A timid knock sounded at the door.
“Go away,” he murmured through his hands. He did not want to face anybody at this moment.
“Lord Rutherford, are you well? I was out in the hallway with Geoffrey and we heard some odd noises coming from this direction.”
Even the sweet tones of Miss Wright’s voice could not lift his spirits from the black pit in which he’d sunk them. He made no answer, but rolled over so that he lay against the pillows, propped up like a scarecrow and staring at the uneven joint where the wall met the ceiling.
“I could not find an attendant. Lord Rutherford, will you please answer? Just tell us if you are in difficulty? Geoffrey, I think you had better go fetch Mr. Groves, or an attendant if you see one.”
“Right, Lu!” Footsteps thundered away down the hall.
“Mind you don’t charge into Sir Mortimer as he sets up his pins!”
“I…” Edmund had to clear his throat to get an audible voice. “I am well enough,” he called out. “There is no need to send for anyone.”
“Geoffrey! You need not—oh, he’s gone too far to hear me. Well, I suppose that is good.” Miss Wright opened the door and dashed in, nearly breathless. “Then I shall have enough time.”
“Enough time for what?” Curiosity started to win out over self-pity.
“Time for this.” She flung herself onto the bed, planted an uneven kiss on his lips, then scooted away and was back at the door before he quite knew what had happened.
He touched his lip uncertainly.
“Did I bite you?” All at once, she was timid and uncertain.
Edmund chuckled. “No. Though if you meant to and you’d like to give it another try, I won’t object.”
“Oh. Was I supposed to bite your lip? I-I’ve not kissed very many men before.”
“Very many?”
“Just you, really. I am not exactly sure what is supposed to happen.” A becoming flush spread across her cheeks before she had even finished speaking.
“I think you have a better idea than you realize. Would you care to make another attempt?”
“No, I—that is.” She looked toward the door with a twinge of fear, then turned back. “Yes.” She made a most unladylike dive toward the bed.
Edmund reached down and drew her up close so that he could smell the lavender in her hair and see the sparkle in her eyes.
She leaned forward to kiss him again, but he stopped her, touching her brow, her nose and her cheek before kissing each place in turn. He moved his lips to her mouth, and she seemed frozen at first, then melted completely, her lips against his, her body relaxing against his own.
Time and space had no chance to recede this time, however, as she broke the embrace after only a few short seconds.
“I must get back outside the room before Geoffrey returns.” She slid off the bed. “You must pretend to be asleep or something.”
She did like to issue orders, despite her modest demeanor.
He was not entirely sure he enjoyed taking orders from a woman, particularly when they implied fear on his part. “I am not afraid of Geoffrey.”
“I know.” She smiled. “But I am. Good afternoon, your majesty. Thank you!” She made an impossibly quick curtsy before quitting the room.
Why on earth had
she
thanked
him
?
Chapter Nineteen
Outside in the passage, Lucia pressed herself against the wall as she took air in great gulps, willing her heartbeat to slow down.
She had done it. She, good little Lucia, had actually been brazen enough to kiss a man. She recognized a chance that might never come again, and she had not been too fearful to take that chance. The realization and sense of success were exhilarating.
Or was that the kiss itself? Lord Rutherford had a way of making her forget exactly where she was or what she was doing. Sometimes in his presence, she could scarcely remember to breathe, let alone form a coherent thought. At other moments, she felt she could speak to him at endless length on any subject. So which of them should be said to be the one lacking reason?
“There you are, Lu. I did not see you.” Geoffrey bustled up to her with Mr. Groves and Sir Mortimer in tow. “We found Mr. Groves on the stairs.”
Sir Mortimer held up a bowling pin, apparently to signal his assent to the story.
Mr. Groves offered them both a quick conciliatory smile before turning to Lucia. “Your brother said it was a matter of some urgency concerning another guest?”
“Ah, well…” Lucia wondered if she looked as red as she felt. “We heard unusual noises from this end of the passage, and then Lord Rutherford would not answer our summons.”
Mr. Groves glanced at the array of bowling pins scattered at the other end of the hall before he stepped up to the door. “You did the right thing, then, in alerting me.”
“He’s probably just asleep,” she said hopefully. She held her breath as Mr. Groves knocked. No answer.
“Lord Rutherf—your highness?” Mr. Groves knocked again. “Are you well?”
No answer.
“I will go in to check on his lordship. Please excuse me.” He opened the door as little as possible to slip himself into the room.
Lucia allowed herself a sigh of relief. Geoffrey could not possibly have seen into the room. Of course, neither then could she now—which was both good and bad. It saved her much embarrassment. But she would have liked one more glimpse of those blue eyes.
Mr. Groves returned after no more than a minute, again keeping the opening of the door as narrow as possible. For the benefit of her modesty, Lucia realized. She almost giggled.
“He appears to be sleeping soundly. Perhaps the noises you heard—and I assume they could not be attributed to bowling—came from another floor?”
“Should we look up or down?” Geoffrey grasped Sir Mortimer’s arm, fully prepared to launch the pair of them off to investigate.
Sir Mortimer pointed up with his bowling pin.
“Geoffrey,” Lucia reminded her brother, “Miss Bayles is waiting for us in the drawing room downstairs.”
“Do you think she might want to join in our search?”
“No. I think she would like to bid you a good morning. Although I suppose it is afternoon now.”
“Yes, in that case, it can wait, can it not? If the afternoon has just started, she has many hours yet in which to wish me a good afternoon.”
Lucia pondered that for a moment. “I see. But I believe I was mistaken and it is indeed still morning, and there is not much of it left. So we must hurry downstairs at once.”
“You’re right. At once!” Geoffrey dragged Sir Mortimer several steps down the hall before letting him go. “Oh, I forgot. You’ve no need to pay your respects to Miss Bayles—she’s never even met you. You are at leisure to begin searching upstairs for the source of this mysterious noise.” Geoffrey sprinted toward the stairs. “Mr. Groves,” he called back, “I shall catch you up presently.”
“Very good, Mr. Wright. You will excuse me, Miss Wright?” Mr. Groves bowed.
Lucia nodded. “Of course.” She gave one last lingering look at the door to Lord Rutherford’s room, then hurried after her brother.
Geoffrey waved wildly in her direction as she entered the drawing room, as if she would have had difficulty catching sight of his tall, spindly, animated frame in the room of short, squat, posed furniture.
“You’ve a letter come from Papa, Lu. The inn sent it along.”
Eugenie held up a compact fold of sealed paper. “This arrived right after you went upstairs to fetch Geoffrey.”
Lucia breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. An answer from her stepfather. With his help, she would surely be able to bring Geoffrey home.
“Miss Bayles will not let me open the letter.” Geoffrey pouted.
“And right she is, too.” Lucia reached over to collect the letter Eugenie held out for her. “Is your name ‘Lucia’?”
“Of course not. But he is my Papa as much as yours. Why did he not write to me? He must have meant for both of us to read that letter.”
“He writes to me because I first sent him a letter. That is generally how correspondence works, brother dear. You write to someone, they send a reply. If you sat down and—”
“I haven’t time for that. Writing is woman’s work.”
“Hmm. Then perhaps reading must be as well. Now, hush.” Lucia marveled that she could banter so casually with her brother while her heart raced. So much depended on her stepfather’s reply.
Eugenie offered an encouraging smile.
She broke the seal, then skimmed through the salutation and a recapitulation of the recent hunting season. Then there was unimportant news about some cousins who had come to visit him at Christmas.
Geoffrey tapped his foot with impatience. “What does he say, Lu?”
“Very little of interest so far. They were able to get in three good hunts near Longleat before the weather got too cold. His cousin Sanders has taken a position with the naval supply office. That sort of thing.”
“Little of interest? Hunting season and the navy? The very foundations of British life. I shudder to think what must be required to make a letter interesting to you.” He shuddered for illustrative purposes.
The letter was not long, but the words she sought were tucked in at the very end. And they were not actually the words she sought. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“
Finally, my dear Lucia, I cannot agree with your assertion that Geoffrey must be brought home with utmost expediency. I rather believe that a secluded home such as you’ve described Shady View to be, that provides discreet security not obvious to society or to Geoffrey himself, is the best place for the boy. I shall endeavor to visit when my health permits. Your most humble and obedient servant, Papa George.”
Geoffrey reached for the letter. “From your expression, I daresay he’s spoken more of hunting or perhaps shooting and fishing. You look utterly aghast, Lu.”
She stepped back closer to Eugenie, keeping the letter as far from Geoffrey as possible. “No, he, ah, spoke of, uh, acting. Yes, the remainder of the missive described a production he’d just seen.”
“Lu, Papa George hasn’t set foot in a playhouse for as long as I can remember.”
“Yes, I believe he mentioned it was part of the village fête. Several children from the manor took part. Would you like to read about it?” She held out the letter, trying to keep her fingers from trembling. If Geoffrey took her up on the offer, he would be devastated by the last few lines of the letter. But if she kept trying to keep the contents from him, he would endeavor to “investigate” his way into the letter somehow. The trick was to make it seem an unchallenging, unappealing target.
He wrinkled his nose, but did not refuse outright. In fact, his hand lifted slowly toward Lucia.
“I believe he said the ladies made decorated cakes to sell at the intermission. And he described the costumes in great detail.”
The hand wavered slightly.
“Oh, I believe I hear Mr. Groves heading up to the third floor,” Eugenie cut in. “I wonder if he’s found the source of the suspicious noise?”
“I promised him I’d be back to help straightaway. Why do I stand here with you two discussing the business of ladies’ letters?” He ran toward the stairs. “It was good to see you again, Miss Bayles!” He had reached the first landing before the words even finished echoing off the marble.
“Thank you.” Lucia lowered herself into the nearest chair.
Eugenie seated herself opposite. “That letter does not appear to contain good news. Geoffrey was right—you do look aghast.”
“My stepfather will not come to help us.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“I actually expected as much. He has traveled no more than a day’s ride out of Bath in the last ten years.”
Eugenie shook her head in sympathy. “It is still a shame.”
“What is the shame, to me, is that he believes Geoffrey belongs in a place such as this. That he should not return home anytime soon.” Her voice broke over the last few words. She dropped the letter and closed her eyes, no longer able to bear her friend’s kindly, sympathetic gaze.
Eugenie squeezed her hand. “Do not worry. You said yourself that he needed to stay here for a while, until his escapades in London have faded from public memory. By that time, we will have figured out a solution. Perhaps your stepfather might even change his mind. Besides,” she added, “I think Geoffrey is rather enjoying himself for the moment, don’t you?”
Lucia had to admit she was right.
* * * * *
Several days had passed since Edmund last walked with the crutch, and it was time to try again. Even though he had promised Miss Wright that he would remain in his room, it was now more important that he convince Mr. Groves of his true, sane state of mind. This would be difficult to accomplish in a room absurdly festooned with hanging Eastern draperies and Turkish carpets. So he would have to remove himself from his room and meet with Mr. Groves on more neutral territory, or perhaps even the latter’s own office. Once he had proven his sanity, he would extricate himself from the engagement honestly, if not honorably. Make a sizable settlement on Jeanne. Then take his mother someplace warm, far from the damp and gloom of London. And she would recover. She might not forgive him, but she would be well.