The Rake's Handbook (25 page)

After ingesting a full pint of barley water, Ross felt restored enough to have some soup. But his strength did not last long. With each spoonful of broth-like soup, it became harder for him to swallow. Finally, he waved her away, closed his eyes, and slept. The effort must have exhausted him, because he did not wake even when she wrapped his injury in clean linen.

The two women retreated to their chairs, and Lady Helen pulled her chair close. “What shall we do now?”

Elinor took her hand, and the older woman squeezed hers in return. “Replenish your vinegar supplies and have the kitchen staff make more barley water should he wake. Also, the vinegar treatment should be continued every hour. Other than that, all we can do is wait and pray.”

Lady Helen smiled at her. “Thank you.” Then she picked up her needlework. “I will join you tonight. From now on, I will never leave his side, for any reason.”

After additional supplies of vinegar, bandages, and barley water had been organized upon a table close to the bed, Elinor settled in her chair for the long night ahead. After the next application of vinegar, Ross still did not wake, once again raising her fears. She moved her chair to sit as close to the wound as possible, so if it began to smell, she could treat it immediately.

Sometime after midnight, Ross shouted, “John.”

His shout woke Elinor, and she held her breath, hoping he'd wake. He didn't speak again, nor did he wake, so she smoothed back his dark hair and poured more vinegar onto the linen. When she returned to her chair, she noticed his shout had awakened his mother.

“He must have loved John very much,” Elinor whispered to her. “Your youngest?”

Lady Helen nodded. “He died,” she said in a monotone voice, like the mere speaking of the words constituted a confession. “My son, my shame.” She let out a long, shuddering sigh.

A heavy pain crushed Elinor's heart. Here Ross's mother struggled with guilt from the death of one son and now had to deal with the possible loss of the other. No mother should ever have to face such a reality. While she did not know the details of John's death, for some reason the older woman seemed to be blaming herself. “I don't understand.”

After days spent worrying about her son's life, Lady Helen's speech became unguarded and perfunctory. “I didn't stay to see him properly nursed. He became weaker with every cure. Finally, his heart stopped, I've been told. I blame myself because I failed to warn him about the dangers of reckless behavior. With his father gone, that lesson becomes a mother's duty, especially when the children are boys.”

Elinor regretted her thoughtless question. Lady Helen had suffered enough. “Please don't say any more. My husband died in a fall off his horse, turning to respond to one of my silly jests. In my grief I blamed myself. A natural response to the loss of a loved one, no matter the situation. Later, I realized blame is a useless notion. William would not approve of it either. He'd want me to hold close only the happy memories.”

Lady Helen surprised Elinor by flashing her a searing glare. “The loss of a husband is not like that of a child. You don't know what it is like to lose a child. A mother never recovers. Never. John was my responsibility.”

“Not your fault,” Ross said in a raspy voice.

Both women rushed to his side.

“I led him to hell when I didn't fully explain the handbook,” he said. “I took him to Italy. I abandoned him in the evenings.
Hell's fire.
I didn't warn him of the dangers.”

Lady Helen collapsed, sobbing into the coverlet, lost in her grief.

“I failed to take care of him.” Ross turned his head to look at Elinor's face, now mere inches away. His dilated blue eyes were navy colored, and without words, they pleaded for her recognition of his guilt.

“In both our cases, choices were made by others we could not control.” Elinor bent and placed her cheek upon his. “I too know what it is like to fear the loss of a child. Berdy might have lost his life in London. The outcome of his troubles might have been very different if you had not been there. You saved him, and for that I will be forever grateful.” She kissed his forehead. “You said these words to me once, and they were true,” she whispered. “It will be all right. In the future, I hope together we can talk about our loved ones and share happy memories.”

Lifting her head, Lady Helen became animated. “She cannot understand the depth of our grief. Ross, you must explain, you must tell her—”

“She knows,” he said softly.

“No, you must tell her, you must—”

He reached for his mother's hand and grimaced as he pulled it near. With extreme slowness and pain etched upon every feature, he kissed Lady Helen's hand. “Let's take Mrs. Colton's advice and remember only the happy memories. Instead of silence, we'll change and speak of them frequently, because they are too important to lose.” He attempted a small smile before closing his eyes. A long sigh followed.

This time Elinor did not succumb to her fears when he closed his eyes. He needed sleep now. The obvious pain he suffered trying to meet Lady Helen's demands taught her a valuable lesson, and she vowed never to use the words “you must” to Berdy again. Consoled by Ross's peaceful sleep, and the promise of the surgeon's arrival in the morning, she used her remaining strength to rush home and discover the outcome of Berdy's pursuit of Dr. Potts.

***

“Elliii, you'll never
guess
what happened,” echoed from the direction of the upper story. “Down in a tick.”

Elinor strained to remove her heavy woolen cape, and when Mrs. Richards appeared, she asked for a pot of tea. With slow steps, she entered the book-filled study and collapsed into the refuge of William's overstuffed chair.

“You will never
believe
what happened.” Once again, the words echoed throughout Pinnacles.

She was still pulling on the fingers of her kerseymere gloves when tea arrived. The housemaid repositioned a round tea table next to her, set down the tea things, and Elinor nodded in thanks. Odd sounds and bumps emanated from the ceiling above her. The bumps ceased, but she sat unmoving, staring at the steam gently rising from the pretty teapot's spout.

The study door flung open. “You will never guess,” Berdy pronounced, his glance falling on the tea. “Tea—oh, good—cakes.”

She gave him a blank stare.

Upon reading her expression, his smile faded. He pulled her up from the chair and gave her a heartfelt hug. “I apologize. How is he?”

“Alive.” The sound of her voice startled her out of her dreamlike trance. “And awake.”

Berdy leaned backward to examine her face. “That's good, right? It means he'll live.”

“No, unfortunately there are no guarantees. Now, tell me what happened.”

His face brightened. “A tale to tell, for sure. Dr. Potts galloped away as I reached the stables. Tom was rather put out about saddling Molly, but I insisted. I couldn't have been more than ten minutes behind him. I reached the turnpike, and do you know what happened?”

She gave him the smallest of grins, encouragement to continue.

“I thought to m'self, what if I caught him? What should a fellow do? I mean, it wasn't as if Ross was dead yet.” He grimaced. “Oh, sorry.”

She collapsed back into the chair's deep cushions. “So what did you do?”

He yanked on the bottom of his green waistcoat. “Pointed Molly in the direction of Henry's house. I figured a man of the law would know the proper procedures in a case like this. Clever thinking, don't you agree?”

She smiled openly now. “Clever, indeed. I'm glad you asked Henry to assist you. Sometimes his words sound harsh, but he truly doesn't mean them. I know he has your best interests at heart.”

“Not now.” He waved his hand. “So Henry was late, as usual. I mean, he is a lawyer. And by the time we reached Dr. Potts's house, guess what happened?”

“I have no idea.”

“Guess.”

“No violence, I hope. Henry is well? He didn't try to fight the villain, did he?” She leaned over and poured them each a cup of tea; the scent of tea laced with orange oil filled the air.

“How can you think of tea at the best part of m' tale?”

“I need tea to survive. Go on.” She handed him a cup, which he immediately placed back upon the tea table. Probably because a good deal of arm waving might be needed to complete his story.

“Gone! Flown!” He waved his arms. “Both Dr. Potts and Miss Potts fled. The valuables missing, the servants unaware the family had flown.” He slapped his thigh. “Very sinister goings on, what?”

“Go on.”

“Go on? There's nothing more to tell.” He waved his arm. “They fled. Dr. Potts is guilty of attempted murder.”

The evidence now supported her worst fears. Dr. Potts's behavior was no longer a misunderstanding that could be easily cleared up. He truly must have tried to kill Ross, but the question remained—what was his motive? “So what did you and Henry
do
?”

“We went to the local magistrate, Mr. Collins, of course. We explained the circumstances in every detail.”

“And?”

He picked up his teacup and grabbed a cake. “Gad, now m' tale gets boring. Mr. Collins told us to return home and promised to look into the matter himself. I tell you, I'm impressed with the fellow.” He raised his teacup and gulped the brew before stuffing a large piece of raisin cake into his mouth.

“Maybe you should study law in America. I understand standing before the bar might be expensive, so you must inquire about the costs.” She bit her lower lip. Once the words “you must” escaped, she regretted them. To witness Lady Helen order her grown son taught her a lesson. She must let Berdy decide his future for himself. Any of his plans, going to London, to America, she'd support.

He poured himself another cup of tea. “We are not going to America.”

“Oh?” Would a Berdy Rash Scheme appear, or had he obtained information in regard to America's unsuitability for their future home? “I'm relieved to remain here in England, but what changed your mind?”

“Ross. He saved me, you see. In London I found myself rather…blue-deviled.” A slight pink tinged his cheeks. “I guess you heard about m' troubles. After I recovered, we had another talk, man to man. He showed me his ledgers, so I could learn about the necessary funds needed to manage everything from a large estate to a small household. Then we discussed my ambitions, and how I might achieve them.”

Her smile faded.

“No, don't worry. Not m' bacon-brained ambition to be a rake or gamester. Ross set me straight on that score. So when I pulled him from the pit, I changed my mind about America and made a vow to help him. I'm not a medical man; besides, you succeeded in that capacity. He asked before if I would join one of his business interests—pick a project to study. Now I'm going to choose engineering. Both Mr. Allardyce and Mr. Brunwell are his associates, and either man will be an excellent person to apprentice with, I'm sure.” He blushed slightly. “That way I can repay m' debt. It's a debt of honor, you know. I expect to help Ross with the planning of his foundry, turnpikes, and canals.” He waved his hand. “Everything, really.”

“Oh.” She fought a tear of joy and laid her hand on his free arm. “Thank you.” The older, wiser Berdy had spoken, and she rejoiced in this Berdy's more frequent appearance.

“Once Ross's foundry is on its feet, I'll be skilled enough to support m'self elsewhere, if need be. Yes, I have a grand future ahead of me.”

She knew full well she owed Ross unending gratitude for Berdy's grand future. Beaming at him now, she let a tear of happiness fall down her cheek. “I know you will. Your future sounds wonderful, and I'm glad it includes more than just your skills at tying a cravat.”

He quickly put down his teacup. “I may not be a gamester or rake, but I will always be a dandy.” His brows lifted in reproach, and he reached up to straighten the ends of his cravat. “Cravats are still important. The skills involved in inventing a new cravat knot will go a long way in helping me design complex machinery. Think, Elli. For a fine cravat knot you need imagination, a clear understanding of the possible variations, and the knowledge of the proper fit.” A broad smile crossed his face. “Most of all, the ability to experiment by trial and error.” He held his arms out. “Gad, they really
are
similar, aren't they?” He straightened in his chair. “Think of it. Think of what I will accomplish. We are living in grand times. By harnessing coal and steam, it's men like me who will move us out of the medieval times and into a new future. And I'll wager that future will be full of machines.”

“Gorham, no more opium,” Ross announced.

The Thornburys' family surgeon, Dr. Gorham, frowned. A short Scottish man dressed head to toe in plaid and sporting a remarkable set of side-whiskers, he lowered his head to look at him over his spectacles.

Ross threw back the wool blanket and rose to a sitting position. “I know opium fights bad humors, but damnation, it doesn't work, because I'm in a bad humor.” The room wheeled around him. Shafts of white light from the windows spun by, followed by the dark burgundy color from the walls. He clutched Dr. Gorham's arm for support.

The doctor moved to face him and, with a strong clasp of both upper arms, steadied him until his dizziness faded.

Lady Helen entered the room, carrying a basket of thread. “Is my son being troublesome?”

“No more than usual,” Dr. Gorham replied, grinning at Ross and stepping behind him to adjust the new linen bandages around his arm. “If you'll excuse me, I have done all I can do for today. I will check upon you tomorrow. Your mother has kindly informed me that there is a lovely fish lake on Blackwell's grounds, so I must acquaint myself with your northern fish. I understand they are a lively breed and give good sport. Not as lively as Scottish fish, naturally, but not at all as slovenly as London fish.”

Ross could focus better now. “Excellent. You fish, I stand and walk.”

“But is that wise?” Lady Helen asked, dropping her ball of thread.

Dr. Gorham replaced the opium draught in his leather medical case. “He's ready to leave the sickbed, as long as he spends most of the day resting.” He then bowed and left the room.

Ross remained in a sitting position until his dizziness faded. “Mother, I want Mrs. Colton here.”

“No. You are in no state to receive visitors.”

“We owe Mrs. Colton a debt of gratitude.”

Holding her head high, Lady Helen wagged her forefinger. “Yes, of course, but—”

“I have asked her to read me some of John Donne's work while I recover.”

His mother lifted a single brow. “So be it, but I don't want her here for a week at least. There is tittle-tattle already amongst the servants, and I don't want more scandalous rumors to spread.”

“Fustian.”

“Boy, you
are
grumpy today.”

“You would be cross too if you had been in an opium daze forever. Now please bring her to me.” He took a reckless gamble and placed both feet upon the floor.
Mothers.
He stared off into the fire and watched the rising heat blur the armorial crest on the iron plate built into the back of the chimney. A lion rampant came in and out of focus.

Lady Helen resumed her needlework. “Now may not be a good time for her to call. I heard Mrs. Colton and Deane are moving to America. At least, that is what Mrs. Fulsom told me at church yesterday.”

He struggled to reach the bellpull. “Rowbottom! Rowbottom, in here this minute.” He yanked on the pull, but needed to lean against the wall to steady himself.

Within minutes, a serene Rowbottom appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”

“Rowbottom, send a footman with a note to Mrs. Colton. Ask her to call at her earliest convenience.”

Rowbottom bowed deeply, an unusual gesture signaling his approval. “Right away, sir.” He glanced at Lady Helen before leaving the room.

“What do you need her for?” Lady Helen asked, probably knowing full well the answer.

“Maybe she needs my advice.”

Her solemn expression vanished, and a crack appeared at the side of her mouth. “Advice for what?”

“Just advice. I'm sure my advice is better than that clodpate Browne's advice. Besides, maybe Browne is making a nuisance of himself. Maybe Deane needs urgent masculine guidance. Maybe she knows nothing of the dangers in America.”

His mother stifled a small laugh.

“What?” He waved his good arm. “Those are all plausible.”

Lady Helen bestowed upon him her brightest smile. “My dear, why don't you just admit you are in love?”

“Lov—I wish to get dressed now. Send Locke in. Also please see if we have some of those pineapple cakes available. Mrs. Colton has never tried pineapple cakes, and I think she would like them.”

She laughed. “Of course, I'll ask Cook.” She strolled over to the door and turned. “Advice, indeed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, nothing.” She walked through the doorway. “Nothing at all.”

Once the door closed, his dizziness returned and forced him to stumble to a chair. Who was he kidding?
He
must
shout
his
love
from
the
rooftop.
Now Elinor and his happiness were joined. A man could never voluntarily walk away from true love, or his life would be lost. Lost like it had been for the last couple of years—anxiety for a loved one, a dull sort of plodding forward day by day. His winter of discontent stretched to a lonely life of discontent.

Hell's fire
, not if he could help it. John would not like it either; he knew that now. So he must convince her they were well suited. Only he could fully appreciate her high spirits, provide masculine guidance to Deane, and together help each other survive their shared loss of a loved one.

Behind the flames in the fire, the iron lion's paws were raised, claws out, a clear challenge.

Damn lion. He would just have to prove to Elinor that he loved her. He could just say the words, tell her of his passion. Somehow, using words alone sounded weak. Something females would do, but not gentlemen. Talking was too…exposing…too much in the realm of feeling and not of action. Besides, everyone knew he was all about action. Then he recalled his mother's warm expression whenever a family member openly expressed their love. A sanguine glow had settled around her, and he did not want to deny Elinor a similar glow. He must tell her aloud that he loved her. Except after that, he had no idea how to communicate everything he felt, everything he hoped for, everything he wanted for her—no idea whatever. But from what little he knew about romance and females, it would have to be big. He must pronounce his love by a grand gesture.

***

Elinor grinned at Henry's continued solemnity as he spun her across the black-and-white marble floor in a lively waltz.
How
could
any
human
being
present
not
have
a
smile
upon
their
face?
She enjoyed this evening's ball, held in the Macclesfield assembly rooms, more than the one held a half a year earlier. There was less of a crowd, due to the cold weather, so when she turned to speak, there was every chance her partner heard her conversation.

In the middle of a twirl, she dropped her head back to delight in the sparkling crystal chandeliers overhead. Later she looked down to enjoy her favorite sight, the ladies' beautiful skirts swirling in circles until they blended into one. She also enjoyed the abundance of friendly society present that evening. If any of them had heard silly rumors about her in the past, today they appeared unconcerned.

After their waltz, Henry chose two empty chairs far from the orchestra.

“Do you have news of Dr. Potts?” Elinor asked once they were seated.

Henry adjusted his silver-striped waistcoat, which resulted in a great deal of squirming. He made a final tug then addressed her. “The fugitives have not been apprehended. While the authorities are on the lookout at all major ports, Dr. Potts and his daughter have not been seen. Since they had a head start, they must have already landed on the continent.” He picked up her hand and patted it. “Now, here is the part of the story I must discuss with you, however painful it may be. Bleedings are considered normal, so there is no recourse on that account. However, you and I know better, and the doctor's bloodletting was extreme. Thornbury, when asked, claimed he could think of no reason why Dr. Potts wished him harm. So the current general consensus is the value of Potts's house and lands would be severely diminished by Thornbury's foundry. Inquiry into the doctor's state of affairs revealed a significant mortgage on his property. He also left debts everywhere and even embezzled funds from his daughter's inheritance. That is the basis for further investigation by the authorities.”

“Poor Miss Potts. Is there any way we can assist her?”

“No, but don't worry about them. Dr. Potts has a small annuity for his services during the war, and many of our countrymen find it is much cheaper to live in France than here in England.” He patted her hand. “The point I wish to make is, I believe Dr. Potts wished harm upon Thornbury because of you, my dear.”

Elinor blushed and pulled her hand free.

“I was there,” Henry continued, “when Potts requested the honor of calling upon you to pose a question. Surely you too considered he might ask you to become his wife?”

“Yes.”

“I firmly believe he had plans to acquire your fortune by marriage. It is the only way he could respectfully pay off his debtors. Did Potts have any reason for this belief? Are you to wed Thornbury?”

Her throat seized, so she couldn't reply.

“I understand,” he said. “I believe my theory is the correct one, but I'll refrain from making it generally known, for your sake. However, if you do marry Thornbury, all sorts of tittle-tattle and rampant speculations will arise again.”

She nodded, keeping her gaze focused on her bouncing knee.

“I will, without fail, continue to protect your best interests. You'll always have my support and guidance. Even if you do wed
that
man
.”

Elinor grinned. “Thank you, Henry. I owe you so much. I'm truly blessed to have you as a friend.”

“I see that villain Mabbs approaches. I don't see how he has the nerve to request a dance. I'll save you. Shall we stand up for the next waltz?”

Needing a minute of repose, she begged Henry to divert Mr. Mabbs. The quiet vestibule called, so she entered the empty alcove and leaned against the cool marble of Apollo's plinth. Turning to catch a glimpse of the couples dancing the latest waltz, she noticed Apollo wore a new stone fig leaf. Nothing to straighten here, as his marble leaf was well carved and seemed to cover much more than necessary. Apollo could only be pleased with the prominent arch of his new leaf. Glancing up at the statue's expression, she now considered it quite smug. She chuckled to herself. Yes, all men would be pleased with that enormous leaf.

Her thoughts turned to the memory of her tall stranger. Ross hadn't answered her short note indicating she would attend the ball tonight, so perhaps he never received it, or perhaps he had not recovered enough to dance. She glanced up at the statue. Apollo would make a remarkable dance partner, indeed.

“Madam, once again I catch you gazing wantonly at that man's fig leaf,” Ross said.

Elinor whirled to face him. “I—I, oh,” she managed before the twinkle in his expression robbed her of breath.

He performed a deep, gentlemanly bow. “My dear Miss Leaf, may I have the honor of the next waltz? Although you may have to put up with a partner who can lift only one arm. To remedy the situation, I plan to hold you about the waist with both hands. I expect to enjoy that.”

“I'm shocked. What will people say?”

Ross chuckled and held out his good arm. “They'll be shocked too. Then they will promptly enjoy the ball twice as much as they did before. It will also give them a reason to engage in outrageous tittle-tattle. In fact, our scandalous behavior might make the evening remarkable for many. Come, come, we don't want to disappoint them.”

She eagerly placed her hand on his offered arm, and his muscles tightened upon her touch. Joy surged through her.

Once in the center of the grand room, they waited while other couples assembled to join them for the next waltz. Meanwhile, the small orchestra made curious noises that in no way resembled music.

Ross wiggled an eyebrow up and down.

She blushed and hid her smile behind her pale, rose-colored silk fan. He then stared at her with an odd expression—one that might be described as a leer—
a
leer
. Leering on the dance floor in front of her friends; what a wonderful man.

The musicians pulled together musically and started the first notes of the waltz. Couples either found the proper waltz position easily or utterly failed, resulting in a somewhat comical display of flailing arms. Ross slid both of his hands around her waist, and she rested her palm on his good shoulder. Together, they entered the swirl of candlelight, music, and the movements of the other dancers. She barely noticed them this time, her attention captivated by the man before her and the fierce expression of warmth in his eyes.

“Now to the point.” He cleared his throat by a small cough. “Madam, you are going to receive a proposal here and now. I can no longer delay. I had planned to wait, but upon consideration, a vow on a dance floor is more private than in a house with my mother in residence. You can refuse me if you wish, but I'm afraid it will cost you, since I shall repeat my offer daily.” His words came at a rapid pace, necessitating a deep breath. “If you would like a private proposal, you'd better stop me now. I'm a hardened rake, after all, and I'll likely be up to all sorts of bad behavior here on the dance floor.”

Comprehension deserted her. She could only grin and rotate dizzily in the arms of the man she loved.

Ross spoke even faster. “To the point. I ask you—no—request you—no. Damn, this was easier the first time.” He took another deep breath. “Madam, you are aware of my great regard—no. What an ass.”

She giggled softly.

“Madam, please.”

“Yes?”