Chasing the Heiress (22 page)

“It seems Colin hasn't explained to you about our betrothal. I've chastised him already.”

“Please, Lady Emmeline, no explanation is necessary. I'm simply Somerville's nurse, ensuring that he does not fall ill. But he is well on his way to recovery and very soon will have no need of a nurse.”

“Lucy. Stop. I've known Colin almost my whole life. I know his nature, his character, even the kinds of women he prefers in his bed.”

Lucy's heart caught. Em spoke with a gentle generosity, a woman who had been wronged but had learned to accept it.

“He's told you about his lovers?” Lucy prayed silently that Colin hadn't confessed his affair with her.

“Well, he didn't wish to, but I insisted. Women are so disadvantaged in being kept unaware of such things. For a man his age, there haven't been many, not as you might expect. He kept a mistress for several years, a girl from his father's estate who had been sent away for a liaison with one of the guests. She had been forced to submit, and Colin didn't like her suffering for it. But that was some time ago; she's a milliner now. Lovely hats. Besides, how was I to learn anything without someone to tell me? He even taught me to kiss when we were, oh, sixteen, I think.”

“He what?” Lucy felt disoriented.

“Oh, I threatened him into it.” Em laughed gently at the memory.

“Threatened?” Something had gone awry in the conversation, and Lucy couldn't quite identify what.

“Of course we had to be careful about it, or we would have been married straightaway.”

Mistresses. Hats. Kissing. Em related it all as if it had no real significance. Nothing Em was saying made any sort of reasonable sense.

“Which leads to the betrothal.” Em said with finality.

“Lady Emmeline, please. This is none of my concern.”

Em stopped in the middle of the path and faced Lucy, studying her face steadily for several seconds. “No,” Em said softly, “it is exactly your concern.” She spoke deliberately, her eyes never leaving Lucy's. “Listen to me: Colin and I, we are not betrothed, nor have we ever been. It's been a game between us. Because it matters to you, I will tell you the truth of it. But you must promise to keep our secret. Stella would make my life quite miserable, if she knew.”

“Stella?”

“My cousin. Mrs. Cane. We grew up here together, but she and I . . .” Em's voice slowed as she chose her words. “. . . are not close. She's married now, quite well, with a family of her own. But, for a long time now, it's only been the expected announcement of a betrothal with Colin that has kept her at bay.”

“At bay?”

“Oh, dear, that's a complicated story.” Em led Lucy down the garden path toward the wilderness, again arm in arm. “In short, though,
this
estate is a freehold from my maternal grandfather's estate, held in trust for me by my father, the earl. But because Stella lived here with us after my uncle, the previous earl, died, she cannot be convinced that this estate is not part of the entail.”

“Won't her confusion cause trouble for you in Chancery when your father dies?”

“No. The lands were not part of my mother's settlement, and she died long before my grandfather.” At the end of the hedgerow stood a long low bench, and Em gestured for Lucy to sit. “Even so, my grandfather consulted with the best legal advisors to ensure that the lands will be mine. But Stella resents not being lady of the manor—or rather she resents me being such a bad one.”

Lucy marveled at Em's easy banter. Clearly she'd misjudged everything she'd seen. Bess jumped up on the bench and curled up against Em's back.

“But as to the betrothal. Colin remained here a great deal before and after the wars. He and my stepbrother had been friends at Eton, and after Colin's mother died, he came here for holidays. He was always my defender against Stella's cruelties. So, when she announced that I was so ugly no one would ever marry me, Colin, honorable then as now, declared that he intended to marry me when I turned twenty-five.”

“Why would she say that?” Lucy looked closely at Em's face, green eyes in a faultless complexion, an engaging smile. There was no hint of malice in her story, merely a reporting of truth.

“I have a scar along my jawline.” Em traced a nearly invisible white line from her ear to the tip of her chin. “Carriage accident. It's faded now, but when I was young, it was impossible to ignore. Pink and angry. Of course, at nine, I was very sensitive to it.”

The two women sat silently, Em regarding her hands. Em spoke first. “Before Colin went to Brussels, I almost let my thoughts turn to marrying him. But he came back so changed, and by then I found myself changed as well.”

Em stood, snapping her fingers for Bess to join her.

“He's a good man, an honorable man. And I believe he already loves you. Don't let him go unless you are quite certain he isn't the man for you.”

* * *

As Em walked away, Bess positioned herself between her mistress and any objects that she might trip or fall on. Em's limp was more pronounced than it had been earlier in the day, and Lucy wondered how much pain her childhood injuries still caused her.

Lucy knew she should follow, knew she should make her way to the drawing room where the guests would assemble for dinner, but she needed a moment to sort through all she had learned.

She fingered the red silk. Why hadn't she chosen one of the less striking dresses? She'd been so delighted to be able to wear a beautiful dress for Colin, but the joy had gone out of it. Only an hour ago, she had dressed to please him, anticipating the wide smile, the appreciative glances. Even with Em's reassurances, the last thing Lucy wanted was to appear to be encouraging their liaison.

She was already grown too fond of him. Otherwise, she would not have felt such hurt and disappointment when she'd thought him engaged. If she were set on leaving him after this trip, then she needed to protect her heart, however impossible that might be to do.

She had also grown frustrated with the way their stories had changed without notice. First, they had been engaged, then they had been a man and his mistress, and here they were only a man and his nurse. In the last two weeks, the stories had made her less and less important to him, as he had grown more and more important to her.

Em had placed them in rooms with an adjoining door. When Lucy retired early, she would make sure the door was locked.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next day, Lucy remained in her room until she thought it impossible for anyone to remain in the morning room. But when she arrived, dressed in the most demure of Em's loaned walking dresses, Colin was waiting.

He set down the report he was reading and smiled broadly. “You are as beautiful this morning in green as you were last night in red.”

She did not answer, but he seemed not to notice. “Em's gone out for her ride, but I wanted to see you. I kept myself busy.” He gestured at the reports lying in piles on the table. “It seems that we might not wait here long after all. The duke and Lady Wilmot will be joining us this afternoon or tomorrow, and we will leave with them.”

She deliberately chose a seat far from him. “Ah.”

His face changed from puzzlement to concern. “I must apologize. I should have considered how it might appear to you—my friendship with Em. When Em told me about your conversation yesterday, I should have come to you immediately. But Em has always been better with words, and I thought she would have explained it best. But you deserved better than that. Can you forgive me?”

Suddenly she wished there were not a river of table between them, but she also could not breach it. Her feelings were still too raw, her heart too engaged. But if she were to tell him her reservations, this would be the time. They were in a safe place, alone, as they would not be when his family arrived.

She took a deep breath. “Colin, I should tell you . . .”

In the distance, a single pistol fired. They both stopped, listening. Another shot fired, and Colin pushed his chair away from the table, his hands flat on the table as he listened, visibly counting the seconds. At the third shot, he paled. “It's Em. Something's wrong.” He raced from the room with Lucy hard at his heels.

At the stable yard, Sam and Jeffreys were already on their horses, riding hard in the direction from which the shots had been fired. The stable master and his boys were hitching two fast horses to a low wagon. Another stable boy was filling the back with blankets. A fourth shot fired.

“No one's a better horseman than Em. She always carries two pistols loaded and two additional cartridges already packed. The first three shots told us she was in trouble. The gap between shots was designed to give the men time to mount their horses—the last shot confirmed the direction they were to ride.”

“Go to her, Colin.” She put her hand on his elbow.

“No.” He shook off her touch, brushing his hair back with both hands. “Sam and Jeffreys are more than capable. If there's trouble, my obligation is here.” He looked up to the nursery window where Fletcher nodded, a rifle already visible in the gap of the casement.

Two more shots sounded in quick succession, and the stable master threw himself onto the wagon seat and began to drive, hard.

It felt like hours, but it was probably no more than ten minutes all told. Over the hill, the horsemen came into view, then the wagon, moving more slowly, but still at a good pace. Em's horse followed behind—riderless.

Colin ran forward to meet them as they entered the stable yard, and Lucy saw the two riders shake their heads, silently conveying that the news was not good.

The wagon pulled in front of her, and Em was in the back, weeping, the broken body of Bess in her lap.

Colin rushed to her side to take the dog, but she refused.

“No! She saved me. I wouldn't have seen the trap, but she did. If she hadn't run under the horse, I'd be dead. But . . .” She buried her face in the bloody side of the animal. Bess cried out in pain.

The stable master took his pistol from his belt. “My lady, let me have Bess. She's in pain, miss.”

“No! Colin, please don't put her down. Please,” Emmeline wept.

“It's for the best, my lord. You can see from here—the leg. It's bent and split.”

“Em.” Colin spoke low but firmly.

She turned on him ferociously. “No. No. No. She can't die.”

Colin looked at Lucy. In other circumstances, it would have made her heart leap that he'd turned to her for help, but she couldn't bear being the one who broke Em's heart. “Em, Lucy stitched me up. Perhaps she could look at Bess.”

Em looked at Lucy with hope.

“I will look, Em,” Lucy offered. “Do you know how badly she is hurt?”

“I don't know. The leg. Bess . . . she saved me.” Her voice trailed off.

“Do you trust me? If I look at her and tell you we cannot help Bess, will you believe me?”

Em bit her lip, but nodded yes. “But you will try to help her?” The dog whimpered in distress.

“If I can. I need a table somewhere clean.”

“The kitchen. If Cook objects, I'll buy her a new table.”

* * *

The cook—a Mrs. Adams—took one look at Em, covered with dirt and crying and motioned to the maids to clear the harvest table.

“I don't want to wash the whole dog. But I need the leg to be clean. Is it possible to have some warm water?” Lucy took an apron from the stool beside the table.

Colin started to give the order, but Cook had already moved to set the water on the fire. “What else do you need?”

Lucy pressed her fingers to the middle of her forehead and closed her eyes. “Ice to cool the leg and slow the bleeding. Whatever medicines they have . . . some laudanum to ease the dog's pain, needles, silk thread—the finest available—if I can sew it up. And Fletcher. Tell Fletcher I need four sticks, whittled smooth for splints, and some heavy linen to tie them together.

Colin took charge, sending servants to gather the tools she needed. “Now what?”

“There's a nerve here.” She demonstrated the location in the dog's shoulder. “Press it until it relieves her pain.”

“How will I know?”

“You'll know.” She began unwrapping the bloody petticoat from Bess's leg, Em held the dog's head, cooing to her and promising her the next piece of marrow from the biggest bone she could find. The pressure on the nerve calmed the dog, but Lucy also thought that the dog knew that Em was in distress and didn't wish to upset her more.

Lucy carefully dripped warm water along the line of the wound. She had seen worse, but then most of the worse she had seen had not lived to heal from their wounds. The bone was visible down the long strip of the lower leg, and clearly broken. The dog was panting.

“Here's the laudanum, miss.” Jeffreys was at her side. Handing her the drug, he moved to hold Em's shoulders. Though his position was comforting, from the look he gave Lucy over Em's shoulders, she knew he would pull Em away if necessary.

“This is risky, Em. I don't know how much laudanum I can give her to make her sleep without killing her. But I need to try. If I try to set the leg with her awake, she won't understand that I'm hurting her to help. But I can't guarantee she'll wake up either.”

“Try. You have to try. I'll understand if she doesn't wake up because you were trying to help her.”

She'd given a grown man forty drops of laudanum over two hours to ease his pain. She tried to calculate the differential between a man and a very large dog. She gave the dog four drops, and waited, then another four.

Bess fell asleep and her body relaxed slightly. Lucy hoped not for the last time.

Em wept harder into Jeffrey's chest. “Is she dead?”

Lucy placed her hand over Bess's heart. “No, she's still alive, but we need to work quickly.”

She began giving instructions to Cook, whose own eyes were wet with tears, and to Colin. Em she left stroking the dog's head and whispering in Bess's ear, Jeffreys a gentle presence behind her. Periodically Em would look up to meet Lucy's eyes and mouth the single word,
Please
.

She had no idea how to save Bess.

“We have the ice, miss.” The stable master brought her a long slab about a thumb's length thick and roughly the length of the dog's leg.

“That's good. Let's rest her leg on it. But try not to put too much pressure on the shoulder.”

Cook placed a thick piece of flannel over the ice and under the leg, then folded a blanket and slipped it gently under Bess's body as Colin held the dog up slightly. With the blanket, Bess's shoulder and leg were even with the rest of her body.

Lucy soaked the silk thread in a plate of lavender water, hoping it would help protect the wound from putrefying.

She first investigated the bone. The break was a clean one, and she set the ends against one another, hoping it would knit. Then she pulled the muscles and flesh back around it. She sewed from the inside out in layers, first making small stitches to pull the muscle back into place, then covering it with the outer flesh. Colin helped her by bathing the area in lavender water, keeping it cleaned as best he could from blood. The ligaments were still attached and the arteries intact, so there was hope.

At the point of impact, the flesh was gone, and what was left was hanging in tatters. She was sure the dog would never walk on the leg again. She worked from the least injured point to the most injured, working to cover the bone and muscles as best she could. In some cases she had to stretch the skin where portions were missing, and she could only hope the stitches would hold.

By the time she'd finished sewing, Fletcher had carved four splints out of soft wood to hold the leg in place and cut twine and soft leather straps to make them hold together. She'd known he was the man for the task. Having been on the battlefield, he'd seen the often ingenious solutions the doctors had created.

The splint was in place, but the dog was still sleeping. She felt the dog's chest, nothing. And her heart sank. She felt again, but the dog's thick ruff got in the way.

“Do you have a mirror or a piece of clear glass?

Cook offered her a glass goblet.

She held the glass at the dog's nose and waited. The glass fogged enough to show the animal was still alive. Lucy slumped with relief against the table.

Colin pulled her to him, and she leaned exhausted against the firm security of his chest.

Em looked up with hope.

“She's still alive, Em, but . . .” Lucy couldn't finish the sentence.

“No, buts.” Em raised her chin. “She's alive. That's all that matters. That's enough hope for me.”