Song From the Sea (7 page)

“I'm sure you'll work something out. You did see fit to rescue her, after all. Maybe a little more rescuing would be in order.”

Adam glared at him. “It is not my mission in life to rescue ridiculous young women who don't have the good sense to keep their affairs in order, never mind keeping their feet on solid ground.”

Nigel took a sip of wine and glanced up at Adam. “What other option do you have? Do you plan to throw her out into the street with no clothes, no money, and nowhere to go?”

Adam just shook his head. “I'm damned if I know. It's tempting, though, mightily tempting.”

“Now that's the Adam I know and love,” Nigel said, rubbing his earlobe. “You're absolutely right; to hell with Miss Magnus. Why should you exert yourself in any way over her welfare? You've done enough, that's what I say. Out with her the minute she can stand on her own two feet.”

Adam shot him a filthy look. “If you're suddenly going to become holier-than-thou, why don't
you
take her on? I'm not the one with a need to save lost souls.”

Nigel raised one eyebrow. “Then why
did
you bother to save her? You could have spared yourself a great deal of trouble. It would have been easy enough to let her sink.”

In that moment Adam could happily have throttled his dearest friend, but he settled for clenching his fists. He drew a deep breath and slowly released it, counting to ten. “I saved her,” he said, measuring his words carefully, for he was damned if he was going to let Nigel goad him any further, “because it was my duty as a gentleman. You would have done the same. I did not, however, save her because I wanted yet another responsibility in my already complicated life.”

“Fair enough, but then life never does deal us what we expect. It simply happens, Adam, as you know full well. All we can do is roll with the punches and do our best. Here endeth the lesson.” He smiled. “Maybe I missed my calling. I rather like the pulpit.”

As much as Adam didn't want to listen, he had to concede that Nigel had a point. He couldn't help what had happened. All he could do was to fix the situation as best he could. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could put an end to his miserable existence. He shrugged a shoulder and tried to look nonchalant. “How do you suggest I proceed?”

“Let me see …” Nigel leaned back in his chair and assumed a faraway expression. “I might start by gaining Miss Magnus's trust. I don't think that browbeating her will get you very far, especially if she's been frightened by something or someone.” He scratched his temple. “Maybe you should think of her as a skittish filly. You've always been exceeding talented in gentling skittish horses, thereby getting the best performance from them. Perhaps if you take the same approach in this case you might realize the same results. Some time and patience might be required, but you're familiar enough with the technique.”

Adam snorted. “Miss Magnus in no way resembles a spirited filly,” he said. “Indeed, she's exhibited no spirit at all.” Adam thought again of those blank eyes—well, maybe not entirely blank; more confused, if he was to be entirely fair.

“She suffered a severe head injury, Adam, not to mention nearly drowning. What do you expect? Perhaps when she recovers she might show a bit more vinegar, especially if you persist in grilling her beyond her ability to answer.”

“I'm hungry,” Adam said in reply, tired of the subject and not wanting to examine his conscience any more closely. “You must be famished. Mrs. Simpson informs me that Cook has prepared a basic but satisfying meal. Why don't you go clean up and join me in an hour?”

Nigel's face reflected his surprise, which Adam tried hard not to notice. He knew full well that he'd badly neglected his friend, and he owed him something for his efforts. He might not have the chance to show his deep regard for Nigel that much longer; he should use the time remaining to him wisely. “I'd be glad for the company,” he added lightly. “I've grown exceeding tired of my own.”

“I'd be delighted,” Nigel said easily enough, letting the moment slide by.

“Good. But no more talk of Miss Magnus. I'd like to enjoy my dinner.”

When Nigel had gone, Adam slumped into the chair behind his desk and put his head in his hands, incredibly weary.

If it wasn't for his unwanted obligation to silly Miss Magnus he'd happily have put a gun to his head and ended it there and then, Harold be damned.

4

G
ood morning, Miss Magnus, and a fine morning it is. The rain has stopped and the sun has come out.” Mrs. Simpson bustled around the room in her usual businesslike fashion. Callie cautiously opened her eyes as Mrs. Simpson drew back the draperies.

For the first time since she'd regained consciousness she had no stabbing pain in her head, only a dull throb, and even that was slight. Her relief was infinite. She had loathed taking the laudanum which made her feel as if she were swimming underwater, but at least that was better than the horrible ache.

“Good morning,” she said, pushing herself upright in the bed. Even that movement felt reasonably comfortable.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Mrs. Simpson asked, peering at her as if she were an interesting physical specimen.

“Much better, thank you,” Callie said, and Mrs. Simpson clucked approvingly.

“I am so pleased to hear it, and I know his lordship will be delighted. He's been that concerned about you, and little wonder. Indeed, the entire household has been in a state of worry over your health.”

“I—I'm sorry,” Callie said. “I didn't mean to cause anyone distress.”

“Never you mind that. What's important is that you are recovering nicely. I thought that after breakfast you might like a nice bath if you're feeling well enough. A long hot soak would do you the world of good.” She patted Callie's hand and beamed, a mother hen pleased with her chick's progress.

Amused, Callie thought that if Mrs. Simpson had been a hen, she would have been a fine, plump, well-feathered bantam. “That sounds wonderful,” Callie said with genuine pleasure. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a proper bath—Callie caught herself mid-thought. How could she possibly remember something as mundane as her last bath when she couldn't remember anything else? Her head might have ceased to throb, but it was as empty as ever, she realized with dismay.

“Jane will be bringing up a tray for you in just a few minutes with eggs, some lovely rashers of bacon, sausages, toast and jam, all from Stanton's home farm. We're very proud of our produce. Indeed, we sell it all over the countryside.”

“Jane?” Callie asked in confusion, sorting through this maze of information and wondering if she'd forgotten something else she should have known.

“Jane is one of the chambermaids, my dear, and a nice, sensible girl. She will be attending to your needs now that you don't need so much nursing. We've organized some clothes for you, modest as they are, until such a time as the dressmaker can arrange a proper wardrobe. I thought you might like to dress after your bath and sit for a time by the window. Would you like that, my dear, or would you find it too taxing?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Callie said. She might feel weak, but having been cooped up in bed for seven days had been tedious, despite how ill she'd been. “I'd like that very much.”

“That's a good girl. His lordship would like to visit with you later this morning and he thought you might be more comfortable receiving him if you were up and dressed.”

“How thoughtful of Lord Vale,” Callie said, her pleasure instantly vanishing. A visit indeed. What he wanted was to interrogate her. He would grill her with questions that she couldn't answer, she would have to bluff as best she could, and the whole thing would end in disaster. Her next place of residence would be Bedlam.

She supposed she could always plead the return of her headache, but then she'd probably be forced to take the laudanum again and that she really couldn't bear. She couldn't go through life in a drugged stupor just because she didn't want to face Lord Vale. She'd just have to keep a level head and be creative. There was nothing else to be done.

Three hours later, having eaten, bathed, and dressed, Callie sat in an armchair in an agony of anticipation. She stared out of the window overlooking a bright green lawn that seemed to run forever until it reached a line of trees far to the east. A river cut through the middle of the lawn, a stone bridge spanning its width. Lush plantings of flowers and shrubs spread out in eye-pleasing arrangements. Lord Vale clearly cared well for his estate, and he had a good eye for color and symmetry—or if not he, then someone he'd hired to do the planning for him.

She begrudgingly had to give him credit, at least for good taste.

Callie started as the dreaded knock sounded at the door. “Please come in,” she said in a small voice that sounded more like a squeak. Her heart began to pound furiously in her chest and her mouth went dry as the door opened and her waking nightmare appeared.

She couldn't help staring. Lord Vale in the full light of day was even more imposing than she'd remembered. Tall and magnificently built, he exuded a powerful masculinity with his saturnine dark looks and those startling blue eyes— eyes he had trained on her like a gun on a helpless animal.

“Good day, Miss Magnus,” he said. She didn't think it quite right that someone so formidable should have such a rich, melodious voice.

She swallowed hard. “Good day, Lord Vale,” she said, trying to keep her own voice steady. “How kind of you to come to see me.” That was an absurd comment if ever there was one. Kindness had nothing to do with it, and they both knew it.

“Not at all,” he replied as if echoing her thought. “I am very pleased to hear that you are feeling better. Mrs. Simpson has been bringing me constant reports of your progress.”

Callie licked her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.
Cat and mouse
, she thought. She had no doubt as to who was the cat in this game. She'd better seize the advantage before he pounced thoroughly and completely and gobbled her up alive. “Lord Vale …I am very grateful for everything you've done for me. I know I've been a great deal of trouble and I apologize for that.”

“There's no need for apologies, Miss Magnus. I am at your disposal for as long as necessary.”

“I thank you,” she said, “but I think that now I am feeling so much improved I must start making plans for the future. As I told you—”

“As you told me,” he cut in smoothly, “you have no concrete plans other than trying to find a post as a lady's companion. That can wait. May I sit down?”

“Oh … Oh yes, of course,” she said, nonplussed. “Please do.”

He pulled up a straight-backed chair and faced it toward her before taking his seat. She couldn't help but notice the well-defined muscles of his thighs that strained against the material of his trousers. Blushing, she looked away.

“I think, Miss Magnus, that before you start organizing your future, you would be better served by focusing on the present. You still have a period of recovery ahead, so we might as well take full advantage of the time remaining to you here at Stanton.”

“I—I don't understand,” she stammered. She'd been under the impression that he couldn't wait to wash his hands of her.

“No, of course you don't. Let me make myself clear.” He leaned slightly forward, which unnerved her even more. “I see no reason why we shouldn't make a thorough search for your relatives. You must have some, and with the means I have at my disposal, I feel confident that we can turn up someone who might be willing to help you.”

“No!” she cried. “I mean, that won't be necessary,” she said in a more level voice. The last thing in the world she needed was a futile search for relatives that didn't exist—at least not under the imaginary name of Magnus. Any inquiry at all in that direction would expose her for exactly what she was—a fraud.

“I don't understand you,” Adam replied. “Do you not want to find your relatives? Surely one of them would be willing to take you in and provide you with a life far more comfortable than that of a paid companion.”

“No—no, I think I would be better off living a life of independence rather than relying on the kindness of people who have no emotional connection to me, for that would be a terrible obligation to them and to me. I am perfectly content with the life of a paid companion, Lord Vale, really I am.” This interview was
not
going as she had planned.

“Miss Magnus, I wonder if you have any idea what the life of a paid companion entails. You would be at some-one's beck and call day and night. You would not have an iota of independence, let alone any social standing.” He frowned. “Why will you not at least let me try to help you?”

“You have done enough already,” she said, wanting to cry with frustration. “I do not wish to be beholden to you any more than I already am, or to anyone else for that matter.”

“That I can understand. But let us examine the practicalities of your situation.”

He leaned back again and she breathed a sigh of relief at the widened distance between them. There was something about Lord Vale that made her feel as if her lungs badly needed air.