“There is nothing brave about being laid up in bed with a leg wound.”
Jeanne reached tentatively for his hand. “Does it pain you much?”
Edmund pulled his hand out of her reach. “Yes.”
“I am so very sorry. Franklin explained everything to me. But your appearance and behavior are so much improved over what he led me to expect, I am sure you will be out of this dreadful place in no time at all.”
Edmund grimaced. He was getting very careless and Jeanne was therefore correct—he would be sent home soon if he did not start acting as though he needed to be kept away. “Get thee to a nunnery!” He turned a look of cold fury on his betrothed.
“Edmund?” She withdrew her hands and drew away from the bed.
“A woman is never to approach my person unless I have given royal permission. In writing,” he added for good measure.
Jeanne struggled to her feet. “No, don’t. You were not—”
“Get thee away! Dost thou wish to lose thy head?”
She backed toward the door. “You will get better. I can see that you are not always sick. I will visit every day until you are fully recovered. I promise.”
Edmund looked for something to throw at her. “I’ve just ordered you not to visit, wench.”
“It is not you who speaks now. Farewell, Edmund. It is my duty to care for you and I will.”
The only serviceable projectile item Edmund could reach was one of his pillows. He threw it just as Jeanne reached the door, hitting her on the head.
“Ouch.” She felt the top of her head, her expression of concerned tenderness rapidly dissolving into an irritated grimace. “You’ve made a perfect ruin of my hair. I shall not be able to visit and care for you if you continue to display this sort of behavior.” She slammed the door shut. Out in the hallway, he could hear her berate her maid regarding her placement of hairpins.
Edmund felt his face split into a huge grin. His plan was finally beginning to show some promise.
* * * * *
The knock on the door a few minutes later took him by surprise because he had felt certain Jeanne would wait at least until the next day before attempting another visit. “Are you back again, wench?” he called out with a nasty snarl.
“Oh. I thought this was the right room but I might be mistaken.” The hesitant voice definitely did not belong to Jeanne. “Um, Lord Rutherford? Mr. Groves told me you wished to speak with me, but if you have changed your mind, then…”
“Come in, come in, Miss Wright. I do indeed wish to speak with you.” Edmund winced as he pushed himself upright in the bed, pained both by the movement and by the awareness of his rude greeting.
The door opened at an agonizingly slow pace. After untangling the handle of her reticule from the doorknob, Miss Wright stepped into the room to stand in the space lately vacated by Jeanne. Her plain gown and simple curls made a refreshing contrast to the gaudy finery and ornaments Jeanne had displayed in the same place only a few minutes before.
“Please forgive me the language you first heard on your arrival.” He struggled to think of an excuse for the vile words he had uttered. “I, uh, had been…reading a volume of plays with Mr. Groves and thought to try out the lines from one for fun. I believed your knock on the door to be his.”
“I’m sorry.” She glanced at the door. “Do I keep you from a meeting with Mr. Groves?”
She appeared disappointed with this prospect, and that pleased him more than he would have supposed.
“No, no. No meeting was expected.” He smiled and added softly, “Though a certain meeting was indeed hoped for.” That was too forward, but then, he was in a position to make improper speeches. Life in Shady View had definite advantages.
She colored and started to inch her way back toward the door.
Ah. Perhaps having the liberty to make untoward statements still did not make such statements a good idea. He sought to change the subject. “What brings you out calling so early today?”
“I needed to deliver some toiletry articles to Geoffrey, and to ensure that he receives…proper assistance and so forth.” Her face grew even more flushed. “I am sorry. It seems so awkward to speak of such things. Geoffrey is used to having his valet about, and so I have never given much thought to…shaving and…”
He let her words trail off, enjoying her delightful modesty and obvious embarrassment in speaking of masculine subjects. She dug the toe of her shoe into the soft carpet.
“You’d need not fear for his care on that account, Miss Wright. They’ve a barber on staff who comes around each morning, usually at an unreasonably early hour, to attend to our needs. I am sure Geoffrey is well cared for.”
Her face blossomed into a smile, shy and grateful. “Thank you, my lord. I have not yet spoken with him this morning. He…he said he was not yet ready to receive visitors. Even at home, he would never see anyone before breakfast, with the exception of Nicholas, of course. Nicholas is his valet.” She stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry, you really do not need to know all of this.”
“Oh, but it is most helpful to know of my neighbor’s circumstances. Geoffrey must feel the absence of his assistant and confidant most keenly.”
“I believe he does feel a little lost. Nicholas is not the most reliable of men, but his presence has always had a calming effect on my brother. If we may not soon return Geoffrey to Hertfordshire, I hope to bring Nicholas here. Does your valet stay here with you?”
A brief flicker of pain passed through him. “He died last month. I have not yet hired another.” It would take a long time to find someone whose service and companionship he valued as much as Mayer’s.
“Oh dear, I am sorry. That must be very difficult.”
“Not so very. Mayer’s illness came on gradually—so gradually I learned to do more on my own. I think now I actually prefer to shave myself,” he smiled, “although that has not been an option as of late.”
“No, I meant that I was sorry because you must miss him, not his services. As Geoffrey misses Nicholas.” Her face twisted into an expression of uncertainty. “Forgive me. It really is no business of mine whether—”
“Miss Wright you must stop. Cease apologizing and desist from asking my forgiveness. You make me feel as though there is something improper in our conversation, and there is not, truly.”
She cast a nervous glance around, her gaze soon landing on the door which had apparently swung closed of its own accord. “My goodness, I suppose I had better prop this door to keep it open.” Before he could object, she had dashed over and pulled the door so hard that it banged into the wall.
Out in the hallway, a heavy object rolled past before hitting something that clattered out of sight, and a man soon galloped by chortling with glee.
Miss Wright stared after him.
“Ah, that must be Sir Mortimer. I have heard Mr. Groves encouraging him to move his bowls to the lawn, but I believe he prefers the smooth floor of the passage. Are you sure you would rather not close that door again? As you said the last time, no one of your acquaintance will see you here.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” She looked down with obvious embarrassment. “I hope you’ve forgiven me for that.”
“Well, as you recall, I did ask for a token of your repentance.” After all, if he begged her for a kiss, it would show him as imbalanced. A gentleman in his right mind would not do such a thing. At least, an honorable gentleman would not.
She looked up, her brow wrinkled in a quizzical expression. “I do not recall such a request.”
Then his request for a kiss had not made as great an impression as he’d thought, judging by her shocked expression at the time. Was the demure behavior all for show? She seemed so much more sincere than Jeanne, yet of course, he had not known her nearly so long. Perhaps he should test her. If she responded to untoward advances as willingly as Jeanne had, she would show herself to be of the same stripe.
“Could you come closer?”
She walked a few feet toward him, leaving the door unsecured so that it immediately began to close once more. Not seeming to notice, she focused her gaze at first on his face and then on his leg stretched out on the bed. She reached out her hand as if to touch his knee, well below the bandaged wound.
Jeanne had done much the same, and he had pushed her away.
Miss Wright held her hand just above him, not daring to touch him but seeming mesmerized somehow.
By his knee?
“Miss Wright, would you be so good as to help me with this pillow? I am trying to move it behind my back and just cannot seem to reach…”
She turned her gaze back to his face as she moved to the head of the bed. When she reached toward the pillow he had indicated, he grabbed her arms and stretched forward to kiss her.
She was too fast, pulling herself free with wide-eyed indignation. “What are you about, my lord?”
Edmund shrugged, feigning indifference but greatly pleased that Miss Wright had reacted exactly as Jeanne had not when he attempted a similar ploy with her some time ago. “I don’t know.” Then a delicious though occurred to him. “I am the sultan. All the women in the kingdom belong to me. If I wish to kiss one of them, I only exercise my God-given right.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, God gave you that right, did he? And he gave you all the women in your kingdom?”
“Yes.”
“So you owe a duty to protect them and treat them well, do you not?”
He pretended to ponder that for a moment. “I suppose.”
“Well, then, you might start by taking a little better care of your own mother.”
Edmund sat up straight. “My mother?”
“Yes. The woman you sent into a fit of apoplexy with your wild behavior at the opera.”
“Mother?” The word barely squeaked out of his mouth, as if she’d sucked all the air from his lungs. “Suffered a fit?” What had he done?
Miss Wright nodded.
He collapsed back into the pillows. “When?” His voice came out as a choked sob.
“Why, that night, of course. As you, or perhaps after you…” Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “You did not know.”
He shook his head.
So that was why his mother had not been to see him. That was why she had not been present when they took him away. Who then could have ordered him brought to this place? It must have been the solicitor to whom the letter had been delivered.
He forced himself to breathe. “How is she?”
“I do not know,” she said miserably. “We are staying at an inn nearby and have not yet been back to town.”
“What was her condition when you left?” he demanded.
“I am afraid we are not of your family’s acquaintance and only hear what circulates as rumor.”
He waved away her caveat. “News travels as fast that way as any other. What had you heard when you left?”
“Only that she had the attack and had not regained consciousness the next day.”
He buried his face in his hands, waves of guilt, pain and anger now flooding over him in a torrent. “I’ve killed her,” he whispered.
“Surely not?”
He forced himself to look her full in the face. “I’m a fool and a coward. And I have killed her.” As realization of the consequences of his foolish ruse continued to mount, the burden of guilt coursed through until he really felt he would explode. He turned and smashed the wall with his fist, the pain radiating through his hand and up his arm a welcome relief to the pain of guilt within. He smashed the wall again and again.
“Stop! No! Stop this!” Lucia reached over and took hold of his arm with a surprisingly firm grip. Then she knelt in front of the bed, gently placing her hands over his own as she spoke to him. “You must not blame yourself. You cannot help your behavior.” Tears began to glitter in the corners of her eyes. “Please forgive me—I was wrong in implying that you had behaved so on purpose.” She looked down, removing her hands to her lap. “I do know better.”
He winced, feeling that the tears would be better placed in his own eyes. “You do right to trust your instincts. I
can
control my behavior. And I do not truly belong here. I have made a terrible, terrible mistake.”
“I am sure you do the best you can.” She gazed up at him, putting on a smile no doubt meant to be encouraging.
He offered only a grim smile in return. “It is good of you to say so, but I am afraid your faith is misplaced. I have not done my best—to the contrary, I affected the worst behavior imaginable.”
“If that is the case, and if, as you say, you can control your behavior, then you will soon be home with your mother again.” Her smile began to look convincing. “That should improve her condition immensely.”
“You are right.” He felt the first rays of hope filter into the room, faint but still enough to melt the icy grip of fear that had begun to tighten around his heart. “Thank you.” He leaned forward to clasp her hands, but they were out of his reach. Instead, he planted a quick kiss on her lips.
She blinked at him in surprise. But she did not pull away as she had earlier.
Her lips were soft and she smelled faintly of lavender.
He kissed her again. After a moment, she returned his kiss, her lips pressing against his own, warm and sweet. All the pain and worry melted away into a swirl of endless warmth.