The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV)

by Anne Gallagher

  She placed her palm across his forehead once again. “Just as I thought,” she said to herself. She prepared a concoction in the water glass and turned to face him. “You need to drink this. Are you able to sit up?”

  Robert managed a half-leaning position before reaching for the glass. He took a sip and his lips puckered. “Good God, you are trying to kill me. What is that?”

  “Salicylic powder. Had I known you would be such a baby about drinking it, I would have mixed it with milk as I do for the lambs. Now drink. If you do not breathe, you will not taste it.” She stood with her hands on her hips and watched as he drank it all down in three gulps.

  He handed her the glass. “I am not a baby. I am ill.”

  “You are a man, and all men are children when they do not feel well. Now lay back under the blankets.” Fiona rinsed out the glass and then dragged an armchair from the hearth next to the bed.

  “What are you doing?” Robert asked.

  “I am going to sit with you.” She pulled up the cotton bag from the floor and took out her knitting.

  “Fiona that is nonsense. I am fine.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, I am going to sit with you until you sleep, just in case you need anything.”

  “I shall hardly need anything if I am asleep,” Robert mumbled.

  She shot him another look and took up her needles.

  Slowly, Robert began to warm. He was sure the fire was overmuch for his room, but Fiona did not seem to mind. He glanced at her every so often, and her eyes would be on the brown wool in her lap. The click of her needles never wavered, as if they were part of her breathing, and it gave him a small comfort that she would care to sit with him.

  “Thank you, Fiona,” he said. “It is very kind of you to stay with me thus.”

  “’Twas in the wedding vow, my lord. In sickness and in health.”

  “Still,” he said.

  “Close your eyes now and sleep. ‘Twill do you no good to keep sneaking glances at me. I shall not be going anywhere for quite some time.”

  Robert closed his eyes. Whatever had been in the glass allowed his body to relax, the chill to dissipate. He felt his limbs grow heavy, and finally he sank into the dark abyss of slumber.

  He heard the click of the door latch and opened his eyes. Fiona was not in the chair. He glanced at the clock over the mantle. Half-eleven! The room was still in darkness, though he thought he could see light behind the curtains. He’d slept straight through the night and half the morning!

  He raised himself to a sitting position. Surprisingly, he felt quite well. The magic concoction Fiona had given him last night obviously worked. Robert swung his legs out of the covers and stood. He swayed and sat back down on the mattress. Perhaps he needed to rise a little more slowly.

  He walked to the water closet and performed his ablutions, splashed cold water over his face, a comb through his hair, and was heading toward the bed when Fiona entered the room carrying another tray. At the sight of him, Fiona blushed and looked away. He could not help the only covering he wore were his drawers. She carried the tray to the night table and set it down.

  “I brought you breakfast,” she said.

  “Smells like eggs.”

  “That is because they are. Now back into bed with you before you catch another chill.”

  Robert slid onto his bed. “You do not have to treat me as if I were a child, no matter how old you may think I appear.”

  “It is self-preservation, my lord. If you should take a turn for the worse, I do not wish the blame to be laid at my feet.” She smiled as she laid the tray across his lap.

  “I shall write a note forthwith, absolving you of any repercussions, leaving the world to know it was my own foolishness that did me in.”

  Fiona stood with her hands on her hips. “I shall retrieve the paper and quill immediately,” she said before breaking out into peals of laughter.

  Robert liked the sound of it, deep and throaty. He’d never heard it before.

  Still smiling, Fiona leaned forward and slipped her hand across his forehead. “Much better. Perhaps I shall even let you out of bed this afternoon.”

  Swallowing his bite of egg, Robert said, “I shall be out of bed within the hour. I have several meetings to attend.”

  “I took the liberty of rescheduling them.”

  Robert dropped his cup back on the saucer. “You what?!”

  “I took the liberty of rescheduling them. Surely, you do not mean to go about after such a fever. You could very well have a relapse and where would that leave me? Suffering through another night sleeping in your chair. I am sure I must protest.”

  “Well, I am sure I must protest your meddling in affairs where you have no business.” Robert set the tray aside, swung his legs out of bed, and stood. And again he swayed and hastily sat back down.

  Fiona rushed around the posters to help him. “See. There. You are still ill. Now get back into that bed, and finish your breakfast. If you would have remained in a rational manner, I would have told you, I rescheduled your meetings for tomorrow and none of the gentlemen appeared to be inconvenienced in the least. Mr. Hardcastle seemed quite relieved actually, said it would give him the time he needed to go over his accounts once more before he spoke with you.”

  Robert looked up at her as she fussed with the covers and replaced the tray across his lap. Her good eye held the puffiness of too little sleep and the bruise he’d inflicted on the other was shamefully grotesque as the color spread. Perhaps he should take care of her.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “As much as I hate to admit it, I know you are right. I am not used to having people hover over me.”

  Fiona snorted. “You are the Duke of Cantin. People hover over you all day long.”

  Robert took a sip of weak tea. “Perhaps, but not in such close proximity. I find your ministrations disconcerting.”

  “Well, I am sorry, my lord, but as I have no other plans for my day, ministering to your every whim is high on my list. Now eat. You must keep up your strength.” She spun from his side, opened the curtains wide, and tied them back.

  “’Tis a beautiful piece of land you have,” she said.

  “Yes. I often wonder if that was the attraction my father had when he bought it. He always loved the sea, but with so many estates to care for, he did not have much time to spend here.” Robert tucked into his breakfast.

  “That is a shame. I would love nothing better than to spend all my time here.” Fiona came away from the windows and placed two more logs on the fire. “In our library in Peebles, my father had a landscape of a wild ocean. Rather dark I might add, a huge ship breaking up over the rocks. It fascinated me. Before we return to London, I should like to go down to the shore and feel it.”

  “Of course,” Robert said. “If you wish.”

  Fiona walked to the chair still at his bedside and placed her hand along its top. “Will you accompany me then?”

  Robert looked up. Her face held the look of a child asking for a forbidden biscuit. “Yes. But you must dress warmly. ‘Tis frightfully cold this time of year by the shoreline. And I have no desire to remain here any longer than needs be if you should take ill.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Robert rattled his cup again. “Damn it, Fiona. What is the aversion you have with addressing me by my given name?” He watched her face flit from amusement to insecurity to indignation in the span of mere moments.

  “If I may speak freely…”

  “By all means.”

  “I respect you as the Duke of Cantin and all that implies. However, I cannot respect you as my husband. Not yet. Therefore, I do not feel the inclination as you do to address me on intimate terms.”

  He pondered her words. “I see.”

  “Perhaps further down the road when we are more familiar with each other I may be inclined to do so, but for now, you shall remain ‘my lord’, whether that is acceptable to you or not. It is that or I shall choose not to acknowl
edge you at all.” She picked up the empty water pitcher from his table. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will take my leave so that you may rest. I shall have the footman come shortly and take up your tray.” She walked to the door. “And I do expect you to rest. After all I went through last night I should not like to have to wait on you again this evening.”

  “What do you mean, what you went through last night?” What was she talking about?

  She opened the door and turned to face him. “My lord, you tossed and turned so violently I thought I should have to restrain you. What little sleep I did acquire in the chair, was exceedingly uncomfortable. I should like nothing better than to take my own bed now, and I do not wish for Mrs. Hastings to inform me you are thrashing about again.” With that, she walked out of his room closing the door behind her.

  What was she talking about? He didn’t thrash in his sleep, he slept like the dead last night, or had he? Pushing the tray to the side of the bed, he lay back against the pillows. A fleeting memory of a woman’s low voice soothing him came from the deepest recesses of his mind. Warm hands on his forehead, brushing his hair back. Had it been Fiona? He thought it was a dream.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Robert’s business dealings kept him busy for the better part of a fortnight. His fleeting illness disappeared as quickly as it came and Fiona spent her time, either with Merry walking the gardens, or with Mrs. Hastings in the kitchen. The old woman’s aversion to Fiona had finally dissipated, along with the ugly colors on her cheek. The housekeeper shared gossip, as well as recipes, and stories about Robert’s father, Lord Stephen. When Fiona’s bruise finally disappeared completely, Robert took her into the village and returned the call the vicar and his wife had made, and she and Robert hosted a small dinner party for the prominent members of the little village.

  This morning at breakfast, Robert had consented to take her down to the sea before their return to London three days hence. Fiona was overjoyed and changed quickly.

  The rocks were slippery, and Fiona held Robert’s hand with a firm grip. The half boots she wore had no traction on the wet slimy rocks, and Robert did his best to keep her from falling.

  “I do not understand why you should not let me carry you,” he said exasperated. “At this rate, it shall take us until sundown to reach the water.

  “My lord, if you let me take off my boots, I do not believe I should be half so awkward.”

  “Out of the question.” He grunted. “I do not need the villagers talking of how I let my wife run naked down at the shore.”

  Fiona placed one hand on her hip and stared at him. “Naked? I did not realize showing one’s feet would be considered naked. And there is not another person for miles. I do not see how anyone would ever know.” She took a cautious step, and found herself slipping. Robert’s steady hands caught around her waist and he lifted her from the stone.

  “Do not move or we shall both be dashed,” he said in a tight voice. He scooped her up and Fiona clung to his broad shoulders.

  Fiona held her breath as Robert moved over the boulders at a cautious rate. Soon they were standing on the wet sand at the water’s edge. Robert placed her gently on the ground, his hands still on her waist.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Fiona said, relieved to be off the only safe way to the water’s edge. “Is there no path that could be built? A bridge perhaps?” She turned to the massive outcropping of giant boulders and stones. Heaps of seaweed covered the tops as well as in between the crevices in the great wall. It remained slippery and wet from the constant waves, even at low tide. To the left, the land sloped to form a swampy marsh that filled with ocean as soon as the tide changed. The outgoing tide formed furrows of small channels to release the sea from the basin. Farther beyond another fearsome outcropping of stone, the shoreline lay flat and tranquil.

  “A path? A bridge?” Robert asked. “How do you suggest I build such a thing? And with what? These boulders were placed here by God. Do you think I have the same engineering skill as the Almighty?”

  Fiona faced the ocean and put up her hand to shade her eyes from the water’s glare. “I should think if one could start from the firmament at the top of the rise, a path of stone could be laid, and then a wooden bridge atop.”

  Robert looked where she had suggested. She turned and faced the estate. Pointing with her gloved finger she said, “There, where the two trees overlook the marsh. Do you not think that would be the best place to begin laying the stone?”

  “Fiona, ‘tis a great undertaking.”

  She continued not even hearing him. “And then the path would become part of the great outcrop there.” She swung her arm to point at the monstrosity dividing this shore from the other. “You would have then, the whole of that shore to work at or play, or perhaps just walk. Do you not see how this would benefit The Cottage?”

  Fiona walked down the small strip of beachhead having to stop before a rivulet that poured out from the estuary. There was no way to jump over and Fiona was determined to walk along the other shore. She sat down on the sand and began untying her boot.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Robert’s shadow fell across her.

  “I am taking every opportunity to enjoy this outing, my lord. I do not know when or if I shall ever see the ocean again and I am determined to feel the sand beneath my feet the same as I did with the land in Peebles. If you do not wish to accompany me further, then by all means, do go back to the house. I shall find my way later.” Fiona continued to make fast work of her other boot, slipping it off to join the first on the sand. When she stood and lifted her skirt to remove her stockings, Robert put his back to her and shouted at the same time.

  “Good God woman, what do you think you are doing now?”

  Fiona laughed. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, do not fash yourself so. I cannot be expected to ruin a perfectly good pair of leg wear.” She pulled the wool down and over her ankles. “There now, that feels much better.”

  Robert turned back to her with an incredulous expression.

  Fiona dug her toes into the sand. “Does it always move so? I feel as if I were in a great hourglass.” She retrieved her boots and tucked the stockings in one of them, then took a step toward the inlet.

  Robert placed his hand on her elbow. “Where are you going?”

  “Across the creek, my lord. That is the only way to get to the other side.”

  “Fiona, do not be daft. You cannot wade through the water, ‘tis freezing and you will catch your death.”

  Fiona shook free of his hand. “My lord, I have swum naked in the silver lake in Peebles in February and I did not catch my death. Walking through this little bit of water will do me no harm.” As she plodded through the sand to the water’s edge, she hiked her skirts and took a tentative step.

  “Wait for me, damn it,” Robert yelled.

  Fiona turned and found Robert stripping off his boots and stockings. She waited for him as he stormed up the beach.

  “I shall catch my death,” he said as he reached her side. “If you have forgotten, I have been ill.”

  “Nonsense,” Fiona retorted. “’Twas only a sniffle. And if you would care to recall, ‘twas I that nursed you. Now, shall we stand about all day arguing, or are you coming?”

  Fiona placed her foot into the water and hop-walked through the shallows to the other side. She heard Robert splashing behind her and faced him as he slogged up the bank.

  “See, ‘twas not so hard, was it?” she asked.

  Robert said nothing, but followed where she led. As they gained the next giant outcropping of rock, Robert took her hand to pull her up the last part of the embankment. Sand and beach weeds had formed along the top to make a small plateau where they both stood and took in the landscape before them.

  “Breathtaking,” Fiona said then sighed. “I should give all the money in the world to be able to look upon this sight for the rest of my life.”

  She could see The Cottage some ways behind a copse of trees to the north.
The estuary lay behind them with the boulders that formed the great elbow protecting it. The land in front of them sloped down to the shore, reeds, and canes along with brush pine and wild blue flowers that stretched to the sky. Along the tide line, great white herons and small furtive brown birds picked among the flotsam. Sunshine sparkled over the waves, a light breeze played with her hair. Fiona breathed in the salt air.

  “This is what I think Heaven should look like,” she said.

  “I think you may be right,” Robert agreed.

  She turned and found him staring at her with a puzzled expression.

  “Come,” he said, and held out his hand. “Let us go down and see what creatures we may find. Perhaps a treasure for Mrs. Hastings.”

  *****

  As they walked along the beach, Robert could not remember a more relaxing time. For all her exasperation, Fiona was nothing more than a child. An old child perhaps, but a child nonetheless. The delight she took in everything he showed her knew no bounds. When he chased after her with a dead crab, she shrieked and ran down the beach, feigning hysteria. Her joy at discovering a plover nest with eggs set her on her knees, the damp sand forgotten. She played a game at the water’s edge of jumping over the ocean’s ebb and flow.

  After walking the good mile or more down to the end of the beach where it met with another round of mountainous boulders, they returned to where the journey began. Robert looked at the outcropping.

  “Oh, must we return so soon?” Fiona asked. “I should have thought to take a picnic.”

  “Perhaps a little longer, then, if you like. The tide will be turning though, and we must return before we are stranded.”

  Fiona plopped down on her stomach on the sand, startling Robert. How could a woman not have a care for her clothes? Robert had never in his life met another woman like her, as if nothing mattered more to her than the enjoyment of the moment. She pulled at the sand and allowed it to flow through her fingers with the breeze.