by Liz Tyner
She felt the need to reassure him she was fine. To remind him he had been there and had done the right thing for her.
Putting a hand on his forearm, she grasped it. ‘Thank you.’
When she realised what she’d done, she froze, then whipped her hand away. His shirt was paper thin. Much thinner than it appeared in the candlelight. Warmth, fine hairs and masculinity had answered her touch. She curled her palm close to her stomach and covered it with her other hand. She had to say something to erase the fact she’d touched him. She’d not planned it. It was a mistake. Something had been different. He was different from Tenney. Whereas Tenney was a balm, Devlin ignited something inside her.
He didn’t even seem aware, which somehow felt like a slap, and he returned to the window. Nothing flickered in his gaze. Instead, he gave her a brief bow. ‘Let’s not repeat it, but it was the finest point of my life, I think. And I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know what was going on until I stopped and there was a...’ He cleared his throat. ‘The smell of burnt roses was in my arms and I knew you were uncomfortable, and I had to get you to privacy.’
Letting the silence continue, she wandered to the shelf with novels, and selected the one nearest her, without paying attention to its title. She needed to break the mood.
The spine creaked when she opened the book and she held it, letting her eyes linger on the words she couldn’t read in the dim light.
‘It is so odd how the night turned out,’ she said. ‘Mother was happy to see the invitation from the Countess. I almost feel apologetic that I ended the event. I’m thankful you were here.’
He returned her honesty with some of his own. ‘I didn’t get an invitation. I received a note to keep my evening free and was given the time to show up in evening dress.’
‘You are a good son to do that.’
‘Easy enough. I had to be somewhere on earth tonight, so why not here? It makes my mother happy and she asks for so little that I’m pleased to respond to her summons. One night absent from the clubs is almost a relief. Though it was getting dull until—’
He touched the windowpane’s edge, flicking aside something invisible to her. ‘One moment and the world changes for ever, according to the old pontificators at the club, and they are right. Perhaps that is why I buy them drinks and listen to their claptrap.’
Now that she watched him more closely, it was almost as if she could absorb the caring and generosity behind his eyes, but she questioned if it was caused by the late hour, the situation, or if he just naturally had a face that pulled her attention closer. She examined him again. His face. It did welcome her. A gift he’d been given by his birth.
He stepped forward.
She shut the book, tucking it under her arm. He took her fingertips and awareness pulsed inside her. She assumed he was going to kiss her hand, and in the light, and the night, and their improper dress, it would have been so much more than just a touch of his lips. Perhaps he discerned it at the same time she did.
He stared at her fingertips and rubbed a thumb over them, sending calming shivers into her. The moment brought her peace. A feeling of safety and security.
‘If we were judged by the beauty of our hands, we would all be put to shame by comparison to yours.’ Her fingers slipped from his when he increased the distance.
‘That is kind of you.’ Her words were a whisper and she didn’t think he even heard them.
‘Goodnight, Rachael. I hope you think gently of me and understand that I’m happy on my path of foolishness and jests, and I hope you gain much from your responsible life.’
‘Thank you.’
Then his face changed and she could observe nothing beyond the penetrating eyes focused on her.
‘Forgive my impetuousness. I must leave. You are a betrothed woman and I am a rake. In this case, it is a combination which can’t be mixed, much like silk and fire. I must remember that.’
‘Surely a few words between us runs no risk of anything untoward.’ She didn’t want him to leave. But it was only because she wanted to be distracted. Only because the day had been eventful. Only because they were becoming friends.
‘No risk with a few words,’ he said. ‘But I feel we could speak long hours into the night and, as tiredness encroached, you might forget your maturity and do something foolish. I tell you as a friend that I would be hoping so with all my being.’ On those words, he left, his footsteps not making a sound.
Chapter Three
Rachael recovered alone in a small bedroom, painted with gentle hues of blue and with paintings of flowers. Every blossom in England had to be represented in the room and she wasn’t sure she liked them as much as she had before. Now she was afraid that every time she saw a bloom, she would associate it with a burning sensation.
She propped herself on one crossed leg while she returned to her book.
Breakfast at the Earl’s estate had been informal, which had relieved Rachael’s mother immensely, and Rachael had been given the option of taking breakfast alone or joining the family. She’d reassured both her mother and the Countess that she was fine and chose to remain in her room.
* * *
That evening, someone rapped at the door. Rachael untucked her leg from under her and stood. ‘Please come in,’ she called out.
A maid entered, carrying two dresses, a small portmanteau and a paper in her hands. ‘Your father returned home and sent these things to you.’ The maid bustled around, arranging the clothing. ‘And your mother and the Countess are taking tea and wanted to know if you might join them, but will understand if you don’t wish to.’
‘I think I will be fine here,’ Rachael said.
Then, before leaving, the maid gave her the letter. ‘Your father also sent this.’
Rachael took it, feeling a pleased flutter in her stomach when she saw Mr Tenney’s handwriting. She’d never seen anyone who could make such beautiful flourishes. Her name had never flowed so elegantly as when Mr Tenney wrote it.
She’d waited all through his university years and, now that he was becoming established as a barrister, they were to be wed soon. The unfortunate death of his grandmother had postponed things, or they would have already married.
Rachael ran her fingertips over the letters of her name and it was as if she’d been at his side while he penned them.
Then she slipped open the seal. She read and the words didn’t make sense to her. She read the words again, going slower, taking her time with each one.
She folded the paper, waited, then unfolded it and read again.
They were to be married.
Were to be married.
Her betrothed.
She scrutinised the letter again. Surely it was a mistake. It looked like his handwriting, but...
He said he still wanted to marry her. He said it plainly.
She folded the paper once more and then again, hands shaking, then she took the missive and shoved it under her pair of gloves that rested on the table.
He still wanted to wed her.
They were to be married.
She rushed to pull the letter free and read it again. Yes, he still wanted to marry her. But the letter didn’t make sense. He said at the beginning of the page and again, near his signature, that he would marry her. Yet it was as if all the words in the middle had been written by someone else and obviously the man who’d written them had no regard for her whatsoever.
She touched her face. Never had anyone criticised her so much.
She studied it closer, trying to comprehend something that she didn’t understand. Her mind was playing some kind of trick on her, surely.
The movement and tension in her caused her injury to ache again and now it spread throughout her body.
Someone knocked at the door. She shoved the letter under the gloves again.
‘Yes?’ she called out, turning.
‘We just wanted to make sure you are still doing well.’ Her mother walked in as she spoke, the Countess right behind her. ‘We had a lovely day and wish that you could have walked with us in the gardens. I even sent a letter to your sister to let her know that she needn’t leave her husband’s side in her condition and that you are on the mend.’
Rachael flexed her fingers out of sight. She bit her bottom lip. ‘I’m well. Much better. Ever so much. But I wish not to jostle myself too much.’
He mother stilled. ‘I understand. Are you positive you’re healing?’
Rachael nodded, but stopped when her chin quivered. ‘The physician told me it would be tender. Might feel worse before recovering.’ Rachael rubbed her forehead. ‘I’ve just been moving. Made it flare up again.’
‘You needn’t be brave, dear,’ the Countess said. ‘I will send for the physician immediately.’
‘No. No. I’m fine. I’m fine. Really.’ Rachael heard her sniffle and tried to turn it into a cough. ‘It’s just been a trying day, without resting well last night. That’s all it is. I didn’t sleep much and that’s what’s bothering me.’
‘Rachael Marie, are you sure?’ her mother asked.
She tried to clear her head. The medicine had obviously affected her. It had caused some cruel mire in her brain that flared up at odd times. When she read the letter again, she would find her error. The words in the middle would match the rest of them as they should.
‘I’m well on the way to recovery, Mother. Once I can sleep well, I’ll be as good as new.’
Her mother and the Countess shared a glance and her mother scrutinised Rachael. ‘I suppose. But you must promise to let me know if your burns aren’t healing as they should.’ Both of the older women frowned, studying her.
‘I promise.’ She put as much reinforcement into the words as she could.
‘Well,’ the Countess said, rushing her mother out, ‘we’ll send for the physician again. Just to be sure.’
Before Rachael could protest, they’d both left the room.
She walked to the gloves. Her teeth hurt from clenching them. She relaxed her jaw and reopened the letter.
The words were still brutal.
It had to be a mistake. A misunderstanding. Lack of sleep. Confusion in her caused by the lingering effects of the laudanum she’d taken last night. Something.
She stared at the page, seeing her dreams evaporate into tiny little wisps that disappeared long before the light of day, never to be viewed again.
Either Tenney had become addled or she had, and neither option was a happy one.
* * *
Mornings were only to be endured, Devlin believed, and if one woke late enough their duration was lessened greatly. But he’d awoken early, concerned about Rachael.
He stretched, shook himself awake and wondered if Rachael had left. His rooms were so removed from the main quarters that it was unlikely he would have heard her depart. Somehow, he knew she was still there and he attributed it to the fact that he didn’t think she’d leave without telling him goodbye.
Yesterday, Miss Albright had kept to her room. That evening, he’d even spent some time with her mother, discussing foliage. Or rather, letting her discuss it. His mother had joined the conversation and she’d known he was no Capability Brown and wouldn’t be designing any estate grounds, but Mrs Albright hadn’t seemed to notice. He’d wager his last strand of hair that the Countess had noted and mentally commented on his presence.
Devlin had asked his cousin to linger one more day before leaving for the trip to the hunting box. His two younger brothers, Eldon and Oliver, were likely already there, and it would be a grand time for them to test outwitting each other with their banter.
He really should leave with Payton. Another long discussion of foliage and he’d likely sprout thorns. He already felt that he’d been planted at the house the last few days, yet he didn’t want to uproot and leave. The imagined scent of roses lingered.
* * *
After he was confident breakfast was safely over, he stepped from his room and found his mother, stitching flowers on a blue ribbon and Mrs Albright sewing two pieces of cloth together, while they sat in front of the two windows. Gone was the camaraderie of the previous day.
Miss Albright? Something must be wrong. His words couldn’t come fast enough. ‘How is Miss Albright today?’
Her mother’s shoulders lifted in a defeated shrug. ‘Better, she says.’
His mother’s lips thinned and then she added, ‘You could tell last night that she was fretting. I sent for the physician and he spoke with her briefly, but he didn’t think she was as co-operative as she could have been and he feared she isn’t being honest about her injury. She claims she isn’t in much pain, but her mother and I could both recognise it in her face. The physician said she will recover just fine, perhaps some scarring... But then he said my father would be fine and he died the next day.’
Devlin’s equanimity shifted. ‘The physician was called again?’
‘Last night.’ His mother studied her sewing, but the part of the ribbon she perused had no stitching on it. ‘I insisted.’
Mrs Albright pushed the needle into the cloth and pulled the thread taut before speaking. ‘She will recover. I am sure of it.’
‘Perhaps she is well enough to take a small stroll?’ he asked.
His mother and Mrs Albright took stock of each other before answering.
‘I don’t think so,’ her mother said. ‘This morning, we both asked her if she would like to join us and she told us she is fine, but says she is not suitable company today. We have been debating over whether I should send for her father to speak with her.’
‘She wishes to return home,’ the Countess said. ‘I could not countenance it as she would be further from the physician.’
Devlin walked to the bell and summoned a maid. ‘I’ll find out if she’s hiding symptoms.’ Then he strode out of the room.
He met the maid in the hallway. ‘Ask Miss Albright if she might like to join me in the library.’
As he waited in the library, the maid returned. ‘She feels she would not be good company today and gives her regrets.’
‘Is she in pain?’ he asked.
‘She’s composing a letter, but she can’t do it sitting,’ the maid whispered. ‘She sent me for paper, pen and ink earlier.’
‘Could you please bring some sweet wine to the library and return to Miss Albright and tell her that I cannot accept any regrets from her? She can either speak with me or I will summon two mothers and a physician to her room to enquire about her health.’
The maid nodded, dashed out, returned with a decanter of wine and two glasses for the library, then she darted out again.
* * *
Rachael swept into the library, arms crossed, dress wrinkled and eyes dark. ‘You seemed to wish to talk with me.’
Devlin stopped himself mid-stride. He’d been about to grasp the pull and send for the physician. But he forced himself to remain immobile and appear relaxed. Rachael needed comfort and the physician wasn’t doing enough. Or the mothers weren’t doing enough. He must find out what kind of assistance she needed. He’d get her to tell him what the problem was.
What good was an ability to soothe people if he didn’t use it.
He poured wine for her.
‘I was concerned about your burns. This might ease some of the pain. Yes?’ He reached out, holding the drink.
‘That remains to be seen.’ She took the glass, thanked him and swallowed the contents. ‘Delicious. Thank you for your consideration. I appreciate it.’ She put it on the tray beside the other glass, watching the bottle’s contents as if it might roil up like a wave. ‘I have an important letter to compose today. That is all.’
He noticed the way her tongue formed around the word letter.
‘I’m sure it’s important.’
‘Very.’ Another precisely bitten-out word.
He just raised his brows, letting the silence prod her to speak.
She released the glass and put fingertips to her cheek. ‘I have been up half the night, two nights in a row now.’ She twirled around, facing the opposite direction, her upper body tense, her shoulders high, the knot of hair on her head coming loose from her pins. ‘The first night because of the burn and the second night because I have been thinking of what I must do next.’
Again, he waited, letting his silence ask the question.
‘Something has happened.’ She took out a few hair pins and jabbed them back into place. ‘My curiosity is engaged, to put it mildly. I must compose a letter to Mr Tenney and it’s a difficult one.’
She looked over her shoulder at him. The distress in her face caused him to step closer.
‘Pardon?’ he asked, surprised at the elation he felt that she might no longer be entranced with Tenney, making sure to keep it from his voice. She wasn’t ill. In fact, he would say she was doing a sensible thing. No man should postpone a wedding to her.
She returned to her former stance, but this time, challenging him with her stare. ‘We have had some sort of disagreement and I need to determine what caused it.’
She seemed to expect him to argue with her and he saw no reason to accommodate. ‘This is a different perspective than you had earlier.’
‘Two years we courted to establish we were suited. Four years more we have been betrothed. Six years.’ She held her chin high. ‘And now, for the first time, it seems we are not in agreement. I may break our betrothal.’ She dusted her hands as if removing the slightest touch of him. ‘I would not marry that toad if he were a prince, a king or an emperor. I am not sure that he doesn’t have two sides to him.’ She made a fist, holding it over her stomach. ‘Both detestable.’