by Sahara Kelly
“Rest now, love,” whispered Ivy, pulling up the covers around him. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you awaken.”
“Don’t leave,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
“I won’t,” she answered quietly. “I’ll always be here for you, husband.”
He drifted then, comforted, warm, secure in the knowledge that he was with Ivy, the woman he cared for, the woman he’d married. That was a very smart thing to do, he decided as his body slid down the hill into sleep. He’d finally done something right with his life.
A period of disturbed rest followed this positive train of thought.
He was awoken periodically, fed broth and sops, and then allowed to return to sleep. Sometimes he wondered why it was such a struggle to stay awake, and now and again an ache in his side made him frown.
A moment came when he was suddenly quite cold, but then felt soft warmth covering his bare skin. Was that a man’s voice? Perhaps it was.
Perhaps those were stairs he was being carried down…if only his mind wasn’t so unclear. He frowned as he felt sunshine on his face and then smelled the familiar scent of his travelling carriage.
But the need to sleep was overwhelming and he barely registered yet another movement, slept to the rhythm of hoofbeats, remained unaware of another set of stairs and the softness of a more familiar bed went unnoticed.
But there came a moment when he awoke to discover himself in his own room.
Exactly how much time had passed since he’d arrived back at Hartsmere House, he didn’t know. A fire burned low in the hearth, there were several candles across from him on his bureau, and he smiled to see his wife curled up in a large chair under a blanket reading a book.
“Ivy,” he croaked.
She jumped up and hurried to his side. “You’re awake?”
“So it would seem,” he answered, his voice rough. “I’m at Hartsmere?”
“Yes, yes, we’re home,” she smiled. “I have water if you’re thirsty…”
He shook his head. “Not at this moment, no.” He blinked. “How did I get here?”
She touched his face, a sensation he remembered well. “A long story, Colly.”
“Hmm.” He frowned. “Er, there is something I…well, Ivy, I have to obey a pressing need…” He willed her to understand.
She did. “I will ask Martin to attend you. He’s been helping us with your care.”
“Martin?” Colly tried to puzzle that one out.
“He’s now your valet, Colly. I’ll explain it all in a while.” She rose and moved to the door.
“Come back?”
“As soon as you’re comfortable,” she smiled over her shoulder. “Martin? His Grace needs your assistance…”
The young man walked shyly into the room. “Of course, your Grace.” He bowed to her.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, closing the door behind her and leaving the two men alone.
Sighing, Colly looked at Martin. “Well then. It seems like I need a nursemaid.”
However, Martin was a great deal stronger than he looked, and although it pained Colly to admit it, the help was much needed.
Sliding back into bed with a sigh of relief, the Duke nodded his thanks. “Much appreciated, Martin. I understand my wife has appointed you my temporary valet?”
“Yes your Grace,” he answered. “Since you weren’t up to doing for yourself as you usually do, she suggested I might be of use.”
“And you are, lad. Consider yourself promoted to full valet.”
“Sir? Your Grace?” The young man’s jaw dropped.
“We’ll work it out.” Colly leaned back on the pillows. “I need a strong arm at the moment, and you’ve a pair of those. In addition, I suspect there’s a good mind in that head of yours or her Grace wouldn’t have chosen you. So it’s done. And now if you’d let my wife know, I’d like to have her come back, please.”
“Oh…of course, of course your Grace.” Martin bowed a bit unsteadily. “Thank you. I will endeavour to do my very best, sir…”
“I know. Off with you now.” Colly waved him away and eagerly awaited the return of his wife. He was overflowing with questions and trusted her to answer them.
She was back within moments, followed by Elvina with a tray.
“If that’s more broth, ladies, I take leave to tell you that I am going to turn it down.”
Ivy laughed. “’Tis good to hear that tone in your voice, your Grace. It tells me you are on the road to a full recovery.”
“No more broth, your Grace.” Elvina smiled as she put the tray down. “I’ve a little breakfast for you. Toast, eggs, and a cup of tea.”
“My mouth is watering already.” He moved a little on the pillows and winced. “Uh…”
“Before you devour your food, Colly, we need to check your wound.” Ivy eased him to a sitting position.
“Wound? What wound?”
The two women gazed at him in astonishment.
“You didn’t know?” Elvina neared the bedside with a cloth and a bottle of something in her hand.
He shook his head. “What wound?” he asked again.
“Colly, when we came to the Pig and Peacock, you had a very high fever.” Ivy spoke calmly. “We didn’t know why, at first, until we moved you and found a wound just beneath your armpit.”
He shifted. “So that’s why it’s sore there.”
“Indeed,” said Elvina, gently touching it with the cloth. “But I’m happy to say the infection has cleared and it’s showing all the signs of healing up nicely.”
“I still don’t understand,” he frowned. “Was I kicked by a horse or something?”
Ivy took one of his hands. “Colly, there’s no easy way to say this. You were stabbed.”
He knew his mouth had opened, but not a single word came out. For one of the few times in his life, he had been rendered speechless.
*~~*~~*
Ivy looked at her husband, sitting there, staring back at her with an expression on his face that made her want to laugh. She didn’t, of course, because that would have been inappropriate, but she could understand the shock and confusion that made him look as if he’d just been slapped with a dead fish.
“What?” The word was a strangled croak. “Stabbed?” He turned to look at Elvina. “Me?”
“There’s no mistake about it, your Grace. You have a wound here, and I’m sure you’re aware of it, since I’m touching it. It was infected and caused your fever, but luckily I was able to draw most of the infection with a poultice. It’s healing, but will doubtless leave a scar.” She raised her eyes from her task. “You were, I have to confess, blessedly lucky. A couple more inches inward and the damage would have been severe…if not fatal.”
He swallowed, his throat moving as he gulped.
“So our question to you, obviously, is whether you can tell us how this happened.” Ivy squeezed his hand. “Who stabbed you, Colly?”
He stared at her, still shocked to his core. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
She sighed. “All right. Let’s take a logical step backwards. What is the last thing you recall while you were away?”
Elvina straightened the pillows. “You may lie back a little now, your Grace.” She put her cloths aside and tidied his nightshirt.
He obeyed her with a sigh. “Thank you,” he shot her a quick smile. “I’m in your debt.”
She smiled back. “Let’s find out who did this to you. Can you answer Ivy’s question…what do you recall of your stay at the Pig and Peacock?”
He huffed out a breath. “I liked the name,” he said thoughtfully. “It had a certain charm and it looked clean. And it was only a mile or so from a friend of mine who had let me know he was interested in helping me find out about those rumours. Sir Arthur Brean.” He glanced at Ivy. “Actually, he was a friend of my father’s, but he’d always been a kind chap, and I knew he lived close enough to the troubles that he’d have a better grasp of the situation.”
“And were
you able to contact him?” Ivy tilted her head to one side.
“I was,” he replied. “And it was good to see him. He doesn’t get out much, but his man of business was very well informed and gave me some letters of introduction to others who knew even more.” His face clouded. “It’s very worrying.” His eyes darkened. “Many are suffering, families especially are in turmoil, and those who should be solving the situation are doing the opposite. They’re creating it.”
“We’ve heard mutterings to that effect,” nodded Ivy.
“There will have to be parliamentary reform,” he continued. “It’s inevitable, I think. But as with any major change, there are problems and disagreements. And under these particular circumstances, violence isn’t out of the question, although nobody I spoke to advocated it.”
“Troubling times indeed,” she agreed. “Did any of your contacts suggest a source for the whispers about the Maidenbrooke money, Colly?”
“Funny thing about that,” his lips turned down into a grimace. “Nobody had even heard of them up there.”
“What?” Ivy knew she screeched, but she couldn’t hold it back. “Nobody knew? But…damn it…the whispers were loud and clear here in London. Horridly so.”
He nodded, leaning his head back onto the pillows with a sigh. “I know. It is a puzzle. So instead of seeking information about a source that apparently didn’t exist, I thought perhaps there might be someone with a link to me or the Maidenbrooke name living in the north. Someone with a grudge perhaps… He would have to be familiar with my family, and maybe my investments.” He frowned in thought. “But the money end seems to be a very thin and remote possibility.”
“Did you have any success finding such a person?”
“Not immediately,” he answered, glancing at Ivy. “But I received a note from someone Sir Arthur knew. A local landowner. Apparently he’d run into some unpleasant comments recently, not about myself, but about the situation in general in reference to the titled aristocracy allegedly taking their ease in their London luxury, which, I was given to understand was a direct quote.”
“I don’t understand,” said Elvina. “It sounds most confusing.”
“My reaction as well, Mrs Ashrayn,” replied the Duke. “But understand that up north, matters are quite different to here in London. Conversations at the tap can take on lives of their own. A half-heard discussion can become a full-blown fact in no time.”
“Not that different, Colly,” observed Ivy ruefully.
He snorted. “I suppose you’re right. But here it’s all about some salacious scandal. Up there, it’s politics, life, and death.”
She nodded. “I see your point.”
“Anyway, I met this gentleman at Sir Arthur’s. We had a most pleasant dinner, and he suggested a few names I might look into.” He glanced at both women. “Nobody had heard a whisper of anyone named Streatford, I should add. That was my first question. If anyone holds a grudge against me, they are the obvious suspects.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that already,” Ivy agreed. “But if not them, who?”
“I recognised none of the names I heard. They were all simply mentioned in passing. Although…” he paused. “There was one name that occurred more than once. A Mr Barnet. Or Bartlett or something. He seemed to be known to several of the people I spoke to.”
“Did they describe him?” Elvina asked.
“Merely as a gentleman,” he sighed. “London born, apparently, but with a few business interests up there. A man few liked because of his quick temper and facility with a riding crop. But his business acumen was complimented a time or two, along with mention of his rather strong opinions about the behavior of his peers in general.”
“And no suggestion of any connection with you or the Maidenbrooke estate?”
There was silence for a few moments as the Duke looked away, clearly searching his memories for an answer to Ivy’s question.
“A whisper,” he said quietly. “There was something. Enough to set my mind working as to whether I could place the name.” He turned to Ivy. “I was returning from Sir Arthur’s…oh wait…I remember now…it was almost dark and I was headed back to the Pig and Peacock. The road was quiet and I was trying to recall if I knew anyone by that name and if so, why they would want to tarnish my reputation so badly…”
“And…” encouraged Ivy.
“And my horse shied.” His hands clenched on the bedclothes. “Dammit, Ivy, my horse threw me. A rabbit burst out onto the lane. I remember now. I lost my stirrup and went down roughly. My head…” He lifted his hand as the memory caught him. “I hit the ground. Hard. And I think I must have lost consciousness for a moment or two. The next thing I remember is a farmer helping me into it and driving me to the Pig and Peacock. They wanted me to eat dinner, but I couldn’t. My head ached too badly.” He sighed in frustration. “I wonder what happened to my horse. And if I could find that farmer, I’d thank him most sincerely and make sure he had some extra guineas.”
“Your horse is well and here in the stables, Colly. One must assume the farmer tied it to the gig, since it was at the Pig and Peacock when we arrived.”
“What a kind act,” said Elvina. “I have to wonder if you were attacked when you fell from your mount, your Grace. If you were unconscious, only for a few moments, that would have been the perfect time for it to happen…”
“You’re right,” added Ivy, with a shudder. “And if we accept your memory of events, then we have to assume the farmer’s appearance in the road at that precise moment seriously interfered with your assailant’s plans. I dread to think of the damage he might have inflicted if he’d had a few more minutes…”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” The Duke turned a sombre gaze to his wife. “I would have died. The bastard wanted to kill me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Dear God, he’s lucky,” said Judith, blowing out a gust of air from between her lips.
“Isn’t he, though,” added Rose, her eyes wide as she listened to Ivy relate the Duke’s experiences.
“And still no clue about the identity of either the attacker or the root of the rumours?” Lydia tilted her head to one side.
Ivy shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. Just the one name that Colly can’t quite recall.” She sighed. “I’m hoping that once he’s fully recovered, that memory will come back as well, and we’ll have something more definite to work with.”
“And he is doing well?” Rose asked. “His injuries are not that severe?”
“Thanks to Elvina, he is making a rapid recovery. A day or so more of rest and then I think we’ll have a hard time keeping him restricted to the house until he’s completely healed.”
Lydia chuckled. “Well, do reassure him we don’t expect to see you two dancing at the Wednesday Club for a week or two.”
Prudence peered around the door. “May I join you?”
“Of course, dear,” smiled Ivy. “Come on in. We were just reassuring ourselves that your Uncle is making good progress with his recovery.”
Prudence nodded. “He is indeed. I passed the room and he was yelling at Martin for something or other.”
“Poor lad,” sighed Ivy. “He is so happy to be a real valet. I do hope he doesn’t change his mind.”
“It’s unlike his Grace to yell,” mused Judith. “I have to believe that would be your influence, Ivy.”
The comment made everyone laugh as Ivy nodded ruefully. “I wouldn’t be surprised. But knowing him, it’s more likely to be frustration that he’s not up and doing.”
“I agree,” added Prudence. “I do wish we could do something a little more practical.” She looked at Lydia. “You’ve been out and about…all of you.” She included the others in her gaze. “Have you anything new on Miss Ringwood? Has anyone actually met her yet?”
Rose raised her hand. “I did. But for a very brief moment. She was with a small party at Hatchard’s the other morning. I knew one of the ladies she
was with, and thus I gained an introduction. But it was extremely quick. I did manage to…er…catch a little of the conversation, however.”
“In other words, you eavesdropped,” giggled Lydia. “Well done, Rose.”
“It was purely accidental, I assure you.” Rose assumed a perfectly innocent demeanour which fooled nobody at all.
“Of course it was, my dear.” Ivy nodded. “Tell us what you heard before I empty the teapot over your head.”
Rose grinned. “Well…apparently the fiancé, Sir Timothy, had a bit of a contretemps with someone at a gaming parlour. Accused the man of cheating and there was a fight. So Miss Ringwood is attending events solo for a little while until the evidence of the disagreement fades.”
“Got himself a black eye, I’ll be bound,” opined Lydia.
“I heard a few things about him as well,” said Prudence quietly. “Only in passing, but it would seem he’s not held in high esteem. Rather quick tempered. Unpredictable.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “I believe the expression was ‘likely to go off like a Whinyates rocket’.
“Oh dear.” Judith frowned. “I dislike the sound of that. I trust Miss Ringwood knows what she’s about, getting herself engaged to him.”
Lydia shot her friend a raised eyebrow. “Darling, Miss Ringwood was all about one thing and one thing only. Getting engaged. I’m not sure it mattered who to.”
“To whom,” absently commented Rose.
“If you say so,” responded Lydia. “No matter the phrasing, it sounds like he is not a person one would want to pass the time with. So in that regard, I’m glad he’s out of circulation for a bit. But we have yet to make any kind of connection to the Maidenbrooke business.”
The entrance of the tea tray diverted their attention for a little while and the friends chatted companionably about more mundane matters, then the always-exciting thought that one of their number was enceinte.
“No I’m not sick,” smiled Judith. “For which I am devoutly thankful. And although I find myself fancying peaches more than usual, I wouldn’t say I’m craving them either.” Her hand fell naturally to the barely visible bump beneath her delicate dimity gown. “It’s the tiredness more than anything.” She looked irritated. “I nap. I’ve never napped. But now, I find that later in the afternoon, when ordinarily I’d be starting to dress for dinner or the evening…well, I need at least a half hour of sleep.”