The Deception (36 page)

“Did you have a fever after you were wounded, Mr. Bellerton?” I asked him as we walked along one of the multitudinous gravel paths that wound through Lady Barbury’s gardens.

“I certainly did, Lady Greystone,” he replied.

I felt a trifle better. “My brother-in-law has a fever and it worries me,” I confided. “He seems so sick.”

“Where was he shot, Lady Greystone?”

“In his right shoulder.”

“Did the bullet lodge itself inside him?”

“Yes. The doctor had to dig it out.”

“That’s why he has a fever,” Mr. Bellerton said. “It happens every time a bullet is dug out.”

“But the patient always recovers;?” I could not hide my anxiety.

“Usually,” Mr. Bellerton said.

I stopped walking. “Usually? My husband told me that he was certain Harry would recover.”

“If Greystone told you that, then you have nothing to worry about, Lady Greystone,” Mr. Bellerton said. “He has seen enough wounds in his time to be a judge.”

That, of course, was what I kept telling myself. But I had seen the worried line between Adrian’s brows when he looked at his brother. I was not sure.

“I am certain that many of the deaths in the Peninsula resulted from lack of good nursing care,” Lady Mary said. “That will not be the case with your brother-in-law, Lady Greystone.”

Much as I hated to accept comfort from her, I had to admit that her comment was comforting. I nodded and walked slowly forward once again.

“What precisely did happen last night, Lady Greystone?” Lady Mary asked. “We have heard all sorts of rumors today. Do you know that they carried in Lord Stade after Mr. Woodrow?”

I was outraged. “Is Stade still in the house?”

“No,” Mr. Bellerton said. “He went home by chaise this morning.”

They did not press me again, but they were both looking at me so hopefully that I had to ask, “The rest of the household really doesn’t know what happened?”

They shook their heads.

I reflected that it would probably
be better for people to know the truth. If we tried to maintain secrecy, all kinds of speculation was likely to ensue.

“Well, I wasn’t trying to elope with Stade,” I said tartly.

Lady Mary and Mr. Bellerton exchanged glances.

Damn, I thought. People
were
speculating!

“Of course no one thinks
that,
Lady Greystone,” Lady Mary said.

Hah.

“I think I will tell you exactly what happened,” I said, and proceeded to do just that. Their eyes were popping by the time I finished my tale.

“What a villain,” Mr. Bellerton said feelingly.

“I hope they hang and draw and quarter him and stick his head on London Bridge,” I said.

“I don’t blame you,” Lady Mary said. If I hadn’t seen Adrian kissing her hand last night, I would have quite liked her.

“I don’t believe we do that to criminals anymore,” Mr. Bellerton murmured with amusement.

“Too bad,” I said.

“Rest assured that he will be called to account for his attack on you, Lady Greystone,” Mr. Bellerton assured me. “Thanks to that piece of viciousness, he will be looking at a much more severe punishment than a simple banning by the Jockey Club.”

That news would have made me happy, if only I were not so worried about Harry.

* * * *

As the day waned, Harry’s fever rose, and Adrian spent yet another night sitting by his side. The doctor came with more potions and another offer to bleed Harry, which Adrian once again refused.

The following morning, Harry’s fever broke. His brow was cool and he was sleeping soundly when I came into his room at seven in the morning. Adrian, who had spent the night in a chair drawn up close to Harry’s bed, was sleeping too, his feet resting on an ottoman. His hair was rumpled, there was stubble on his cheeks and chin, and he was wearing a coat but not a neckcloth. He did not look comfortable.

I took advantage of his unconscious state to bend and kiss him on the forehead. His eyes flew open. “Kate,” he said groggily.

“Yes. Harry’s fever has broken, Adrian! Feel him—he’s cool.”

“I know. It broke about two hours ago.” He struggled to extricate himself from the knitted blanket he had wrapped himself in. A piece of the wool was caught on one of his buttons, and I disengaged it for him. He didn’t stir until I had removed my hands. Then he got up and walked to the bed. He nodded with satisfaction at what he saw, turned back to me, started to say something, and was interrupted by a huge yawn.

“This means that he will be all right, doesn’t it?” I asked anxiously.

“Yes.” He rubbed his hand up and down over his face, obviously trying to wake up. “It’s just a matter now of waiting for the wound to heal.” He rubbed his head, further rumpling his hair.

“Adrian,” I said gently, “go to bed. I will remain here with Harry until he wakens.”

“I’m all right,” he said. “I got some sleep in the chair.”

“You look exhausted,” I told him.

He shook his head, and yawned again.

I walked to the door and opened it. “Go to bed, Adrian,” I said.

He tried vainly to stifle another yawn. “Perhaps I could do with a few hours’ rest,” he admitted.

I looked at his stocking feet. “Where are your boots?”

He looked vaguely over his shoulder. “By the fire?”

I went and fetched his Hessians, put them in his hand, pointed him toward the door, and gave him a gentle push.

He resisted long enough to say, “Be sure and call me when the doctor comes.”

“I will,” I promised. He went out into the hall. I softly closed the door behind him and went to sit beside Harry.

He awoke at nine o’clock grumbling that he was hungry. I ordered him some broth and fed it to him, since he could not manage the spoon. Then he went back to sleep.

He woke again shortly before noon, when the doctor was due to arrive to change his bandage. When I told him about the doctor’s projected visit, he scowled.

I bit my lip and said, “I feel so guilty when I see you suffering like this.”

The scowl disappeared. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about, Kate,” he said gruffly. “It’s just a pop in the shoulder. I’ll be right as rain in a couple of weeks.”

I rested my elbows on the edge of the bed and said earnestly, “If you hadn’t come in when you did, Harry, I would be rotting in the ground by now.”

He pretended to shudder. “You have the most descriptive vocabulary.”

“Well, it’s true.” I leaned my head closer. “Adrian told me that you found the note Stade had sent me on top of the pile of cloaks. We have been wondering—whatever induced you to read it, Harry?”

“I saw your name on it,” he replied slowly. “I don’t usually read missives that are not addressed to me, you know, but I got the strangest feeling when I saw that note. I didn’t even think about it. I just picked it up and read it.”

“And then you decided to come after me?”

He nodded. “I gave the note to Miss Ellsworth and told her to find Adrian, then I picked up the first heavy object I could find and ran like hell. I got a very bad feeling when I read that note, Kate. A
very
bad feeling.”

At that, I stood up, leaned down to him, and kissed him lightly on his mouth. “Thank you,” I said.

Bright color washed into his pale cheeks.

“You saved two lives that night,” I informed him.

“Two?” He looked up at me, clearly bewildered.

“I hope you will stand godfather.”

Understanding dawned. He gave me a radiant smile and reached his good hand up to me. “That’s wonderful news, Kate!”

I put my hand into his, held to it tightly, and said, “I have been so worried about you, Harry....” The tears that seemed to come so easily to me these days brimmed in my eyes.

“I’m perfectly all right, Kate,” he assured me hastily. “No need to get sloppy, you know.”

I blinked, made a heroic effort, and got ahold of myself. “You look dreadful,” I informed him. I sniffled. “You’re even starting to show a beard. I didn’t know you had a beard, Harry,” and I ran my fingers curiously across the silvery down on his cheek.

But Harry’s eyes were on the doorway. “Adrian!” he said. “I have been wondering where you were.”

Adrian’s hair was brushed, his cheeks were smooth, his clothes unrumpled, but there was a peculiarly tense look on his face as he came into the room, as if all the muscles under his skin had tightened. His voice was expressionless as he said, “How are you feeling, Harry?”

“All right,” Harry said, “Kate has been talking my ear off, which has helped to keep my mind off the pain in my shoulder.”

Adrian’s back was to me so I couldn’t see his face, but his voice was even as he replied, “Kate is very inventive.”

“You didn’t need to return so soon,” Harry said. “You must be exhausted, Adrian. I don’t think there’s been a time in the last two days when I opened my eyes and you haven’t been here.”

“I grew accustomed to catching sleep when and where I could in the army,” Adrian replied. “You would be surprised by the amount of sleep I managed to snatch in this chair.”

“Well... I must own that I was very glad you
were
here,” Harry said in a low voice. “Thank you.”

“It is I who must thank you,” Adrian replied. “After all, Harry, you saved the life of my wife.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

The doctor came and confirmed that Harry was much improved. Then the men sent me out of the room so the doctor could change Harry’s bandage, and I went downstairs to inform our host and hostess of the good news.

Most of the houseguests had departed the day before, since the race meet was finished. The only people left besides my family were Mr. Bellerton, Lady Mary, and her mother. Everyone was very concerned about Harry, and Sir Charles Barbury told me that Stade would be brought up before a grand jury if I would be willing to testify.

“I am afraid it will be rather a public ordeal for you, my dear,” he said apologetically.

“I should be delighted to testify,” I said firmly. “And I’m certain that Harry will testify as well.”

Sir Charles sighed. “Yes. Well, I am afraid that it will have to be done. Stade cannot be allowed to go free. Stealing a horse was one thing, but trying to kill the Countess of Grey stone is something else.”

I wondered how Sir Charles would have felt about the matter if I had been plain Miss Fitzgerald and not the Countess of Greystone. I decided it would be wiser not to ask.

Adrian came down to join us for luncheon.

“My brother is sleeping,” he answered Sir Charles’s concerned question. “Changing the bandage is always something of an ordeal.”

Poor Harry.

Adrian gave his host a rueful smile. “I’m sure you did not expect to have us as guests for so long a period, Sir Charles. But I do not think I will be able to move my brother for several more days.”

“My dear chap!” Sir Charles was waving his hands in his anxiety to reassure Adrian. “I assure you, it’s nothing but a pleasure to have you gracing my home. Please do not think of leaving until you are perfectly comfortable with the state of Mr. Woodrow’s health.”

“You are very kind,” Adrian replied.

“Not at all! Not at all! You are to regard Harley Hall as your home! Do not hesitate to ask for whatever you might require, Greystone. It is an honor to have you here.”

Adrian replied politely to Sir Charles’s effusions, and we all went into luncheon.

* * * *

The next few days crept slowly by. The stronger Harry grew, the more bored he became, and I found myself spending most of my lime in his room trying to keep him amused. We played endless hours of piquet, and I believe my total losses were something in the neighborhood of three million pounds.

Adrian and I lived together like strangers who were forced to share the same quarters and were doing their best not to get in each other’s way. My brave resolution to tell him that I loved him had been quenched the instant that I had seen his lips tenderly touch Lady Mary’s hand.

Added to that, he was clearly disgusted with the mindless impetuosity with which I had almost gotten his brother killed. He was far too generous to keep harping on the subject, but I could read his contempt in the coolness of his eyes when he looked at me, in the indifferent tones of his voice when he was forced to address me about some matter that affected us both.

I was fair-minded enough not to blame him for being annoyed with my stupidity—I was annoyed with it myself—but I could not forgive him for Lady Mary. To make matters even worse, she and the duchess remained at Harley Hall for the entire duration of our stay. This enabled me to torture myself with the picture of my husband and Lady Mary walking and talking and riding together in the bright spring sunshine, while I sat inside and played hour after hour of piquet with a decidedly crabby Harry.

When Harry finally rebelled and demanded that the doctor allow him to return home, I supported him enthusiastically. The doctor relented and said we could leave the following morning. I went down to dinner that evening with a heart lighter than it had been in many days. After all, it was the last meal that I would have to spend being polite to Lady Mary.

Lord Barbury greeted me in the drawing room with unwelcome news. The Marquis of Stade had slipped away from his home the day before and could not be located. It was generally believed that he had fled to the Continent. Apparently his yacht had been seen in the harbor at Aldeburgh.

Lord Barbury conveyed this information in a tone of elegiac regret that absolutely enraged me. “Do you mean to tell me, Lord Barbury, that Stade was never arrested?” I demanded.

Lord Barbury took instant alarm at the tone of my voice and glanced nervously at Adrian, who was standing behind me. “Remember, he was injured, Lady Greystone,” Lord Barbury said.

“I did not know that a blow on the head constituted a pardon for attempted murder,” I returned.

Lord Barbury sent another glance toward Adrian, but when my husband remained silent, Lord Barbury had to answer me.

“Of course his injury doesn’t pardon his actions, my dear. What I meant was that the authorities thought he was too badly hurt to need further confinement.”