Harrumphing, rubbing his eyes, the doctor nodded and rose from his chair. “I will prepare it immediately, My Lord. Perhaps he is finally on his way to recovering.”
“Let us hope so.”
Returning to the bedchamber, he found Amalia informing the Duke of what had been going on during his absence, but noticed she refrained from informing him of the alleged attack on her earlier in the day. “I put Patrick under the supervision of Mr. Bannock,” she told him.
“Very wise move,” the Duke replied, glancing at Reggie. “While I trust him implicitly, Patrick is yet young and can be impetuous.”
“Once you are well, you can resume your plans for him, Your Grace,” Reggie said with a small smile. “He has quite the ambitions for expanding your business.”
“He always has been driven to succeed,” the Duke answered, “even as a young boy. It never sat well with him that he was born the second child and could not inherit.”
“Thus, he channeled his efforts into becoming wealthy in business,” Amalia commented.
His Grace frowned. “I do not expect him to gain great wealth in this position, but comfortably well off, yes. Our agreement is that I pay him a generous salary, and that is all.”
“I am sure that will be enough for him,” Amalia replied, smiling. “You are very kind to have given him this opportunity.”
“I expect great things from him.” Her father smiled up at her. “He is my blood, after all, and will increase my wealth exponentially.”
Mr. Hill arrived with both tea and broth on a tray and set it down on the table beside the Duke’s bed. Amalia stood up to give him room as he inspected his patient and helped him to drink both the broth and the tea. “The next time you are awake, Your Grace,” he said firmly, “I will require you to eat solid food.”
“I will endeavor to try, Mr. Hill,” His Grace answered, sipping the hot broth. “My stomach is queasy, and I fear I may not be able to hold much down.”
“Simple bread might not be too hard on you and will give you much-needed sustenance.”
Amalia stepped to Reggie’s side as they both watched the Duke drink the liquids, then fall back to sleep. She smiled up at him. “This is so encouraging,” she whispered.
“Indeed, it is. Come. Let us leave him to sleep and return in a few hours.”
Half expecting an argument, Reggie felt a little surprised when she followed him out of the Duke’s apartments. “Shall we go stroll around in the garden for a time?” he asked.
“That sounds lovely.”
In the hallway outside the Duke’s door, Amalia sent a footman to fetch her personal maid as a chaperone, making Reggie wish they were married and had no further need for such. He knew Edwina to be loyal and discreet, never one to gossip with the rest of the staff as many maids were wont to do. Edwina loved Amalia and protected her reputation with a fierceness that rivaled a tigress defending her offspring.
“I am so glad you are here, Reggie,” she said as they ambled amid the hedgerows and tall trees. “I do not know what I would do without you.”
“So you said before.” Reggie grinned down at her. “I cannot seem to express how dear you are to me.”
“You just did.”
Despite her father’s continuing recovery, Amalia seemed troubled. She bent to breathe in the scent of the roses as they passed, Edwina following them at a short distance. “You are my good friend, Reggie, and I am so very fond of you, as well.”
Stricken at the word “fond” and not “love”, Reggie kept the grimace of frustration off his face with an effort. Trying to keep his voice level yet friendly, he replied, “Then it is good we have one another.”
“What do you think of Eastcairn?”
I think I would like him much better if he were in Australia right now. “It does not matter what I think,” he answered. “What do you feel about him?”
“Confusion.” Amalia glanced up at him before walking on. “I want to believe he has a good heart and is true in his desire to marry me, not my father’s title. Had he approached me before Father took ill, then I may not have suspicions at all.”
“But you do have them.”
“Of course.” Her voice changed to bitterness despite her smile. “I fear his timing, Reggie. I want to marry a man who loves me and does not aspire for more than that.”
Then marry me, and you will have what you want. For, I love you with all my heart and would marry you if you had no titles or wealth at all. “As you should. Your father is not pressuring you to marry anyone, he said so. Do not make a rash decision, Amalia.”
“I shall not, Reggie. No one can marry me without mine or my father’s consent, and if he will not give it, and I do not, well, things will remain as they are.”
And give me time to work up the courage to tell you how I feel. “If, and I say if, Eastcairn is creating events to make you fall in love with him,” Reggie said slowly, “please be careful. If he tries such a thing again, it may in truth harm you.”
Amalia stopped. “You mean something might go amiss, and I do indeed get hurt? That is a very frightening thought, Reggie.”
“But I also must emphasize that I only suspect he engineered this alleged attack this morning,” Reggie added. “I have no proof, and I may very well be wrong.”
“It might almost seem romantic,” Amalia commented, walking on along the cobbled path that wound around the huge garden. “A man going to such lengths to win the heart of his lady love.” She smiled, but it held little humor or warmth.
“Love should not require violence for it to happen, Amalia.”
“Quite true, and believe me, it will not work. I will not be forced into falling in love nor into marriage.”
“Good. Stay strong and hold your ground. That is the best advice I can give at the moment.”
“Having your support in all this means everything to me, Reggie,” she said, her golden-brown eyes glistening with tears.
“Where else would I be, except at your side?” To remain there, as your loving and adoring husband, until we grow old together hand in hand. But it will never be unless I find it within me to open my heart to you, and for that, I need tremendous courage.
Chapter 11
The very next evening, her father made his way carefully down the stairs with the aid of a walking stick, and Reggie hovering at his elbow. Amalia stood at the base of the steps, watching with a mixture of happiness and trepidation, fearing a repeat of the last time he had come down them.
“You can please cease behaving like a nursemaid, Reginald,” Father complained, yet humor filled his voice and eyes as he looked to Amalia.
“If it keeps you safe and healthy, Your Grace,” Reggie replied with a grin, “I plan to hover over you for a long while yet.”
“Good God, boy,” the Duke thundered. “I am not an invalid.”
“Yes, you are, Father,” Amalia interjected as he reached the floor. She curtsied. “I, for one, am not strong enough to catch you if you fall, but Reggie is.”
Leaning on his stick, breathing heavily, her father gazed down at her. “I suppose I should be grateful, as I am not up to my usual strength. Come now, we must not be tardy.”
Both Patrick and Lord Eastcairn rose from their chairs to bow as the Duke made his way carefully inside. “How wonderful to see you on your feet, uncle,” Patrick exclaimed, seating himself once the Duke did.
“Yes, yes, it appears I am on the mend.”
Amalia and Reggie took their own chairs as Perkins signaled the footmen to begin pouring wine all around. Her father lifted his hand. “Tea for me, please,” he stated. “Mr. Hill has advised against drinking alcohol for the time being.”
“I am glad you are taking his advice, Father,” Amalia told him, sharing her joy at his presence with Reggie, who winked at her.
“Yes,” Lord Eastcairn commented with a grin. “I, too, am glad to see you back and returning to health, Your Grace.”
“My appetite is not quite what it used to be,” h
er father replied heavily, picking up the cup of tea the footman placed in front of him. He took a long sip.
“It will come back, Father.”
“Yes, of course, it will.”
“Now that you are back on your feet, Your Grace,” Eastcairn said, his eyes on Amalia, “you will reconsider my suit to marry you daughter.”
As Amalia glanced away from Eastcairn and toward Reggie at the moment Eastcairn finished his sentence, she clearly witnessed the flash of anger that crossed his face before he concealed it behind a polite façade. Then her own rage at the man’s audacity flared, hot and white, and she felt her hands trembling. In keeping her eyes down, she hoped she concealed her emotions and kept a tight rein on her tongue.
“I do believe I meant what I said, Eastcairn,” her father said slowly. “I refuse to pressure my daughter at this time.”
“I have no desire to annoy you,” Eastcairn continued smoothly. “I, however, am in need of a bride, and Lady Gallagher is not just available, but I have become quite smitten with her.”
Knowing that if she dared look up, everyone at the table would see the smoldering anger, as Amalia felt it tightening her face. Trying to relax her tense jaw, she drew in a long slow breath, then spoke slowly and evenly. “While I have no wish to insult you, My Lord,” she gritted, her voice thick, “you must cease and desist, immediately, this pursuit of my hand. Both my father and myself have clearly stated that I am not ready to marry at this time. Am I making myself clear?”
At last, she dared look up to find every eye staring at her. Reggie smothered a grin behind an urgent need to scratch the side of his nose, then winked at her. Her father merely watched her, no emotion revealed on his countenance. He said nothing and picked up his cup to take a sip from his tea.
Patrick closed his gaping mouth when she met his gaze, then grimaced, and shunted his face to the side. At last, she looked at the Earl of Eastcairn. He stared back at her, his blue eyes as hard as agates, his lips thinned even as he smiled slightly. She suspected she had just made him as angry as he had made her, but she could not bring herself to care.
“Crystal,” he said tightly, slowly, “clear.”
“Cousin,” Patrick said, his voice unhappy, and Amalia could not tell if his misery came from the general atmosphere around the table or that she had rejected his friend, “you must marry. Freddie is a fine catch and a fine man. Please reconsider.”
“If you do not mind,” she replied stiffly, “I think a change of subject is in order.”
“Yes,” Reggie agreed. “I believe that is a delightful idea.”
As the conversation turned to general talk of who in society was doing what, who was hosting which ball, and whether the Prince Regent would attend, Amalia observed Eastcairn from the corner of her eye. He added little to the discussion, and unless forced to do so, never took his eyes from her face.
She caught Reggie’s gaze briefly, and as though by magic, she instantly understood his thoughts. You made him very angry. Be careful, but I will protect you. Dipping her chin slightly in a nod, Amalia tried to convey both her appreciation and comprehension of what she had done. I did not wish to make an enemy of the Earl, yet I will not stand by and let him bully my father while he is weak.
When supper was over, Eastcairn left as soon as was socially acceptable with a bow to the Duke, and Patrick followed him after shooting Amalia a pleading glance. Her father gazed at her with a small smile; his face was sympathetic. “While I may not have any, would you both care to join me in the drawing-room for port?”
Reggie’s elation at witnessing Amalia put Eastcairn securely in his place lasted until the news reached him that the Duke was once again bedridden and unconscious. “What the devil is going on here?” he muttered as he trotted up the stairs to the Duke’s private chambers.
He was escorted inside by the Duke’s valet and found both Amalia and Mr. Hill seated by his bed. “Again?” he asked, hardly keeping his voice down. “Mr. Hill, what is wrong with him?”
The little physician rose to bow. “I am sorry, My Lord, I do not know. I have studied my medical journals until I cannot see straight and can find no disease that matches his symptoms.”
“He is dying, Reggie,” Amalia told him, her voice thick with grief, her eyes glimmering with tears.
“Do not say that,” Reggie snapped, scared that she might be right. “He has gotten well before; he will get well again.”
“This time, he is much weaker; his pulse is slower.”
“Never give up.” Reggie stood at the foot of the bed, gazing at the Duke. “Mr. Hill, could this possibly be a disease that came from another country?”
“But His Grace has not left England.”
“No, but he is, however, in the import business and comes in contact with people from other lands. Could he have gotten it that way?”
“Possible, but unlikely,” Mr. Hill replied, his tone thoughtful. “A disease such as what you are referring to is contagious, and others like you, myself, and Her Ladyship would also be stricken by it.”
Reggie wanted to growl. “This is so strange. He gets better, then sick again, better, now sick. And no disease you know of works like that?”
“None.”
Feeling that he was on the edge of something important, Reggie struggled to reach for it, but whatever idea he had slipped from his grasp. “This is so very strange,” he repeated, muttering.
“I will bleed him again,” Mr. Hill stated. “He has more strength than he did previously. If I may politely ask you both to leave for the time being.”
Amalia nodded and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Hill. I know you’re doing all you can.”
The physician bowed. “My Lady.”
Walking out of the ducal apartments, Reggie wanted nothing more than to pull Amalia into his arms and let her weep on his shoulder. Glancing around the corridor to see if there were any potential witnesses, he did just that, drawing her into his chest and wrapping his arms around her. When she did not protest or try to escape him, he almost uttered those three words— “I love you.”
He held her close for as long as he dared, then released her and gazed down into her eyes. She stared up at him, tears tracking down her cheeks. “I am so frightened,” she whispered.
“I know. I am, too.”
“What will happen to me if he dies?”
Feeling helpless, Reggie wanted to say that she would marry him and be loved and protected all the days of her life. The words rose to his mouth, and then the vision of her breaking into laughter upon hearing them intruded. “I do not know,” was all he could say.
Amalia nodded and turned her face away to walk back down the corridor. “How can I ask you to solve my problems?” she murmured.
How can I ask you to marry me when you do not look at me as a potential husband? You have placed an unsurmountable shell around yourself and will not let me in.
“I want to, Amalia,” he said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “If I could rid you of every pain in your life, I would do so without thinking twice.”
She half-turned, a strained grin twisting her mouth. “I know. You are a good friend.”
Why can I not be so much more to you?
“I wish to go to my rooms,” Amalia said, her voice dull. “Will you escort me, Reggie?”
“Of course.”
Opening her door, Amalia gazed at him for a long moment as though wanting to say something. All that emerged from her lips was a soft, “Thank you,” before she gently closed the door in his face. His heart in tatters, cursing himself for his inability to tell her how he felt, Reggie turned from her chambers to walk down the corridor to the stairs.
The ancient butler approached him at roughly the speed of a garden snail, a letter on a silver tray. Perkins bowed. “A message for you, My Lord.”
Reggie accepted it. “Thank you, Perkins.”
The old butler bowed again and departed, leaving Reggie alone to open it. It was from his steward, Hap.
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My Lord. I have received word that your presence is greatly needed at your stud farm in Surrey. It would appear that several mares have mysteriously died, and others are ill. Please make all haste there at your earliest convenience. Yours, Hap Boyle.
Muttering oaths under his breath, Reggie folded the letter and placed it in an inner pocket of his coat. Gesturing toward a nearby footman, who strode toward him and bowed, he said. “I need paper, quill, and ink.”
“Right away, My Lord.”
Once the servant returned with the necessary items, Reggie used a nearby table to write.
My dearest Amalia, I have been called away to Surrey on an emergency, but I will return to you as soon as I possibly can. Please know you have my love and affection as well as my friendship. Do not give up hope, my sweet lady. Yours, Reggie Davidson.
Folding it, he handed it to the waiting footman. “Please take this to Lady Gallagher immediately.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
The footman bowed and departed, and Reggie strode toward the front door where he asked another footman to have the grooms saddle his horse. As he waited, he paced, fretting, worried about Amalia, his prized horses, the Duke, and everything else that seemed to be going wrong lately. “Surely this chain of ill-luck must come to an end,” he muttered. “It must.”
Chapter 12
“What do you think he meant by that?” Amalia asked Edwina.
Amalia spent much of the day in her chambers, alternating weeping and staring out the window. The weather in London had turned as grey and dismal as her soul, the rain pattering against the glass. Edwina had built a fire in the hearth, although the sight of the merry flames failed to cheer her. She reread Reggie’s letter, understanding that he had to go, but wishing he had not.
“Meant by what, My Lady?”
“‘You have my love and affection as well as my friendship,’” Amalia quoted.
Edwina tossed another chunk of wood on the flames and brushed her hands together. “I told you I like the way he looks at you.”
The Last Lady of Thornhill Manor Page 6