by Rose Pearson
Josephine gave a jerky nod, her eyes fixed on his face. “Just so long as you go slowly,” she said quietly, her fingers white on the saddle.
He chuckled. “I will,” he promised. “But by the time we reach there, I am quite sure you will be much more at ease.”
The lake was beautiful today. The sunshine, though it was dim, bounced off the water, seeming to sparkle as they approached. Josephine was no longer desperately clinging to the pommel but had let go and was now loosely holding the reins, sitting up a little straighter. It made him glad to see it, smiling at her as she let out a small sigh of contentment.
“You see?” he said, as they came closer to the water. “You have the ability to ride, Josephine. You just need a little more practice.”
She smiled at him as he held out his arms to her, ready to help her down. Hunter was already busy eating the grass, clearly ignoring the two of them as he ate. Josephine twisted her body a little and leaned down into him, only to let out a small cry as she half-fell out of the saddle.
“I have you!” he laughed, catching her carefully and setting her down. “That is one thing about Hunter I will say – he can appear to be rather high off the ground!”
Josephine did not laugh but rested her head on his chest for a moment, her feet only just touching the ground. “Goodness,” she breathed. “I think if I was ever to ride myself, I would need a much smaller horse.”
“That is true,” Gideon admitted, his mind suddenly full of the idea. If Josephine were to remain here with him, then he could help her choose her own mare, making sure to find one that was gentle enough for her to learn to ride. “I think, mayhap, Josephine, that is a very good idea.”
Slowly, her head rose and her eyes met his. Confusion filled her expression as he let his fingers brush down her cheek, astonished by just how much he felt by a simple touch.
“Lord Dunstable,” Josephine murmured, her cheeks dusting with pink. “I –”
“Dunstable, please,” he interrupted, hating the formality. “We are beyond propriety I think, Josephine.” His throat began to ache and he cleared it, grimacing as he did so. He had not expected such a close interaction with Josephine to bring him such sensations.
Josephine frowned. “Dunstable, are you quite well?”
He smiled. “More than well,” he stated, firmly. “I have considered a good many things of late, Josephine and the truth is that I do not wish you to go from my life. I cannot bear the thought of you returning to London.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth opened but she said nothing.
“I – I confess that these feelings are rather new to me,” he stammered, feeling himself a little embarrassed. “I do not quite know what to do or say to you but one thing I do know…..I do not want you to leave.”
Her cheeks darkened all the more. “I will not stay to be your – your –” Looking away, he saw her eyes spark with a faint glitter of anger and realized what she thought he meant.
“No, Josephine,” he said firmly, catching a hold of her chin and looking deeply into her eyes. “Never as that. Never as that. I would not ask you to be my mistress, Josephine. I hold you in much too high a regard.”
As he spoke, he saw her whole body relax, her anger fading away to be replaced with something like astonishment. Gideon realized that she had not stepped away from him, that she had not immediately rejected the proposition, feeling his heart rise with gladness that she was, in fact, still in his arms. Slowly, so slowly, her hands lifted to his chest, resting there with a tentativeness that had him drawing in a shaking breath. There was so much vulnerability, so much uncertainty and yet nothing changed what he felt in his heart.
“Josephine, I….” Another wave of weakness ran through him and he closed his eyes, unable to finish the sentence.
“Dunstable?” Josephine said, her hands now on his shoulders as her voice rang with concern.
He shook it away. “I am quite all right,” he said, with a good deal less firmness than he had intended. “Truly, I am. This is all just a little overwhelming.” Opening his eyes, he looked down at her, his eyes flickering to her lips. The urge to kiss her was growing steadily with every moment that passed, the awareness that they were quite alone only adding to that.
What about Georgina?
A wave of guilt rushed over him. He had decided not to marry Georgina, yes, but he had not, as yet, spoken to her about the matter. He had not told her that their engagement was at an end and yet here he was with another lady in his arms. That was not right. He ought to speak to Georgina first before he allowed himself to confess his feelings to Josephine. There was a responsibility still towards Georgina and as much as he wanted to lower his head and kiss Josephine with all the deep affection he felt, Gideon knew he could not.
“Perhaps we should return to the house,” he said thickly, letting his hands drop to his sides. “I should not like anyone to question your integrity, Josephine – nor mine, for that matter.”
She frowned, stepping away from him. “I don’t understand, Dunstable.”
He tried to explain without mentioning Georgina, his guilt turning to shame. “I should not like to have the servants questioning your reputation, Josephine,” he stammered, trying to find some kind of excuse for his sudden coolness. “There are things I must make sense of, things I must first understand before I can give you all of myself.”
Her eyes watched him with an intensity that felt as though his chest had been ripped open and his heart tugged apart for her to scrutinize. His breathing quickened and he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, feeling the sweat beading there. Suddenly, he felt rather ill.
“Josephine, I –”
Stumbling, he tried to move towards her but found his legs wobbling. She gasped and darted forward, catching him in her arms and supporting him with every bit of strength she had.
“You are unwell, Dunstable,” Josephine gasped, holding him upright as she tried to help him move towards Hunter. “We must get back to the house. Can you pull yourself up onto Hunter?”
His vision was blurring as he looked at his horse, a little unsure how he was meant to climb up onto such a great height. His whole body was tired, weakness tugging at him as he put one foot wearily into the stirrup.
How he managed to get up onto the saddle, Gideon could not be sure. His head was growing painful, his throat aching as Josephine picked up the reins and, casting him a worried glance, began to walk hastily back towards the house. Hunter seemed to understand the urgency, breaking into a trot as they neared the stables.
“Hold on, my lord,” he heard Josephine say, as the stable hand came out to greet them both. “We will have you in bed and resting very soon. You need not worry. I will look after you.”
His voice was thick, his words rasping from a suddenly painful throat. “Josephine,” he said, somehow finding himself on the ground, supported by the stable hand and a groomsman who had appeared from nowhere.
She took his hand for a moment, her smile a little uncertain. “I will take care of you, my lord,” she promised, as they moved towards the house. “Do not fear. You will recover from the fever soon.”
“The fever,” he muttered, thickly. “So that’s what it is. I have the fever.”
Then everything went dark.
11
“How does he fare?”
Josephine looked up to see Francine walk into the bedchamber, her eyes wide with concern.
“I’m afraid he has the fever,” Josephine replied, gently. “But we have begun to treat him almost immediately, which I am sure is going to help.” She swallowed her own fear, suddenly terrified that she would lose Lord Dunstable to the fever, just as she had lost her own mother and father. Everyone who mattered to her had already been taken, and now, just as she and Lord Dunstable had been on the verge of something inexplicably wonderful, he had been struck down by the fever. Turning back to Lord Dunstable, she saw him toss his head from one side to the other, clearly struggling with the fever already
.
“Here,” she said to Gillian, handing her the cool cloth so that she could dab at Lord Dunstable’s forehead whilst she herself continued to mix up a fresh batch of vinegar and feverfew. Rising to her feet, she took Francine’s hands in her own and tried to put as much certainty into her expression as she could.
“Your brother is strong,” she said, in a calm, firm voice. “He will battle through this, I am quite sure of it. It may take some days but I will do all I can for him. I swear to you I will not leave his side.”
Francine nodded tightly, her expression growing troubled. “And what if he does not recover?” she whispered, her fingers tightening on Josephine’s. “What do we do then? The title will go to –”
“You need not think in such a way,” Josephine interrupted, firmly. “Do not let fear take hold of your heart and mind, Francine. Trust that your brother will have the strength to pull through this terrible sickness. You and your mother have the same spirit and you have both recovered.” She managed a small smile, seeing Francine’s eyes fill with tears. “You must rest also. Your strength is not what it once was as yet.”
Francine nodded. “I will help you whenever I can,” she said, hoarsely. “I suppose I must write to Georgina. Last Dunstable said, she was still in London.”
Josephine frowned, unsure as to who Francine was referring to. “Georgina?” she aside, letting go of Francine’s hands in order to make up her mixture of feverfew and vinegar.
Francine nodded, moving to her brother’s side and taking his hand. “Miss Georgina Wells, my brother’s betrothed.”
Josephine’s hands stilled, her heart suddenly beating violently in her chest. Lord Dunstable was engaged?
“She was here for a very short time,” Francine continued, clearly unaware of the devastation her words were causing to Josephine. “But the moment she knew the servants were unwell, she left this place and returned to London in order to return with her father to his country seat. From what Dunstable said, Georgina’s father, Viscount Armitage, had already begun his journey back to the country and had not yet sent his carriage for her.” She shook her head, shooting a glance towards Josephine who felt as though she were frozen in place, confusion and upset mounting with every moment. “The foolish girl thought it best to remain in London, where the fever rages, rather than return here to aid us. I know Dunstable was terribly upset over her recent letter to him, but regardless of that, I should still inform her of his condition.”
“Of course,” Josephine replied, woodenly, recalling just how upset Lord Dunstable had been some days ago, when he had read a letter in the kitchen and then crumpled it up in his hand. She did not know at the time why he had been so upset but now realized that this letter must have been from his betrothed, Miss Georgina Wells. Daughter of a viscount, part of the nobility and certainly a good deal more suitable for a baron than the likes of her.
And yet, Lord Dunstable had drawn near to her upon receiving the letter, hadn’t he? He had been upset that his betrothed showed him no concern, showed no consideration for the illness of his mother and sister and then, subsequently, had stepped closer to her. The air had grown thick between them and she had felt her heart beating with a frantic hope, only for Jones the butler to interrupt them. Even this afternoon, Lord Dunstable had spoken to her with such truth in his eyes that she had struggled to accept what he had said. She could not doubt it now, surely? Not when he had held her in his arms and told her plainly that his feelings for her were feelings of affection.
Closing her eyes, Josephine continued with her task, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall in front of Francine. Regardless of what Lord Dunstable had said, Josephine knew that to allow herself any sort of hope was foolishness indeed. She could not let herself believe that Lord Dunstable would ever take someone like her as his bride. He had promised her that she would not be his mistress, which was what she first thought he had been suggesting, but what really could she expect from him? To have affection for her was one thing, but to be able to act upon that affection was quite another. She was nothing like Miss Georgina Wells, nothing like the kind of lady a gentleman of quality would take for a wife.
Her heart sliced into pieces as she dragged in a breath. This was ridiculous. She needed to put all such thoughts out of her head entirely. Lord Dunstable was engaged, and a gentleman did not break off an engagement without good cause. The only reason they had become close of late was due to the fever and their need to work closely with one another in order to keep the house in order and the sick cared for. Had that not occurred, then they would be worlds apart, just as they ought to be. There could be no hope for her, despite what Lord Dunstable had said.
“His fever is rising, miss.”
Josephine turned at once, taking over from Gillian who immediately went to fetch a tea tray for both Josephine and Francine. Placing the cloth in the bowl, she let the mixture seep into the cloth before wringing it out and gently placing it on Lord Dunstable’s forehead. Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment, feeling her heart swell with something deeper than affection. Taking a breath, she turned away for a moment, growing all the more frustrated with herself.
“Do you think he has had the fever for long?” Francine asked, softly, taking her seat beside her brother’s bed. “Or did it only strike him this afternoon?”
Josephine found another cloth and placed it in the bowl, using it as a distraction so that she would not have to look at Lord Dunstable for fear that Francine would see on her face all that she was trying to hide. “He showed a little weakness and pain when we were out at the lake,” she replied, thinking back to that day. “I think that was the start of it.”
There was a moment of silence. “He took you to the lake?”
Josephine blushed furiously, keeping her back turned. “Indeed, but it was only to discuss the situation at the house. I had thought to return to London soon since you and your mother are both well recovered. The staff has come back and there was no appearance of the fever – until Lord Dunstable almost collapsed.”
Slowly turning back around, Josephine shot a glance at Francine and saw that she was looking at her with a good deal of confusion on her face. “You thought to leave us, Josephine?”
“Of course,” Josephine replied, beginning to gently dab Lord Dunstable’s neck with the second cloth. “They will need me back at the Devil’s basement in Smithfield Market. The fever still raged in London, from what I hear.”
Francine reached across and grasped Josephine’s hand, looking suddenly desperate. “But you will not leave us now, will you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Not when my brother needs you.”
Josephine smiled softly and set the cloth down so that she might put her free hand on top of Francine’s. “I will not leave this house until your brother’s fever has broken,” she promised, knowing that the moment Lord Dunstable’s fever left him, she would have to make plans to return to London. “I give you my word, Francine.”
Francine’s face crumpled. “Oh, thank you, Josephine,” she whispered, letting go of Josephine’s hand so that she might sit back into her seat. “I am so afraid and I do not know what to do.”
Josephine frowned, a little concerned at the paleness in Francine’s cheeks. “I think you can pray, my dear. You must return to your bed now, I think. You are tired and I do not want you to weaken yourself.” Smiling, she moved around the bed and took Francine’s arm. “Come. I will help you to your room and Gillian will bring you your tea tray in there.”
“You will tell me if anything changes?” Francine asked, casting one last glance back at her brother. “And you will tell Mama what has occurred when she wakes?”
Josephine nodded, helping Francine back into her own bedchamber. “Of course I will,” she said, knowing that Francine needed her reassurance. “I will not leave his side, Francine. You have my word on that.”
Francine nodded and climbed back into bed, relief etched on her face. “Thank you, Jo
sephine,” she whispered, her face pale with exhaustion. “I know I can trust you.”
Some hours later and Josephine felt herself grow tired also. She had spoken to Lady Dunstable, who had been shocked and horrified at the news, but who also had taken it with an abundance of steady resolve to do all she could to aid her son. Josephine had elicited a promise from the lady also, that she would not do more than she was able, given her still weakened state. However, Lady Dunstable had come to sit with her son for an hour or so, so that Josephine might eat and rest for a time. Now it was late and Josephine had sent Lady Dunstable and Francine to bed, promising each of them to rouse them should there be any news.
Not that there was any particular change with Lord Dunstable.
Josephine dipped her cloth back into the bowl of water and rested it gently on Lord Dunstable’s forehead, watching the drips trail down over his temples. He muttered something incomprehensible and shifted his head back and forth on the pillow.
“Hush,” Josephine soothed, running the cloth over his cheeks and down his neck, trying to bring his temperature down. “You are all right, Lord Dunstable. You are safe.” She saw him twist and turn his head again, his lips moving but no sound coming out. Hating that he was in such distress and that there was very little else she could do, Josephine inclined her head and let out a long breath, feeling herself tremble just a little. She did not want him to grow weak and tired, as her parents had done, only for the fever to take the last of their strength.
In the loneliness and the growing dark of the room, Josephine felt herself fall close to despondency. She was struggling to escape from her own fears, worried that despite all of her assurances to Lady Dunstable and Miss Peters, Lord Dunstable would not survive the scarlet fever. Yes, he was strong and yes, he had as much care and attention as she and the others could give him, but deep down, Josephine was worried about how the last few weeks had affected him. He had not been at his best, having worked tirelessly looking after the house and stable, his mother, his sister, and the ill servants. Whilst he was what she would consider, a healthy and strong gentleman, he had been working himself to exhaustion of late. Would that mean that the fever could take a stronger hold?