Regina Scott (13 page)

Meredee spread her hands, smile returning. “Then I suspect I must believe you are truly in love.”

Lady Phoebe nodded solemnly. “Oh, I am, I promise you! Won’t you please help us?”

How could she answer that? She didn’t like Lady Phoebe’s duplicity, yet the girl’s feelings for Algernon seemed sincere. And what about her stepbrother? Had he fallen in love with the giggly girl or the woman she was becoming?

Help me, Lord. I can’t see Your hand.

The door to the sitting room opened, and Algernon strolled in. “Meredee, have you seen…” His eyes lit on Meredee’s visitor, and he pulled up short, paling.

“Lady Phoebe,” he started, blue eyes widening. “I had no idea…that is, how nice to see you.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, Algernon, every second away from you is an eternity.”

“Dear heart!” He was across the room in two strides and taking her in his arms. Meredee watched helplessly as he murmured endearing words against the girl’s temple. Lady Phoebe closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of pure happiness.

Lord, let me follow Your lead.

“Ten minutes,” Meredee said, crossing for the door. “You have exactly ten minutes. If one of you isn’t downstairs in that time, I shall tell Lord Allyndale everything.”

C
hase sat in the common room of the Bell Inn, cradling his second cup of tea. He was heartily glad he’d decided to rent a house for the summer, rather than staying at a lodging house like most of Scarborough’s visitors. For one thing, he liked his privacy. Already he’d had to fend off three well-intentioned requests to play a hand of cards. For another, the innkeeper kept his house remarkably cool. Two cups of his bracing brew, and Chase still felt chilled.

He should probably have gone upstairs with Phoebe, but his sister had begged for a few moments of female conversation with Meredee and Mrs. Price. He hadn’t been able to convince himself it was good form to join them.

Truth be told, he abhorred what his sister called female conversation. It seemed to consist of gasps and squeals and whispers and giggles. When he was a child, he was certain the sounds heralded some great
revelation to which only his mother and her friends were privy. When he finally insisted on taking his place in the conversation, he’d been disappointed to find that it seldom held anything more weighty than the style of the most recent bonnet to come into fashion.

That was one more reason to admire Meredee. He had yet to hear her resort to such prattle, though Phoebe seemed certain she was capable of it. Still, much as he was coming to know her, he’d misjudged her response to his plan. That frustrated and confused him. Even with her explanation of the need to hunt for the
incarnata
herself, she should have been more interested in chaperoning his sister. Surely she’d prefer the company of people closer to her own age than Mrs. Price and her elderly flirts. Instead of being relegated to the edges of society, she’d be in the thick of things. She seemed to enjoy Phoebe’s company. Why refuse him?

As if conjured by his thoughts, Meredee came flying down the stairs in a pale white gown like an angel intent on delivering world-changing news. She paused at the foot of the stair only long enough to spy him in the crowd. Then her gray eyes brightened, and she hurried to his side.

He rose to meet her, setting the cup on the table beside him and smoothing his hands down the thighs of his chamois breeches. His mouth felt suddenly dry. What, was he nervous?

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said with a quick curtsey. “Your sister mentioned that you were waiting. I thought I should thank you for your kindness in bringing her to us.”

Chase glanced from her to the now-empty stairwell. “No thanks necessary. But where is my sister?”

“With my…family. She’ll be down shortly.” She looked to the standing clock near the front door of the inn as if to make certain, then smiled at him. “And how are you today, my lord? Insect bites healing well?”

“I can barely feel the itch.” He far preferred it when she used his given name, but he knew she could not do so here without raising questions as to their friendship. But neither could he allow her to stand here in the common room where even now curious gazes darted their way. The private parlor was out of the question, as he could not be alone with her without risking her reputation.

“Would you take a turn with me about the inn yard while we wait?” he asked, offering his arm.

Meredee glanced at the clock again. “Certainly, my lord.”

Once outside, Chase’s chill abated, though now he felt the dull pounding of a headache coming on. His stomach clenched in protest, but he took a deep breath of the salt-tinged air and forced his muscles to relax. Not every headache meant he was destined to
be ill again. He had enough concerns at the moment to give anyone a headache.

“I didn’t see you at the shore this morning,” he said as they ambled along the edges of the cobbled yard. A large travelling coach was resting near the door, the four black horses rattling their tack and shuffling their feet as if they longed to fly. Grooms and stable boys trotted to and fro carrying luggage, leading riding horses out for other guests. The woman beside him walked calmly along as if they were once more traversing the boards of the spa house and not wandering through barely organized chaos.

“I was on the beach for a few moments,” she answered, skirting around a half-empty bucket. “The tide wasn’t low enough to do much good.”

“Perhaps the afternoon’s low tide, then,” he offered.

He thought he heard a sigh. “My stepmother intends to find a new book to read,” she said. “We’ll likely spend the afternoon at the subscription library.”

So she truly did dance to the woman’s tune. Perhaps she’d been right that adding Phoebe to her chores might be a bit much. Still, he could not quell his disappointment. “Then when do you expect to try again for the shell?”

She rubbed her free hand on her pale skirts. “I cannot be sure. The tides will grow closer together, and less shallow, as the summer progresses. Very
soon it will be impossible to find the
incarnata
before fall.”

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to place that advertisement in the paper?”

She shook her head. “No. I told you. If the
incarnata
is to be found, I want to be the one to find it. Besides—” she cast him a quick, unreadable glance “—that was to be my payment for chaperoning your sister, and I refused.”

And suddenly, it didn’t matter. He wanted to do her a service—find her that shell, capture a castle, defeat Napoleon. “Then consider it my way of thanking you for your past kindness to my family,” he said.

“You have already thanked me quite enough, my lord. Please don’t place that advertisement. I couldn’t bear to see Scarborough’s beaches overrun with fortune hunters.”

“As you wish,” he said. “But you deserve to have that shell, Meredee, if that’s what makes you happy.”

Her smile was soft and tremulous. “You are too kind, my lord.”

“Nonsense,” Chase said, her smile warding off the remaining chill. “What did our Lord say? We are none of us truly good.”

“There we can certainly agree,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “Oh, you’ll never get me to agree that you are anything less than perfect.”

She glanced at him again, and this time in wonder.
Had no one ever told her how good she was? The same urge rose up, stronger. How could he show her how much he admired her?

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Let’s try farther north. What about going up to Whitby later in the week?”

She laughed. “You cannot tour the York Coast for a shell, my lord.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what your father would do?”

Her lashes, a darker shade than her hair, fluttered down across cheeks sprinkled with tiny freckles. “You are not my father, Chase.”

No, and at the moment, he was heartily glad of it, for the feelings rising up inside him were not what a father should feel for a daughter. He was suddenly aware of how close her body was to his, her skirts brushing his boots. Her lips were soft and peachy and close enough to taste.

He forced his gaze past her. “Are you maligning my skills as a valiant shell hunter, madam?” he said, trying for a teasing tone.

“Well,” she said, tone matching his, “I do think you might do better if you’d consent to muddy your boots.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve had these boots longer than I’ve known Sir Trevor,” he said. “And he’s my oldest friend.”

“So you’ve been unfortunate enough to have enormous feet since you were a child.”

“Ha! Calumny, madam! I demand a forfeit.”

She raised her chin, pressing her lips together as if to hold back laughter. “Nonsense, sir. I thought we’d agreed you still owe me for my many kindnesses.”

“Ah, so I did.” And all she asked in return was the
incarnata.

She asks for so little, Lord. Why won’t You give it to her?

“Perhaps we could take a trip to one of the more remote bays,” she offered as they completed the circuit and started past the door of the inn again. “I’ve always wanted to try Ravenscar. The name itself is intriguing, don’t you think?”

From nowhere, heat rushed up his body, suffocating him. He tugged at his cravat. “It certainly has possibilities. But perhaps we should stay closer to home. If the tides are turning, as you say, our time is short.”

She dimpled up at him. “Ah, but if we were both to seek it, how could we fail?”

He smiled at her optimism, but a pain lanced his skull, and he could not stop that grimace that followed.

“My lord, is something wrong?” she asked, hand going to his arm.

Only that he was being baked from the inside out. He might as well face it—he was about to be gloriously ill. “I wonder,” he managed, pausing to gulp
back the bile that was rising, “if you would mind fetching my sister.”

She glanced at him in alarm, then took his elbow and guided him into the shade by the wall. He leaned against the stone, thankful for the strength at his back.

“Stay here,” she ordered. “I’ll be right back. They should have been down by now in any event.”

He nodded, vaguely wondering who else was coming down with Phoebe. The movement set drums to pounding in his head, and he grimaced again. She hurried into the inn.

He closed his eyes and took bracing gulps of the summer air. The voices of coachmen and stable workers seemed to come from a long distance away. He should go to his coach, which was waiting in the lane, but his legs shook so hard he was afraid to take a step lest he fall.

Lord, why? Why are You plaguing me with this illness? The burdens you’ve given me are not onerous, but there’s no one else to carry them. Why make me unequal to the task?

My grace is sufficient for You.

He snatched at the hope the words offered, but his legs gave out, and he sat down hard on the cobbles.

“My lord!” Meredee’s cry roused him, and he managed to open his eyes. Her face was white with shock, her eyes like storm clouds about to rain. It hurt thinking he’d pained her. He reached out a hand to touch
her face. Beyond her Phoebe had a hand to her lips as if choking back a cry.

“I must be delirious,” he said to the concerned faces around him. “I’d swear that’s Algernon Whitaker behind you.”

And that was the last conscious thought he had for quite some time.

“Chase!” Lady Phoebe cried, kneeling beside him, oblivious to the damage to her pink skirts. Her anguished face cut Meredee to the heart and only spurred the panic inside her.

She’d been right. Chase was ill, terribly ill.

Oh, Lord, please spare him.

She didn’t care how impossible the prayer might be, how large a request. She made it with all her heart, with all her will. Chase couldn’t die, couldn’t leave Phoebe, leave her. She had buried her mother and father, mourned their loss as well as the loss of her valiant officer. She couldn’t lose someone else she’d come to care for.

Huddled at their back, the stable workers were whispering, muttering.

“Drunk as a lord,” someone said, and there were laughter and sounds of disgust.

“He isn’t drunk,” she said, frowning at them all. “He’s ill. Will someone please fetch his coach? It should be waiting nearby.”

“Right away, Miss Meredee,” one of the stable lads
piped up and ran for the arch that separated the yard from the street.

“Algernon,” she said, turning to her stepbrother who stood there white-faced, “go into the inn and ask Mr. Hollister for a blanket, a damp washcloth and a large bowl.”

She was thankful her stepbrother didn’t argue but merely ran for the inn, his emerald coat bright against the pale walls.

She gathered up her skirts and crouched beside Lady Phoebe. The girl had finally given up calling her brother’s name and now held his hand and wept softly.

“We have to get him somewhere he can be cared for,” Meredee told her. “Who is his physician?”

Lady Phoebe looked up. Her creamy skin was mottled with red. “Physician? I didn’t know he needed one.”

“It will have to be your house, then.”

With a rattle and thunder of hooves the Dearborn coach rolled into the yard and turned. Lady Phoebe scrambled up and motioned her coachman and footmen to her.

Meredee took Chase’s hand, her own trembling. She put the back of her other hand to his pale forehead and nearly gasped at the heat. Even with his eyes closed, lines of pain bracketed his mouth.

“Lord Allyndale,” she murmured, bending closer. “Chase, can you hear me?”

His eyelids fluttered, then opened, and she did gasp then. No light, no reason sat in his blue eyes. The dullness, the lifelessness stabbed at her.

She rallied herself with an effort. “My lord, listen to me. We need to get you home. Can you stand?”

He blinked, then bunched his legs under him and rose, wavering, to his feet. Meredee rose with him, clinging to his hand, ready to put her shoulder to his to keep him upright. She could feel the heat of him, the weakness sapping his usual power.
Fight,
she thought.
Fight hard. Don’t give in to this.
Her hand tightened on his until her knuckles whitened.

His footmen slipped in on either side of him. “We have you, my lord,” one said.

Meredee released her grip, but Chase’s hand turned, grabbed hers, clung to it as if it held any hope of life. Unknowing, the footman took a step forward, and Meredee was tugged with them. She flexed her fingers, but Chase’s grip remained tight.

“My lord,” she said, bending closer to him, blinking back tears that threatened, “you must let go.”

He mumbled something, but then his head sagged forward, and both footmen braced themselves as they took his weight.

Lord, help him!

Meredee pushed away the fears that clawed at her and pulled her hand from his. Wrapping her arms about herself, she stood there, watching, as the footmen carried him to the waiting coach.

Algernon and Mr. Hollister hurried from the inn.

“I have what you wanted,” her stepbrother said as he passed her. He strode for the coach, where Phoebe waited for the footmen to lay Chase on the squabs.

The innkeeper handed Meredee a wooden bowl with a damp cloth draping the side and glanced down uncertainly at the plaid wool blanket on his arm. “It wasn’t anything he ate here,” he said, loudly enough for the crowd’s edification.