The Bargain (9 page)

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Authors: Mary J. Putney

BOOK: The Bargain
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“Aye, I should be getting home as well.”
As he got to his feet, she saw that for the first time since she'd met him, he seemed completely relaxed. Well, he deserved to feel good about his day's work.
As he walked her the last blocks to the Launcestons', she luxuriated in the knowledge that tonight she would sleep better than she had in months.
Chapter 9
J
ocelyn sat drinking tea for a long time after the surgeon and Sally Lancaster left. Her Aunt Laura would say that ending up with an unwanted husband was a just reward for her improper actions. On the whole, Jocelyn was inclined to agree.
Drawn by instinct, Isis leaped onto her lap and nestled down, purring and bumping her tawny head into her mistress's ribs in a welcome display of affection. Stroking the sleek fur was a good way to quell the panic that welled up whenever Jocelyn thought about the fact that she was married to a complete stranger. An amiable stranger whom she had come to like and admire, but still a stranger. It was enough to give even the calmest female strong hysterics.
Regaining his health might make the major a very different man from the one who had waited for death with such quiet courage. He hadn't bargained on a lasting marriage any more than she had, and might be equally upset at having lost his freedom to marry as he chose. Perhaps there was a woman he loved and would have married if not for the apparently mortal wounds he'd received at Waterloo.
Divorce was out of the question, of course. She'd suffered all her life from the ghastly scandal of her parents' divorce and would never take that path. A bill of divorcement required an act of Parliament and could only be granted after a humiliatingly public airing of the most intimate details.
Even if she
was
willing to take that route, a divorce required cause. Most often, the grounds were adultery by the wife, which she certainly had no intention of committing. Even if she did, Major Lancaster might not want to divorce her if he decided he liked being married to a wealthy woman. Thank heaven he'd signed the papers waiving his rights to her property, so he couldn't bankrupt her.
She gave her head a quick shake. Her imagination was running away with her. A healthy David might be different from one at death's door, but she couldn't imagine that he would turn into a monster. She would wager money on the fact that he was a decent and honorable man. She simply didn't want him for a husband.
Eventually Isis jumped down, hitting the carpet with an audible thump before proceeding about her own concerns. It was time to inquire after the major's health.
In the blue room, Hugh Morgan watched patiently over his sleeping charge. Because of the incision on his back, the major lay on his stomach, his breathing steady and his thin face peaceful.
“He's doing well?” she asked quietly.
The footman rose and joined her at the door. “Sleeping like a baby, my lady,” he assured her in a low voice.
“Good.” On the verge of leaving, she remembered to ask, “And your brother. Is he comfortable here?”
“Oh, yes. He's like a new man, and thank you for asking.” Morgan gave a shy smile. “You were right about the maids, my lady. They're making quite a fuss over Rhys, and 'tis doing him a world of good.”
The comment gave her a much needed smile. At least one of her impulsive decisions was having good consequences.
After a solitary dinner, Jocelyn took her anxieties to bed. She tried to be philosophical about her unexpected husband. After all, in a hundred years they would all be dead, and what would all of this matter? Nonetheless, she tossed for hours before falling into a troubled sleep.
She was awakened by insistent knocking. Isis, ensconced in her usual spot at the foot of the bed, pricked her sharp ears toward the door as Marie entered, wearing a simple dress that had obviously been pulled on in haste. “Hugh Morgan asked me to wake you. The major is very restless, milady, and it's that worried Morgan is.”
“I'll take a look.” Instantly alert, Jocelyn swung from the bed and donned the wrapper Marie held out. After sliding into slippers, she stepped outside, where Morgan waited with a candelabrum. “Did Dr. Kinlock leave his direction?”
“Aye, Lady Jocelyn. He said to fetch him if necessary.”
She belted her robe as they hastened along the gallery to the blue room, the flames of the candles flaring behind the footman. It was very late, the darkest hour of the night.
Hoping they wouldn't have to disturb Kinlock needlessly, she entered the major's room. He'd rolled onto his back and was twisting weakly under the covers. She caught her breath as she saw his legs move. Only a little, but genuine movement. Kinlock had been right—there was no paralysis.
Elated by the knowledge, she crossed to the bed and laid a hand on his forehead. If he were feverish she'd send for the doctor immediately because of possible inflammation, but his temperature seemed normal.
His restlessness stilled under her touch. “Jeanette, mignonne?” he murmured with an admirable French accent.
She removed her hand and said crisply, “No, it's Jocelyn. A proper Englishwoman, not one of your French or Belgian hussies.”
His lids fluttered open. A moment of confusion gave way to recognition. “How do you know that Jeanette wasn't my horse?”
“You would call your horse ‘darling?' ”
“A soldier and his horse become very dear to each other,” he said gravely, but there was humor in his eyes.
She had. to laugh. “I don't think I want to know more.” Her expression sobered. “Do you remember what happened? Dr. Kinlock? The operation?”
His expression tightened. With a flash of insight, she realized that he was afraid to ask about the outcome. “The operation went well,” she said quickly. “Kinlock thought you might make a complete recovery.”
At first he was so still that she wondered if he'd heard her. Then, his face straining with effort, he moved his right leg, drawing the knee up a few inches. The same with the left. “My God!” he exclaimed, his voice shaking. “It's true. I can move.
I can move
.”
He closed his eyes again before glinting tears could escape. Guessing at how powerfully affected he must be, she sat on the bedside chair and took his hand, then said to Morgan and Marie, “You can leave for a bit. Morgan, perhaps you'd like to find some tea and something to eat.”
“I'd like that, my lady,” he admitted. He and Marie exchanged a glowing glance as they left. Servants seldom had much privacy, and the opportunity to share a meal in the depths of the night was obviously welcome.
While David struggled to master the dramatic change in his circumstances, Jocelyn calmly repeated what the doctor had told her earlier in the day. When his eyes opened again, she asked, “How do you feel?”
“Compared to the way I've felt since Waterloo, fairly good. By any normal standard, rather rotten.”
Smiling at his whimsy, she asked, “Are you in much pain?”
“Of course I am! What kind of a fool do you take me for?” There was a giddy light in his eyes. Not fever, but the exhilaration that came with miracles.
“Major Lancaster, I have a feeling you are going to be very difficult now that you are convalescing.” Jocelyn continued to study his thin face, thinking there was another, subtle difference.
The eyes. For the first time, the green eyes looked almost normal, without the opium-induced pinpoint pupils. The last dose of laudanum must have worn off. She lifted the bottle from the bedside table. “Dr. Kinlock said to give you some laudanum if you woke up in the night. You need rest to recover.”
“No!” His arm flailed out with more strength than she would have dreamed he possessed, knocking the bottle from her hand to shatter in a dark stain across the rich Oriental carpet.
She stared at him as the spicy scent of cloves and cinnamon wafted through the room. His usual humor had been replaced by a kind of desperation. “I'm sorry,” he said unevenly. “I didn't mean to strike you. But I won't take any more opium. Ever.”
“Why not?”
David marshaled his whirling thoughts, knowing that he must make Jocelyn understand, or she would have some of the damned drug down him for his own good. “Did Kinlock explain that I was dying of opium poisoning?”
When she nodded, he continued, “Heavy opium use distorts the mind and the senses. Sight, sound, scent, thought—everything changes. It was like . . . like having my soul stolen. I would rather die than have that happen again.”
“Would you really prefer death?” she asked quietly.
He took a long, slow breath. “No. I exaggerate. I suppose that if taking laudanum was the difference between life and death, I'd take it. But tonight, for the first time in weeks, I am not under the influence of the drug, and I feel better than at any time since that damned artillery shell went off beside me. Stronger. Saner.”
“What about the pain?”
His mouth twisted. “I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it feels as if a tiger is trying to chew me in half. But even so, I prefer that to drugged delirium.”
“Very well, Major, I won't force it down you, though I make no promises about what Dr. Kinlock might do when he calls tomorrow,” she said reluctantly. “If he feels laudanum is essential to your recovery, I'll help hold you down while he doses you.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said meekly, having won his battle.
“If you won't sleep, will you eat? You must build up your strength.”
He took stock of his innards. “Do you know,” he said with wonder, “I believe that I am hungry, for the first time since the battle.”
“Does the idea of a roast joint with Yorkshire pudding appeal to you?”
The mere thought made his mouth water. “Who do I have to bribe?”
“Prepare yourself for soup,” she said sweetly. “If that seems to settle well, perhaps an omelet or a bit of custard.”
He laughed, even though it hurt. “You have your revenge for my failings, Lady Jocelyn.”
She pulled the bell cord. Morgan appeared fairly quickly, panting a little after racing up from the kitchen. As she ordered food, David admired the pure line of her profile. Though her nightclothes covered more of her than most day dresses, there was an alluring intimacy to the sleeping garments. She looked tantalizingly huggable.
The footman said warningly, “Cook won't like getting up this late.”
She raised aristocratic brows. “If Monsieur Cherbonnier objects to the conditions of employment in my house, tell him that he is under no compulsion to continue accepting the exorbitant wage I pay him. I expect to be served within fifteen minutes. Is that clear?”
Suppressing a smile, Morgan bobbed his head and left to obey.
“Lady Jocelyn, if you ever desire employment, you might become a sergeant-major,” David observed. “You have a talent for putting the fear of God into your underlings.”
She smiled, unabashed. “My servants lead a fairly easy life, I think. There is no great harm in their being challenged occasionally.”
“They seem a contented lot.” And well they should be. Lady Jocelyn's cool, ladylike exterior couldn't conceal her underlying warmth and fairmindedness.
“Is there someone you would like notified of your improved health?” she asked. “I'll send a note to Richard Dalton in the morning, but who else? Surely there are some relatives who will be glad for the news.”
Unthinking, he replied, “My brothers would hardly be interested in my continued existence.”
“You have brothers?” she said, surprised. “I thought you said your sister would be left alone in the world when you died.”
Not wanting her to think he'd lied, he explained reluctantly, “Sally and I have three older half-brothers. Mostly we try to pretend they don't exist. My mother was a second wife, much younger than my father. His sons by his first wife despised her because she had no fortune, and by their standards her birth was inferior. They didn't dare insult her in front of our father, so they took out their resentment on Sally and me.” He smiled humorlessly. “I learned to fight at an early age, a very useful skill. After my father died, the oldest son threw the three of us out of the family house.”
“How despicable to do that to their father's wife and their own brother and sister!” Jocelyn exclaimed. “Your father had made no provisions for you?”
“He was a rather unworldly scholar who assumed, wrongly, that his heir would take care of us. Luckily my mother was entitled to receive a small jointure. It was enough for a cottage, and a decent education for Sally and me.” He thought nostalgically of the cottage, where the happiest days of his life had been spent. “The income ended with her death, of course, but by then I was in the army and Sally was almost through school. We managed well enough.”
“No wonder you and your sister are so close.”
“Growing up, we were each other's best friends. We played together and studied together.” He smiled. “She was even more fun than my pet pony.”
Looking envious, she remarked, “I always wanted to have a brother or sister.”
“I'd offer you one of my half-brothers, but I doubt you'd get on with them. They don't even get on with each other. They were a quarrelsome lot when I knew them, and I doubt they've improved.” Immaturity could have been outgrown, but not the meanspiritedness that was so much a part of his elder siblings. “They must have resembled their mother, for they were nothing like our father.”

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