is ill?”

“I do not think he will care much either way. He never did. If he cared, he should have been the one to bring Troy to town to visit the specialists.”

“But if the injuries your brother suffered turn grave?”

“They are grave already. Do you mean if Troy dies? That would have been time enough to inform Rensdale, when he could not make matters worse. But do not even think that, my lord. My brother will live, and my half-brother need never have known. I think you have taken great liberties, my lord. You should have consulted me first.”

“What, a mere girl? Do not be absurd.”

She looked at him oddly but said nothing, so Ian went on: “And why should I not have told the head of your household? Are you worried that he is going to race to London to fetch you back? Rather than leave you in the keeping of strangers and absent seafarers?”

“He is Troy’s guardian. If he wishes my brother home, he would have to hire extra servants, a comfortable traveling coach, and physicians to attend him—and that after staying in London at a hotel for weeks. Even he could see that Troy cannot be moved yet. As for me, Uncle Barnaby was designated my guardian, not Spartacus, thank goodness. Rensdale cannot order me to do anything.”

“Except stay away from your brother?” he guessed, and knew he was right by the stricken look that crossed her face.

“Yes,” she said with a hoarse whisper, “he can take Troy from me.”

Only a monster would separate this devoted pair. “I will tell him how hard you are working to keep the boy alive. He will see.”

“He will see an excuse to leave me in London, fixed in Uncle Barnaby’s household instead of Renslow Hall.”

“Nonsense. I will tell him—”

“You have already told him enough, thank you.”

The angry voices, or the anguish in his sister’s, disturbed Troy, who tried to say something. Both Athena and the earl leaned closer to him. “He’ll say…told you so.”

“Of course he will, the prig. But do not worry, dearest, by the time Rensdale arrives—if he bothers to come at all, and you know how Veronica hates to travel—you will be right as rain.”

“Riding… Mad Dog’s horses.”

That was a surprise to Lord Marden, but he rose to the challenge. “Your pick of the stables, after you’ve proved yourself aboard Rita. She is a gentle mare I keep for my sister’s use. Game, but not headstrong.”

Troy smiled, swallowed another mouthful of the fever infusion, and shut his eyes.

The earl’s startled promise redeemed him a bit in Athena’s eyes, so she whispered a thank you. Then she muttered, half to herself, “We were doing so well that Rensdale could never have found fault. Troy was feeling a great deal better, until some idiot shot him.”

“It was an accident.”

“An accident that need not have happened if grown men were not out playing with guns.”

The truth was painful. Ian broke off a piece of biscuit and handed it to the dog, seeking someone’s approval, anyone’s.

“Now Rensdale will have another excuse to keep Troy penned in at home until he does expire, from boredom. I was hoping Troy could attend university in a few years, and he has been working hard at his studies to be ready. Now our brother will claim he is too frail. The expense is too high, more likely.”

“Surely he would not deny the lad an education if he is fit for it.”

“More surely the gudgeon will not want it known that a Renslow is less than perfect. Troy’s weakness has been a constant embarrassment to him and Veronica.”

Ian understood that attitude, so prevalent in Polite Society that was anything but polite to its own cripples and invalids. “My own sister—”

She interrupted. “By Neptune’s crown, you should have brought my brother home to Cameron Street, where he belongs!”

“What, with a pirate, a missing groom, and a cook to look after him?”

“We would have managed.”

That was not worth a reply. Ian raised an eyebrow instead, but Miss Renslow was not looking. She was back to wiping her brother’s brow, humming off-key, the ungrateful, unmusical wench.

*

She was an ungrateful wretch, Athena told herself. He was her host, her brother’s rescuer, her companion through this darkest night of her life. Of course a gentleman would inform another gentleman of a catastrophe concerning his family. Lord Marden could not know the situation at Renslow Hall and he was trying his honorable, noble best. Now he was trying his best to stay awake, the dear man. Any of the maids could have been as much assistance, but his fine sense of duty made him stay, just as it had made him write to her brother. She should respect a man who acted so conscientiously, not resent him.

Athena decided she would have to apologize when the earl woke up. For now she took an extra blanket and draped it over him, making sure to cover his bare toes. Without looking at them too much.

*

Ian awoke to his shoulder being shaken. “Please, my lord. I need help.”

He was on his feet in an instant, but he needed a moment to reorient himself in the dimly lighted room. He heard a panting sound that was not coming from the dog. Oh, Lord. “What should I do?”

“We need to immerse him in a cool bath. The footmen are bringing it, but I cannot manage by myself.”

“Of course not. Hopkins and I will handle the bath. Gently, I promise.”

“No, I only need you to lift him. I helped bathe him for years when he had fevers as a child.”

“He is not an infant now, and he will not welcome the ministrations of his sister, I guarantee you.”

Athena almost argued, but knew his lordship was right, loath as she was to take her eyes off Troy, lest he slip away while she was not watching. Then the earl said, “I shall have a bath sent to your room at the same time, a hot bath, so you might relax for a bit.”

The offer was too tempting. Athena felt as if she had been wearing the same gown for a week. She hurried, and then put on the other gown she had brought, thankfully pressed and hung up by one of the maids while she tended her brother. When she returned to the sickroom, Troy was back in bed in a fresh nightshirt, much cooler to her touch. The earl was back in the chair next to the bed, speaking softly to Troy, who did seem to be listening.

“Why do you not take a nap? Our patient seems much improved,” Lord Marden said. “I am watching.”

Troy added, “’M fine, Attie.”

Athena felt peculiar settling onto the pallet in Troy’s room in front of the earl. On the other hand, she was afraid if she went to her own bed, no one would awaken her. His lordship was altogether too gentlemanly, too noble. She would have taken the other cushioned chair, but Roma was sleeping in it.

“Don’t be a goose. Sleep on the cot here. Troy and I will try to keep our voices lowered, unless he knows some ribald sea chanteys I have not heard.”

Athena smiled and lay on the narrow bed, careful to spread her skirts over her ankles. The earl came and placed a blanket over her. “I doubt I can manage two patients.”

He really was the kindest man she had ever known, if a trifle overbearing, Athena thought, falling asleep almost the instant her head touched the pillow.

She did not know if the earl called to her or one of the maids came in with a clattering tray. She only knew Troy’s breathing was harsh and ragged. She leaped to her feet. “You should have woken me!”