The Misfit Marquess (15 page)

"I have five rings, three pairs of earbobs, a very fine choker, and two hair combs. Oh, and an ivory cameo. Your maid must have taken them this morning while I was out." Elizabeth threw a furious glance at red-eyed and snuffling Jeannie. "But she will not admit to it."

"I didn't take nothing!" Jeannie cried, nearly breaking into a fresh bout of tears. "I wouldn't, m'lord. I want to keep on working here, honest I do. I wouldn't do nothing to lose me my position here, I never would!"

"Hush now," Gideon said softly, not aiming the comment at either woman, but for the room at large. "Jeannie, I will talk with you later. Be assured you will not lose your position." Elizabeth gave him a sharp look, but he went on just as calmly, "But we can talk about all that in a while. For now, please just leave the room. Elizabeth," he said and turned his gaze down to hers, meeting her eyes ever so briefly. With relief he saw that rationality and some measure of reason resided there, and he risked putting his other hand on her shoulder once again. Whatever fit of madness had seized her, it had seemingly passed now, for although she was clearly vexed, he believed she was also lucid.

The pregnant maid scrambled out, passing Polly, who came in with a tray of coffee and a decanter of whiskey. Gideon nodded at her to leave the tray, and Polly hastened to comply and also to make a quick exit.

"Now, this fussing about does no one any good," he said in what he called his "tranquil" voice.

Elizabeth narrowed her gaze at him.

He ran his hands down to where the sleeves ended halfway along her upper arms, applying a light pressure, a comforting pressure. She felt warm, but that was understandable given the effort she had been exerting in looking for these "jewels" of hers. "If I help you, do you think you could stand?"

"Yes," she said curtly.

He helped her to rise, until she teetered on the one good foot that, presumably unlike its wounded mate, was adorned with one of her slippers. "If you can stand so a moment, I will bring you a chair."

In short order he had her ensconced in one of her bedchamber chairs. "Coffee?" he offered, moving to pour a cup.

"I do not want coffee. I want my jewels returned."

His hand hovered over the decanter, but he turned away instead. Sometimes alcohol had calmed his mama, but other times it had aggravated her distress. Elizabeth was clearly still angry, though she was calm enough.

He brought her the coffee. "Try some. Please."

She accepted it with ill grace, then quickly set it aside without sipping at it. "I think it would behoove you to get that maid in here once more," she said, still clearly agitated, "so we can question what she has done with my things. She left my purse under my sheets, which points toward the maid if nothing else does, I should think."

"Hmmm" was his only reply.

Her shoulders heaved, and for a sinking moment he thought it was the beginning of a keening sob. but she only offered a large sigh.

"It is evident, my lord, that you do not believe I ever possessed any jewelry." she said.

He wondered if speaking clearly and concisely, as one does to children or dunces, was the way to go on.

"It is equally evident you have no plans to search for my missing goods." she went on. She pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the chair arm. "Very well. then. But I tell you. / shall! You will be the most help to me by not interfering with my search."

"How do you propose to conduct this. uh. search?" he looked pointedly at her skirt, beneath which the injured foot was held aloft awkwardly.

"The same way I saw the portrait gallery, by using the canes. I will crawl if I have to. but I must have my jewelry back. That is, if it is even still within the confines of the house. Your maid could be burying my belongings in the garden at this very moment, for all I know, or having them traded for money in hand at this Wendell's you spoke of."

She was calm, and she gave no signs of striking out or tumbling into hysteria—she was plainly intent on believing in her own fantasy. There would be no talking her out of it. not if his own personal history had proved anything to Gideon.

He picked up her discarded coffee cup and put it on the tray—he would not leave hot liquids where they could hurt her or anyone else who came into the room. "Do what you must." he said quietly, resigned that she would do whatever her bemused disposition dictated she must do. So one small female would turn the house topsy-turvy toward no good purpose: it would not be the first time. "Only please do not disturb my library. I give you my word there are no jewels there, yours or anyone's."

She gave him a level look, then nodded.

"I will deliver this tray to the kitchen, and then return." He did not want to ring for a sen ant. for who knew what or who might touch off some volatile spark in Elizabeth's mind and start this whole sorry scene all over again.

That was all he wanted, of course—peace. Some measure of serenity in the house, this cursed house that echoed yet with his mother's cries and his heartless father's insensitive shouts. All he wanted from Elizabeth was that she become well enough to leave, to go and take all these reminders of his mournful past with her.

He owed her nothing, Gideon reminded himself as he quietly closed her door—nothing but simple courtesy, and time to heal her physical wound. Once she was well enough to travel, she was his problem no longer. As disturbing as it was to have her here now, their mutual confinement would be mercifully shortlived.

Soon he would be free of her and her disquieting presence. He ran that thought over and over through his mind, and only vaguely wondered why the thought was less satisfying than it ought to be.

Later, Elizabeth moved forward through the house in hops that were so small she scarcely seemed to advance at all, yet no matter how small she made the hops, they jarred her infected foot so that she had to grit her teeth against the pain.

It was bad enough that her body did not want to cooperate with the excrutiatingly slow search she attempted, but neither did her thoughts. While her hands opened every drawer and cupboard she came to, her thoughts kept drifting back to how Lord Greyleigh had treated her. It did not matter one whit that as of late she had been as honest as possible with him; he clearly still thought her a lunatic.

Of course, whispered her conscience, did she not think the same of him? And on what evidence? From gossip she had heard in the past? That he appeared different in his coloring?

What evidence did he have of her sanity? Her claims, her word? But what person, mad or sane, would embrace the claim of lunacy? Words were meaningless in this matter; it was actions that spoke so that others might see. How could he believe her to be in her right mind when he had just found her on her bedchamber floor, scrambling around for missing jewels that he had no reason to believe existed? Really, she could laugh at how absurd she must have appeared. That is, she would laugh were it not for the flaming pain that burned up her leg.

She closed her eyes in weariness, but that just made her dizzy, so she opened them again.

There were voices ahead, in the dining room. Tiny hop by tiny painful hop, Elizabeth made her way to the open doorway. Lord Greyleigh was there, and at his side stood a common-looking fellow who had neglected to doff his hat. Or perhaps he had just donned it anew, for he shook his head and said to Lord Greyleigh, "Yer cook already seen I was taken care of. I'll leave yer to yer own meal then, m'lord."

Beside a spread of news sheets that Lord Greyleigh had obviously been reading before he was interrupted by his caller, the table was set with plates and utensils ready for luncheon. Footmen were just starting to scuttle in and out from the opposite doorway, bearing trays of cold carved beef, cheeses, fruit, and fragrant buns. At least, Elizabeth assumed they were fragrant, but the overall scent of food only served to turn her stomach.

There was no possibility she could eat, she realized at once. This roiling effect in her stomach was a sure sign that the infection in her heel did not bode well. A chair, she just wanted a chair, to sit for a while, then she would ask some of the footmen to carry her away from all the unwelcome sights and scents that filled the room.

Lord Greyleigh turned and spied her. "Ah, Elizabeth. Come to join me for luncheon?"

She nodded, because it was easier than correcting his misas-sumption that she meant to eat. She was grateful when he pulled out a chair for her. He frowned as she made her slow progress to the table, each effort oddly more difficult than the one before it. As she reached the chair and sat down, her ears began to ring. Suddenly there were bright lights dancing before her eyes, and she couldn't see or hear anything for several very long moments.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth?" Gideon picked up one of her hands, chafing it between his own. She had gone quite pale of a sudden, and he thought with dawning alarm that perhaps she was going to faint. Again he noticed that she felt warm, too warm.

She blinked several times, and then slowly focused on his face as her color came rushing back. "I am sorry," she murmured. "I became light-headed for a moment." She gave a little shake of her head, as if to dismiss the moment, then looked as though she wished she had not. She took her hand from his and gave him a peaked smile. "You had a caller?"

"Mr. Arbuckle. He . . . works for me," Gideon said, but he was not about to share what news Mr. Arbuckle had brought him: that the investigator had compiled a list of six young ladies who had suddenly "disappeared" from Society, one from Bath and the rest from London. It was suspected, naturally enough, that they had been sent to the country, either to avoid an unsuitable connection or else to be delivered of any infant that resulted from such an unsuitable connection. None of the six had a surname that began with B, but Arbuckle was delving deeper into their supposed and their actual whereabouts and would soon have a more complete report to make.

"My lord," Elizabeth said. He thought she now looked bright of eye, too bright, and her face was flushed. "Have you hired that man . .. ?" She looked embarrassed, and for a moment her voice faltered, but then she rallied. "Is it possible you mean to protect me, or this household, from the return of the man who tried to steal my ring? Do you think it possible he came back and stole my jewels?"

Gideon looked into her earnest gaze and just managed to stifle a sigh. It was sad, so very sad, that she was so deeply deluded. "My dear girl," he said, taking a chair next to hers. He reached out and took up one of her hands again, noting that she had moved the signet ring from her left hand to her right. Interesting.

"Can you tell me how such a man would get into my home unnoticed?" he asked her. "And why would he steal nothing but your jewels? I assure you, everything else in the house is in place."

This was not strictly the truth, for little things went missing all the time, but he would not feed Elizabeth's fancies with that information. "Missing" was not the right word, for they were simply moved to new places where they were eventually discovered. He suspected he had a servant bent on amusing him-or herself, even if Gideon was at a loss to say who among his staff was so inclined.

"Oh." She acknowledged the reasoning in his argument with a stark look. "I suppose you must be right. Although"—her too bright gaze narrowed—"it could be a matter of revenge. Against me. That would explain why he only took my belongings."

How to argue logic with an illogical mind? He only smiled briefly and patted her hand. That hand was very warm to the touch. ... He grimaced and reached to touch the back of his own hand to her forehead.

"My dear woman, you are burning up!"

"I am afraid so." She gave a weak smile. "I hate to ask, but I think we must call for the surgeon once more."

He frowned, belatedly taking in the dark circles under her eyes. "Your heel, it does not do well?" He glanced down toward her feet, but they were lost from sight beneath the hem of her gown.

"It has become tender and swollen. Nothing too alarming, I am sure—"

He did not wait to hear more, but scooped her into his arms. The canes fell aside with a clatter, startling one of the footmen who had arrived to see if aught else was required for the meal— a meal that would now go uneaten.

Chapter 12

Oh! You could warn a body," Elizabeth said faintly as her hands spread over his shoulders in a weak-fingered grip.

"You should never have been up and about, aggravating the wound," he said crossly as he resettled her in his arms.

Gideon rushed up the stairs, carrying Elizabeth to her room and setting her on the bed. He rang immediately for the maid.

Polly came promptly, bandages in hand. "Time fer a dressing change already?" she clucked with concern as she hurried in the door. There was surprise evident in her unpatched eye upon finding Gideon in the room.

"I do not know," he answered her, "but the lady requires water to drink. And tea, not too hot, with honey."

"Honey? I haven't a cold. Such a to-do about a little touch of infection," Elizabeth mumbled.

"Infection and a fever," Gideon said gruffly, feeling her forehead again even though he knew quite well from carrying her that she was completely flush with fever.

"Well, yes," Elizabeth conceded, "I do feel a bit warm." She sounded groggy, not herself.

"Get that water, girl!" Gideon said sharply to Polly, taking the bandages from the maid's hands. "Cool water. Then tell Frick to send for the surgeon at once. And have Cook send up that tincture he makes, that black foul-smelling stuff."

Elizabeth said nothing, an unusual circumstance that only made Gideon frown all the more. She did not even object, only gasping once in consternation when he sat gingerly on the bed and pulled her skirt above her ankle to examine the bandage on her heel.

He sucked in his breath at the sight of the limp and sodden bandage. "It's as well you removed the sticking plaster," he said, only just remembering to try to sound unruffled, calm, un-alarmed.

"It fell off this morning. We had to switch to the plain cotton bandages," Elizabeth muttered.