Johnson was conveniently facing the other way. He could move quickly when required. “I will take the dishes, if you are finished with them. Should I bring you anything else?”
“No thank you. We have sufficient.”
Ever the perfect gentleman’s gentleman, Johnson bowed, took the tray and left. Grant admired his ability to balance a heavy tray and open a door without dropping or spilling anything. Truly the consummate valet.
In the morning, Dorcas felt decidedly better. She still had a headache, but only that. The flashing lights, weakness in her bones and the other symptoms had receded. Perhaps sleeping in her husband’s arms was the best cure she could devise.
Dorcas had slipped into her room and changed into a becoming morning gown, loosely cut, the pale blue moire silk flowing over her delectable body. “No black,” she said with great satisfaction. She returned to Grant’s chamber.
Johnson entered after his usual knock, not the special one, a sign for Grant to play the seriously injured man, and Dorcas the mourning, dutiful wife. He took his time, uncharacteristically fumbling until the door opened, revealing Dorcas sitting by the bed and Grant lying on his back, his eyes closed, breathing stentoriously.
“Her grace your mother and Lord David are outside, with his lordship’s attendant.”
“Let them enter,” she said. Every bit the duchess. He was proud of her.
Grant had long ago perfected the art of holding his eyes nearly closed and not letting the lids quiver. Every boy needed that particular skill. So he saw the tragic expression on his mother’s face, her somber clothes and the black-edged handkerchief she used to dab away her tears.
Rather premature, he would have told her, had he been at liberty to do so.
David was in his chair, his servant pushing it. Every time Grant saw his brother, he was ashamed. Even though he had nothing to be ashamed of. But his sorrow didn’t abate. What had he been thinking, to get on that beast of a horse that day? His gaze went to Grant, perceptive as always.
“Oh, my son!” His mother flung herself to the chair Johnson brought just in time to the other side of the bed to Dorcas. “How is he?”
She reached under the covers for his hand, but Dorcas gave a firm, “No.”
The dowager snatched her hand back. Grant had to close his eyes. This close, she might detect him. Not that he suspected her of anything, but still…she might decide to discuss Grant’s miraculous recovery with her maid, or a guest. He couldn’t afford to let anyone else into the secret.
“He was directly under the fall when it happened,” Dorcas said, giving an artistic catch to her voice. “He stood under it, trying to get the men free. He succeeded, but he was crushed. They dug him out, but he has not woken since then.”
Except to eat, and make love, and talk…
“I’m so sorry,” David added. “Married a few days, and this happens.”
“You must act for him,” the dowager said in a firmer voice. “Get the lawyer to appoint you regent.”
“He has signed no power of attorney,” David murmured. “Unless it is under seal.”
Aha, so he had asked. David the saint wasn’t so perfect after all.
“I do not think anything is very pressing at the moment,” David said. “We must wait for him to recover.”
“But he might never recover!” His mother’s sobs shook the room.
Grant was past believing that anything his mother said or did was real. He’d talked to Dorcas about her, but Dorcas had made her own opinions which more or less agreed with his own. The Dowager Duchess of Blackridge was not to be trusted.
Grant didn’t know what her tears were for. Not for him, that was for sure. He lay very still, concentrating on keeping his breathing shallow and steady, listening. He trusted his wife to make all the observations needed. While he didn’t for one minute think his mother would conspire to hurt or kill him, she was not fully sorry that Grant had been injured so badly. She had little interest in horticulture and her sole interest in a yellow rose would depend on what color she had decided to wear that day.
“He must get well,” she sobbed. “He must. How will we manage without him?”
“Mama.” The covers rustled as David reached out to her. “Please don’t agitate yourself. They say he is in no pain. Maybe he will end up the same as me, which would be ironic.”
Ah, yes, making a hit even now. David did that as easily as breathing.
“But we must pray he does not.”
“Why?” she cried bitterly. “When he did this to you, why should it not happen to him?”
David was silent. When he could have finally cleared Grant from blame, he failed to do so. Sorrow filled Grant. Even in death, he was to be blamed for crippling his brother.
At least Dorcas believed him. He had to stop himself reaching out to her.
“Sadly, it does not seem likely that my son will survive. His servant told me how badly he was damaged. I had to insist on knowing. We must prepare,” his mother said in a more controlled tone. She’d recovered quickly from her tears, then. She’d probably mourn him for a whole week. “If Grant dies, then you will be duke.”
“Not so quickly,” David said softly. “We must not assume until we are sure. The duchess could be with child.”
“After two days?” The duchess scoffed.
“I could be,” Dorcas said. “And by law, I believe you will have to wait.”
David hummed deep in his throat, his habit when he was happy. Happy that his brother was dying? Or happy that Dorcas could be pregnant? Grant wished he dared lift his lids a fraction to see their faces. David habitually used a neutral tone, and he had always had difficulty understanding his real meaning. “I will, of course, ensure the estate is running as it should be, and I will always be here to help. The marriage contract—was it signed?”
“No,” Dorcas said. “It’s ready, but we married before we planned to.”
Because he wanted to care for her. Because he wanted her, pure and simple.
Grant’s heart sank. It would be, and it would be done tomorrow. He wouldn’t put it past his mother to turn Dorcas out if she proved not to be pregnant. He would not have that. If she was pregnant, she had no safeguards. He would ensure that she and only she was guardian to their child. If she was not expecting already, he’d do his best to ensure she was in the near future.
Not because of David. He had no doubt that David would make an adequate duke. Not as good as he thought he would, because David was too clever, and not sympathetic, but good enough. But Grant really wanted a child with Dorcas. The thought of her body ripening with his child made him thrill to his primitive roots.
And he should absolutely, definitely not be thinking about that now.
“I will ensure you and the child are taken care of,” David said smoothly. “And naturally, I will be happy to act as guardian.”
“And if I’m not expecting?” Dorcas said.
“You will always be welcome in our houses, and our presence. But you will no doubt be glad to return to your plants and flowers.”
Our? Who did he think he was, the king? Even old George rarely referred to himself as “we”.
“Thank you,” Dorcas said demurely. But Grant sensed the vibration of fury under her tone. He didn’t blame her. He was pretty angry himself.
“One thing my unfortunate accident did not remove from me was my ability to sire a child,” David went on.
That was news to Grant. At any rate, nobody had told him. And he should have known, dammit. Had David been keeping that little snippet to himself?
“I have been considering re-entering society in search of a wife,” David said smoothly. “But my natural reluctance made the task difficult. However, as a duke, I would be forced to perform my duty.”
“David should always have been the duke,” the dowager put in. “I’m sorry to say it, but why not tell the truth?”
Now Grant’s fury boiled over. His body thrummed with the need to sit up and deal with t
hem both. How dare his mother even think this the day after her oldest son had all but died? And worse, discuss it over his body to his newly-wed wife?
Had they no consideration, no feeling?
Dorcas’ gown rustled and a slight breeze touched his cheek as she got to her feet. “We will, if you please, talk about this another time. I would ask you to leave now. I will inform you the minute something happens.”
Her voice shook, though whether with anger or sorrow he couldn’t say.
The squeak of wheels showed that David, at least, was obeying her. His mother followed suit.
The squeak stopped and David spoke. “You must let me know at once if you need anything. I cannot say how sorry I am that this has happened.”
As soon as the door had closed behind them, Grant opened his eyes.
Dorcas was furious. Her eyes sparkled and her mouth had flattened into a thin line. But she remained silent, watching the door until a light tap, two then a pause, then four, told them the dowager and her son had gone beyond earshot.
“How dare they!” she cried.
Watching her rant and rave, striding up and down the rug, Grant fell even more in love with her. He watched this woman, his wife, and understood one thing; he had a family now, the one he’d lost after his father had died.
“I adore you,” he said, breaking into her torrent of rage. “What do we care about them?”
“But she’s your mother!” She threw up her hands. “Your mother, my father…they’re a pair.”
His ears pricked up. Sitting up in bed, he patted the empty space next to him. “Come and sit down. Tell me about your father. What did he do?”
Stopping abruptly, Dorcas turned her head and met his gaze. “I never have told you, have I? Well, here it is.”
She drifted across, lifted her gown and scrambled up onto the bed. “My father and mother were deeply in love, or so Gerald told us. But our mother died giving birth to us, the triplets.” She nodded at his murmur of sympathy. “Yes, it is sad. But after her death, he went wild. Trying to forget her, he said. No woman in our house or our district in Hampshire was safe. He went after them all, young and old. Indiscriminate. Eventually, Gerald caught Father with our governess and a maid. No attempt at subterfuge, uncaring that there were young girls in the house. The rumors of his debauchery had reached Gerald in London, where he was working on Father’s investments. So he came home and collected us. That’s why we lived in London. We let our father run to seed all on his own.”
“Oh, my poor Dorcas!”
She shook her head, though she did let him take her hand. “I found solace in the garden, even that long ago. Delphi took to her books and Damaris had a small telescope that she used at night. I was the least affected by our father’s philandering since I was outside all day. I barely knew what he was at, and I never saw it for myself.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“Because he could never replace our mother in his heart,” she said simply. “I pray for him sometimes in church on Sundays, but I don’t think about him much. It affected all of us in different ways. But we’ve found our heart’s desire. It’s love, I suppose.”
“And now we know what that is like, too.”
Her expression softened. “Yes, we do.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The night was far advanced when Grant heard a sound coming from the direction of the job-door. Behind it was a servant’s corridor, leading to narrow stairs, all covered with rough, sound-muffling hessian or drugget. The servants used the small door to change the chamber-pots, light the fires and bring hot water and food to the rooms, without disturbing the family in residence.
In this case, whoever it was had certainly disturbed him.
The door opened as a soft thump hit it from the inside, and the sound of a foot, then another gentle thud followed.
Next to him, Dorcas slept, but as the first thump hit the door, she came awake. He knew because she tightened her grip on his arm to tell him so. Silently, she slid away. If she was doing as he’d told her, she was hiding in the voluminous drapery at the head of the bed, and finding what he had stowed there.
The thump was steady and regular.
Grant ensured his sword was within reach, tucked by the side of the bedside cabinet, before he reached for the tinderbox. He opened it, struck flint on stone and used the spark to light the stub of candle inside the box.
He used it to light the three candles set in the holder. The candles flared into life and eyes gleamed in the darkness.
“David?”
His brother stood at the end of the bed, staring down at Grant.
Silence reigned until David found his voice. “Yes.”
“You can use crutches after all.” His brother had always claimed he couldn’t use them. The padded tops of the crutches were tucked under his armpits, leaving his hands free. Unfortunate, since he held a gun. The handle of another stuck out of a pocket.
“When I have to.”
David wore a silk robe Grant couldn’t remember seeing before. Dark brown, with a pattern in gold. Brown hid bloodstains well, he recalled, but he didn’t say it aloud.
“You can walk,” he remarked coolly. Seeing his brother out of his chair reminded Grant how tall he was; nearly as tall as Grant himself. But thinner, his slender figure emphasized by the lack of padding in his robe.
“You’re awake,” David countered.
“Clever of you to notice.”
David sighed. “I’d planned for you to be asleep.”
“I’m sorry to be such a disappointment to you.”
David heaved a sigh. “So am I.” He glanced at the pillows. “Where’s your wife?”
“In her own bed.”
Behind him, Dorcas did not make a sound.
David nodded. “A pity. But I can manage everything.”
“Everything?”
“When I’ve killed you, I’ll hide in your powder room. Let them think somebody else did it.” He brightened. “Perhaps they’ll think your wife did it. That will be fun.”
Grant couldn’t believe the matter-of-fact tones. As if killing him were nothing at all.
“You should have died of natural causes from the mine accident,” David said in a conversational tone.
Grant frowned. “You caused that?”
David shook his head. “Regretfully, no. But at least I would have become the duke without—hurrying it along.”
“You never said you wanted to become the duke.”
David smiled, but it was a mere curve of the mouth. His eyes glittered, just within the warm circle created by the candles. “That would have been foolish, wouldn’t it? Then people would know. I was happy to wait for a while, but you pushed events faster by getting married. Foolish.”
“What about the other incidents?” Grant demanded. His brother could stand there, so cold, without emotion, discussing murder as if everyone did it. How could he not have seen this before?
But David’s eyes were always clear. Always blank. Sparkling, bright, attentive. But something was lacking, and he’d never noticed it before. He didn’t have true emotion for others. His mother, Grant himself, only tools, not important in and of themselves. Had Dorcas opened Grant to giving and receiving emotion? Love? Every time he met her gaze, he saw it. And he freely gave it back to her. But not David. Never David. He didn’t love anybody.
“Ah, what incidents would those be?” David tilted his head to one side, a winsome smile creasing his mouth, as if he were making a simple inquiry.
Grant shook his head. “Don’t be disingenuous. The attacks on me at the docks, and again in the cabin of my ship. Remember them now?”
David smiled, knowing and wicked. But still that absence of true emotion. “Dear me, my memory must be slipping. Of course. While you were chasing your horticulturalist, I could take my time. Give the matter the attention it deserved. I do like to get the details right. But you have a distressingly hard head, Brother. The attack on the ship wou
ld have been perfect, but you had to recover, didn’t you?”
Curling his hand around the handle of his sword, Grant leaned his shoulders against the head of the bed, feigning nonchalance. “And what happens now? You shoot me here in my bed?”
“Why not?”
“But Dorcas will still be a problem to you, won’t she? What if she is already with child?”
David lifted one shoulder in a careless half-shrug. “That would not be a problem. In that time, I would have found a way.”
“By killing my child, or killing her before she gave birth?” He had to make a supreme effort to keep the emotion out of his voice. If he broke, David would pounce. He was watching for it.
A wry smile touched David’s lips. “I’m afraid so. After all, that was what you tried when you put me on that horse all those years ago, didn’t you?”
He lifted his pistol and cocked the hammer with his free hand. He was very competent at that. He must have been practicing.
Grant’s head whirled. “What? What are you talking about?”
David’s shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. His robe gleamed in the dim light. Grant suspected that after tonight, nobody would see it ever again. Or at least, that was his brother’s plan. David had not come here for a little private chat.
Please, God, let Dorcas have gotten away. Their plan was for her to slip through the servant’s door behind the bed, and out to the corridor outside, to get help.
For the first time, Grant was in fear of his life. He couldn’t get to that pistol before David could fire it.
He braced himself, and desperately searched for something he could say to stop David doing this insane act. Even now, if he could save David, he would. He had a loaded pistol under the pillow, and his sword in his hand.
“If you do this, you won’t get away. They’ll find you here.”
David laughed merrily, a touch of hysteria in the tones. “I’m very fast on the crutches. I’ve been practicing. They won’t get me. I’ll be so sleepy and so distressed. I’m good at that you know, being distressed. Mama has made an art of it.”
A Trace of Roses Page 25