The earl loomed above her within an instant of her headlong plunge. It is becoming quite a habit with me, he thought almost inconsequentially as he knelt down beside her. Her gown was grimy and rent with small jagged tears; blood welled up and spread, blending into and encrusting the black material. He knew with an uncanny sense that the deep rending sobs were not from her fall; nor, he guessed, did tears come easily to her. He did not attempt to speak to her or soothe her. Rather, with a sigh, he grasped her about her waist, hauled her upright, and swung her into his arms.
She went rigid and he thought wearily that she would lash out at him again. He tightened his grip and strode on, not looking down at her.
It did not occur to Arabella to fight him. She had tensed with shock at the touch of a man’s hands. No one save her father had ever before held her. She felt the strength of his arms, and for a fleeting instant sensed an inner strength in him, a calm self-assurance that heightened the stark emptiness deep within her.
The earl halted a moment at the edge of the front lawn, staring thoughtfully ahead at the bright candlelit mullioned windows.
“Is there a staircase to your room through the west entrance?” He felt her nod against his shoulder.
As the earl turned to skirt the front doors, they were suddenly flung wide and Lady Ann waved to him. She looked frantic.
“Justin, thank God. You have found her. We’ve been distraught with worry.
Bring her here, quickly, quickly.”
He leaned his face close to Arabella’s and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there seems to be no hope for it. I would have spared you if I could have. But she is your mother. I would never disobey a mother. I’m sorry for it, but there it is.”
She said nothing at all, but she was as still as a board in his arms. He called out, “Yes, Ann, I have found her. I’ll bring her to you.” Lady Ann did not shriek or fall into hysterics. Her blue eyes fastened with disbelief on her daughter’s ravaged face. She saw the tear streaks trailing through the dirt and blood down her white cheeks. “Dear God,” she managed, then fell silent.
The earl felt Arabella clutch at his coat as if she wanted somehow to disappear inside of him. He sensed her deep shame and said quickly, “She isn’t hurt, Ann, merely cut up a trifle from an accidental fall. It is nothing more than that. Is. Dr. Branyon still about? I think it wise that he see her.”
Arabella gathered remnants of pride and struggled in the earl’s arms to face her mother. “I do not wish to see Dr. Branyon. Mother, I am perfectly fine. It is as he said, I simply took a stupid fall and hurt myself just a bit. If you will please let me down, sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped her to the ground.
She staggered against him and would have fallen had he not slipped his arm around her waist. She had dignity, she simply had to dredge it up.
She raised her chin, placed her hand calmly upon his arm, and walked stiffly beside him into the house.
* * *
Dr. Paul Branyon straightened over a now clean Arabella and said with his charming smile, “Well, my little Bella, though you were a rare mess to be sure, I can find nothing in particular wrong with you that your bath did not cure. You will be a trifle sore here and there for a couple of days, but nothing of consequence. I do, though, insist that you have a good night’s sleep.”
This evening the lurking twinkle always present in Dr. Branyon’s brown eyes didn’t draw a smile from her. She adored him, always had, for he had been a part of her life since she was born. Still, he had seen her fail, even though he didn’t realize it. She hated herself. She also felt sore from the top of her still-damp head to her bruised feet. She eyed him as he carefully measured out several drops from a small vial into a glass of water. Like her father, Arabella hated sickness, the earl having convinced her over the years that weak persons used various illnesses to gain attention. Succumbing to common complaints showed lack of character.
“I will not take that laudanum, for that is what it is, isn’t it, sir?”
“Yes, just a bit, my dear.”
“No. Give it to Mrs. Tucker. I know she uses it in her tea. She says it makes her feet relaxed.”
“Always giving orders,” Dr. Branyon said, smiling at her. “You do it well, but it doesn’t matter this time. I do not wish to have your mother shred me into pieces, and that is what would happen if I don’t take thorough care of you. Isn’t it, Ann?”
Lady Ann stepped forward. She said with a firmness that Arabella found unnerving, “Be quiet, Arabella. It has been an extraordinarily trying day. There is much change and much for you to think about. I will not have you bleary-eyed and in a snit all for want of a good night’s sleep.
Drink the water.”
Arabella could not believe it had been her own dear mother speaking to her all hard and calm like that.
“Mother? Is that truly you speaking? It isn’t right, Mother. You never raise your voice, you always fade away. You never fight or argue. It isn’t what I’m used to. I don’t understand any of this.”
“Perhaps you will, in time,” Lady Ann said, her voice just a bit sharp, but there was amusement there as well. “Come, Arabella. You have far more need of this than do Mrs. Tucker’s feet. Drink your medicine. Do it now or you will have to deal with both Paul and me.” Arabella, still stunned by her mother’s unlikely behavior, downed the entire glass without pause. Lady Ann could scarce restrain a chuckle. Had she been so weak then? Had she but to be firm and Arabella would obey her? “I will send Gracie to you now, my love. Just ring if there is anything you need.” Lady Ann bent swiftly over her daughter and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She said softly, “Forgive me for not telling you of Justin’s existence. I have grown more and more concerned about your not knowing, yet it was a promise I made to your father. I did try to get him to change his mind, but he never changed his mind about anything, once he’d made it up, you know that.”
“Didn’t he? About anything, Mama? Surely Papa wasn’t that certain of himself all the time, was he?” Then she sighed in the face of her mother’s silence. Perhaps he had been. She had always prayed that she would have her father’s strength of will. But look at where his strength of will had brought her. She had two months to marry a man who looked like her, who looked like her brother and her father as well, was more arrogant and cold than her father at his most displeased, and she hated him.
What to do?
“Good night, little Bella.” Dr. Branyon smiled and patted her cheek. His hand was firm and strong. She remembered his hands from her earliest years.
She was asleep before they were out of her bedchamber, their heads close together, their talk too quiet for her to hear.
Dr. Branyon couldn’t prevent his chuckle. “I now believe I have seen everything,” he said, grinning down at Lady Ann. “You telling Arabella what to do? By all that’s holy, that was Arabella obeying? It boggles the mind. Perhaps you have become a witch. If I look about closely will I find a black cat who is your familiar?” She remained silent, and he knew she was thinking. He knew that look, he knew her every look. “You have stolen the indomitable will from your daughter. Never before have I observed you having the last word. It pleased me, Ann.”
Lady Ann sighed. “You are right. I was a Milquetoast, wasn’t I?”
“Well, no, not that, exactly. It’s just that the earl and Arabella—they seemed somehow to smother you with their vitality, their boundless energy. And both of them autocrats, no denying that. I could never quite feel Lady Ann’s personality in Evesham Abbey.”
“They are terribly alike. Sometimes, Paul, I wonder what I did all those years, what I thought.” She frowned a moment and gazed almost unwillingly down at the huge Deverill family ring on her third finger. Somehow it did not seem to weigh so heavily as usual on her hand. She drew a deep breath and looked up with absolute trust into a face whose every expression she had memorized long ago. “Many times I have felt that I am the child and Arabella, the fond, yet dominating mother. I
have felt sometimes very out of place with her, as if she regarded me with a sort of affectionate condescension. You know, of course, how the earl felt.” She found, surprisingly, that she spoke without bitterness.
Dr. Branyon fought down the familiar surge of anger that had gnawed at his belly so many times during the past years. “Yes, I know.” She didn’t see his jaw tighten or his eyes darken, but he knew that even if she had, it wouldn’t have surprised or dismayed her.
Lady Ann stopped in the middle of the entrance hall and looked dispassionately about her. There were grand Renaissance screens, with two archways divided by fluted pilasters and enriched with elaborate paneling of splendid craftsmanship. All the trappings of war were displayed on and about the walls—hand breastplates and morions, buff leather jerkins, matchlocks, and many other articles of equipment worn or used by the foemen of the civil wars. Faded Flemish tapestries depicting scenes of battle shimmered in soft glowing patterns. Ancient flambeaux sent spiraling threads of blue-black smoke upward to the blackened beamed ceiling.
“It is really quite strange, you know,” she said aloud, “but I have always hated Evesham Abbey, though I cannot deny its incredible beauty.
The history of England still lives in this hall, yet I have no pride in it, no flights of fancy over its grandeur. You said, dear friend, that I am drawing upon Arabella’s strength. I will tell you that if she were forced to leave Evesham Abbey, I would dread to think of what would happen to her.” Lady Ann waved her hand out about her. “Every panel, every armament, shield, every nook and cranny of this house is a part of her. Much of her indomitable will, as you call it, is tied up with this house. So, you see, I must be firm with her, try to make her understand that her father didn’t betray her, that he did what he could so that she would remain here.”
“So you believe she should marry the new Earl of Strafford as her father demanded?”
“Oh yes, Paul, she must marry Justin.”
He hadn’t quite expected this. He looked down at her, wishing for just an instant that he could touch the soft blond hair over her ears. He cleared his throat instead and said, “Judging from the events of the day, I would say that you have your work cut out for you.”
“Arabella cried,” Lady Ann said. “I could not believe it, but she did.
Did her rage at Justin bring it out of her? Or were they finally tears for her father? She never cries, you know. I don’t know about this time, but it seems a good sign.”
She turned then, nodded to the footman who held open the door, and walked into the Velvet Room.
“Justin, Elsbeth,” she said, giving them both her smile, which was soft and warm and quite beautiful. “I trust we have not kept you waiting overlong.”
“No, dear ma’am,” Elsbeth said. She walked to her stepmother and asked in her shy voice, “Is Arabella all right, ma’am?” Dr. Branyon said, “She was sound asleep by the time we left her bedchamber. On the morrow she will be quite restored to her usual self.”
“That could be a pity,” the earl said to no one in particular. “Are you certain, sir? Could she not perhaps have a relapse into common sense and sound reason? Perhaps even a bit of amiability? I shan’t repine if she only chooses to dip her finger into just a cup of benevolence.” Lady Ann held down the chuckle, gave him a frown, and said, “Are you and his lordship becoming acquainted, my dear?” She saw that Justin started in surprise. It was the new title, she realized. He would have to become used to it.
“Oh, no, not as yet, Lady Ann. His lordship had to change his clothes, you see. He was really quite dirty from arguing with Arabella. He had been with me but a moment before you and Dr. Branyon arrived, but he does seem nice. He called me ma’am, at first, but I told him that since we’re cousins, he’s to call me Elsbeth.”
“I like the sound of ma’am,” the earl said. “But if you prefer that I call you Elsbeth, I shall have to ask Lady Ann’s permission.”
“Ma’am?” Lady Ann said, cocking her head to one side. “I think it dreadful myself. It makes a lady sound old. Do call her Elsbeth, Justin.”
“Thank you. Would you like to sit on that very small crimson velvet and gold chair, Elsbeth? I don’t dare try it, it might collapse.” Lady Ann sat in front of the ornate tea service. “Do you take cream in your tea, Justin? Sugar? We must accustom ourselves.”
“Just as it comes from the pot, Ann,” he said.
“No frills, hmm, my lord?” Dr. Branyon said, raising his own teacup to the earl in salute.
“On the Peninsula there was little milk unless we could catch a wandering goat. As for sugar and lemon, they were unheard of. One becomes very basic when one has to.”
Dr. Branyon liked the new earl. He wasn’t pompous and utterly cruel like the former earl. He was a large man, much like his late relative, and carried his size with loose-limbed grace. Though his bronzed face looked more suited to rugged adventuring, his elegant fitted evening clothes were not at all out of place on him. He looked to be as much at ease in the drawing room as he would be on the battlefield. The earl sensed eyes upon him and turned to Dr. Branyon, an inquiring smile spreading over his face. It softened his features.
Dr. Branyon was beginning to think that Ann was quite correct in her hope. The earl might be just the right husband for Arabella. At least he wouldn’t let Arabella walk all over him. On the other hand, she might shoot him if he believed, as had the late earl, that a woman’s only use was to bear sons. Or if he believed, as had the late earl, that a gentleman was free to betray his wife whenever it pleased him to do so.
The earl shifted his attention to Lady Ann. “I compliment you, Ann, on your furnishing of this room. The Velvet Room, I believe it is called?”
“Thank you for the praise, but it isn’t deserved. This room hasn’t been touched in years. The velvet has lasted beautifully, has it not? The earl’s first wife, Magdalaine, recovered all the furnishings. I believe the crimson velvet and the gold make a very rich effect. And with those white columns throughout the chamber, I sometimes feel as though I should be awaiting the king. Well, perhaps not George, for he is quite mad, poor man.”
The earl sipped his tea. It was rich and dark, just the way he liked it.
He said to Elsbeth, “Do you plan to make your home at Evesham Abbey?” Elsbeth’s teacup clattered into its saucer. “Oh goodness, no, my lord.
That is, well, I do think it most kind of your lordship to perhaps not mind if I did stay, but now I can afford to have quite different plans.” She beamed at him. “I still have to pinch myself to believe it’s true.
But it is, Lady Ann has assured me again and again that it is, that I did not misunderstand. It isn’t a mistake. Perhaps my father did care just a bit for me after all. Lady Ann assures me that he did. I never believed that he did, but he proved it in the end, didn’t he?” There didn’t seem to be a ready answer to that. The ten-thousand-pound legacy from her father. “Yes,” the earl said finally, “he obviously did care for you. What do you intend to do with your fortune, Elsbeth? Travel to Paris? Buy a villa in Rome?”
“I haven’t yet decided, my lord.” She shot a look toward Lady Ann, who said immediately, “We are just beginning to speak of possibilities, Justin. But I think that Elsbeth would greatly enjoy a prolonged stay in London. I would, of course, accompany her.” She paused a moment and met his gray eyes squarely. “After you and Arabella are wed, we shall firmly settle our plans. We will not remain here in your way.” The earl’s left eyebrow flared upward to his temple, an identical habit that Arabella had inherited from her father. It shook Ann a moment. They looked so much alike. She could but pray that they wouldn’t come to think of each other as brother and sister. He said nothing to Ann’s outrageous statement, but she knew he wanted to.
After Crupper had cleared away the tea tray, Dr. Branyon moved closer to Lady Ann, and said quietly, “Don’t rush your fences, my dear. I do wonder though what the earl wanted to say to you. It was difficult but he held his tongue. That is excellent and p
erhaps bodes well for the future.”
“Nonsense. Justin knows quite well what is at stake. He will do his best to drag Arabella to the altar, just you mark my words.”
“If she does not care for him I don’t know what we will do.”
“We will simply watch and wait, Paul. I do not believe Justin is stupid or clumsy. We will see. Actually, we have no choice but to wait and see.” Dr. Branyon looked toward Elsbeth, who was painstakingly making conversation with the earl. “You didn’t tell me that you were leaving with Elsbeth.”
Lady Ann felt a sudden quickening deep inside her. She blinked, looking away from him. A long-buried memory rose in her mind, and she said unexpectedly, “Do you remember, Paul, when I was birthing Arabella? I have never told you, but I know that you were with me for all of those long agonizing hours. I know that you never left me. I remember your voice urging me, always urging me, even when I wanted to die. I know that you saved my life.”
He would never forget the horror of those long hours, his fear that she would die, his ultimate fury at the earl for his damned indifference.
“No,” he said slowly, “I did not think you would remember. The pain was so intense that I believed your mind wouldn’t allow you to remember.” She was being polite, he realized, making certain that he knew he was still welcome here, that he would always be welcome. He rose suddenly, wanting only to leave. He didn’t believe he could stand kindness from her. “It grows late, Ann, and I should stop by and check on Mr. Crocker’s stomach pains. It’s a thirty-minute ride. The old man will probably be cursing the air blue by the time I get there. He calls me boy, at my age.” He doesn’t want those memories, Lady Ann thought, staring up at him. It was a horrible time for me, but he was my physician, nothing more, and I have made him uncomfortable. She rose to stand beside him. She found an easy smile for him, but it was difficult. “Do come by tomorrow, Paul, if for no other reason than to pronounce Arabella fit again. I do hope that you will since I don’t wish to hear her argue with you.”
Lord Deverill's Heir Page 5