by Olivia Drake
“Might as well bring the decanter, then.”
Carlin was downing his second glass when a footman came in to report that the foremost physician in London, on retainer to the Duke of Carlin, was presently tending the Lord Chancellor’s gout but should arrive within the hour. Unless, of course, His Grace wished a different doctor to be summoned.
“I don’t need a doctor at all, so send him away when he comes,” Carlin growled. “Jiggs will handle this.”
Once the startled footman retreated, he told the valet, “Fix me up, will you? You must have some crackpot treatments in your bag of tricks.”
“Aye, Duke. I’ll fetch me kit.”
Jiggs scampered across the bedchamber and through a doorway, leaving Tessa alone with Carlin. While applying gentle pressure to the wound, she took the opportunity to ask, “How did this happen, Guy? Was it one of the performers? I was down on the floor and couldn’t see—and then you jumped over the ledge. You might have killed yourself, by the way.”
One eyebrow cocked, he regarded her over the rim of the brandy glass. “It’s a relief to know that you care whether I live or die.”
Her heart squeezed as she found herself the subject of those penetrating brown eyes. He looked far too appealing, sprawled bare-chested on the chaise, with a lock of black hair dipping onto his brow. She wanted nothing more than to hug him close and tuck her face into the crook of his neck. But that would mean abandoning her resolve. “Of course I care,” she said briskly. “I would never want Sophy to see her papa leap to his death.”
He groped for her hand and stroked his thumb across her palm. “It was no more dangerous than jumping off the stable roof when I was a lad. And of course we won’t mention that time I had to swing from a vine over a cliff—”
“To escape a herd o’ wild boar,” Jiggs said with a cackle as he came trotting back with a leather case. “Thought we was both done fer that time.”
As he unbuckled the strap to display a number of tins and bottles inside, along with bundles of dried herbs, Tessa removed her hand from Carlin’s tempting clasp. A plethora of aromatic odors tickled her nose. “What is all that?”
“Medicines from around the globe,” Carlin said. “While I was cataloging plants, Jiggs was studying their healing properties.”
“You said earlier that he could kill you with his remedies,” she said in alarm. “Why not just use basilicum powder from Mrs. Womble’s basket?”
“Because I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to do some research on these herbs. What curatives do you have there for bullet wounds, Jiggs?”
“Sweet broom leaves an’ pawpaw seeds, I reckon,” the valet said, dropping a few dried items into a pestle. “An’ a pinch of calabash bark.”
As the man began grinding them with a mortar, Tessa prayed he knew what he was about. She sprang to her feet, poured warm water into a bowl from the pitcher, and leaned over the duke to clean the crusted blood around the lesion with a piece of dampened lint.
Although she was careful, Carlin winced. “It’s best to leave this to Jiggs. It isn’t a matter for a lady. In fact, perhaps you ought to go on up to the nursery. Sophy will be wondering where you are.”
Tessa tried out her duchess stare on him. “If you intend to experiment on yourself to the risk of death, the least I can do is to ensure you are clean.”
“If you insist, then.”
He meekly leaned back to endure her gentle ministrations. Despite his casual manner, his arm had to be causing him considerable discomfort, Tessa knew. He was watching her in a way that made her heart skip a beat, and she hoped he wouldn’t take the wrongful notion that the rift between them had been mended. She could tend to him in an emergency without consenting to join his world and give up her dreams.
She patted his arm dry, then tucked a towel beneath it to catch any seepage. “There, you may do your doctoring now, Jiggs.”
The valet proceeded to sprinkle a powdery brown concoction into the deep gash. Seeing that he was about to thoughtlessly use a bloodstained strip of linen to bind the wound, she took it from his stubby fingers and set it aside. “I shall do the bandaging, if you please. And it’s time His Grace told us exactly what happened today.”
Carlin exchanged a droll look with the valet. “Overbearing, isn’t she?”
“Best t’ just do as yer told,” Jiggs advised as he refilled the duke’s glass. “So start talkin’, Duke.”
Carlin took a swallow of brandy. “I was shot during one of the performances. There were some two dozen jesters riding on ponies while using toy pistols that were rigged to fire without ammunition. When I noticed that Sophy was hanging over the ledge too far, I leaned forward to pull her back. That’s when the bullet struck me.”
Tessa paused in the act of winding a clean strip of linen around his arm. Her throat felt so taut that she could barely speak. “Do you mean to say that if you hadn’t moved, you might have been killed?”
He attempted a shrug and grimaced, his mouth white at the edges. “There’s no use speculating on what didn’t occur. To continue, I thought it was a fluke, an accident. One of the jesters must have picked up a real gun by mistake. Then a rider broke away from the group and made for the exit. I guessed him to be the culprit, so I went after him.”
As he paused to drain his glass, Tessa relived that awful moment of seeing him leap from the ledge. Her heart had come near to stopping, and even now, her fingers trembled as she finished securing the binding.
“Go on,” Jiggs prodded. “I take it ye didn’t catch the blighter?”
“No, several workers tried to stop me from cutting through the arena. It took a minute to explain what had happened, that I wasn’t some drunkard trying to disrupt the show, but the delay was enough to enable the fellow to escape. Since he was wearing a mask, I never saw his face.”
“If he’s employed by Astley’s,” Tessa said, “then someone will surely be able to identify him.”
“Unfortunately, the fellow was a substitute since one of the regulars had taken ill. All I could gather was that he was of medium height and build like half the men in London, and his eyes were either blue or gray or brown depending upon who I asked. In other words, I’ve no description of any use.”
Tessa found the whole thing to be peculiar. As she arose to wash her hands, she wondered why there had been a replacement. With so many other riders, the audience wouldn’t have known that one was missing.
“Sounds mighty fishy,” Jiggs said with a shake of his grizzled head. “Where’d ’e get a real gun unless ’e brought it with ’im? An’ if the shot were only a blunder, why’d he run off?”
“Perhaps he was afraid of bringing the law down on his head.” Carlin flinched slightly as he adjusted his injured arm on the pillow. “The manager has promised to get to the bottom of it. He’ll notify Bow Street and report here on the morrow. There isn’t much more to be done at the moment.”
As Tessa dried her hands, uneasiness churned in her belly. What if the shooting hadn’t been an accident? What if it had been deliberate? But why would anyone wish to harm Carlin? Even as that gruesome question hovered on her tongue, two upraised voices came from out in the passageway.
One belonged to the butler. She gasped to recognize the other as the Marquess of Marbury’s querulous tone. “I’m no stranger to this house, so out of my way, Roebuck. When the sixth duke was alive, I wouldn’t have been turned away on some trumpery excuse!”
“The duke is indisposed, milord. He mustn’t be disturbed.” Roebuck hastened into the bedchamber. “Pray pardon the intrusion, Your Grace, but Lord Marbury was most insistent.”
“Never mind,” Carlin said. “Let him in.”
As the butler retreated, the marquess tottered inside, leaning on his cane. “What’s this I hear about a gunshot—?” Then his rheumy eyes focused on Tessa. “Blister it, Carlin! What have you done to my granddaughter? Why is she in your bedchamber?”
Dismay riveted Tessa in place. She could imagine the scene t
hrough Lord Marbury’s eyes, with Carlin in a state of undress and her hovering at his side. What made it so acutely awful was that she’d reconciled herself to the prospect of moving in with her grandfather—at least for a time—once she left here. She’d decided to use the rare opportunity to further an acquaintance with her only blood kin and to learn about her mother’s early years. Moreover, she’d been considering how to convince Lord Marbury not to launch her into society. Then perhaps—just perhaps—she could eventually persuade him to fund her millinery shop.
Now he might very well abandon her altogether.
To her vexation, Carlin looked remarkably calm. “There’s no need for alarm. Miss James was kind enough to bandage my wound just now. Jiggs, will you fetch my dressing gown?”
The valet tramped into the next room and returned a moment later with a russet silk garment. By dint of Carlin leaning forward, and Jiggs and Tessa each taking a sleeve, they managed to restore the duke to a semblance of decency. His face looked pale, his jaw tight with pain, but at least he was covered. Since his one arm was useless, Tessa tied the gold tasseled sash for him.
The valet retreated into the dressing room while she straightened up to face Lord Marbury. A thunderous glower on his wrinkled features, Marbury was leaning on his cane like an aging lion about to roar. She drew a gilt chair closer. “Pray, sir, won’t you sit down?”
The marquess levered himself onto the seat and glared at Carlin. “This is an outrage. My granddaughter is not your physician.”
“No one would dispute that,” Carlin said blandly. “She’s a lady with an admirable compassion for the injured, for which I am most grateful.”
Tessa seated herself on an ottoman and attempted a demure look. “The doctor was delayed, milord. Since I was with His Grace when he was shot, I could scarcely abandon him.”
“What’s that? You were with him when he was shot?” The marquess fixed Carlin with a gimlet stare. “What sort of havey-cavey household is this, Duke? Roebuck babbled some nonsense about a circus, but I daresay the truth is that you were engaged in a duel. I won’t have my granddaughter endangered by rakes and rattles.”
“I am neither a rake nor a rattle, and you will be pleased to learn that Roebuck did not lead you astray.” Carlin proceeded to explain how he had taken Tessa and Sophy to Astley’s Amphitheatre for his daughter’s birthday when he’d been struck by a stray bullet during one of the performances.
The marquess harrumphed. “That does not excuse your shabby conduct here. If word gets out that Tessa was in your bedchamber, her reputation will be ruined. Any story we devise to explain her background will be in grave jeopardy.”
“Jiggs has been present the entire time,” Carlin assured him. “Please know that I have the utmost respect for Miss James. And perhaps it will ease your mind to learn that I intend to pay my addresses to her.”
Tessa sucked in a breath. He must not lead her grandfather astray with such talk. “That is a private matter—”
“Forgive me, darling, but your grandfather deserves an explanation,” Carlin broke in, the gleam in his eyes urging her to play along. “Although nothing between us is settled as yet, surely he has a right to know that my intentions are honorable.” He shifted his gaze back to the marquess. “Lord Marbury, will you be so kind as to allow me to pay court to your granddaughter?”
Lord Marbury’s anger vanished in a twinkling. A look of beatific approval came over his wrinkled face. “So a betrothal is in the works, eh? Well, that does shed a different light on matters. Still, you ought not to have Tessa here in your bedchamber.”
“It was the pain of my injury that made me overlook the proprieties. But your support will help to quiet any wagging tongues.”
“The gossipmongers won’t dare to prate in my presence,” Lord Marbury stated, thumping his cane on the carpet. “You may be certain I shall put a swift end to any slander.”
Tessa had heard enough. “Milord,” she said urgently, “you must not mistake the situation. I have not agreed to this courtship.”
The marquess leaned over to pat her hand. “My dear, you will soon come to realize what an honor it is to chosen as bride by the head of such a venerable family. Once Carlin has recovered, he and I shall discuss the marriage settlement. You will not find me a skinflint, I assure you.”
“Settlement? I’ve asked nothing of you beyond a modest loan to open a millinery shop.”
“Bah, ladies must never dirty their hands with trade. You may purchase all the bonnets you please with the pin money Carlin will provide you.”
Her further protests fell on deaf ears. As Marbury launched into a homily about a grand alliance between two of the oldest houses in England, Tessa stewed over Carlin’s maneuvering of the situation. Perhaps he’d taken her solicitousness toward him as a sign that she had softened her opposition to the match. She burned to set him straight, yet the lines of pain around his mouth, the clenching of his teeth whenever he shifted position, stirred a reluctance in her to scold him in his present condition.
She was relieved when Lady Victor swooped like a black cloud into the bedchamber, bringing the sharp scent of the vinaigrette flask clutched in her hand. Sinking beside Carlin on the chaise, she scrutinized him as if he lay at death’s door. “My dearest nephew, I just now awakened from my nap to such horrid tidings! How badly were you hurt? Where is the doctor? Oughtn’t you be in your bed?”
Carlin gave her a reassuring smile. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Aunt Delia. It was merely a scratch. I’m perfectly comfortable now, thanks to Miss James’s superior nursing skills.”
Lady Victor gazed askance at Tessa. “This is most improper, Guy. What can a governess know of medicine? She belongs in the nursery!”
“Not if I’ve any say in the matter,” the marquess interjected.
“Why, Lord Marbury! Pray forgive me for failing to greet you. It is this shocking event that has me all aflutter.” Her overwrought nature even more pronounced, Lady Victor went on, “You oughtn’t be in the duke’s bedchamber, either. Roebuck should have bade you await me in the drawing room.”
“Fiddle. I didn’t call on you, Delia. I came to visit my granddaughter.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss James is my granddaughter,” he clearly delighted in revealing. “You’ll recall that my daughter Lady Florence ran away many years ago? Well, as it turns out she emigrated to Canada and married a fur trader by the last name of James. Upon the deaths of her parents, Tessa traveled to England and took the governess post here while she was trying to find me.”
Lady Victor’s jaw dropped. Astonishment momentarily banished her doleful expression as she focused her pale blue gaze on Tessa. “I do remember that scandal. But my lord, are you quite sure…?”
“Absolutely. She has the pendant I gave to Flossie on her eighteenth birthday. And she is Flossie reborn, except for the lighter hair.”
“Well! Aren’t you a sly one, Miss James, never breathing a word about your true identity? You simply must tell me all about your past!”
Tessa wanted to sink into the floor. How was she to speak intelligently about Canada and fur trading when she knew nothing of those things? If only she’d had the good sense to leave the moment Carlin had been bandaged, this awkwardness could have been avoided. Luckily, she was saved from any explanations by the arrival of another member of the household.
Mr. Banfield looked agitated, his silvering brown hair mussed as if he’d just come in from outdoors. He bowed, his gray eyes intent on the duke. “Do pardon my absence at such a critical time, Your Grace. I’ve just returned from Lincoln’s Inn, where I was filing the last of your legal papers. But never mind, what is all this about you being shot? And at Astley’s, no less!”
“A bullet winged me. I daresay I’ll survive.”
Lord Marbury thumped his cane again. “These blasted circuses ought to be regulated. Imagine, using guns around crowds of people! You may be sure I shall take up the matter with the prime min
ister.”
“It was not their usual practice,” Carlin pointed out. “The performers were issued toy pistols. The manager has promised to call in Bow Street to do a thorough investigation of the matter.”
“Bow Street?” Mr. Banfield questioned, one eyebrow raised. “Surely you don’t suspect foul play.”
A shiver tiptoed down Tessa’s spine. Foul play. To hear her own nebulous fears put into words made her skin crawl. It couldn’t be true. What possible reason could there be for someone to want Carlin dead?
“At the moment I scarcely know what to think,” the duke said testily. “But you may be sure I intend to get to the bottom of this.”
“Well, I know precisely what is to blame,” Lady Victor lamented. “I warned you once before, Guy. It is the Carlin Curse!”
Chapter 18
Guy was inclined to scoff at his aunt. Being prone to hysteria, she had a tendency to imagine problems where none existed. Only look at the way she always tried to stifle his cousin Edgar with her excessive worrying, conjuring up every possible accident that might befall him.
Yet today’s incident cast a different light on matters. Might there be a grain of truth to what she said? Was something sinister going on that he was missing? Even so, it could have nothing to do with hocus-pocus sorcery.
“There is no curse on our family,” he said, the dull throbbing of his arm making him irritable. “You must not go on about that, Aunt.”
“How am I to remain silent when so many have died?” she said, her downturned mouth quivering with distress. “Six family members in the past five years, including your dear Annabelle. And now you have been attacked!”
“It’s too soon to label today’s incident an attack. It may well have been an accident.”
“Perhaps,” Tessa interjected. “Yet I believe you should seriously consider the possibility, Carlin. After today, there does seem to be cause for concern. If you hadn’t moved, that bullet likely would have killed you.”