Ruthless (15 page)

Elinor considered holding on to her, but Charles Reading had appeared out of the darkness and Lydia went to him, letting him fold her into his arms, leaving
Elinor alone on her knees in the snow. Alone with Rohan.

“You can't stay there all night,” he said.

“You let her die.”

“I kept you alive. You can get up on your own or I can carry you, whichever you prefer, but I expect you'd rather have me keep my hands to myself,” he said in a weary voice. “Make up your mind. I'm cold, and I've ruined another pair of shoes. You really are wreaking havoc on my wardrobe.”

She forced her head to turn, to look up at him, and she didn't disguise the fury in her eyes. She was awash with pain, and there was nowhere else she could direct it but at her cool nemesis.

He looked down at her, and his smile was crooked. “But how charming,” he murmured. “You despise me. Feel free to, poppet, but I'm getting you out of the snow and into my carriage now, before my feet turn to icicles.” He held out a hand to her, waiting for her to take it.

She didn't want to touch him. She wanted to curl up in a ball and weep, but Lydia was waiting for her. She put her foot out, expecting to rise gracefully, but the pain in her feet was excruciating, and her legs wouldn't hold her.

He caught her before she fell, and scooped her up into his arms again, carrying her toward the waiting coach. He dumped her in, unceremoniously, and Lydia reached for her, pulling her onto the seat beside her.

Rohan closed the door behind them, remaining
outside the crowded carriage. And a moment later they were off, leaving him behind, standing alone in the snow beside the still-burning grave of their poor, lost mother.

E
linor fell back against the tufted seat of the carriage, too shaken to move. The carriage was made for four, and with the five of them crammed in tightly there was scarcely room to breathe. There were tiny silver candles in each corner, encased in glass holders, and they shed enough light that Elinor could see Nanny looking very bad indeed.

She wanted to throw her hands over her face and scream, she wanted to hide and weep. She could do no such thing. This was her family, what was left of them, and she was needed. She straightened her back.

“How is Nanny Maude, Jacobs?” she asked, her voice rough from the smoke she'd inhaled. “Was she burned?”

Jacobs shook his head. “The shock, more like. And the smoke. She's an old lady—this will be the death of her—”

“It will be no such thing!” she said sharply. “His lordship's cousin is a doctor, and I expect he'll be waiting for us as soon as we get there.” Get where? she asked herself. Though she knew the answer.

“She's not breathing too well,” Jacobs said gloomily. His voice broke. “Her ladyship's gone, and now Nanny Maude…”

“Stop it!”
Elinor said. “We're not going to lose Nanny Maude.” She turned to Lydia and froze. Perched on the very edge of the narrow seat, Charles Reading held her in his arms, and she was sobbing quietly into the elegant shoulder of his coat, one hand clutching the fabric in a fist.

Elinor reached for her, to pull her away, and then her eyes met Reading's, and she froze, in shock. She'd never seen such naked pain, naked longing, in anyone's eyes. She hadn't even known such depth of emotion existed. He was holding Lydia so tenderly, her curls tucked beneath his chin, and he was murmuring comforting words to her. Words Lydia needed to hear, words that Elinor didn't have, not then.

She could sort that out in the morning. At the moment she couldn't begrudge her baby sister any comfort she could find, no matter how unsuitable it might be. Reading was a member of the Heavenly Host, a libertine and a reprobate. He was no fit match for Lydia, but at that moment she couldn't bring herself to care. Let her take what comfort she could.

“Do you know where we're going, Mr. Reading?” she asked politely.

He cleared his voice. “I believe we're heading to Lord Rohan's town house. It's quite close, and Dr. de Giverney should be waiting for us when we get there. I know this is not what you want, but if you would accept it for the time being…”

“I have no choice,” she said wearily. “Where else can we go?” The coach was well-sprung, and she was able to slide off the seat and kneel by Nanny Maude, taking one limp hand in hers. Her breathing was labored, and Elinor glanced into Jacobs's grim face. “She's going to be fine,” she said fiercely. “We all are.”

“But Miss Elinor, your mother…”

“Is gone. There's no way we can change that, and she hadn't much time left as it was. At least we can hope she went quickly, that the falling rafters killed her before…” She stopped talking, realizing what she was about to say.

It was too late. Lydia raised her tearstained face. “Oh, love, you did what you could.”

She considered rising from her knees on the floor of the carriage, but it was as good a place as any. “She wouldn't come,” she answered simply. “I did everything I could to get her to move, but she just screamed at me. The madness was in full force—I can only assume she set the fire.”

“Must have,” Jacobs said solemnly. “I made sure the hearth fire was banked before I went to bed, and there was no way a stray spark could have escaped. And Nanny was locked in the room with her—I had the devil's own time getting to her. Begging your pardon, miss.”

Elinor knew if she began to laugh she wouldn't be able to stop. Her mother's foul language still rained in her ears, and they were being rescued by the devil himself.

The carriage pulled to a halt, and the door was
opened, opposite her, a liveried footman waiting to help them alight. Hands reached out to help Jacobs with his tender burden, and Reading leaped down before he reached for Lydia, holding her close as he guided her into the house. Leaving Elinor alone, on her knees, in the deserted carriage.

For a moment she was tempted to stay there. Just let them take the carriage around to the stables and see to the horses, and no one would know where she was. She could curl up on one of the seats and manage to sleep relatively well….

“Miss Harriman?” Etienne de Giverney stood in the open doorway, looking at her curiously. “May I assist you?”

Too bad, she thought. It had been a lovely idea. “No, you may not,” she said briskly. “You have two patients inside. Nanny Maude collapsed, and she has need of your expertise. And Lydia is understandably shattered—she needs your comfort.” And to get away from Mr. Reading, she added mentally. “Go ahead—I'll follow in a moment.”

A footman remained by the open door to attend to her, though Elinor wished he would go. She scrambled forward, pulling herself to the seat. The pain in her feet had passed, and they were blessedly numb. She realized with sudden shock that she wore nothing but her thin cambric night rail, so old that it was practically transparent in places. Lydia had had the presence of mind to grab a wrap and shoes. Elinor had been so distraught that she hadn't even thought of slippers.

The enormity of their loss hit her like a blow to the stomach. They were penniless, homeless, without even clothes on their backs. What in god's name was she going to do?

She climbed down from the coach, the snow cool on her bare feet. It was snowing harder now. Why had it waited to do this until all their possessions had burned away? Not that snowflakes would have any effect against a fire like that. It had been an angry, hungry inferno. She could only hope her mother's madness hadn't burned anyone else's home

The fire had come from everywhere. The living room had been ablaze, their mother's room with a river of flame holding them apart, the flames licking through the kitchen door, Nanny trapped inside. Had her mother done all that while they slept? There could be no other explanation. And yet…

The coach pulled away immediately, heading out into the snow-covered street, and she wondered where it was going. Had they really left Viscount Rohan standing by the ruins of her house? It appeared so. How had he happened to come by their house, just as a fire broke out? Accidents like that simply didn't happen.

She looked ahead, at the front door of the mansion. Someone had closed the door to keep the storm out, and she moved slowly, wondering if she was going to face the nasty butler from that trip that seemed so long ago. Perhaps he would recognize her as the woman who bit him and not let her in.

But of course the door swung open promptly as
soon as she approached, and the servant standing there looked vaguely familiar. She'd seen him before, at least once, and he greeted her by name, his rough Yorkshire accent unmistakable.

They'd taken Nanny to a small room at the back of the house, one that Elinor assumed was used for illness. Nanny lay still in the bed where she'd been placed, her color ashen, her breathing labored, with Lydia sitting on the far side of the bed clutching her hand. Someone had made an effort to clean the old lady up, swaddling her small figure in warm shawls, but she looked like death, and Etienne de Giverney's face, when he turned to look at her, was grave.

“She's suffered a great shock,” he said solemnly. “And her heart isn't strong.”

“She's
not
going to die,” Elinor said fiercely, sitting on the bed beside her, taking her other hand.

“I'm afraid she is, but as to when, I cannot say. I've done what I can for her—the rest is in the hands of God,” Etienne said, the pompous prig. Elinor wanted to scream at him, but he'd already dismissed both his patient and Elinor, turning to her sister. “Miss Lydia, surely you need to rest. Your sister is here now—she can keep your old nursemaid company.”

“I'm not leaving either of them,” Lydia said in a tear-filled voice.

Elinor looked up at her. “Dearest, he's right. It wouldn't do for you to become ill.”

“Come, Miss Lydia,” Etienne said. He took Lydia's hand in his and drew her away from the bed. “My cousin's housekeeper will have already seen to
a room for you. You're a frail, sensitive creature and you've suffered a great shock. Your sister is far more sturdy—she can keep your nursemaid company with no ill effects.”

“Indeed,” Elinor said with just a hint of dryness. “After all, I'm sturdy.”

“I'm just as strong as my sister, and I'm not leaving her,” Lydia said mutinously, trying to pull back from Etienne's hands. “Where is Mr. Reading? He accompanied us back here, but I haven't seen him…”

“Mr. Reading has returned to fetch my cousin,” Etienne said, and there was no missing the disapproval in his voice. “You have no need of him.”

Lydia had tears running down her face, and she made a hiccupping sound. “Of course not,” she said, sounding somewhat hysterical. “No need at all.”

No, Elinor wanted to cry as she looked at her sister. She couldn't be in love with Charles Reading. It would lead to nothing but disaster.

But now was not the time to deal with it. Elinor pulled herself together. “I will take the first watch, my love, while you rest,” she said gently. “Then you can come and take my place once you've regained some of your strength. I couldn't bear it if you were to become ill from this night's work. And you needn't worry about Lord Rohan or his friend. They will return safely.”

Lydia looked at her in mute distress, and then she closed her eyes. “Of course,” she said, calmer now, and this time when Etienne de Giverney took her hand she didn't pull it away.

He cleared his throat. “Then if Miss Harriman is in no need of my assistance I'll take you to my cousin's housekeeper,” Etienne said. “Once she's settled I'll return to see if there's anything that can be done for your servant.”

“Not our
servant…
” Lydia said beneath her breath, and the look she cast Etienne, the look he missed entirely, was filled with dislike.

Elinor didn't miss it, and her heart sank. Her sister loving the wrong man was hardly the worst thing that had happened this dismal night, but it was bad enough. Hating the man she should marry was far worse.

But Etienne put a gentle arm around Lydia, leading her carefully from the room, and at the last minute Elinor could see Lydia's shoulders drop, as the anger left her.

Elinor looked down at herself, at her soot-covered nightgown. At least the room had a hearty fire going, warming it against the cold night air. Her feet had moved beyond hurting her, though she tucked them beneath the hem of her nightdress to make certain no one would notice. For some reason she didn't want Etienne touching her.

The doctor was far from her favorite person in the world, but if Lydia could learn to accept him he would be an admirable brother-in-law in all the ways that counted. Even if he'd let her drop dead in front of him while he was admiring her sister.

She turned back to Nanny Maude and knew she was looking into the face of death. She rose, ready to
call Etienne back, then thought better of it. He had the right of it—there was nothing more he could do for her. Nanny was very old, and the shock of the fire would likely be too much for her to withstand.

Elinor raised her voice slightly. “Jacobs?”

“Yes, miss.” He appeared immediately from his position just outside the door. He looked down at Nanny's still figure and bowed his head. “May I stay, miss?”

“Of course you can. There's a chair behind the door. She might like us to hold her hands.”

“Not me, miss. She always said I had the hands of a butcher. Clumsy.”

“I don't think she'll mind tonight,” Elinor said gently.

Jacobs brought the chair forward, sitting gingerly and taking Nanny's other hand in his.

She opened her eyes only once in the next few hours, and her gaze fell on Elinor.

“You're being quite ridiculous, Nanny Maude,” Elinor said in a voice thick with tears. “Lollygagging in bed when we need you. You must decide to get better this instant or I shall be very cross with you indeed.”

Nanny Maude smiled, squeezing her hand gently. “There's no need for me to stay any longer, Miss Nell. I'm tired, and more than ready. You're safe now, lass…Your mama can't hurt any of you again.” She closed her eyes for a moment, restless. “But I have to tell you something,” she said. “I can't remember what it was, but it's important. There's something I remembered.”

“You can tell us in the morning, Nanny,” she said soothingly.

“Won't be a morning for me, child,” Nanny said, a trace of her usual asperity in her faint voice. “It's danger, that's what it is.” She began coughing again, her small body shaking. “He's not who you think he is,” she said after a moment.

“Who isn't, Nanny?” she said.

But her eyes closed, and she fell back, her grip on Lydia's hands loosening, as she sank into an endless sleep.

 

Hours later Etienne poked his head in one last time, coming no closer. It was already too late to help Nanny, and she had to trust that there was nothing he could have done if he'd returned sooner. “Your sister's asleep. I had the housekeeper give her laudanum—she'll sleep till midday.”

“Thank you, Etienne,” she said. Lydia wouldn't be as grateful. She would have wanted to be there with them, with Nanny as she slipped away.

And that was what she did, as the beginning of dawn light began to climb over the window, a gray, murky light. Her breathing slowed, with longer pauses between each one, and then finally there were no more.

Jacobs let out a harsh, choking sob, and she went to put her arms around his hulking shoulders, to comfort him. “To lose them both in one night, miss,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “It's too much.”