by Erica Vetsch
“No, the rocks came from higher up on the cliff face.” Sophie tried to recall the exact sequence. “It was most unfortunate timing for the captain, standing in that spot when the cliff decided to give way.” She checked the wound, turned the handkerchief, and pressed it to the cut again. There was a lot of blood, but she didn’t know if that meant the wound was severe. Head wounds tended to bleed. She was more concerned with whether the stone had broken Charles’s skull.
What would she do if God took Charles too? That thought brought her up short. It wouldn’t be the same as losing Rich, but she wished Charles no harm.
“Is he dead?” Thea squatted, her arms wrapped around her knees. “He looks dead.”
“Hush, child. He’s not dead. He’s been knocked senseless.” To satisfy her growing dread, Sophie checked to see that he was breathing. His chest rose and fell in a comfortingly even manner.
Betsy bent at the waist and patted his cheek with her chubby palm. “Wake up, Captain Earl. It’s not time for a nap.”
Mamie pulled a small vial from her purse and handed it to Sophie.
Uncapping the silver and glass container, Sophie waved it beneath the captain’s nose. Even from this distance she could smell the sharp sal volatile.
Charles groaned and stirred, his hand coming up, but Sophie grabbed it. “Don’t. You’ve taken a bang to the head. Lie still.” She handed the smelling salts back to Mamie with a grateful smile. Now that the captain was conscious, she felt as if a giant fist had let loose of her ribs.
Footsteps clattered overhead, and Sophie tried to shield the captain from the shower of sand that accompanied the noise. Penny leapt down the last few treads, and a somberly dressed man with wispy white hair followed at a careful-yet-still-fast rate.
“I didn’t have to go all the way to the house,” Penny panted. “This man was coming across the grass toward the cliff.”
“I’m the vicar. Dunhill’s my name. I was making a call upon the new earl, and when I found no one at the house, I thought I’d see if you were at the shore.” He knelt beside Charles. “I’m afraid you’ve found out the hard way how unstable the cliff face is.” Gently he lifted the edge of Sophie’s handkerchief. “If you’d been wearing a hat, it might have cushioned the blow.”
Charles stirred. “Let me up. I feel like a sea turtle lying on his carapace.”
“Are you sure?” Sophie asked. He must be in a great deal of pain. His face was pale, and lines of strain deepened the grooves around his mouth.
“Most definitely.” His lips thinned.
“Then sit up slowly. If you get dizzy, lie down again.” She put her hand beneath his shoulder, feeling again the whipcord strength of his muscles.
Once in a sitting position, he squinted. “I feel like I got hit by a sack of cannonballs.” He touched the swelling on his forehead and winced.
“Do you think you can stand?” the vicar asked. “The tide’s coming in. We need to get you up the stairs, or at the very least to the pier, or you’ll soon be afloat.”
Between Sophie and the vicar, they tugged Charles to his feet. He swayed, and she pressed her hands to his chest to stop him from going over forward. “Do you need to sit on the stairs?”
“No.” He closed his eyes, keeping the handkerchief against his head. “Let’s get moving.”
Thea gathered the scattered seashells, and when she had them tucked into the captain’s hanky, she said, “Now you’re the one who needs to hold someone’s hand.”
Betsy’s lower lip quivered, and two enormous tears spilled over her lower lashes.
“Oh, sweetling, don’t worry. It’s just a bump on the head.” Sophie motioned for the child to come near. “It would take more than a paltry hit with a stone to fell the captain.” She hugged the girl into her side.
“I don’t like blood,” she hiccupped.
“Neither do I.” The captain winced. “Especially my own. But Lady Sophia is right. I’ve been hurt much worse and survived. I suppose it’s a good lesson to all of us to be careful around the cliff.” He bent a look at Thea. “Right?”
She shook the shells in the handkerchief and shrugged. “Right.”
“Where is Miles?” the vicar asked. “He’s never far from the Shearwater. I would have thought he’d have turned up by now.” He put his hand under Charles’s elbow. “Take it slowly, and rest if you start to feel dizzy. Better to get there late than not get there at all.”
“Who is Miles?” Sophie asked as they climbed. The stairs were too narrow for three abreast, so she contented herself with following behind the preacher and the captain. She guided Betsy ahead of her, and Thea came along after, each holding Sophie’s hands.
“He’s a bit of a tearaway, I suppose. He showed up sometime last summer. He’s not yet twenty, I believe. Halbert Grayson lets him stay on because he looks after the Shearwater. Though where Miles sleeps is anyone’s guess. He pops up and disappears like a woodland sprite.”
The captain grunted. “I wondered who looked after the sloop.”
“That would be Miles. The old earl seemed to like the boy. Which is more than I can say for how Rothwell felt for most everyone else. Though it’s bad form to speak ill of the dead, milord, your uncle was as cross-grained a man as I’ve ever dealt with.”
They finally reached the top of the cliff, and the captain halted. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.
Sophie released Thea’s and Betsy’s hands. “Penny, why don’t you take Mamie and the girls to the house? We’ll be along presently. If you would put some water on to boil, that would be helpful.”
Charles opened his eyes and squinted against the glare of the sun.
“Does the light hurt your eyes, or is your vision blurry?” She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Yes and yes. Give me a moment to get my bearings.” He blew out a long breath and walked toward the house.
She’d noticed Charles’s gait when they were heading down to the beach. His shoulders swayed, and his stride had a roll to it. A seaman’s walk. Even now when he couldn’t move as quickly as he would like, he still looked as if he would be more comfortable on a ship’s deck.
“I think you should go right to bed, Captain. Sir?” she asked the vicar. “Is there a physician in town?”
“No, the closest is Lyme Regis. We do have a local healer though. Would you like me to fetch her?” The vicar held the kitchen door open.
“I don’t need my bed.” Charles held on to the jamb for a moment, closing his eyes.
“It’s either that or the divan in the parlor, but you must lie down.” Sophie took his upper arm and guided him through the kitchen. Penny lifted a worried face, a folded towel in her hand.
“The water’s not hot yet.”
“That’s fine. Bring it when it’s ready. And a pitcher of cold as well.”
The vicar knew his way through the house, leading them down the hall to the parlor unerringly. The room was still in a dusty state of neglect, but he seemed not to notice.
“Let us help you out of that coat, Lord Rothwell.”
The captain’s head came up at the use of the title. His shoulders went down as if pushed by a weight. He shrugged, and Sophie and the vicar helped him remove the tight jacket.
“Boots too.” Sophie motioned to the vicar as the captain lay on the divan. She found a pillow for his head and peeled away the handkerchief. A lump the size of a hen’s egg rose along his hairline, bisected by a rather nasty cut. It wasn’t deep though, and the bleeding had stopped.
“How long was I unconscious?”
“Perhaps a minute or so?”
The vicar leaned over the back of the couch. “Do you feel unwell? Are your ears ringing? Perhaps you feel shivery?”
Sophie raised her brows.
“My father was a doctor.” He looked into Charles’s eyes. “By the daze in your expression, I would say you’re concussed.”
“What is the treatment?” Sophie had no nursing experience beyond tending Mamie’s occas
ional cold. “Perhaps we should send for the doctor.”
“Nonsense.” Charles shook his head and then seemed to regret it, slamming his eyes closed and holding his crown as if he feared it might come off. “It’s just a knock.”
“Rest is the prescription. He should be kept still, and he shouldn’t be allowed to sleep too long at a stretch.” The vicar pushed away from the couch. “Beyond that it’s a matter of managing the symptoms, I suppose, until they decrease.”
“I’m sorry to meet under such circumstances, but I am grateful you were here. I don’t know how I would have gotten him up that staircase.”
“I would have walked,” the captain grumbled.
Penny appeared with a steaming bowl of water, and Thea followed, toting a china pitcher. Mamie came in quietly, but Betsy marched in with a stack of tea cloths.
Sophie nearly burst into laughter. Betsy had somehow appropriated the captain’s bicorn and wore it sideways, the points nearly touching her shoulders and the brim covering her eyes so she had to tip her head back to see where she was going.
“Thank you, ladies.” She drew a side chair close to the sofa and pulled a small table near. “Set the water here.” Removing the towels from Betsy’s hands, she lifted the edge of the hat and tweaked the child’s nose.
“Is he going to squawk when you clean him up?” Thea plonked the pitcher down. “That’s a big bump.”
“I am not going to be so undignified as to squawk. I shall be stoic and British to the core.” The captain frowned at Thea, and she grinned back at him.
“At least you haven’t addled your brains. The scully at Miss Fricklin’s once told me of a man who fell out of a haymow and smacked his head, and ever after he couldn’t talk right or walk right.” She lurched around the room with one shoulder high and one leg dragging.
“You are a gruesome child.” The captain used the back of the couch to pull himself into a sitting position.
“I know.” Thea shrugged, uninsulted.
“You should lie down for this.” Sophie dipped the edge of a cloth in the hot water.
“Nonsense. Just clean the cut, bandage it if you have to, and let’s be done with it.”
“I shall take my leave if you are certain you don’t need me for anything else. Perhaps I could call tomorrow or the next day for a proper visit?” The vicar backed toward the door.
“Of course. And again”—Sophie dabbed at the cut—“I’m sorry we couldn’t be more welcoming this time.”
“I’ll see myself out.”
When he was gone, Sophie turned to the girls. “The captain needs quiet and rest. I’d like you to go upstairs and dust and straighten up the nursery. Please don’t squabble, and don’t move any furniture by yourselves. If you could keep watch out the window for Mrs. Chapman’s return, you can come down the back stairs to help her carry in the things she’s purchased.”
Betsy crowded close, knocking the captain’s hat askew on her head, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Feel better, Captain Earl. I will come back and see you soon.” She wrinkled her nose in a gamine grin.
The captain had opened his eyes the moment her lips touched his cheek, and he reached for her hand. “You’re an excellent nurse, Betsy. Thank you.”
The gruffness in his voice warmed Sophie’s heart. He wasn’t totally indifferent to the sweetness of the girls. Perhaps, if he grew fond of them, he might consider keeping them here at Gateshead.
Mamie put her hand on Thea’s back. “I’ll go upstairs with them, dear. We’ll be quiet as can be.” As they headed out into the hall, Mamie gently lifted the captain’s bicorn from Betsy’s head and placed it on the table beside the parlor door. When she looked back over her shoulder, she smiled.
Sophie wrung out a cloth in the cold water and folded it, laying it gently on Charles’s brow. Mamie was flourishing being around the girls. She hadn’t had a spell of absentmindedness all day, and she’d managed the shore visit well. Her cheeks had a healthy bloom, and her eyes were bright and aware.
“I feel an utter fool.” Charles put his hand to the cloth, his eyes closed. “I’m supposed to be seeing to your well-being and safety, and here you are tending me.”
“I don’t mind. I’m only sorry you suffered an injury. We were fortunate that Mr. Dunhill appeared when he did.” Sophie went to the front windows, pulling the drapes to lessen the light coming in. “Do you think you can rest?”
“I doubt it.”
“Is the pain bad?” She returned to his side. “Perhaps I can see if there is such a thing as a medicine chest in the house and rummage up something for headaches.”
“That’s good of you, but no. I’ve suffered more pain than this and lived through it.” He winced. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”
Sophie gripped her hands. He had undoubtedly suffered great pain with his saber wound, but his words were a blunt reminder that Rich hadn’t survived his injury. With all the happenings, getting to Gateshead, the girls’ tumultuous arrival, the trip to the beach, and the captain’s injury, she had been able to set aside the grief and constant sense of loss for a few days.
“Did he suffer? I know he must have, but he wouldn’t let on in his letters.” She pressed her hands against her middle. “Why? Why wouldn’t he tell me? I’m trying so hard to understand, but it’s as if he lied to me. Why wouldn’t he talk about his injury, let us know how serious it was? He had to know for weeks that he wasn’t getting better. If he had told us right away, maybe there was something I could have done. My brother is a powerful duke. He might have been able to get Rich evacuated from Portugal, brought home. Or somehow gotten me aboard a ship so I could have been with Rich, seen him one more time before he died.” The words poured out in a torrent, and she was helpless to stop them. Anger and frustration flared anew in her chest, and hot tears burned her eyes.
So much for setting aside her grief and pain. Here she was letting it all out on an injured man.
“I think Rich didn’t tell you for those very reasons. Believe me—I tried to change his mind.” Charles let the wet cloth slip into his hand and placed it on the side of the pitcher. He slowly opened his eyes, pain, both physical and mental, showing there. “He was afraid, once peace had been declared, that your brother would use his connections to get you to the Peninsula. I think from the very outset, Rich knew he wouldn’t survive his wounds. He hoped, but he knew it was a faint chance. He also knew …”
Gently, Charles took her hands as they sat knee to knee. His fingers were damp and chilly from the cloth, but comforting too, as he rubbed his thumbs on the backs of her hands. The connection was more than physical. This man had been there when Rich breathed his last. He, too, had cared for Rich and had agonized alongside him.
“He knew that you would suffer with him if he were to write to you about the severity of his wounds. He knew better than anyone the great tenderness of your heart, and he felt your burdens were heavy enough.”
“Why couldn’t he understand that nothing about him was a burden? That I deserved the truth? I was prepared to marry him, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.” Heartbreak gripped her throat, constricting her airway.
His clasp on her hands tightened. “Please don’t blame him. He was doing what he thought best, and in the end, he wasn’t thinking clearly. But he was always thinking of you. He spoke of you constantly, and when he passed away, your name was on his lips. He made a hard decision that he felt was in your best interest. If you have to blame anyone, blame me. It was my fault from beginning to end.”
Anger flared, and she withdrew her hands, escaping to the far side of the room to compose herself. He should have done his duty. If not for him, Rich would be here now. He should have written to her how serious Rich’s condition was. If not for him, she would have found a way to be with her beloved before he died. Even as she thought this, she knew herself to be unjust. He had fulfilled Rich’s wishes in saying nothing. Would she think more highly of him if he had betrayed his friend?
She wiped her cheeks with her palms, frustrated at crying in front of him. “I do beg your pardon.”
He stood in the middle of the dim room, spreading his hands in appeal. “It is I who should beg your pardon … again. I had no desire to reopen your wounds, especially since I bear the blame for them. I will retire to my rooms, and tomorrow I will put out inquiries about cottages for rent. You will recover from your grief much sooner if you aren’t forced to remember through my presence and undisciplined tongue.”
“But what about the girls?”
His hands went behind his back, and he paced slowly, as if each step sent a shaft of pain to his head. “I, too, must make a hard decision in the best interest of someone else. The girls will go to a boarding facility as soon as possible. They will be properly cared for by professionals, and I will resume my naval career knowing they are safe and well looked after.”
Her strength deserted her, and she sank onto the closest chair. How could he even contemplate sending sweet Betsy away? And the ever-moving, ever-inquisitive Thea? And darling Penny, who already had so much responsibility on her young shoulders? A boarding school wasn’t a home.
But how could he possibly understand? He’d never had a home of his own, at least not after the age of twelve.
“And Gateshead? What about your obligations here as the new earl?” She kept her voice as modulated as she could, but a tremor crept in anyway.
“I’ll appoint a trustworthy man to see to the estate in my absence.” He stopped pacing. “I do not believe Grayson is the man for the position, but I would appreciate it if you kept that to yourself until I tell him myself.”
Difficult and unpopular decisions made for the good of … whom? Not for the girls, nor for Mr. Grayson.
No, the difficult and unpopular decisions Captain Charles Wyvern, the Earl of Rothwell, was making were for his own good.
In spite of his lingering headache and lack of sleep, Charles set about his tasks with unwavering determination the next morning. His first was to call Grayson into the study.
The steward slipped through the door like a wraith, hat in hand, shoulders bowed. He barely raised his chin to look at Charles. His entire demeanor confirmed to Charles that he was not the right man for the job of looking after Gateshead without supervision.