But before he could set this chain of events in motion, he would first have to maneuver himself down the stairs with his crutch.
It was only with this goal firmly in mind that he was able to make it the full distance. By the time he reached what he assumed to be Groves’ office on the ground floor, he had finally learned to move the crutch without thinking so that walking, though painful, did not take such intent concentration.
At the door, he paused a moment to regain his composure before knocking. He wanted to appear as much the Imposing Lord of the Manor as possible, but it was a posture he seldom assumed, so it did take some effort. He had always found such demeanor unbearably pompous.
But if that’s what it took to get him home, so be it. He rapped at the door with sharp, impatient knocks. “Groves, are you in there?” He deepened his voice and assumed a condescending scowl. He knocked again. “I say, Groves, are you within, sir?”
“No, I am not,” came a voice from somewhere behind him. “I believe you are knocking on the broom closet.”
Edmund grimaced, but forced his composure back into place before he turned around. “Mr. Groves, I have need of a word with you.”
Groves approached with an indulgent smile. “Of course, your majesty.” He bowed. “I am at your service.”
“I would prefer to speak in private.”
“Then I think we should return to your private chambers, your majesty.”
“No. We will speak in an office or parlor close at hand. And you may discontinue the use of ridiculous superlatives. I am customarily addressed as ‘my lord,‘ or Lord Rutherford. To use any other title is ridiculous and insulting.”
“Yes, your maj—my lord. If you so desire, we may speak in the gold room—it is just down here.”
“Gold room?” Was Groves humoring his royalty delusion again?
“Decorated in shades of gold and yellow, my lord. Favorite colors of the late mistress of Shady View.”
That should have been obvious, since virtually every room in the house was decorated in some shade of yellow. The wonder was not that there was a “gold room” but that a room of such description could be distinguished from any other in the house.
It nonetheless made a better environment than his bedchamber, which Groves had seen fit to adorn with all the trappings of a mélange of Eastern royalty.
He seated himself in a chair with a hard back and seat of a stiff-haired puce substance. “Mr. Groves, this may come as somewhat of a surprise, but I am here to inform you that I am not in the least insane.”
“No?”
“No. I have assumed the guise of an insane gentleman for…for my own purposes. But after having heard news of my mother’s illness, I believe the time has come to own up to the charade so that I may return home.”
“I see.” Groves folded his hands into a tent which he opened and closed a few times before replying further. “I am not sure that would be entirely the best course of action at the moment, your maj—my lord.”
“What do you mean?” Edmund tried to keep his growing sense of unease out of his voice.
“Perhaps you are not as fully recovered as you assume. I believe your sudden return could perhaps upset the household, worry Lady Rutherford…”
“What you believe is irrelevant.” Edmund stamped the floor with his crutch for emphasis. “If I wish to return home, I am certainly within my rights to do so.”
Again, Groves offered his indulgent smile. “I am afraid not. You were legally committed into my care by the signature of two physicians under advice and consent from your solicitor acting as your next friend. It is for them to say when you are fit to return.”
“Exactly so.” Edmund relaxed slightly. His earlier planning, though haphazard, would now serve its purpose. “My solicitor has proof that I am, as you say, ‘fully recovered’ of my faculties, and he can show this proof to the doctors. However, the solicitor who represents my interests is a different man from the one who has conducted business for my mother. The family solicitor is no doubt the gentleman who signed the papers to convey me here.”
“A Mr. Stansbury, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you say that you have engaged a different solicitor to represent your personal interests?”
“Yes.”
“And his name would be…?”
Edmund faltered. “I do not know his name.” This admission did seem rather ridiculous.
“I see.” Groves tented his fingers once more.
“Franklin, our butler, will know him. I ordered him to engage a solicitor on my behalf before I—before I left London.”
“I see.” Groves contemplated his hands for another moment before collapsing the tent. “I will have to contact Mr. Franklin then, in order to contact your solicitor, who must then contact Mr. Stansbury.” He offered a placating smile. “This will take some time, you understand.”
Edmund hit the arms of the chair with the heels of his hands as he leaned forward. “I do not have extra time to spend waiting for polite correspondence. My mother is ill, and I need to return to her as soon as possible!”
“Yes, you have made your feelings on the matter quite clear, Lord Rutherford. But as I have indicated, you must remain here until your release is properly authorized. I believe your petition is currently pending in Chancery at the moment, but I shall have to verify the status with Mr. Stansbury.”
Edmund stifled the urge to wring the man’s conciliatory neck. Such a display of temper would not bolster his claim of sanity, however much better it might make him feel for the moment. He pulled his crutch close to the chair and stood. “Very well. I shall leave you to start making the necessary arrangements. Do remember that speed is of the utmost importance.”
Groves stood and bowed. “Of course, your maj—my lord.”
Edmund turned and made his way out of the room with as much dignity as he could manage, given the inconvenient crutch and the awkward arrangement of furniture in the room, which had apparently been placed by someone whose chief aspiration lay in the design of steeplechase courses.
At the door he paused, forcing himself to swallow his anger and frustration. He would secure more cooperation with honeyed words than vinegar. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Groves. I realize this must be an unusual request.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Groves reassured him.
Which was not reassuring in the least.
Chapter Twenty
After Jeanne had spent the requisite amount of time sitting at Lady Rutherford’s bedside watching the old woman breathe and wondering whether the room might be improved with lighter draperies and bed curtains, she decided she was ready to pay a visit to the family solicitor.
As she rose, she smiled at the sleeping woman, noting with some satisfaction that she seemed even more gaunt than yesterday. Lady Rutherford might well recover, and indeed Jeanne hoped she eventually would, for Edmund always behaved more civilly in her presence. But her recovery need not come too soon, nor too easily. She should not recuperate until after Jeanne had secured her own future and punished the scoundrel who had treated her so cruelly. Both he and his mother should suffer for a time, just as she had suffered the disinterest and disrespect of society for so many endless years. But she would be more merciful than they, releasing them after a much shorter span of time.
Closing the door carefully behind her, she made her way toward the stair landing with light steps, turning back to see if her maid followed or if the unreliable girl had wandered off again.
“Good afternoon, Miss Newman.”
The smooth, masculine sound of the voice brought a smile to her lips. It was the attractive physician, come to call on Lady Rutherford again. Perhaps she had better stay a while longer yet.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Hamilton.”
He bowed. “I am sorry to see that I’ve missed your visit.”
Jeanne smiled. “No, indeed, I only just arrived. But I have need to send my maid on an errand and she has quite deserted me already. Once I’ve located her, I shall return to wait on Lady Rutherford.”
He stepped to the side to allow her to pass, then bowed once more in farewell. His smile, as his gaze traveled slowly up to meet hers once more, indicated he would be pleased with the further acquaintance.
As would she. A great many moments passed before she found herself ready to start down the stairs.
Lady Rutherford would take a great deal of time to recover. Her physician would need to visit often. It would be well for them to develop a close acquaintance.
* * * * *
The doctor had stayed a good deal longer than was necessary, she was certain. And he had enjoyed the visit. Once, he had asked Jeanne to hold a candle close to him in the darkened chamber while he inspected Lady Rutherford’s eyes. Keeping her gaze averted from the procedure, which involved a rather revolting prying open of the invalid’s eyelids, she stared instead at the doctor’s fine profile. When he finished the examination, he turned to her, no more than a breath away. “Thank you for your assistance.” Neither moved, each seeming to savor the intimacy and warmth of the other.
Nothing more could come of it, of course. Not for the time being. But now at least she knew that if she could not get this warmth from Edmund, it could indeed be found very close by.
Physicians, however distinguished their university degrees, did not accumulate sufficient wealth from their endeavors. So pecuniary arrangements must be secured first.
She withdrew. “The afternoon grows late and I have an errand of business to attend. So I am afraid I must depart now.”
“I hope to see you again, Miss Newman.”
“I am sure you shall.” She loaded her parting smile with all the desires she could not yet put to voice.
* * * * *
Damnation. It was indeed late in the afternoon—Jeanne had grown careless in her enjoyment of the doctor’s mild flirtations and now the solicitor might have left his chambers by the time she reached Lincoln’s Inn.
Lamplighters were at work in the streets as they approached, but the presence of lighted candles in the windows of the Inn’s chambers indicated that some, at least, still remained at work inside.
As luck would have it, Mr. Stansbury himself remained in his chambers with one lone clerk.
“Ah, Miss Newman. Please, do sit down. I am afraid I do not have much to offer in the way of refreshment, but Wilson could manage a cup of tea, I daresay. May I offer you such?”
Jeanne eyed the young clerk. It would be helpful to have him out of the way without making a pointed demand for privacy. Even though she loathed tea. “Yes, thank you. I would be grateful.”
“Now, then,” he began after she seated herself, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”
She leaned forward and glanced back to make sure the clerk had busied himself at some distance from them. “I have come to speak to you concerning my relationship with Lord Rutherford.”
He nodded gravely. “I have been expecting this. Under the circumstances, I think no one could blame you for wishing to end the engagement.”
“Oh, no, you misunderstand me, sir. It was my mother’s most heartfelt wish that I marry the son of her dearest friend, Lady Rutherford. I intend to fulfill that wish at all costs.”
Mr. Stansbury squinted at her through his glasses. “But the gentleman in question has demonstrated a severe…imbalance of personality. Surely your mother would not have consigned you to a life with him, had she but known of it.”
“To the contrary, Mr. Stansbury. I believe she would have considered it my duty to marry him and take care of him with quiet discretion. Indeed, my aunt has encouraged me to do so.” Admittedly that was before he had been committed to an asylum, but she saw no need to divulge that additional bit of information.
“But it could be some time—a great many years, in fact—before he is well enough to marry.”
She cast her gaze down, willing herself to look sad. “Yes, I do realize that.” Then she looked straight into the solicitor’s eyes. “Which is why I have come to you with a rather unusual request.”
“Oh?”
“But first, I should like to know who will decide when Ed-Lord Rutherford is fit to leave the asylum.”
“The doctors make such a determination.”
“And in the meantime, as his solicitor, do you make decisions on his behalf?”
“Only until such time as the Chancellor rules on the
writ de idiota inquirendo
. If he is declared
non compos mentis
, which declaration is unfortunately expected, then the person and property of Lord Rutherford will be committed to the care of his next friend, called his ‘committee’.”
Jeanne leaned in closer. “I should like to be made Lord Rutherford’s committee.”
The solicitor looked askance, his glasses sliding all the way down to the tip of his nose so that when he looked through them, his gaze pointed straight at Jeanne’s chest. “That would be most irregular.”
“I agree, but then, this is a most irregular circumstance, is it not?” Jeanne leaned forward to give the man a better view. “I assume that such duty would normally fall to his closest relation—is that not true?”