An Earl Like No Other (22 page)

 

Despite intermittent efforts to distract herself from worry with trivial tasks, Kate had spent most of this day fretting, and most of it in Lady Elinor's company. She was grateful for the older woman's companionship. By mid-afternoon, the two of them had moved into the family drawing room where Lady Elinor reclined on a couch and Kate sat in a nearby chair—when she sat. Jack's terse report that the rescue mission was a success had lifted a load of worry, but anxiety still clawed at her.

“You will surely wear that carpet right down to the boards beneath with all that pacing,” Lady Elinor told her. “Come, dear. Let's have another chapter of Mrs. Edgeworth's novel now that we know the children are safe.”

Kate gave a rueful laugh and glanced at the clock on the mantel yet again. “You're right. I just wish we could brush away minutes as we brush away dust. I hate this waiting.”

“I know, dear, but ‘they also serve who only stand and wait.' ”

“I doubt this kind of waiting is what Milton had in mind. Ah, well—” Kate sat and opened the book. “Now, where were we? ‘Chapter four . . .' ”

In the early evening, the two women were having yet another cup of tea when they at last heard the carriage arrive. Dashing into the foyer, Kate was astonished to see Jeremy enter carrying a sleeping Ned in his arms, with Cassie walking beside them. Both children were still dressed in their nightclothes, though their captors had taken time to put shoes on them and find outer coats for them. Kate's eyes immediately riveted on the plaster cast on her son's arm.

“Oh!” she gasped, reaching to touch Ned's head. “He's hurt! Jack did not tell us—”

“His arm was broken when the carriage overturned, but he's fine now. He truly is,” Jeremy assured her.

“Why is he unconscious?”

“Dr. Ferris gave him a very small dose of laudanum to ease the pain as he set the bone. Ned will sleep for quite some time, even though Ferris was careful about the amount for a child. Now, let us get our patient into his own room and I will tell you the entire story.”

“Of course.” Kate dutifully stepped aside and quickly enfolded Cassie in a tight hug. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Yes, ma'am. Ned was very brave. He didn't cry much at all, did he, Papa?”

“You were both very brave,” Jeremy said, starting up the stairs, “and we are very proud of you.”

“We was real scared,” Cassie said in a sober tone. “The carriage, it was going real fast. I think Miss Cranstan was scared, too, but she was real mean an' that old man, he was even meaner. He hit Ned! An' said he'd get more when we got where we was going. An' then the carriage went even faster an' there was shots an' then the carriage turned over an' we was all tangled together an' then Papa got us out. I was
so-o-o
glad to see Papa.”

“I am sure you were.” Although still concerned for Ned and anxious to see him cared for, Kate could not help being both alarmed and amused by Cassie's account and hugged her again.

They arrived at the nursery wing to find both Rosie and Nell waiting for them, though Rosie had been told Nell would take her place until Rosie herself was fully recovered from the blow she had suffered that morning. Kate was sure the proud Rosie was not about to give her place in the nursery even to her own sister.

Kate rushed ahead into Ned's room and turned down the covers on his bed. When Jeremy lowered his small form, she bent to kiss Ned's cheek and ran her hands over the rest of his body, careful not to jar his broken arm. Touching him was as important as seeing him in this miracle of his return.

“Is Ned going to bed in his shoes?” Cassie asked from the foot of the bed.

Jeremy chuckled. “No. We must not allow him to do that.” He removed the boy's shoes and tucked Ned's legs under the covers.

“When is he going to wake up?” Cassie demanded. “We have things to talk about.”

Kate exchanged a glance with Jeremy and they both smiled at Cassie's very adult proclamation. As Jeremy gently pushed his daughter toward the door, he said, “Ned will not wake up for a while—when he does, you will be in bed asleep yourself. You can talk to him in the morning. Now, let's have Nell get you a bath and some supper. And where do you suppose that infernal kitten has hidden all day?” He turned at the door and mouthed
I'll be back
to Kate.

Cassie giggled. “Oh, Papa! Lady Lobo isn't 'fernal. There she is!” She scooped the kitten into her arms and danced around with it, saying, “I missed you so much!”

“I'll be back later to read you a story,” Jeremy said, turning his daughter over to Nell.

Kate had seen most of this father-daughter colloquy and heard all of it through the open door of Ned's room. She sat in a chair near the head of his bed so she could reach to touch his warm cheek or straighten already smoothed blankets.

Jeremy came in and stood near her. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Ferris said it would be good if he would sleep for several hours—maybe sleep through the worst of the pain. It was a clean break, he said, and should heal nicely. Ned really was very brave the whole time—just gritted his teeth and endured. I've known grown men to be far less stoic in the face of pain.”

Kate looked up at him through tears in her eyes. “Thank you for bringing my child back to me.”

He pulled her to her feet and stood, just holding her close. “Mine too,” he said softly, “but it's over now.”

She nodded her head against his chest, then lifted her tear-filled gaze to his. “I—I don't know why I am such a watering pot. I did not cry all day! And now they are safe.... It doesn't make sense!”

“Relief?”

He lifted her chin to shower soft kisses on her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, and finally her lips. It was a tender whisper of a kiss—at first. Then she reached her arms around his neck, her hands in his hair, her body straining to blend with his, and kissed him back fiercely. She felt his body immediately respond, but he stepped back: reluctantly, it seemed to her.

“Come, Kate. Ned is safe now and he will probably sleep through the night.”

She felt bereft at the separation, but assumed a normal tone. “What if Wynstan tries to snatch him again?”

“He won't. At least not for a while. The duke was injured in the accident.”

“Badly?”

“I don't know. He was still unconscious when I left, but the doctor was with him. Now, come. Nell and Rosie will keep watch here and call us if we are needed. Aunt Elinor will be anxious to hear what happened.”

Kate bent to kiss Ned's warm cheek again, overwhelmed by the fact that he was, indeed, safe. The fear and nearly unbearable tension of this day was over.

Back in the drawing room they found Lady Elinor exactly as Jeremy had described her: anxious to hear the news.

Jeremy poured sherry at an oak sideboard, and passed glasses to Kate and his aunt. “I think we've all earned this.”

He settled himself into one of two wing-backed chairs flanking a small oak table, on which sat a porcelain lamp and an eight-inch-tall jade figurine. Kate occupied the matching chair and Lady Elinor sat across from them on a settee with worn upholstery but magnificently carved wooden arms and legs. Jeremy launched into an account of the rescue mission.

He had just finished by saying, “Thank God for Robert's military expertise. It helped tremendously.”

“Did I just hear my name taken in vain?” Robert asked, entering the room with Lawrence and Phillips right behind him.

Jeremy laughed and rose to greet them. “Not at all. In fact, I was singing your praises. May I get you fine fellows something to drink?”

Robert eyed the sherry glasses and affected a Scots brogue. “Hmm. Perhaps a wee dram of the brew of the Scot?”

“Coming right up.” Jeremy poured three generous glasses of whiskey and handed them to the newcomers. Robert sat next to his aunt and the other two sank into overstuffed chairs nearby.

“How's my favorite girl?” Robert asked his aunt flirtatiously.

“My dear boy,” she said in a loud stage whisper, “you have that bit of blather down very pat now, so you can stop practicing on an old woman.”

Robert grinned and shrugged and the others laughed.

“So, what is the latest?” Jeremy asked, reseating himself.

Robert's demeanor sobered. “The magistrate is holding an informal hearing later in the week. We have to be there. The Bow Street Runner had intended to return to London today, but when he heard what happened here this morning, he stayed on.”

“I never cease to be amazed at the speed with which news travels in the country,” Phillips said.

“What did the doctor say about Wynstan?” Jeremy asked.

Robert sipped his drink and said, “That news is not good at all. The man is paralyzed.”

“Oh, dear,” Lady Elinor said and Kate drew in a sharp breath.

“He regained consciousness while the doctor was examining him just after you left,” Robert said to Jeremy. “He can move his arms, doc says, and has only slight difficulty breathing, but he has no feeling in his legs at all.”

Kate drew in another sharp breath. She had no love for her father-in-law, but such a condition would be intolerable for a man of his temperament.

“Is it permanent?” Jeremy asked, and Kate thought he too had a shred of sympathy for the man who had been so ruthlessly indifferent to the feelings of others.

“Doc couldn't say for sure,” Robert answered. “Too early, but he thought the prognosis was not good. He did not tell the duke—not yet, anyway. I suppose Wynstan will figure that out for himself soon enough.” Robert's tone had become rather bleak—and Kate recognized it as the voice of a man who had seen too many battlefield wounds.

“How very, very sad,” Lady Elinor said.

“I agree: it
is
sad,” Lawrence said, “and mine may be an extreme view, but it does make one think of the hand of God, Providence, fate—or poetic justice.”

Everyone was quiet for several moments after this comment; then Robert drained his glass and set it on a low table in front of the settee. “Am I the only one of us who is famished? We left before breakfast and did not have much in the way of lunch,” he said apologetically to the ladies.

Kate jumped up. “I can remedy that problem.”

“Kate, I did not mean—” Robert started.

“No. No.” She assured him. “I am so immensely grateful to you—to all of you.” Her gaze swept over the four men, but rested on Jeremy. She wrenched her eyes away. “I'll check with cook right away.”

T
he next day was relatively quiet at Kenrick Hall as everyone seemed to be adjusting to the near-tragedy of the previous day and the change in status of the Hall's housekeeper.
It's like the whole of Kenrick has put on a new cloak,
Kate thought,
and is trying to see how it fits.
She was glad to see Ned already on the mend and enjoying being the center of attention, but she was still worried about his future. Her worry extended also to Jeremy. She most assuredly did not want to be the cause of any setbacks in his plans for his own future. She invited Mr. Phillips and Major Lawrence to join her for a stroll in the garden.

“I need your advice,” she said without preamble, “on what to do about Ned and since you are his guardians—”

“I just assumed he would be staying here with you,” Lawrence said.

Phillips abruptly stopped walking and faced her and Lawrence. “Are you suggesting that Kenrick will not have your son here when you marry? That does not sound like the Jeremy I know.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “Lord Kenrick has been very kind, but I—we—cannot stay here.”

“But your betrothal—” Lawrence started.

“Is a sham. It was a plan Jer—Lord Kenrick concocted to divert gossip after Wynstan made—uh—certain comments. There seems no need for that diversion now.”

“A sham?” Phillips repeated. “Are you sure Jeremy views it as such?”

“Oh, yes. We agreed that after a suitable time I could cry off.”

“Sounds a little havey-cavey to me,” Lawrence said, then walked on in thoughtful silence for a moment. Finally, he added, “I would invite you and Ned to stay with me, but, as you know, mine is also a bachelor household. And one without a Lady Elinor in residence.”

“I had thought again of perhaps removing to the United States or to Canada,” she said tentatively.

“Out of the question,” Lawrence said flatly. “The boy must be educated as an Englishman.”

“Well,” Phillips said, “you
might
set up a household of your own, hire a companion, two or three servants, and a tutor for the boy . . .” His voice trailed off.

“I have funds enough for that?” She was surprised.

Phillips coughed. “You do now. I took the liberty of investing the funds Arthur left in the same cargo venture I talked Jeremy into. This is the first chance I have had to tell you.”

“You did this without consulting me?”

She had steered them to the wicker furniture where she often sat to read with Lady Elinor. She sank into a chair at the glass-topped table and waited for a response from Phillips, who seemed embarrassed as he and Lawrence took matching chairs.

“I—uh—well, you see, if it hadn't worked out, I would have restored the funds myself.”

“Thus making me a charity case,” she said.

“But you would never have known. I—I thought of it as taking care of Arthur's business—of his family.”

Kate reached to grasp his hand. “I appreciate that—truly, I do. And I know you had the legal authority to do it, but, all the same, I should like to have been consulted.”

“My wife said you would feel that way.”

“As Ned's guardians, would you be amenable to my living independently?” Kate asked.

“Where?” Lawrence sounded skeptical.

“London, perhaps—or on the outskirts of the city. Some place in Sussex?”

“Ned seems very content here,” Phillips observed.

“Sussex is rather far away,” Lawrence said. “I don't fancy a three-day journey every time I've a notion to visit my godson. And he
will
require the presence of some male in his life besides a tutor.”

“London, then,” she said.

They left it at that for the nonce, but Kate found herself as torn as ever. She was thrilled to know that she did have options. On the other hand, Phillips was right: Ned was very content. For the first time since leaving the army life behind, he seemed totally carefree and happy—as children should be, she told herself. He had access to horses and other animals that would be difficult to achieve in London. And he had playmates—in Cassie, of course, but also Porter's younger children and there were others. Of course he might make friends anywhere. Still, Lawrence was right: A boy needed a man to emulate—and always, when such a thought hit her, it was Jeremy's image that leapt to mind.

Accepting Jeremy's proposal was, of course, a perfect solution so far as Ned was concerned. A part of her wanted to grasp at that remedy. Another part resented always being subject to the whim and control of others. And there was another factor to consider: Yes, marriage would serve her material interests, but would it really serve Jeremy's interests? How damaging might a somewhat scandalous liaison be for him?

 

The day following what Kate thought of as their “down” day, the men had gone off on their own and were not expected back until evening. Kate and Lady Elinor were at home to visitors making morning calls in the afternoon. With her identity no longer a secret in the neighborhood, Kate was to be a fixture in the Kenrick drawing room whenever visitors were present, her position elevated to honored guest and affianced bride. Among the first of their callers was Mrs. Hartwick, accompanied by the elderly widow, Mrs. Clarkson, and her spinster daughter, Miss Clarkson.

“The Clarksons are two of the most dedicated gossips is our area—perhaps in all Yorkshire,” Lady Elinor confided quietly to Kate after telling Wilkins she and Kate would receive the ladies in the formal drawing room. It was larger and more elaborately furnished than the comfortable room the family usually chose. A marvelous ceiling painted by a well-known artist of the previous century depicted the gods assembled for the wedding of Thetis and Peleus just before the spoilsport Eris tossed the golden apple in their midst. The dominant colors in the brocade furniture and embossed wallpaper were beige, gold, and a deep rose. An Aubusson carpet had obviously been commissioned especially for this room.

“Oh, my dear Lady Elinor,” Mrs. Hartwick gushed on entering, “we simply had to call to see how you are getting on. So much excitement! A betrothal! An attempted abduction! One hardly knows how to begin to absorb it all.”

“May I present my guest, Lady Arthur,” Lady Elinor said, making the newcomers known to Kate.

Kate was amused at the intensity of the ever-so-polite inspection they accorded her. The Clarkson women turned matching dark, beady eyes on her. Mother and daughter, they certainly were, with the mother in her seventies and the daughter in her fifties. Both had long, sharp noses; each wore her black, graying hair in a no-nonsense bun; they were attired in nearly identical dark dresses trimmed with touches of white lace at the necks and wrists. Kate's initial impression of curious crows was intensified by their shared habit of bobbing their heads as they spoke.

“Lady Arthur,” the three murmured acknowledgements in cultured tones even as they scrutinized her dress and posture.

Kate played the game for Lady Elinor's sake, responding to inane comments about unseasonably warm weather and answering with a straight face that yes, indeed, she was enjoying her “visit” at Kenrick Hall. Or, at least she had done so until her son's accident.

The visitors clucked sympathetically. “Such an unfortunate affair,” Mrs. Hartwick said, clearly anticipating juicy details.

Kate and Lady Elinor fed them the story concocted at the breakfast table that morning: It was all a terrible misunderstanding. Somehow the duke had got it into his head that Lady Arthur was trying to deprive him of access to his grandson. The duke, well-known to be a man of firm opinions and decisive actions, had impetuously taken matters into his own hands. Yes, yes. It was, indeed, unfortunate, for it might have been resolved in a most civilized manner. And now a man had died, the duke was injured, and there was to be an inquiry—just when folks at Kenrick Hall had been anticipating the joyous occasion of a wedding in the family.

This shift in subject brought an additional gleam of curiosity in Mrs. Hartwick's eyes. She turned to Kate. “I must say, Lady Arthur, you have quite stolen the march on our local damsels.”

“Oh?” Kate murmured, all innocence.

“Quite,” Mrs. Clarkson echoed with a laugh. “After all, handsome men with titles are, as they say in the colonies, scarce as hens' teeth. You have dashed maidenly hopes in many a heart.”

Her daughter added with an arch look, “And in none more than in that of a certain knight's daughter who shall, of course, remain nameless.”

Kate ignored this sally. She had no wish to discuss what she knew or had heard of Miss Charlotte Mortimer's designs on the Earl of Kenrick.

That first visit set the tone and pattern for the next two hours as it seemed every woman of any consequence in the entire parish had to see and judge for herself the figure at the center of a maelstrom of gossip. Kate endured and forbore making the caustic remarks that seemed to pop into her mind like a fisherman's bobbing cork.

When the last of the visitors had departed after spending their conventional fifteen minutes, Lady Elinor said, “Tomorrow we must go into town and procure proper clothing for you.”

“What is wrong with this? Besides . . .” Kate swallowed the retort.

“ ‘Besides'—how do I know? My dear Kate, while my eyesight is certainly failing, it is by no means gone. I cannot read or do fine needlework anymore, but I still see colors and silhouettes. I'll not have you judged by these tabbies.”

“I do not wish to expend my limited funds on buying new gowns.”

Lady Elinor held up a quieting hand. “Since this charade is largely Jeremy's idea—if, indeed, it is a charade—he can stand the expense of a few gowns and dresses.”

Not wanting to discuss with his aunt or anyone else the nature of her relationship with Jeremy, Kate said, “Well, if you think it absolutely necessary. . .”

“I absolutely do.”

 

Jeremy and Robert had taken their guests out hunting in the morning, then ridden into town for lunch at the inn. As the four men entered the establishment, Mr. Finley came forward, wiping his hands on his apron. A boy was adding coal to a low fire on the hearth.

“My lord, gentlemen. Have you come to check on the duke?”

Jeremy responded. “Actually we came for lunch, but how is he faring?”

Sending the boy to inform Mrs. Finley of paying customers, the innkeeper answered, “The duke is not well. Not well at all. Doc told me he is sure the paralysis is permanent, but he's not yet told his grace that bit of distressing news. The patient does not seem to be in a great deal of pain, but he yells and complains something fierce—about simply everything.”

“I am sorry you and Mrs. Finley have been saddled with his care,” Jeremy said.

“Well, now, we haven't. Not really.”

“Who. . . ?”

“That Cranstan woman and his grace's valet. They see to his personal care.”

“Cranstan? Are you telling me the magistrate released her from custody?”

Finley chuckled. “No, my lord. He had the blacksmith attach a bracelet to her wrist; at night it is fastened by a chain to the oak post of her bed. She can get around quite a distance, but she ain't goin' nowhere. During the day she‘s allowed freedom of movement; she's watched all the time, you know.”

“How does she take that?”

“As you might expect. Moaning and grumbling. But I think she's real scared about what might happen to her.”

“As well she should be,” Robert said.

“Has she had visitors?” Jeremy asked.

“Not a one. Squire Dennison informed Sir Eldridge Mortimer of her whereabouts that first evening too.” Finley ushered his four guests to a table by the window.

“Interesting . . .” Jeremy murmured, but he let the subject drop as the four of them delved into Mrs. Finley's shepherd's pie and her husband's local brew.

“I missed English pub food in the Peninsula,” Robert announced after a few bites.

“Amen,” Lawrence echoed.

“Didn't find much of it on the American frontier, either,” Jeremy said, “though I must say an Arapaho feast after a buffalo hunt is an experience not easily forgot.” At the urging of his companions, he launched into a description of the hunt and the rituals before and after it.

“They actually smear paint on themselves? Everyone?” Lawrence asked.

“Everyone participating in the hunt.”

“You too?” Robert asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yes. Of course. When in Rome . . .”

“I should like to have seen that,” his brother said. “Perhaps one day you can show us—say, for a masquerade in London.”

“Mr. Logan told us how he found you living among the savages,” Phillips said, “but he was of the opinion that you had managed to preserve a measure of the civilized man.”

Jeremy was dismayed at the direction the conversation was taking. “A masquerade? Never. That would be disrespectful of people I came to admire. And I rather take exception to the word
savages
. True, the style of life—nomadic, controlled by forces of nature—can be brutal, especially when judged by outsiders. But people are people. Things like honor and integrity matter.”

Phillips cleared his throat. “I meant no offense, Jeremy.”

“None taken, Wally. They are interesting people—the natives of America. But questions of brutality and savagery are wholly relative, it seems to me.”

“I'm not sure I follow you,” Phillips said, reaching for the pitcher to replenish his glass, then offer it to others.

“Well, think on it,” Jeremy insisted. “In England we have men—and women too—working twelve hours and more a day in our mines and mills. In the winter, a miner never sees the light of day. Their pay is so miniscule that the men have to have their women working too, and they must put their children to work when they are still babes—barely out of their nappies.”