A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (10 page)

Ramsey bowed. “Henry went up to feed them, my lady, and he claims they ambushed him in order to escape.”

“They missed me, no doubt.” Grandmama Agnes retrieved another of the purring animals. “Come, my dears,” she cooed, climbing the stairs, “Mama Agnes will find you some cream.”

A trail of cats ascended the stairway behind her. With an amused snort Michael set Cotton down, and the kitten clambered up after them. “How many are there now?”

“At least a dozen.” Theresa sighed. “I’m going up to bed.”

Her brother stepped around her to block the stairs. “What’s got you so melancholy?”

“I’m not melancholy. I’m thoughtful.”

“Also unlike you,” he countered with a teasing grin. “You know I would never seriously consider marriage to Miss Saunders.”

“I know that. I would kidnap you and lock you in the cellar if you attempted it.”

He grinned. “Now you sound like yourself. Proper, but fearsome.” Michael lightly pinched her nose as he moved out of her way. “Good night, Troll.”

“Perhaps you
should
marry Sarah,” she decided, shaking her head at him. “You would certainly appreciate my kindness and graciousness more in comparison.”

“Mmm-hmm. By the way, I’m going riding with
Gardner in the morning, if you want me to escort you over to see Leelee.”

Her breath caught, abrupt excitement coursing through her. “At what time should I be ready?”

“Nine o’clock. Frightfully early for you, I know, so I’ll understand if you—”

“I’ll be ready.” She’d thought to have to conjure an excuse to visit James House and the colonel therein, and now one had been handed to her. Little as she cared to trust in providence, this did seem rather lucky. Not for her fondness for proper behavior, but definitely for her tumbling mind.

“The physician said you were to remain in bed, Colonel.” Lackaby paused halfway through opening the bedchamber’s curtains and turned, frowning, to face the bed.

“I take anything a damned sawbones tells me with a grain of salt,” Tolly replied, shoving aside the sheets and pulling himself backward, toward the headboard. “And I’m still in bed. I’m merely sitting up in it.”

The valet squinted one eye, then returned to opening the room. “That was Arthur’s way, too. ‘No one on this damned continent outranks me, Lackaby,’ he’d say, and ‘I bloody well don’t follow anyone’s orders but my own.’”

Bartholomew lifted an eyebrow. “You called the future Duke of Wellington, Arthur?”

“Not to his face. But I suppose I can tell the story however I wish to.”

“I suppose you can.”

With a nod, Lackaby went to the dressing table
and gathered all the neatly arranged shaving items there. “Since your lady isn’t here, I reckon I can hold the mirror if your hands are steady enough to do the shaving.”

“Yes,” Tolly agreed, somewhat relieved that he wouldn’t have to have that argument again today. Then he frowned. “But she’s not my lady.”

“No? It looked…well, never mind that, then. Whose lady is she?”

Bartholomew was fairly certain that servants weren’t supposed to pry—at least it had been that way the last time he’d been in England. Even so, he didn’t precisely give a damn. “She’s her own lady, I’m fairly certain. And my brother is wed to her cousin.”

“Ah. So she’s family.”

Oh, she was definitely not family. At least he had never for an instant thought of her as a relation. In fact, persons who thought about their family members the way he continually thought about her could be arrested for it. “Yes, family,” he said aloud, deciding he didn’t care to explain how or why the broken, battered weed was lusting after the Season’s fairest flower.

He flexed his toes again, as he had been doing every ten minutes or so during every waking hour. The motion still hurt, but less sharply now. Either that or he was simply becoming accustomed to the new pain, as he had to the old.

Lackaby leaned in to eye his knee. “I think the swelling’s gone down a bit,” the valet observed, handing over the brush and soap. “Your brother the viscount means to purchase you a wheeled chair.”

Anger stabbed through him. “Does he now? Why doesn’t he purchase me a damned headstone and be done with it?”

“A headstone’s less maneuverable at soirees,” the valet returned, holding out the cup of soapy water and the brush.

“You have a very clever tongue, Lackaby,” Tolly snapped. “Keep it between your teeth.”

With a slight bow, Lackaby angled the mirror so that Tolly could begin shaving. “Yes, Colonel.”

The process took longer than usual, but then his arm kept becoming fatigued and succumbing to the shakes. By the time Lackaby collected the razor and handed over a towel, Bartholomew was ready to lie down for a rest again. Clenching his jaw, he kept his seat.

“Dr. Prentiss says you are to have only tea, a beef broth, and toasted bread,” the servant commented as he replaced items on the dressing table. “What shall I fetch you for breakfast, then?”

“Tea, toasted bread, and a poached egg or two.” He didn’t have much of an appetite this morning, but he had no intention of remaining in bed for a second longer than he had to.

“Very good.” The valet didn’t bat an eye. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Once Lackaby vanished, Bartholomew swung his good leg over the edge of the bed and reached over for the cane someone had left behind a chair. “Damnation,” he muttered, glaring at the polished stick of stout, scorched ash. His third leg, decidedly out of his reach.

“You even curse when no one else can hear you?” the cheerful female voice came from the doorway. “That’s very dedicated of you.”

He lowered his hand. Warmth eased through him, from his shoulders down to his toes. It felt as if the room had suddenly become bathed in sunlight. “I’ve already shaved,” he said, as Theresa Weller swirled into the room, all sparkling eyes and yellow muslin gown. “Apologies, but I didn’t know how far afield your services to the wretched might take you.”

“Hmm.” With a coy smile she walked up to the side of the bed and leaned in to run her forefinger along his cheek. “Very smooth,” she said, her voice oddly pitched.

That was bloody well enough of that. Bartholomew grabbed her hand. “I think I warned you about teasing me,” he murmured.

“Don’t kiss me; it’s not seemly,” she returned, placing her free hand on his shoulder and leaning in to brush her lips against his.

And he’d thought to be the aggressor. Bartholomew drew her forward to sit across his thighs, lifting his hands to cup her pretty face. Whatever the devil was wrong with her, she seemed to like him—and he hoped with an odd fierceness that nothing would happen to alter her opinion.

She moaned softly, the sound spearing through him. Abruptly the ten months he’d been celibate felt like years, and he shifted. For a great while he’d never expected to want anyone ever again, but Theresa Weller decimated that thought with no more than a sigh and a kiss.

A male throat cleared from the doorway. With a stifled yelp, Theresa leaped off his lap. Pain tore through his knee as he tried to catch his balance. “Damnation,” he rasped.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!” Tess, her cheeks flushed, clutched her fingers into his shoulder as though she thought he would fall out of the bed. “I forgot.”

His attention immediately arrested, Tolly looked up at her. “So did I.”

Her smile drove away every shadow in the room. “Then I take it back. I’m not sorry.”

“Should I go out and come in again?” Lackaby asked. A large tray of food in his arms, the grinning servant looked from Tolly to Tess.

“No. And stop bloody grinning, you cheeky bastard,” Bartholomew ordered.

“One thing’s been clarified,” the valet said, coming forward to fold down the tray’s short legs and set it across Bartholomew’s vacated lap. “You ain’t family.”

“I’ll see to feeding him, Lackaby,” Tess commented. “Will you fetch me some tea?”

His satisfaction with the kiss fading, Tolly frowned. “I’m not helpless. Not today, at any rate.”

“Then pretend you’re making me feel helpful.” She gave him an assessing look, then reach out to tug on a lock of his dark hair. God, he hadn’t been so intimate with anyone in months.

Bartholomew glanced at Lackaby. “You heard her. Get some bloody tea for the chit.”

Lackaby saluted and vanished out the door. “You know,” she said immediately, brushing a finger along the edge of the mattress, “if you weren’t bedridden I wouldn’t be able to sit here with you.”

He swallowed. “Seems a shame, then, to waste the moment.” Reaching out one damnably unsteady hand, he gripped her wandering fingers. “You are rather compelling, Theresa,” he murmured, “even to a man half dead.”

Her cheeks darkened. “Thank you.” Clearing her throat, she eyed Bartholomew’s overflowing breakfast tray. “That looks…ambitious,” she commented.

It was. “I requested eggs and toast, which was more than Dr. Prentiss recommended. I can only assume that Lackaby is attempting to kill me.” He gestured at the chair still resting beside the bed. “I don’t suppose you’d care for any of this.”

Tess grinned again, the expression lighting her gray-green eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

So she wouldn’t take the hint and kiss him again, but she would share his plate. That was something, anyway—though he wasn’t quite certain what it all meant. At the moment he was more than willing to take the time to figure it out.

As Lackaby returned with a tea tray, Amelia and Violet appeared in the doorway. He knew they weren’t there because of the kiss, since neither of his female relations looked ready to shoot anyone. At least Lackaby knew when to hold his tongue, then. Perhaps he and the valet would make do, after all.

“Tess!” Amelia exclaimed. “Lackaby said you were here.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, around a mouthful of sweetbread. “I came with Michael. I didn’t think you’d risen yet.”

“Of course,” Amelia said, in a highly skeptical voice. “Might I have a word with you, cousin?”

Theresa nodded. “Certainly.” As she stood, she placed a hand on the headboard and leaned closer to Tolly. “I have some news for you, as well,” she whispered, her voice pitched so that only he would be able to hear it. “And you won’t like it.”

As long as the news wasn’t that she’d decided to stop calling on him, he didn’t much care what it might be.

T
heresa followed Amelia into the upstairs hallway of James House. “What is it?” she asked.

“What are you doing?” Her cousin glanced toward Tolly’s open bedchamber door and retreated a few additional steps. “Aside from sharing breakfast with my brother-in-law.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Theresa shrugged. “I think Tolly is interesting, and quite witty when he’s not spitting profanity at everyone. And he’s stuck in bed. Shouldn’t he have some friends to keep him company?”

“Yes, he should. But you aren’t one of them.”

Theresa frowned. “I have to disagree. In fact, I’ve
likely exchanged more conversation with him than you have, and you sleep across the hallway from him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Amelia returned, her jaw tight. “And frankly, I find him a bit frightening.”

“Well, that’s the difference, then. I don’t find him frightening.”

“You should.”

Resisting the urge to stomp her foot and fold her arms across her chest, Theresa gazed at her cousin and dearest friend. “Are you asking me to leave him be? Because if you are, I hope you have a better reason than the fact that a man who’s fought and been wounded for his country gives you the shivers.”

“It’s not that. For heaven’s sake.” Amelia took a breath. “People talk, Tess. You know that. And with even a hint of…peculiarity about the incident, people stay away from him. You, however, are balancing how many suitors now?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Several.”

“You’re quite popular, and you’re generally so careful of your reputation. But you’re not married yet. If you stand too long with Tolly, all of your beaux will go elsewhere. What will you do then?”

A slight shiver of uneasiness ran through her, and she shoved it away again. She’d worked so hard for so long at behaving. She’d never been tempted before to kiss rogues. Why did Tolly have that power over her? “You’re being ridiculous,” she said aloud. “I enjoy jesting with your brother-in-law. No one will hold that against me. In fact, you should be thanking me. Heaven knows he could stand to recall some manners.”

“Something which most everyone has noted.”

She didn’t mention the kissing, or the fact that while she did feel like they were becoming friends, it wasn’t friendship that had her waking up with her first thought being that she would see Tolly James that day. “I think I know what’s acceptable and what isn’t,” she said aloud. “In fact, sitting with a wounded soldier is much more admirable than ignoring him. This is practically a duty.”

Amelia looked at her skeptically. “Who are you attempting to convince?”

“I’m already convinced. And perhaps I’m just a bit…tired of frivolity. Tolly’s not overly concerned with the state of his cravat, for example.” That was a large part of his attraction, in fact, now that she considered it. Lionel or Francis might see picking the Derby winner as the most telling moment of a lifetime, but Tolly’s world was much larger than that. His experience colored their every conversation. And their every kiss.

“So you’ve operated on him, shaved him, and now you intend to feed him?” Amelia was saying, her expression still unconvinced.

“Yes.”

“He has a valet.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone else to hold a sharp implement close to his throat.”

“But he trusts you?”

Blood rushed just beneath her skin. “I suppose he does.”

“Why?”

Theresa shrugged. “All I’ve done is speak plainly to him. Perhaps he appreciates honesty.”

“I don’t think that’s all he appreciates.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Her cousin took a deep breath. “Men adore you, Tess. Why shouldn’t he be one of them? I know he’s handsome, but as I recall you’ve been keeping a journal on proper behavior for the past thirteen years. This doesn’t seem to fit into any chapter you’ve published.”

“Then perhaps I need to put it into my new booklet.”

Amelia had a very good point, whether Theresa meant to acknowledge it or not. She didn’t go about feeding and shaving and bantering with other unacceptable men. How was she supposed to reconcile this…obsession with Tolly James to the generally accepted rules of proper behavior? Because spending time with him didn’t seem proper, but it did feel very exhilarating.

“Do as you will, then. But keep this in mind. Stephen invited Lord Hadderly over for dinner the other night. He thought having the London head of the East India Company thank Tolly for his service and sacrifice might help his brother become more social, and it might halt those awful rumors. Hadderly declined to attend.”

Oh, dear
. “Does Tolly know that?”

“No. And please don’t tell him.”

She had enough ill news to deliver. “I won’t.”

“So what I’m saying, I suppose, is be cautious, Tess.”

Before Amelia could conjure a further argument, Theresa stepped back into the room where Bartholomew sat up in bed, his breakfast still across his lap. For a moment, she paused. This morning, and
with this man, she couldn’t seem to keep in mind that there was a possibility of disaster—much less that she might be waltzing straight into it. And that was very unlike her.

Bartholomew eyed her. “Had some sense talked into you, then?”

Theresa favored him with a mock frown. “If I listened to every bit of advice given me, I would at this moment be married to the Earl of Lorch—or rather, I would be the deceased Lady Lorch, because he’s sent two wives to the grave already in his pursuit of fathering children every other damned day.”

“I’ll give you a point for the appropriate application of profanity,” he commented.

“Thank you.” And thank goodness Leelee hadn’t heard her swearing. If it took a few curse words to put Tolly more at ease and to make her feel a bit rebellious, then so be it. She sat in the bedside chair again to finish her sweetbread and the tea at her elbow.

“Why
aren’t
you married?” Bartholomew asked abruptly. “Discounting Lorch, from my observations your suitors numbered altogether could guard the gates of Thermopylae against the invading Persians.”

She snorted. “I do not have three hundred suitors, but thank you for the analogy.”

Soft amusement touched his whiskey-colored eyes, then fled again. A few days ago she would have been hard-pressed to believe that he possessed a sense of humor, though Violet had insisted that he used to have one. Whether it was pain or guilt or something else that had kept it mostly at bay, she, for one, was
pleased to see and hear even the hint of a laugh in him. It seemed vitally important that she help him find his smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he prompted after a moment.

With a shrug she dusted crumbs from her fingers while she decided what to say. Her world was smaller than his, but he wasn’t the only one with topics he didn’t wish to discuss. “With Amelia married and moved away, my family consists of my brother, our grandmother, and me,” she finally offered. “We’re quite wealthy—and I’m not bragging; it’s merely a statistical fact. Michael has promised to support me even if he marries a shrew and I become an old spinster, so I don’t feel the need to barge wide-eyed into matrimony.”

A grin made his eyes dance. “Very nice foresight, to factor in the shrewish sister-in-law.”

“Yes, I thought so, though I don’t intend to allow him to marry anyone disagreeable.” Theresa weighed her next question. Best, though, to know the lay of the land before launching an all-out assault. She lifted an eyebrow. “Why aren’t
you
married?”

For a heartbeat he gazed at her. “I’m broken.”

“Your mouth isn’t broken. It kisses quite well, actually, if you were to ask my opinion.”

“Thank you for that, but we both know that’s not what I meant.”

Theresa folded her hands neatly in her lap. “How, then, are you broken?” she finally asked.

“Other than the obvious?”

To her relief he didn’t seem angry, and she let out the breath she’d been silently holding. How far she
could push him this morning she had no idea, but if the reward was more kisses or at least a grudging smile, she was willing to attempt it. There was something thrilling about being smitten with someone. She’d certainly never felt this way before. “Yes, other than your leg.”

He looked away, toward the window.

She gazed at his profile. “You already told me about being flung into the well.”

“And that’s enough.”

“I need to tell you something that will make you even less happy.” Theresa paused, somewhat put out that he wouldn’t confide any further in her. “There are some rumors going about that you attempted to take your own life. I suppose it’s because Dr. Prentiss came calling.”

“It’s because people would rather I wasn’t here,” he said, his mouth flattening.

“That’s a rather broad statement.”

“Step in my shoes, and see how you view things.”

Theresa narrowed her eyes. Not only did he not trust her with his tale, but he dismissed her opinion altogether. Didn’t he realize she was risking her reputation simply by associating with him? “Clearly we have had different experiences. I suppose I could make guesses about what troubles you, but I will assume that this will make you sullen again. After all, I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be responsible for someone and then survive while they perish.” Her voice shook the veriest bit, but she didn’t think he noticed.

Bartholomew sent her a sharp glance. “I’m not looking to be soothed, Theresa. But I don’t appreci
ate being cut at again, either. Not by you.” He sent his gaze back to the window. “Go find one of your suitors and jest with him.”

“Tolly.”

He ignored her.

Slapping her palms against her thighs, Theresa stood. “That,” she said quietly, “is what I meant by sullen. I suppose you should be thankful that you have the luxury to be so.” With that she left the room, collected Sally, and called for her coach.

Clearly she’d pushed too hard. He had no intention of trusting her, after all. And she wasn’t as taken with him as she’d imagined. That last conversation hadn’t been the least bit amusing. Theresa blew out her breath as she sank back in the coach. Perhaps, though, that was the point. For several years now she’d been working quite hard at being amusing and pleasant and proper. It all seemed to be wearing a bit thin.

Lackaby looked around the emptied bedchamber. “I don’t suppose you’d like me to help you finish off that lovely repast then, Colonel?”

“No. I wouldn’t.” Bartholomew continued the long line of profanity he’d begun muttering under his breath. Tess might think she knew some curse words, but she’d never been in the company of soldiers during combat.

“Finished eating?”

With another glare at the valet, Bartholomew nodded. Their conversation had been proceeding well; hell, he’d even made her laugh. And then she’d…what, exactly? She’d given him ill news,
then called him sullen, which he undoubtedly was. In fact, he had little objection to that description. No, Theresa Weller had said, whether jestingly or not, that she understood what he’d been through. As if a wealthy, well-born chit with a million suitors could understand anything about pain and fear and death.

The valet removed the tray from the bed. “Might I fetch you a book or something?” he asked, apparently unaffected by the continuing stream of profanity.

“Hand me my cane, and make yourself scarce.”

Lackaby drew a breath in through his nose. “I can certainly depart, Colonel, but I’ll be sacked if I hand you that stick.”

“I’ll sack you if you don’t.”

“You don’t pay my salary.”

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. “Then fetch me my brother.”

“Gone riding, sir.”

This torture was all beginning to seem very intentional. “Violet?”

“Walking.”

Bartholomew took a breath of his own. “My sister-in-law, then.”

“I’ll fetch her, Colonel.” Turning smartly on his heel, the valet marched out of the room, more than likely devouring the remainder of his master’s breakfast as he went.

As soon as the man was gone, Bartholomew pulled himself sideways to the edge of the bed. The cane was well out of reach now, at least ten feet away. Matched against how badly he wanted to be out of the house and at least free to hobble about the garden, though, it seemed worth the effort.

He swung his good leg over the edge of the bed and placed his bare foot solidly on the floor. For just a second, he closed his eyes. Of course it would hurt; it always hurt. That hadn’t stopped him thus far.

“Don’t you dare!”

The sharp voice actually froze him for a moment, and he looked up, feeling for a heartbeat like a boy caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. “Lady Gardner.”

Stephen’s petite, blonde wife stalked into the room. “Get back into that bed at once!”

He could of course ignore the order. As he fully expected to end up crawling on the floor until he could reach his cane, however, he would certainly appear more pitiful than defiant. Narrowing his eyes for effect, Bartholomew swung his good leg back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Visibly squaring her shoulders, the viscountess continued forward more calmly. “Now. What is it I may do for you?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grunted. “Apologies. Good day.”

“I see.” Glancing about the room, her gaze settled on the book Tess had left on the bed stand. “Perhaps I’ll just sit here and read for a bit. I like to mumble, you see, and that’s considered very poor manners. Here I can pretend I’m reading to you, and no one will be the wiser.”

“And what did I do to merit this bit of charity?” Bartholomew asked, beginning to wonder if insanity ran through Lord Weller’s family.

“You ran Tess out of the house.”

That stopped him for a moment. “You don’t like
your cousin? I was under the impression that you two were very like sisters.”

“Oh, we are.”

“Then what—”

She settled on the chair and opened the book to the page Tess had marked. “Nothing oversets Theresa. Not since she was ten. No one corners her, no one outsmarts her, no one shocks her, and nothing baffles or unsettles her.” Lady Gardner glanced up. “Until you, apparently.”

Hmm
. “So I’m supposed to be…proud of the fact that I flummoxed an unflappable chit?” Splendid. No one else ever upset her, and yet he’d managed to do so. And quite easily.