“Yes,” Prim admitted.
“And do these episodes occur more frequently when you’ve increased the amount of work you do?”
“Yes, they do,” Prim admitted. “I’ve long suspected that they were connected, but Hyacinth stated that it didn’t matter. We had no other options to earn a living respectably.”
Warner’s lips firmed. “No more. These fits are triggered by the megrims and the megrims are triggered by your sister straining her eyes to sew in dim light. It cannot continue or she will do herself permanent injury.”
Hyacinth’s fit subsided, the tremors that wracked her slight frame fading to nothing. But she would be exhausted afterward. They always left her weak and ill for some time.
“I do hate to be a bother but if the innkeeper could be troubled for a wagon, I doubt Hyacinth will be up to the walk home. If we can get her back to the cottage where she can rest in her own bed, she will recover much more quickly,” Prim insisted.
“I will have my carriage summoned and will see you all home,” Lord Ambrose insisted. “It will be cramped but I am sure we can manage.”
“Thank you,” Prim said, once more feeling as if she were in his debt. It was a feeling she did not care for in the least.
Chapter Seven
The interior of the carriage was dim, a single lamp swaying with the clomping gait of the horses and the bouncing of the wheels over the rutted lane. Hyacinth was seated beside her, fast asleep with her head resting against Prim’s shoulder. Across from them, Lord Ambrose had his head turned, staring out the carriage window into the darkness.
In profile, she could study him more fully. His high forehead, prominent but straight and well-shaped nose, the jut of a strong chin and the edge of his chiseled jaw all confirmed beyond measure that was he was a far too handsome man for her peace of mind. His dark eyes cut toward her, as if aware of her perusal.
“Have I grown two heads then?” he asked.
Prim flushed with embarrassment. “I am simply puzzled by you, my lord. I find this all very strange.”
A giggle sounded from above. Lila and Rowan were riding with the coachman, a grand adventure for them. He smiled at the sound, and Prim felt her heartbeat quicken.
“Have you never been around children?” she asked.
“No. I have not. I was raised as an only child. My mother passed when I very young. And my father had no interest in remarrying… he was occupying himself with other pursuits.”
“It sounds very lonely,” Prim admitted.
“It was, I suppose. But at the time, it was all I knew and seemed perfectly normal to me. I’ve glimpses now of what it is like to have a family. Nicholas teases and torments as all brothers do. But it’s different from what you share with your sister. It’s very apparent that the two of you have relied on one another for a very long time,” he commented.
Were they so easy to read then? “When we were younger, Hyacinth protected me… from everything that she could. But as I grew up, it became more reciprocal. Now, we take care of one another,” Prim replied.
“And Lila and Rowan?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And Lila and Rowan. They are my world. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them.”
“Including moving to the estate of a man you do not like, do not trust, and have little to no use for,” he surmised.
Prim shrugged, causing Hyacinth to stir where she rested against Prim’s shoulder. If he interpreted her response to him as dislike, it was to her benefit. As for not trusting him and not knowing him, those were both quite true. “You should not take it personally, Lord Ambrose,” Prim admonished. “I have little to no use for most men.”
“And men have certainly given you no reason to alter that view point.”
“No,” she agreed, “they have not. I do not mean to insult you, but we are discussing my family. I will always put them first. And right now, I worry about your intentions for us. I worry that you will grow bored and then what will happen to Lila?”
“I can offer you assurances, Miss Collier, but those are only words. You will come to trust, in time, that my intentions toward your siblings are pure.”
And toward me? The thought crept unbidden into her mind, along with the knowledge that she rather wished his intentions toward her would not be pure. Never in all her years had she encountered a man who made her aspire to wickedness. Not until he had entered their small cottage. She was cursed with her mother’s blood.
An incident from her childhood came to mind, a dark and ugly one. Perhaps the very moment where her distrust of men had been born. They’d still been in their hovel in the Devil’s Acre when one of the men her mother regularly entertained had knocked upon the door. Their mother had been out but he’d been insistent that he come in and wait for her. Prim could still recall the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d reached out and stroked her hair, his hands lingering too long on her shoulders. “You’ve a harlot’s soul just like your mother,” he’d whispered. “You can earn these coins for yourself, little one.”
It wouldn’t be nearly so awful if she hadn’t been tempted. The coins had promised full bellies and perhaps heavier curtains to hang near their small pallet to block out the chill. But revulsion had settled in quickly enough when he’d leaned in to try and kiss her, his foul breath making her retch and gag. He’d struck her then, knocking her to the floor while Hyacinth screamed and jumped on his back, pounding it with her small fists. It was then their mother had returned. She’d sent the man packing, coin or no coin, and told him if he ever returned she’d gut him and put his body in the river. Then she’d grabbed Prim up, hugged her fiercely and whispered against her throbbing cheek, “You’ll never be like me. Promise me, angel! Never be like me.”
“Where is it that you’ve gone, Miss Collier?” he asked, pulling her from those shameful memories that created such a terrible ache inside her.
“My thoughts are my own, Lord Ambrose, and not fit for the consumption of others just now.”
No more was said as the carriage rolled to a halt in front of their small cottage. He jumped down, then helped her to alight as if she were a fine lady and not a woman far beneath his notice. While she’d intended to aid Hyacinth in the house, he lifted her sister out as if she weighed no more than a small child. “I’ll carry her in. She’s too exhausted to walk,” he offered.
“Thank you, my lord,” Prim said, though part of her felt as if she would choke on the words. It galled her to need him, to be beholden to him, and yet she was, for so many reasons already. And there would be more still to come.
Opening the door, Rowan and Lila rushed in, climbing the rickety stairs to their respective bedchambers. Lila shared the largest with Prim and Hyacinth, the three of them sleeping in one bed that was barely big enough for two. Rowan had a small cot in the hall.
“Her chamber is upstairs?”
Prim made a face. “It hardly qualifies as a chamber, but yes. We share with Lila.”
He moved toward the stairs, careful to keep Hyacinth turned away from the wall, lest he should bump it. At the top, Lila held the door to the bedchamber and he stepped inside it. If their poverty was easily visible in other rooms of the cottage, nowhere was it more obvious than in their spartan room. One bed for the three of them, not a rug to be seen on the cold floor and their few gowns hanging on a single row of pegs along the far wall. At least all their underthings were freshly laundered and stored in the small chest at the foot of the bed rather than strung across the line that typically stretched from one side of the room to the other. It had given way under Rowan’s attempts to swing from it like the sailors he’d seen from the wharf when they’d ventured near the river.
“You all share this room?” he asked. It was clear from his tone that he found their circumstances not just shocking but sadly deficient.
“Yes, we do. Lila is of an age where we didn’t feel it appropriate for her to continue sharing with Rowan. For the last two years, she’s been in here with us,” Prim said.
Her chin inched upward, her pride roiling up inside her as she prepared to defend their choices.
“Of course,” he said. “I hadn’t considered that. How any of you have gotten a single wink of sleep, packed in like that, I’ll never know. You are made of far stronger stock than I, Primrose Collier. I commend you and your sister. You’ve both sacrificed greatly for your younger siblings. More than most would have, and with far less complaint, I think.”
She’d been prepared to give him a set down. But the quiet admiration, lacking in condescension and appearing to be entirely genuine, left her uncertain of how to reply. At a loss, Prim simply inclined her head.
“I’ll be off… I know it will take some time for you all to settle your affairs here. There are also things I must do in order to make Avondale suitable for all of you. I’ll be leaving in the morning and I will send a carriage for you all in a fortnight. Will you need one wagon or two for your things?”
Looking around at the collection of cast-off furnishings, Prim said, “We won’t need a wagon. We’ll only have a few bags between us, my lord. All of these things… they are meaningless to us and it would be pointless to drag them into your already well-appointed house.”
“Not as well-appointed as you might think,” he replied. “Avondale is a bit rough around the edges. I think that may be why I like it. Until I see you there, Miss Collier, I bid you farewell.”
Prim watched him leave with both relief and reluctance. It was not necessarily the nature of her feelings for him that alarmed her, but rather the presence of any feeling at all. For so many years, she had been entirely numb to anyone save for her siblings. That in such a short time, he’d managed to provoke attraction, anger, empathy, pride, and worse still, curiosity, was terrifying to her.
Hyacinth moved to sit up in bed, groaning softly as she did so. Prim forced any thoughts of the strange lord from her mind. There’d be time enough to dwell on him later. For the moment, she had her sister to attend to.
*
Cornelius stepped out into the night, retreating to the seclusion of the carriage. Nicholas had teased him unmercifully about Primrose Collier. The more he was in her presence, the more he came to realize that his brother’s teasing was, in fact, well warranted. He found her compelling, maddening, prickly, and altogether far too appealing for his peace of mind. If he was to hold fast to his honor and abide by the code he had set for himself, she was strictly off limits, no matter what his feelings for her were. Drawn to her as he was, he’d sensed in the carriage that she was damaged. That there something inside her, some long nurtured pain that prompted her attitude toward him. To act on his desires would be to confirm her worst suspicions of him.
With a sharp rap on the roof, the carriage lurched forward and made for the inn. More of Nicholas’ teasing would be in store. Of that, he was certain. But what greeted him when he arrived there was not teasing. Instead, Nicholas sat with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. At Cornelius’ entrance, he poured a liberal amount of the heady liquid into both.
“What’s this for?” Cornelius asked.
“Complications,” Nicholas said. “Did you notice anything unusual about the boy?”
“Rowan?” Cornelius took a sip. “No. He’s a typical boy.”
“Well, then you should take a second look… and when you do, think about your scandal-ridden neighbor, Freddy Hamilton, Lord Samford.”
He’d been too obsessed with Primrose Collier to make the connection, but having it stated so matter of factly, he could not deny it. It was clear to him immediately that Nicholas was speaking the truth. Rowan did look shockingly like Freddy and that would be incredibly problematic since there would be no way to ensure the boy did not cross paths with the reprobate who was likely his father at worst and uncle at best. From Lord Harrelson’s, Freddy’s uncle-by-marriage, involvement in abduction and blackmail schemes, to his crazed sister nearly murdering the new Lady Wolverton, the family was constantly embroiled in scandal. Freddy’s own wife had died recently from apparently natural causes, though her death had been met with some suspicion. He was on the hunt for a new bride, an heiress, and he would not welcome having his past sins come home to roost.
Cornelius bit out a curse, something that he would typically never utter.
Nicholas nodded. “Precisely. You have a very big problem, Brother, and I don’t envy you the mess that it could create.”
Draining the glass, Cornelius refilled it and sank into the adjacent chair. It would be a mess. But he would deal with it when the time came along, which would likely be sooner than later.
Chapter Eight
“I do hope they’ll arrive at a reasonable time. Depending on where the coachman stopped for the night, they could arrive as early as breakfast or as late as tea! How on earth can one possibly prepare for guests if one doesn’t know when they will arrive? It’s so terribly inconvenient. I should have gone to their cottage and accompanied them here. Then there would be no question. I could have sent instructions ahead from whatever coaching inns we utilized along the way to apprise the staff of what arrangements should be made. It’s just terrible, Cornelius! I detest uncertainty.”
What Arabella detested was clearly silence, Cornelius thought. In inviting her to stay at Avondale as a chaperone for the Collier sisters and as someone who could teach Lila the finer points of navigating society and all she might need to know of decorum, he’d forgotten how bloody much she talked. The woman prattled incessantly until he wanted to dam his ears with beeswax and cotton just for the reprieve it might offer.
“I daresay the Colliers are quite used to making do with whatever is put before them, Aunt Arabella. Whatever can be quickly prepared will suit them very well. They are remarkably resilient and quite congenial young ladies… as for Lila and young Rowan, no doubt putting anything in front of them will suffice. So long as it isn’t beets.”
Arabella gasped in horror. “Make do? Suffice? Oh my word, Cornelius! The entire point of bringing the girl here, and her siblings, is to elevate them. One does not elevate people by allowing them to simply make do!”
On that score, he could not disagree. “Fine, Aunt Arabella. Have every meal prepared in readiness of their arrival. Any largesse left over will be enjoyed by the servants or distributed to tenant farmers.”
Arabella blinked at him. “Well, that is excessive, but I can see no other way. I’ll see to it, of course, Cornelius. I’m quite pleased that you’ve taken it upon yourself to locate all the children your father sired across the British Isles. I did so love my nephew, but his behavior was quite deplorable in that regard… I do like that Dr. Warner! He’s quite accomplished, isn’t he? And his wife is lovely. Scandalous but lovely.”
She was still talking as she walked away, her words becoming indecipherable the closer she got to the door. Cornelius was left shaking his head, stunned at the woman’s ability to ramble. He would be thankful when the Colliers arrived just so there would be someone else there for her to direct her monologues to.
No sooner had the though occurred than he heard the clattering of hooves and carriage wheels outside. They had arrived earlier than expected, but given that the weather had been unseasonably dry to date, it was not unusual. He acknowledged their arrival ambivalently. He was relieved on the one hand that they had arrived safely and without issue. On the other, he was not anticipating the difficulties inherent to such close proximity to Miss Primrose. Not in the least. Then there was the other matter. He knew Samford was off to Bath shortly to chase his heiress. He’d hoped that might occur before the Colliers arrived. But alas, it was not to be.
With a muttered curse, he closed the book he’d been attempting to read all morning. He’d not been able to concentrate on it to start with, now all hope was lost. It was best to face it head on. Rising from his chair, he placed the book on the table and moved toward the small entryway just off the great hall. He paused in the doorway there, waiting for them to enter. Rowan’s excited chatter about castles made him smile. He
supposed Avondale did look like a castle to the boy. It had been a fortified manor in days long past, but not for centuries. Still, the battlements remained though purely in decorative fashion now.
Lila’s voice was quieter, softer, but still high and very childlike. The husky strains of Primrose Collier’s voice were more faint, any exuberance carefully tempered as she no doubt urged her younger siblings to do the same. The butler held the door wide and the younger of the two entered. They were practically running, but stopped when they saw him, their feet skidding to a halt on the marble floor.
The two elder sisters entered behind them, moving far more sedately. They were dressed as they had been when he saw them in their small cottage. Dresses made over, hemmed and retrimmed to hide their age and wear. Neither was an appropriate garment for traveling, the fabric too thin by far for the chill of a coach. While the weather had not turned fully just yet, there was a chill in the air that hinted at the coming winter. He made a note to himself to see to their wardrobes, whatever protests they might offer. He would also need to speak privately with Primrose and Hyacinth about the situation with Rowan and the man he suspected to be the boy’s father. But that could wait. For a while at least. He didn’t want them to immediately regret their agreement.
“Welcome to Avondale,” Cornelius said softly. “I don’t recommend sliding on the marble. Jeffers, the butler, gets quite put out with it. But sliding down the banisters is perfectly permissible because it cuts down on the dusting for the maids.”
“Don’t encourage them,” Primrose said. “You’ll have them bashing their heads on the marble. I doubt Jeffers would welcome that either.”
Cornelius bit back a smile at her caustic retort. “No, I suppose he would not. There you have it, young Rowan and Lila. No sliding on the marble or the banisters because your sister has said so.”
“She’s never any fun,” Rowan said and turned to stick his tongue out at Primrose. Her only response was to lift one perfectly arched eyebrow at him in such a quelling expression that he immediately tucked his tongue back into his mouth and turned to face meekly forward.
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6) Page 5