The Duchess and the Spy (29 page)

“No,” Isabella whispered. “You are his mother, and it is your responsibility to always worry about him, if you didn’t then it would seem quite unnatural. Jason, I commend you. You moved as quickly as humanly possible. You did make haste.”

She took the package from him. She opened it carefully and pulled out the small glass vials. She gestured to Christopher, and told him, to bring her a glass with a small amount of water in it, and a teaspoon. She looked toward the heavens and prayed that she would remember the right dosages so that she didn’t accidentally help the poison in killing Julian. Christopher handed her the glass of water, and she measured out the mixtures, to hopefully the exact amount. She swirled it around in the water, and walked over to Julian’s side.

Jane lifted his head carefully off of his pillow, and she gently held the glass to his lips.

“Please, sir, drink all of it.” She watched as he sipped weakly at it. Once he had swallowed the entire glass, she sank into the bedside chair, and looked over at Jane. “You might want to have a basin at the ready since he will undoubtedly be compelled to relieve himself in about fifteen minutes,” she advised glancing at the clock. “He will seem even sicker than he already is for about twenty-four hours, and then suddenly he will gradually regain control and will begin to feel like his old self.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “I should have told Jason to get something for the monstrous headache that is pounding through my head.”

“Oh, my dearest, Isabella, we are all indebted to you,” Jane breathed, gently kissing her husband’s forehead. “You shall be better soon, my love.”

“I should whisk you away to Wyndham House,” Christopher murmured, moving to stand behind her. She glanced up at him, and smiled weakly.

“I would love to oblige you, Christopher, but as it is I must stay here and keep a vigil until I know that the poison is working its way out of his system. Perhaps, I shall just rest for a minute.” She leaned her head against the chair, and closed her eyes. She fell asleep almost immediately, and turned her head on the chair as she descended into a nightmare.

The sun was slowly setting, and the air was crisp with frigidness. Her hands were freezing and her teeth were chattering, as she was led out into a large graveled courtyard. She fought against the ropes that were tied around her wrists, and smiled victoriously as she finally managed to slip her wrists free. She stumbled as she broke away from her captors, and made a mad dash for the forest that surrounded the estate. She fell to her knees, scraping them through the thin grey dress that she wore. She needed to get away, fleeing was her only hope, or else, she would meet the end of a pistol when it wasn’t her time. She heard the cries of alarm, and winced as she realized that she was being pursued. She pushed her way through the foliage as branches whipped against her face scratching her and drawing blood.

She glanced back behind her, and felt her heart palpitate in fear at the dark cape that he wore. She fell while distracted, and screamed, as she hit the ground. She scrambled to get back up, but it was too late, he was upon her. She put her arm up protectively to shield herself, and then screamed as she recognized his piercing blue gaze. He fired his pistol, and she fell into darkness.

She felt someone softly shaking her awake as she moaned in her sleep. She opened her eyes, and stared groggily into Christopher’s eyes. He had his hands on her shoulders, and he was staring at her with deep concern.

“Isabella, you are safe,” he promised, just as he always did, after she had a nightmare. But this time, she wasn’t completely alone with him. Everyone was huddled around her, and Mary was handing her a glass of water.

“Drink this, it shall clear your head,” Mary murmured, handing her a small glass of brandy. Jack came up beside her.

“Don’t fret, Isabella, we all know that you were probably just dreaming about your dearest rascal of a husband.”

“Bloody hell, Jack, if you don’t stop being so ridiculously annoying, I’ll have to punch you,” Christopher threatened angrily, still staring at her with concern shining in his eyes.

“Ah, so this is what it is like to have siblings,” she mused, she got up to her feet rather too quickly, and wavered slightly before Christopher caught her. “Mayhap, I have had too much excitement over the last few day.” Her nightmare lingered. She didn’t want to believe what she had seen in her nightmare. Christopher wouldn’t hurt her, and yet…she shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and cautiously stepped over toward Julian’s bed. She gently felt his forehead, and sidestepped him, as he retched into the nearby basin.

“Splendid,” she murmured. Jane rushed over, but before she could reach Julian, Isabella had already tenderly wiped his mouth with a cool cloth and had given him a sip of water. “I do believe, sir, that you shall be quite better within a few days.” She gently helped him sit back against his pillows, and watched as Jane climbed up onto the bed next to her husband.

“Isabella saved your life, my love,” Jane murmured, lovingly kissing his forehead. “You gave me an awful fright.”

“Janie,” Julian rasped. He looked at her for a few moments, and then, fell asleep.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Isabella advised softly, “He’s just sleeping deeply, and his breathing might be quite shallow.” Christopher came up behind her and wrapped his arm possessively around her. She instinctively stiffened against his touch, and tried to move out of his embrace. “When was the last time anyone in this room had anything to eat?” she demanded, deftly moving away from Christopher, and walking toward the large window. She pushed the curtains aside, and felt her heart skip a beat as she realized that night was already quickly approaching. She groaned inwardly, and tried to quell the uneasiness she felt rolling through her stomach.

She shouldn’t fear him, and yet… He hadn’t done anything to harm her physically, and had turned into quite a charming man with her over the last few days. But if he discovered that she was working for Napoleon and keeping it from him, even though he already suspected, he would be incensed. Regardless, she had to continue, for Daphne’s sake and her own.

She had to gain a private audience with Bonaparte and the only way of doing that was to gain his confidence and trust. But how could she risk what she had with her husband? It would break her heart but perhaps Daphne had been right when she had warned her about the consequences of her actions. The fire had already burned her, and she never wanted to leave the heated passion that Christopher ignited within her, but she would and afterward there would be nothing left living for, which was just as well, because if she couldn’t call England her home, then she had no home to go back to.

Château fort
De Clermont had been her father’s ancestral castle, but she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to return to it, especially when it held such terrifying memories for her.

She couldn’t face Christopher, not when she felt so completely isolated and alone. She wouldn’t believe in her nightmare, but she had to be careful, and make sure that it never did come to fruition.

She let out a long lingering sigh, and was just about to turn around and give Christopher an icy affront to his senses, when Margaret raced into the room, gasping for breath, and holding her hand against her heart.

“Lord Merryville is here and demands your presence in the billiards room immediately,” she gasped, still trying to catch her breath. “The man seems quite undone Christopher, so I would advise you to make great haste. He mentioned something about you also, Jack.”

“Right,” Christopher said, staring over at Isabella with a slightly flabbergasted expression on his face and striding from the room, as Jason stepped aside to let Jack pass.

“I do believe that I shall go and fetch my shawl,” Mary murmured, “Suddenly I feel quite chilled.” She and Margaret left the room. Jason and Marianne wisely followed them, leaving Isabella alone with Jane.

“You don’t have to fear my son.”

“I am not afraid of Christopher,” Isabella contradicted, though her voice wavered slightly at her declaration.

“He comes across as being slightly overbearing and very opinionated but then that is part of his charm,” Jane said, glancing toward the bed to make sure that her husband still slept comfortably. “So, no matter how gruff he seems, remember, he would never hurt you. He is devoted to you, I can see that.”

“I shall go and give my deepest apologies to Christopher.”

“Of course, my dear,” Jane answered. 

Isabella quickly slipped out of the room. She looked from side to side, trying to decide which way she had come from. Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, she decided to take one direction and pray that it would lead her to where she needed to go. She glided down the staircase, and heard her aunt and cousin talking in a nearby room. She was just about to join them, when she heard men’s voices emanating from a distant room. She ignored the footmen. She leaned up against the door that she believed must have been the entrance to the billiards room, and felt her heart fly up into her throat when she realized what they were discussing.

“Absolutely not, Merryville,” Christopher said. “I told you that woman would turn out to be an insipid wench suitable for only one thing. I wish that she hadn’t even come into my life.”

She staggered away from the door before she could listen to any more. She wobbled a bit uncertainly, as she raced to the front door, praying that no one would see her and try to detain her. She wrenched the heavy door open grimacing as the weight of it sent pain arcing through her head again. That damnable headache still hadn’t gone away, and she clenched her teeth together to still the cry that she felt growing inside of her. When she finally stumbled out onto the steps, she glanced wildly around her frantically searching for an escape route.

If she went back to her aunt’s he would find her, and bring her kicking and screaming back to Wyndham House, and if she stayed here, she was doomed also. She inhaled deeply, realizing that there were still many places that would give her sanctuary. She stalled for a moment, and then marched towards the only townhouse in Mayfair that would serve as an impregnable fortress, and she could only pray that her Grandmamma wouldn’t be in residence because she didn’t feel like answering a whole bunch of agonizing questions concerning the idiot that she was married to.

She reached her Grandmother’s house within ten minutes, since it was also located on Grosvenor Square. She stared up in awe at the breathtaking structure, and boldly walked up to Murray House. She grabbed the doorknocker and knocked twice and then turned her back as she waited for Gibbons to answer the door. He pulled open the door by the time that she had counted to three, and she smiled at him, relieved to see a familiar face.

“Greetings, Gibbons,” she said, ever so relieved to have finally reached her home. She gently brushed past him, as she stepped into the marbled entryway, and breathed in deeply, as she finally felt like she had come home. Everything was the same as it had been whenever they had traveled down to London, even Gibbons looked the same, though his hair had grown to be a slight salt and pepper shade.

“Your Grace?” he rasped out, still clutching the doorknob, long after he had closed the door.

“I suppose I am…” she mused. While in England, the servants always gave her the same respect that a British duke or duchess would receive. As such, they referred to her as Your Grace, and sometimes, Miss, but now they would call her Madam.

“I…this is quite a surprise,” he stuttered.

“But hopefully not an unwelcome one.”

“No indeed,” he mused, as she went into the Saloon and settled herself on the sofa.

“I suppose,” she sighed. “I suppose you can call me Lady Wyndham, now, as I married the Marquess of Wyndham, although, I do still prefer Your Grace.”

“Of course you do, Madam,” he said. “Will the Marquess join us soon?”

The housekeeper entered the room and gasped in surprise. Isabella watched, as she recovered herself quickly.

“Drat the man,” she declared.

“Oh, it is so good to see you, Miss. You are a sight for these sore eyes of mine. Come now, Mr. Gibbons, Her Grace has just come here looking to relax, and you are pestering her with inconsequential questions. She will reveal everything in due course, though if I may Miss, your grandmother is not expected for at least another day.” Mrs. Woods turned from her and rang the bell for tea.

“I know, Mrs. Woods, I just needed to come here and roam around Murray House. I needed to be among friends,” she whispered. Gibbons reluctantly left the room. She stared in expectation at the matronly Mrs. Woods.

“Christopher, no doubt, doesn’t care where I have gone off too.” To actually think that he only believed her to be good for one thing! The disgusting pig! She wanted to stamp her feet and break something but everything in Murray House was too precious to think of smashing into a million pieces.

She heard horse’s hooves clattering on the street outside, and flew to the window, only to see him dismounting from his imposing beast.

Gasping, she stared over at Mrs. Woods, and said quickly, “Is my bedchamber still my bedchamber?”

Mrs. Woods nodded quickly, and then Isabella was off like a shot. She flew up the stairs, despite the fact that the pain in her head had only intensified, if that was even possible. She dashed down the long hallways, and sighed with relief when she found the door to her bedchamber. She pushed it open, and leaned against it, hoping that her husband wouldn’t be foolish enough to pursue her into her inner sanctum.