The Mysterious Heir (31 page)

“You see,” he said, turning to Elizabeth at last, with glittering eye, “I knew that there must have been a reason that damned limb didn't heal properly. For the shell was removed, there was no infection, he ought to have been, at least, free of pain. But though I racked my brain, I couldn't account for it either. But I knew there was an answer.

“Now,” he said, looking at Elizabeth, but not seeing her, “when that young cawker put a bullet deep in his thigh—”

Elizabeth could not restrain a gasp. The doctor looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Ah, in his limb, I meant,” he said quickly. “Sorry, my girl, though I didn't think you so missish,” and then went on, “I sharpened up my knife and went in after it. I made the incision good and deep to get at it, and wide as well, for there's no telling what infection will result if you don't clear the whole area. That much I do know. I got at the ball quick and neat as you please, and then when I went to feel the wound to make sure it was clear before I closed the whole, I felt it. I felt it,” he cried in exultation.

“Only the tip of it, the sharp tip, for the rest, the bulk of it, was way down near the top of his old scar on his knee. A fragment, my dear. A long splinter, a fragment of the shell
that had crippled him in Spain. One that those fools at the hospital had missed. Though I do say,” he said magnanimously, “that I can see how they did. Things must have been a fine mess during battle, and it was down snug against the bone, that I will give them. But there it lay, and that is why the poor devil had the pain. It took me the better part of my time to get it out at last, it was so firmly in. But get it I did. Now,” he said, wagging his finger in front of her nose, “I shan't say he'll ever be ready for the corps de ballet. Nor that he'll be waltzing at Almack's with you. But he'll have no more pain. And one can never tell, can one?”

Dr. Woods closed his eyes as if in supplication. Then he opened them and grinned hugely. “But their faces, their faces when they read my paper. For they missed it entirely. It's true,” he said with satisfaction, “that there's no way a man can see through flesh and blood. But they ought to have known something was amiss. For I did.”

“I'm sure,” Elizabeth said, giddy with relief.

“I'll get to it tonight, see if I don't. At least ten pages,” the doctor said again, “and I'll be back here in the morning. He'll have some fever, to be sure. But he's got the luck of the angels. If that young cousin of yours had aimed just some inches higher, his lordship would truly have needed to name an heir, for he would never have been able to…” But here the doctor seemed to recollect himself and his audience and he stopped and glowered at Elizabeth.

“Why are you waiting here?” he demanded. “I told you his lordship wants to see you. You'd best hurry, before the sleeping draught I gave him takes hold.”

Elizabeth fairly flew up the stairs, not even pausing to argue with the doctor.

When she reached the bedchamber, she knocked softly and Lord Beverly opened the door for her. But she had eyes for no one save the Earl, who lay unnaturally still, and so pale that her heart sank. She went to his bedside and saw that he was watching her with a smile upon his lips.

“Forgiven, Elizabeth?” he asked slowly.

She could only nod.

“Good, good,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “for it was only for your own good, you know.”

“What can I do?” Elizabeth asked Lord Beverly frantically. “What I can do for him?”

“Why, stay, Elizabeth,” the Earl said softly. “Stay with me.”

*

Elizabeth stayed. She stayed till the day three carriages arrived, one to bear off a weeping Lady Isabel to London, another to take Lord Kingston off on the first leg of his enforced and permanent journey to the Continent, and yet another to carry an excited bespectacled Owen off to his new boarding school. She remained until the first tints of autumn touched the margins of the trees and a cool wind began to spring up around her when she took her daily walks in the garden. But she took those walks only while Morgan had no need of her, when she was not at his side reading to him, talking with him, or watching as he made his first strides across his room.

Now she waited for lunch with him, as he was closeted with Cousin Richard. Cousin Richard had returned shortly after the “accident,” as they now called it, and had remained at Lyonshall as well. But he was, at last, to leave today. Anthony and Lord Beverly were off on one of their frequent jaunts, and Elizabeth put down the book she had been reading, and wondered how long it would be before her own homeward journey began. For though she had been in the Earl's constant company, and they had laughed at many a jest and shared many comfortable moments, there had been nothing loverlike in his attitude. He had looked at her, she knew, for now and again she had inadvertently caught him at it. His eyes had rested upon her, she thought, but there had been no other sign of preferment, and certainly nothing in word or deed, like that she had experienced with him before Anthony's rash action.

She had thought that this would be enough for her, this closeness and camaraderie. But, she discovered, it was not. To be able only to look at his strong features, to see his easy smile, to hear his deep rich voice, was in itself a torment. She would be better off, she told herself, to be away at last. She could not be his sister. And would not, she corrected herself, for as the summer drew to a close, so did every reason for staying. Now he could walk. Still with his stick, of course, but with greater ease. Now he could be off to the wide world again, and she to her own family and occupations.

As he had arranged (with only a little arm twisting, now that he was the lad's legal guardian, he had grinned) for Owen to be taken from his mother's care and put in a boarding school to pursue his studies with other lads his age, so he had arranged for Anthony's future. With the autumn, Anthony would be gone as well, but to university. “He has the makings of a politician,” the Earl had said, with Lord Beverly agreeing by nodding at his every word. And when Elizabeth had protested that Anthony was a trifle revolutionary for that position, the Earl had thrown back his head and laughed. “Of course, but temper that with knowledge and maturity, and we may well have a patriot.” He had chuckled. “Or at least a prime minister.”

Their futures were set, Elizabeth thought; she ought to be happy. Uncle would receive assistance, and so she need not return to Miss Scott to the manufacture of bonnets. But she would, she thought, laying her book down, or else go mad with loneliness during the long days at home again.

Cousin Richard came from the study with a dazed and dreamy air. He paused when he saw Elizabeth stand to greet him. “I'm off,” he said, “and I wish you the very best, Elizabeth. I don't know when I shall return, but I wish you every happiness. Lord knows,” he added with a smile that quite transformed his long and dour face, “I am happy enough, and wish the whole world to share in my joy.”

“She has reconsidered?” Elizabeth gasped.

“She?” Cousin Richard asked in confusion. Then his face cleared and he laughed. “Oh, Caroline. Oh, no. In fact, I think I shall dance at her wedding to the poor Baron before I leave. No, no, Elizabeth, much better than that. I have my independence at last, I have my future. And I don't think some fickle chit from London figures in it. Thank God.” he breathed. “But my wits are addled. Morgan wishes to see you. Goodbye, Elizabeth”—he smiled—“and the greatest good fortune to you.”

He bowed and left whistling softly under his breath.

Elizabeth entered the study to see the Earl standing there gazing out of the window.

“Cousin Richard is in alt,” she said, walking toward him. “What did you say to him? If I may know,” she put in quickly as he turned to her.

“Of course,” he said. “It is only that I had a letter from my man of business reminding me that I had some time past purchased a tract of land in the United States—Virginia, it is—and reminding me that I wished at that time to begin horse farming there. But I never did, as I had no one to do it for me. I only asked Cousin Richard if he would take it in hand for me, as a favor. And told him that as he was to live there, he might as well take half the land in payment. But the gudgeon insisted that I wait until five years had passed, and then, if I were pleased with his work, he would take it from me. Well, of course, my back was to the wall,” he sighed, “so I agreed.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Some time past, is it, Morgan? I'll wager the ink is yet wet upon the deed.”

“Why, Elizabeth”—he smiled—“what a wicked mind you have.”

She only chuckled in reply, and began to ask him if he was ready to lunch with her, when he cut her off and came closer to her, bearing only a light weight upon his stick.

“As you are here,” he said, “in the room where I do all my dire business, there is a thing I wished to say to you. If you have the time, that is, and can bear to let your soup grow cold?”

Elizabeth grew chilled at the seriousness in his voice, but concealing it as well as she could, agreed.

“There's still the matter of my heir,” he began, standing close to her. “I have not named one as yet. No, that decision I spoke of was, you know, only a ploy to remove you and Anthony from Harry and Isabel's sphere. I have not, never did, name an heir. I wanted you to know…” he said impatiently. “No, I waited till I could stand upon my own two feet to let you know that I have decided not to name one. That is to say,” he went on, with none of the cool aplomb he had begun with, “I don't want to name one by myself. I have decided,” he said with a grin, “not to choose one, but rather to do it myself, in the more natural way. Although,” he went on, looking down at her wickedly, “not quite by myself, of course.

“Devil take it, Elizabeth”—he said looking at her with embarrassment—“I am making a botch of this. When I was young, I declared myself in love like a silver-tongued orator. But now that I know what that emotion truly is, I am a tongue-tied boy. I want you to be my wife.”

Elizabeth, disbelieving, only gazed back at him.

“I know that I am not a great prize,” he went on a little desperately, “for you do not judge me by my title or fortune. And I am older than you by a decade, and I do limp. Although Bev assured me a long while ago that it would not be noticed by the right female, still I fear I shall never partner you in the dance. But I do wish to partner you, Elizabeth, aged and infirm as I am.

“You know, at least, that I of all men will be a faithful partner. Ah, Elizabeth, you have been my heart's surgeon, for I think that I no longer bear so much as a scratch upon that organ, or at least so I think when I am with you. Do not desert your patient now. How else can I say it? Elizabeth, will you be my wife?”

“But,” Elizabeth said in a very small voice, “why should you wish me, when you have all the world to choose from?”

“Where in the world shall I find such another as you,” he asked, “with such courage, such wit, such integrity? You will note,” he said, smiling, “that I wish to put it to you reasonably, and I do not mention your eyes, nor your hair, nor your lips, nor form. But, Elizabeth, there is another matter that has preyed upon my mind most onerously, and I have only waited until I was sure I was in health enough to prove to you that I am not a liar.”

“A liar?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he said, taking her into his arms, “for I did tell you I suffered from no incapacity other than my leg, and,
Elizabeth, you have no idea of how I ache to prove that to you. How,” he said, before he covered her lips so she could not answer, “I long to demonstrate that to you.”

Elizabeth stayed deep in his embrace, responding to him without words, lost to all save his warm mouth and the feel of his strong frame against her own. It was only the sound of a loud expostulation that recalled her wits, as he dragged his lips away from her.

“Morgan!” Lord Beverly cried indignantly. “This is not at all the thing. Elizabeth is a guest in your house. I leave for but an hour, and see what transpires. What is the meaning of this?” he demanded with feeling.

“Elizabeth…?” was all that Anthony said as he stood wide-eyed by his friend and stared at the Earl, and particularly at the Earl's hand, which remained firmly about his cousin's waist.

“Elizabeth,” the Earl begged, his eyes dancing with light, “please, before Anthony takes aim again, tell me your answer.”

“But I have no fortune,” she said, her lips cold and numb without the sweet pressure of his. “I am not worldly-wise.”

“You are all the world to me,” he said simply, “and wiser than anyone I have ever known. You will be my fortune. Now, Elizabeth, do not compromise me further, please.”

A world of words spun before her, but Elizabeth tried to be as wise as he thought her. “Yes,” she said.

“Oh, good,” Lord Beverly spoke, rubbing his hands together. “Now, as to the makeup of the wedding party, Morgan—”

“Later,” the Earl said with decision, ushering his friend from the room. “Much later.”

*

It was several days later that Elizabeth and the Earl stood at the base of the great white steps to Lyonshall and prepared to see Anthony and Lord Beverly off. Lord Beverly was fussing with the baggage and coaches as though he were going to London itself, instead of Tuxford, the Earl joked.