Most Rebellious Debutante (7 page)

‘He fell out of his chair,’ Bertie informed him, ‘and we can’t lift him, but I ’spect you can.’

He was a large man, his body hard and muscular. He made as if to stoop over his master, ready to scoop him up into his arms, but Lord Rockhaven halted his progress with a one-eyed glare.

‘My friend, Staines,’ he introduced him somewhat abruptly. ‘You may now leave me safely in his care.’

There was dismissal in his tone and Lucy knew that Lord Rockhaven did not wish them to witness the
indignity
of his helplessness as he was lifted back into his chair.

‘I’m happy to meet you, Mr Staines,’ she acknowledged the introduction. ‘I’m sure we can leave … Rocky … in your care. Come along, children. It’s time we went home.’

‘Can we come to see you again?’ Arabella, asked as she took hold of Lucy’s hand.

‘It’s not advisable at the moment, little miss. It really is important that
no one
knows I am here. Remember your
promise. We’ve sworn a solemn oath,’ Lord Rockhaven reminded them. ‘Now, leave me with my … friend.’

The children didn’t argue and Lucy ushered them ahead of her, with Wellington reluctantly leaving the tempting aroma of the rabbit stew. When they reached the corner of the cottage, she couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder. Lord Rockhaven was seated in his chair with his coat draped over him. His face seemed drenched in pain and she marvelled that he had been able to conceal most of his discomfort in their presence. Maybe he had more strength of character than she had given him credit for. It would be interesting to find out.

In the meantime, she hoped his presence in the cottage remained a secret. Her sister wouldn’t be overjoyed to hear they had visited an injured man in the gamekeeper’s cottage even if she knew who he actually was.

Lucy grinned to herself. Maybe that should be
especially
if Marissa knew who he was, considering his past wild
reputation
.

Theodore Montcliffe, slumped uncomfortably in the
wheelchair
as Staines, his former batman, trundled him carefully into the dim interior of the humble cottage that was his present abode.

Drat the girl and her young charges. And that
undisciplined
dog. Wellington, indeed! His former commander was hardly honoured by the naming of the cur after him. He hoped the trio did indeed stand by their promise to keep his presence there a secret. His life might well depend on it.

‘Arrgh!’

The cry had slipped involuntarily from his lips as the
chair jerked against the door jamb. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as he clenched his teeth together to suppress more grunts of pain. Hell! It hadn’t hurt like this in all the time since the bullet had smashed into his back when he was carrying Con from the battlefield. Had his undignified tumble in the yard done some further damage? Drat the woman and those pesky children. The villagers had no business trespassing on his property. He’d have Staines put up some notices. ‘Trespassers will be Prosecuted, Hanged, Drawn and Quartered!’
That
would keep out unwelcome intruders –
if
they could read, that is.

Back in the recesses of his mind, he knew he was being unfair, but the pain was excruciating.

‘Sorry, Cap’n!’ Staines apologized at once. ‘Not quite got the hang of this contraption yet.’

Theo grunted a response. He hadn’t got used to it either. He never would! He hated the thing. Yet it enabled him to get around to some extent. Anything was better than being entombed within the musty interior of the old cottage. However had Quilter put up with the cold dampness of the cottage for all those years? Huh, it was probably why he had had to be retired on a pension when his rheumatism made his life intolerable. He and Staines would be following suit if he were forced to live here much longer.

Why couldn’t he just get up and walk, avenge his brother’s death and get his life back to normal?

He had a restless night and awakened the next morning feeling as though a thousand fiery darts were being fired into him – into his back, his legs and his head. It was
intolerable
! He almost snatched the mug of amber liquid from Staines’s hand and, by the time his former batman had
assisted him in washing and dressing, he felt in control of the pain.

Unseasonal rain lashed against the cottage window, matching Theo’s morose mood as he ate the food Staines brought to him. The man was no accomplished cook but he had learned how to put together whatever could be foraged from the Peninsular countryside and it kept body and soul together – just.

And body and soul needed to be brought together; that was why he was here, suffering this degradation, wasn’t it? Determination was etched on his face as he wheeled himself across the cobbled yard and into a former pigsty in order to begin a series of self-imposed exercises, most of which, at the moment, involved the strengthening of the muscles in his arms and trying to establish some co-ordination between his one eye and a pistol in his right hand.

A few days ago Staines had constructed a pair of parallel bars set at the exact height to fit neatly under his former captain’s armpits. Theo’s first effort at traversing them had ended in ignominious defeat. His useless legs had defied his mental urging and the only progress forward had been when Staines had forced each leg to drag its way along the ground.

Theo now eyed the bars with a thunderous look that would have sent a shiver of fear through any human
adversary
.

‘Set me on my feet, Staines!’ he barked.

Staines did so. Theo waited until the wave of nausea caused by the action had passed away. Beads of sweat ran down his face as he mentally urged each leg in turn to move, but neither leg obeyed.

‘Move, damn you!’ he grunted to his legs. For a fleeting moment he felt as though the miracle had happened. He thought he felt the lower part of his body respond to his urging and take the weight from under his arms, but, the next instant, he sagged down again and no amount of urging brought the sensation back again.

‘Come on, Cap’n,’ Staines urged, forcing Theo’s left leg forward. ‘Put yer weight on that ’un. Now the other.’

With his help, Theo slowly worked his way along the bars but was then too exhausted to attempt to return in the same manner. He slumped his weight on the bars whilst Staines hurried to bring the wheelchair into position behind him. He had to face it, he was as helpless as a babe.

H
EAVY RAIN FELL
over the next two days and the
afternoons
were spent in the old nursery, now Arabella’s schoolroom. Lucy hoped the children would forget about their friend Rocky.

Bertie knelt on the window-seat with his nose pressed up against the window as he watched the droplets chase each other down the pane.

‘I can see two of each drops when my nose is pressed up against the window!’ he announced with some satisfaction.

‘That’s because you are making yourself go cross-eyed,’ Lucy reproved him patiently. ‘Do come and play this game, Bertie. Your nose will be quite flattened if you keep it pressed up so … and your eyes may stay crossed.’

‘Like this?’ Bertie asked, turning round, his eyes almost meeting at the point where his finger was pressing against the tip of his nose.

‘Exactly like that.’

‘You look like a pig.’ Arabella declared.

Bertie gleefully snorted in response, not caring that it made the back of his throat and nose feel uncomfortable. ‘I wish I was a pig. Then I could go out in the rain and get as dirty as I like.’

‘You wish you
were
a pig,’ Lucy corrected him carefully. ‘But little pigs don’t get raspberries and cream for tea and so, if I were you, I would change back into being a boy again. And, at the end of this game, I intend take any
nice
children down to the kitchen to see if Cook will let us bake some biscuits. However, if you don’t wish to come…?’

She allowed her voice to trail away at the end of the sentence. Bertie immediately jumped down from the window-seat, his face brightening.

‘Biscuits? Butter shortbreads? Or oaty ones with lots of sugar in them?’

‘I’m sure Cook will let you choose.’

‘Right!’

Thankfully, by the third day, the clouds were higher in the sky and markedly lighter in colour. Lucy scanned the sky hopefully.

‘Yes, do take them out, Lucy,’ Marissa instructed her. ‘I couldn’t rest yesterday afternoon with all the noise the children were making. It sounded as though they were charging up and down above my room like a herd of wild animals.’

Lucy suppressed a grin. That was
exactly
what the children had been playing at – Bertie was pretending to be Wellington chasing Arabella who, he said, was a frightened pony.

‘But don’t let them play in the stream,’ Marissa continued. ‘It will be flooding its banks after all that rain … and
do
try not to bring the children home looking like two ragamuffins from the village. Nurse Harvey has many misgivings about letting you have a free hand with them. She says Bertie is becoming quite wild.’

‘Nonsense! He is just being a boy. Anyway, we won’t go to
the stream. We’ll find other things to do. Maybe hide and seek in the wood? That should be fun.’

Marissa’s ‘humph’ fell into empty space as Lucy had already made her escape and was on her way to tell the children to change into their old clothes as they were to go to play in the wood that afternoon. With a small feast of fruit and biscuits and bottles of Cook’s homemade lemonade wrapped up in a small basket, they ran across the meadow and into the wood.

‘I wish we could go and see Rocky,’ Bertie declared. ‘I think he must be quite lonely with only having his dogs and Staines for company.’

‘No, Bertie. Lord … I mean Rocky … said quite firmly that he doesn’t want any visitors just yet,’ Lucy reminded him. ‘We must respect his wishes.’

Bertie had a rebellious look on his face but he brightened up once the game of hide and seek began.

There followed a noisy half-hour of romping through the wood. Wellington, unfortunately, got the idea of the game very quickly and the only way they could continue was to tie him to a tree so that he didn’t find the one who was hiding before his human companions. He barked his
disapproval
and was only released when neither Bertie nor Lucy could find Arabella and Lucy began to feel a little perturbed by her niece’s absence.

Tail wagging, Wellington shot into the bushes with Lucy and Bertie close behind. Excited barking led them to Arabella’s hiding place. She was crouched in the centre of a few straggling bushes adorned with a tangle of brambles.

‘It was a good place, wasn’t it?’ she demanded, as she pushed Wellington’s wet tongue away from her face.

‘It was indeed,’ Lucy agreed, ruefully inspecting her torn skirt.

Bertie glanced around with gleaming eyes. ‘It’s like a secret den, isn’t it?’ he declared. ‘Can we eat our picnic in here?’

‘A good idea,’ Lucy agreed. ‘Let’s fetch the basket and we can have it right away.’

Bertie’s imagination galloped ahead of him as they ate their picnic. ‘We could make it even better with more branches, couldn’t we? Then we can pretend we are pirates and hide our booty here.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘We’ll have to squeeze through the bushes carefully, then no one will ever find it!’

‘That’s a great idea,’ Lucy commended him, glad that he had something other than Rocky to feed his imagination. ‘There are lots of fallen branches for us to gather, but not today. We need to get some old gloves or our hands will be torn to shreds.’

The following afternoon, suitably protected by an odd assortment of gardeners’ gloves, they made for the wood as soon as lunch was over and, over the next few days, they flung themselves energetically into finding suitable fallen branches and dragging them to the site of their den, with Wellington barking excitedly at their heels. Once the den was completed to Bertie’s satisfaction, it became the base for their play activities. They played at hiding; being pirates; tracking each other through the wood; treasure hunting; collecting autumn fruits to later draw in the schoolroom, and ate their picnics sitting on a log they had dragged inside.

Although Lucy was happy that the children’s thoughts
had been diverted from Lord Rockhaven to their new project, her own thoughts were intermittently drawn towards the wounded man and his self-imposed exile from Society. She felt she could understand his reluctance to be the object of people’s pity and speculation, but how different his life now was from that of his youthful reckless
exuberance
. Not that his wildness had been attractive to her, but his freedom to be so was gone forever and she felt a
vicarious
sadness on his behalf.

Any pride Lucy felt at Bertie’s self-discipline on the matter was dispelled when, a few days later, during a game of hide and seek, Bertie and Wellington disappeared. After spending some time searching for them, Lucy began to suspect that the disappearance was purposely contrived. Arabella’s growing apprehension and guilty glances in the direction of the gamekeeper’s cottage confirmed her suspicions.

‘He said I wasn’t to tell,’ Arabella confessed when
challenged
. ‘But he’ll be all right, won’t he? Rocky won’t hurt him, even though he does look a bit frightening.’

‘That isn’t the point,’ Lucy reproved her. ‘Rocky doesn’t want to risk anyone knowing where he is. Come on, we’d better go and see if we can catch up with Bertie before he gets there.’

That hope was dashed when they heard the dogs begin to bark and by the time Lucy hurried on to the scene, Bertie was standing on tiptoe looking in through the cottage window.

Lucy hurried forward and took hold of Bertie’s arm.

‘Come away at once, Bertie!’ she remonstrated. ‘You know very well Rocky doesn’t want any visitors here. It’s really quite naughty of you.’

‘But I wanted to tell him about our den. He’ll want to see it, I know he will!’

‘Well, he can’t. How would he get there, for one thing?’

‘Staines would find a way,’ Bertie confidently declared. ‘But no one is here. I’ve looked in all the windows, but he wouldn’t have left his dogs behind if he’d gone, would he? D’you think he’s in one of the other buildings?’

‘I don’t know, Bertie, and, no, we aren’t going to look. Now, do come away! And you, Wellington! That bowl is empty. I hope you haven’t eaten the dogs’ meal again.’

She hustled the boy and his dog away, followed by a now tearful Arabella holding on to her skirt.

Although there was no sign of either Lord Rockhaven or his companion, Lucy had the uncanny feeling that one or both of the two men were there but were choosing not to come into the open to be acknowledged. She couldn’t blame them. Lord Rockhaven
had
made known his wishes to be left alone.

 Over the next few days, Lucy’s conscience smote her at times. It was all very well her having assumed that Lord Rockhaven and his man didn’t want to be pestered by Bertie the other day, but what if they were in need of help? Could they be ill? The dogs’ dish had been empty and she had no way of knowing just how long it had been so. Bertie assured her that Wellington had only licked around the edges.

‘He wouldn’t steal, you know,’ he insisted.

‘Dogs don’t know if they are stealing or not,’ she pointed out. ‘All they know is the urge to eat any food that comes their way … and Wellington is a prime example.’

She wished she might be able to make sure of the two men’s well-being which would set her mind at rest. But she couldn’t think how to manage it without taking the children with her. Her opportunity to make a visit on her own came unexpectedly when Marissa informed her that she was taking her two children to visit Arabella’s godmother before she returned to London for the Little Season.

‘We shall be gone for two or three weeks, Lucy, and, since Mama said I was not to take you into Society whilst you are with us, you must remain here. I trust you will be mindful of our good standing in the community and amuse yourself with ladylike pursuits. Without the responsibility of looking after Bertie and Arabella you will be able to practise your music and sewing. Indeed, I shall expect the tapestry you brought with you to be finished on our return. Oh, and I have instructed Cook to make up some food parcels for you to distribute to the poor in the village. It is time you became more aware that not everyone is as
fortunate
as ourselves. I am sure it will make you more appreciative of the obligations placed upon us by our
position
in Society. Use the gig whenever you wish. One of the outdoor staff will accompany you, if you give enough warning to Campden to arrange it.’

Lucy murmured a noncommittal response, her initial disappointment at being left behind on her own apart from the servants being overtaken by the realization that she would be beholden to no one during her sister’s absence. Thank goodness Marissa’s compliant character and her lack of imagination rendered her unable to envisage Lucy’s joy at such unprecedented freedom! Not that she would behave in any fashion that might bring
disgrace upon her sister’s family. That would be foolish indeed and would bring their mama’s wrath upon her head. But to be able to go out without endless questions both before and afterwards was a delight too attractive to be missed.

Consequently, a few days later, no sooner had the family coach, followed by a more modest conveyance containing their trunks, Rupert’s valet, Marissa’s personal maid and Nurse Harvey, trundled in procession down the drive, than Lucy put on a serviceable walking dress, collected a loaded basket from Cook – and Wellington from his stable kennel – and set off briskly through the wood to the gamekeeper’s cottage, hoping that no one would notice that her objective was in the opposite direction from the village. Without the distractions caused by the children’s presence, she was there in less than fifteen minutes.

Allowing Wellington to respond briefly to the indignant welcome by the chained dogs, she bade him, ‘Quiet, Wellington! Come to heel’, and knocked boldly on the door.

When there was no response she faced the cobbled yard with its assorted outbuildings, the backs of her hands upon her slender hips. Where were they? All she wanted was to know they were all right. Should she investigate further?

A sound behind her made her turn back towards the door. It was now pulled open and Lord Rockhaven was
manoeuvring
his wheelchair into the opening.

‘Oh!’

His face was less than welcoming and, even though he was seated in his wheelchair, he exuded a feral presence. For a moment Lucy was rendered speechless and she
simply stared at him, aware that a warm flush was rising over her face. She now felt guilty at being found upon his doorstep. She shouldn’t have come; he had made it clear he didn’t want company.

‘Well?’ Lord Rockhaven demanded. ‘I presume you are here for a purpose? Or were you just passing by?’ He peered past her. ‘And where are your young charges? You haven’t left them alone in the wood, have you?’

His challenging tone roused Lucy from her confusion. ‘Good day, Lord Rockhaven. A little civility wouldn’t go amiss. I can tell you haven’t had much practice at receiving visitors … or perhaps you have frightened them away by your abrupt manner. And, no, I haven’t left the children in the wood. They are … away … at the moment. Get down, Wellington! Lord Rockhaven doesn’t want his face licked!’

Wellington immediately sat down, his tongue hanging from his open mouth as he surveyed the confrontation.

‘At least
he
does as he’s told,’ Lord Rockhaven growled. ‘I always knew dogs had more sense than people.’

‘And at least
I
have a social conscience!’ Lucy retorted in retaliation. ‘I was worried about you. When there was no sign of you last week when we called—’

‘In flagrant defiance of my request that you stay away,’ Lord Rockhaven was swift to interject.

‘Yes … well, it was quite unintentional on
my
part!’ Lucy hastened to assure him sharply, lest he think she felt any sort of feminine tenderness towards him. ‘It was … well, Bertie felt concerned about you and slipped away without my knowledge.’ She could hardly bear to look at his face, so thunderous was his expression. However, not one to give up
at the first hint of discouragement, she hurtled on, ‘And …er … afterwards, I … I feared you might have been … harmed … in some way. So, I came on my own today to make sure you are well … and to … er …’ She glanced down at the basket that hung on her arm.