Velvet Embrace (3 page)

England, 1818

Brie
Carringdon
clenched her teeth as she struggled with the stopper to the medicine bottle. When it wouldn't budge, she pushed a russet curl back from her forehead in exasperation. How, when she was capable of running the finest training stable in the country, had she managed to get herself in such a situation? It was nearly midnight, she was stranded three miles from home at a gentleman's hunting box, a snowstorm was raging outside, and the two elderly patients she had volunteered to care for were being more provoking than even invalids had a right to be.

Brie tackled the bottle again, trying to see the humor in her situation. She most definitely did not belong in a sickroom. She had neither the necessary patience nor the skill. But she would not be defeated by a medicine bottle!

Wrapping a fold of her brown kerseymere gown around the stopper for leverage, Brie tugged and twisted and at last succeeded. When the bottle was open, she wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant fumes. The medicine could have been poison for all she knew, but it had been prescribed by the doctor with orders to be administered regularly.

Carefully, Brie measured out a spoonful of the foul-smelling potion,
then
sat beside the plump, gray-haired woman on the bed. "Please, Mattie," she urged, managing somehow to keep frustration out of her tone. "You must swallow a little of this."

Mattie Dawson coughed fitfully as she huddled beneath a mound of blankets. "My chest hurts," she complained in a rasping voice.

"I know, my dear, but this medicine is supposed to make you better."

"
'
'Twill
kill
her, like as not," Mattie's husband muttered as he watched. Brie had arranged a cot for Homer beside the bed so that Mattie could rest more comfortably. He was lying on the cot with the covers pulled up to his chin, grumbling as he had been all evening. "Blamed doctors don't know anything.
All charlatans, every last one of '
em
."

Brie's blue-green eyes narrowed as she glanced down at Homer. He was the very opposite of his wife—tall, gaunt, and as cantankerous as a rusty hinge. He had always treated Brie with far more familiarity than was proper for a servant toward the daughter of a baronet, but since he had known her for the entire twenty-three years of her life, she was inclined to make allowances, especially now when he was suffering from such a severe head cold.

He looked a little absurd at the moment, Brie thought, with his grizzled hair sticking out from beneath his nightcap and his nose red and swollen. Realizing how miserable he must feel, though, she felt a twinge of sympathy. She herself was rarely ill. And in spite of her current annoyance, Brie was extremely fond of both Homer and Mattie. The couple had been in her parents' service, then hers, for more than twenty years before becoming caretakers at the Lodge. Brie had in fact been the one to recommend them for the prestigious position, and even though they no longer worked at Greenwood, she still felt responsible for their welfare. They were getting on in years and were
more frail
than either of them would admit.

Wishing she could do more to ease their misery, Brie sighed. Why had she ever agreed to stay with the
Dawsons
when she knew so little about nursing? Her forte was training thoroughbreds for the hunting field, not soothing fretful patients. If Mattie and Homer had been suffering from colic, she would have known precisely what to do.

The irascible Homer seemed to think she didn't belong there either. "You needn't have come, Miss Brie," he said, sniffling.

"And who would have seen that you stayed in bed?" she asked, biting back a sharper retort as she held the spoon to Mattie's lips. "You wouldn't even have let the doctor in the house, had I not been here. At least Patrick had the sense to realize that and to come to get me."

Homer buried his red nose in a handkerchief and snorted. "Young scamp!
Ought to take a rod to him to teach him proper respect for his elders."

Brie didn't reply since she knew his threat was empty. Patrick was the oldest and dearest of Homer's four grandsons, even though he was in disgrace at the moment. Patrick had been worried enough about Mattie's cough to defy his grandfather's express orders and summon the doctor, but afterward he had gone to Greenwood, hoping to gain Brie's support.

She had come at once, intending only to exert her authority. But Mattie's condition had turned out to be far more serious than even Patrick had suspected. When the doctor had ordered both elder
Dawsons
to bed, Brie had volunteered to look after them. It would have been wiser to send for Katherine, she knew, since her companion was far more qualified to preside over a sickroom. But Katherine's rheumatism had been bothering her again, and Brie hesitated to make her drive the three miles between Greenwood and the Lodge in such bitterly cold weather.

The situation had only become worse, though, for the snow that had been falling all afternoon had threatened to become a real blizzard. Since the small Lodge
staff were
all local people, Brie had allowed them to go home to their families. That had
left seventeen-year-old Patrick and his three younger brothers in charge of the stables, and no one but Brie in charge of the house. Thinking of her abilities in the area of household management, Brie smiled ruefully. But at least the
horses
wouldn't suffer any discomfort because of the snow.

Trying to ignore Homer's grumbling, Brie made another attempt at getting Mattie to swallow the obnoxious liquid. When she succeeded, Mattie grimaced and sank weakly back against the pillows. "Pay Homer no mind, Miss Brie," she whispered hoarsely. "You're a blessed saint, just like your mother was."

Uncomfortable with such undeserved praise, Brie concentrated on pouring out more of the medicine. Being compared to her mother only made her feel guilty for the uncharitable feelings she had been harboring. Lady Suzanne had been known throughout the district for her selfless devotion to the poor and ailing. Had she still been
alive.
Brie knew, Lady Suzanne would have been doing exactly what Brie was doing now—only she would have done it with far better grace.

"I'll agree that Mama was sainted," Brie replied, "but I fear I'm not like her at all. Come now, Mattie, one more spoonful. You don't want your cold to develop into pneumonia."

Homer grunted. "'
Twon't
come
to that. She just has a little
somethin
' in the lungs."

Nearing the end of her patience, Brie gave him a quelling glance. "It isn't a 'little something'. I may not know much about illness, but even I can tell Mattie's congestion is serious. And your condition is not much better."

Homer shrank back, but it was Brie's look, not her sharp tone, that made him regard her so warily. Her eyes, a
smokey
shade of blue-green, had a way of darkening and flashing when she was angry, as they were doing now. That peculiarity had been an advantage to her in the past. She wasn't particularly tall, nor was her slim figure very intimidating, but she had been in command of an army of grooms and
ostlers
since she was nineteen and had needed to use every means at her disposal in
order to run the vast estate she had inherited from her father.

When Brie got her patient to swallow again, she gave Mattie a sip of water,
then
turned her attention to Homer. Bending down, she held out the bottle and spoon to him. "I promised to see that you took your medicine, but I don't think you need me to administer it." Homer's scowl deepened, but Brie was determined to have her way. "Come now, Homer," she said warningly. "You don't want me to resort to Katherine's method. I've seen her with sick children. She holds their noses until they open their mouths and swallow."

Her threat managed to do the trick. Homer obeyed without further argument, only muttering a little about the bitter taste of the medicine. Relieved, Brie
stoppered
the bottle and set it on the bedside table as she rose. After checking the hot brick at Mattie's feet, she rearranged the pillows and tucked the covers around her patient. Mattie appeared to be asleep, Brie noted thankfully. She turned the lamp down, leaving the bedchamber in a dim glow.

When she had made one last trip to the hearth to lay another log on the fire, she knew there was little more she could do. She picked up her candle and turned to Homer. "Good night," Brie whispered. "Patrick means to check on you in a few hours, but please call me if you need anything, or if Mattie gets worse."

"Very well, Miss Brie," Homer answered stiffly, still not admitting that his judgment had been in error. He let Brie walk all the way to the door before he called after her.
"Patrick had best be looking after you, Miss Brie.
I'll have his hide, else."

Brie smiled, realizing that despite his gruffness, Homer cared about her. "Patrick has been taking excellent care of me," she replied. "He's already kindled a fire in one of the guestrooms and brought up some water."

"'
Tisn't
right that you should be all alone in the house."

"It is only for one night. Julian should be here tomorrow—or the next day, if the snow delays him. With the number of servants he'll be bringing, there will be no need for me to stay. I couldn't remain here anyway with a bachelor in residence. Not
without giving rise to gossip, which Greenwood doesn't need."

Homer's bristled brows drew together in a frown. "Lord Denville won't be pleased to find me and Mattie abed."

Brie suspected that worry had been the root cause of his crankiness. "Heavens, Homer! Julian isn't a monster. He knows how hard you and Mattie have worked for him, and he certainly won't begrudge you a few days rest when you are both ill. If it will ease your mind, though, I'll tell him about the struggle I had to get you to stay in bed. Now don't worry and go to sleep. There's nothing for you to do at the moment."

Brie quietly let herself out of the room and shut the door. As she made her way down the service stairs, an icy draft nearly blew out her candle, reminding her of the storm raging outside. She shivered, cupping her hand around the wavering flame to shield it. The small county of Rutland rarely saw such severe weather, for it was located near the center of England, in the heart of the hunting country. But this snowstorm seemed particularly fierce.
Hearing the sound of the wind swirling around the house.
Brie was glad she wasn't out in the storm, even if it meant having to spend the night virtually alone in the big house.

It was only when she had reached the next landing that she realized she had no nightgown to sleep in. Not wanting to disturb Mattie again merely to borrow one, Brie detoured through Julian's room, looking for something to wear. She found one of his dressing gowns, as well as some tooth powder and a hairbrush, but his slippers were so large that she didn't bother to take them. Gathering up the other articles, she made her way back down the icy corridor to the bedroom she had appropriated for the night.

The room was only one of several
guestchambers
on the second floor, for although the Lodge was a hunting box, it wasn't small by any means. The house had fifteen rooms besides the servants' quarters and large kitchen, plus a number of outbuildings that included an excellent stable. There was also a dormitory in back that housed the male staff and the
servants of visiting guests.

The Lodge was frequently occupied. Although most sporting gentlemen used their hunting boxes for only a few weeks a year, Julian Blake, Lord
Denviile
, generally spent most of the hunting season at his, plus several months during the summer. Family concerns had kept him in London since the start of the
new year
, but he was expected any day now. Brie was looking forward to his return—in spite of the fact that he would also be bringing her cousin Caroline to visit her.

The room Brie had chosen served both as bedchamber and sitting room. A large canopied bed stood at one end, and at the other, flanking the fireplace, was a Sheraton chaise longue and a pair of overstuffed armchairs. The walls were paneled in walnut and lined with hunting trophies—antlers, stuffed heads, and the like—while a luxurious bear rug sprawled in front of the hearth. It was quite a comfortable chamber, Brie thought, or at least it would have been, if not for the cold. Despite the fire Patrick had lit, the room was still chilly.