Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “Could you pour me a glass of water?” Jenny asked as she lowered her shift and let the babe latch on. Immediately, he started to suck noisily.

  As soon as Lionel got to his appointed task, Jenny fixed on Maggie again.

  “Nonsense. I am here to care for Lionel. He is my concern.”

  “And who will look after you?” Maggie asked, pointedly handing Jenny the glass of water. “You would lie there in an agony of thirst if I wasn’t here when your little man starts feeding.”

  “Mother will be here. You know she comes every day after lunch. She wants to spend lashings of time with her first grandson.”

  Thus, two weeks later, Maggie, with a Devere maid along as a companion, set out for Turvey House with her brother-in-law. If Simon thought it strange his wife had pushed her sister upon him, he didn’t say so. In fact, after they sent the maid into the accompanying carriage with Simon’s valet, they relaxed and chatted like old friends.

  He was good company for the journey, and Maggie came to appreciate more what her sister saw in the former Lord Despair. What’s more, with his stories of Burma and of the Continent, as well as Sheffield village when he was a boy, he managed to distract her from the butterflies that kept swirling in her stomach at the notion of seeing John again.

  At one point, she got up the nerve to ask about his days at Eton, knowing Simon had met John there as a youth of only thirteen. Luckily, nearly all his recollections featured the saucy Viscount of Cambrey, who would one day be its earl. They got into fisticuffs in the courtyard, smuggled whisky into the dormitories, and hid hot pies in their pockets to snack on during lectures. In short, they had fun as all boys do.

  “And we always had each other’s back. Toby, too,” Simon mentioned his now deceased cousin who’d died in the Burmese War, a terrible experience from which the earl barely made it back alive.

  “Cam probably would have gone to war, too, if his father hadn’t recently passed away.”

  Maggie nodded. “I suppose when one is thrust into the earldom at an early age, and is the sole heir, duty to family must come first.”

  Simon gave a wry smile. “I believe the order is God first, then queen and country, and then family, but I think Cam did the right thing. His mother needed him, and he’s not the kind to let a lady down.”

  Maggie shot him a glance to see if her brother-in-law meant something extra by his words, somehow referring to John and his treatment of either her or Jane. But no. by his expression, there was no hidden meaning.

  “You have had the mantle of an earldom laid upon you as well. How are you holding up?”

  “Thank you for asking. It wasn’t going well until I met your sister, as you know. Now I have all of you Blackwoods as family, which I have got used to and confess to liking.” He shot her another grin. “Your mother has loosened up a tad, enough to start treating me like a son instead of an earl. I like that, too. When Cam gets a wife, I guess he’ll get a readymade family as I have. I hope he is as lucky.”

  From his words, Maggie decided Jenny must have kept her confidence entirely, and Simon knew nothing about any feelings she might have for his friend.

  “Eleanor was in a foul mood when she found out she was not coming.”

  “Why?” Simon looked puzzled.

  “Ah, you didn’t know she became firm friends with Lord Cambrey’s cousin Beryl, whom I believe lives nearby.”

  “I see. Yes, her father is the younger brother of Cam’s father. They live a few miles away at most. I can see why Eleanor would be upset. And with her nature, she no doubt let everyone in your cottage know it. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Simon looked serious for a moment.

  “You were right to refuse her, though. I have no idea how badly he is injured, and it might not be a good thing for a girl of her years to witness.”

  “That’s what my mother thought, too.”

  He glanced at her sideways. “You might find it a bit upsetting yourself. I think it very brave of you to come, and I appreciate your company.”

  Brave? What did he expect they would find?

  In the early evening the next day, after a night at an inn, as the carriage rocked to a halt in the large courtyard in front of Turvey House, Maggie was about to find out.

  Chapter Ten

  Cam awakened from a long and deep sleep, hating the groggy feeling that greeted him each time he opened his eyes. He knew it was from the laudanum, but he also knew how much everything hurt if he neglected a dose. At some point, he supposed, he would have to face it. But not today.

  He’d been home for a week, maybe already two, and nothing ever changed, nor did he see any hope in variance from the monotony of each day. He spent nearly every moment in bed. Dr. Adams had said it was his best hope to recover the full use of his leg, keeping it raised and immobilized. His valet gave him regular sponge baths and his food was brought to his room.

  True, his mother had arrived, and her company, though welcome, was occasionally tedious. He did not need to hear about every member of the ton, whether behaving or, more likely, misbehaving. He now knew more than he ever thought he would about their constantly changing affaires de coeur.

  In fact, the only thing constant about high society during the end of the Season was its desperate scrambling and switching of associations. Partners were rearranged as if people’s lives were one complex quadrille.

  Nor did he care about the latest French fashion, which his mother loved to pore over and relate to him in excruciating detail. After a few days, he felt he knew too much about lacey trim and the correct plunge of a neckline. That, he had to admit, perked his interest, imagining how much décolletage he would see with each variance of the cut.

  Every detail regarding the Season and even fashion led to Margaret. After the birth of her sister’s child, he imagined she had rushed back down south to London to squeeze excitement out of the last weeks of social events.

  “I don’t need you to read the dailies to me,” Cam told his mother for the umpteenth time when she came in after her late-morning meal armed with stacks of newspapers.

  She loved the luxury of receiving the papers when she was away from Town, getting them by courier every other day.

  “I know you don’t need me to, dear boy, but it is more pleasant for me to share them with you than to read them alone. And I don’t want you to tax yourself by reading them to me.”

  She was undoubtedly still worried about his right eye. Though he thought he had less side vision than before the accident, other than that, it seemed much improved.

  “You’re simply worried I’ll leave out all the juicy bits and bobs,” Cam teased her, sipping tea, which he still found awkward to do with his left hand. “Very well, if you insist on reading to me as if I’m still in leading strings, then please read the news of the government.”

  At the crestfallen expression on his mother’s face, he added, “Directly after you tell me the new girth of a lady’s bustle for the Christmas season.”

  She laughed, sat upon the end of his bed, and spread out her papers.

  Good, he thought. He’d rarely seen her relax since he’d awakened in their home in Cavendish Square in a world of agony and bewilderment. What a capricious accident, and so bloody avoidable. The other chap had died as his carriage turned over, his head being bashed to smithereens on the cobbles.

  Not for the first time, Cam thanked God his fate had not been the same, at least for his mother’s sake. He might not look as handsome as he used to, but he had lived to carry on the Angsley name and the Cambrey earldom for his family.

  As his mother began to read, he squeezed his right hand into a fist, painful but doable. And then he wiggled his toes, or tried to. They weren’t gangrenous—of that he was immensely grateful, for he didn’t fancy a peg leg. However, they didn’t move as they should. Staring hard at the foot protruding from the plaster cast, he tried again to wiggle his toes.

  There! Didn’t his big toe twitch?

  “Moth
er,” he interrupted her reading. “You’re closer. Look at my foot and tell me if my toes are moving.”

  “The right foot, dear?”

  “Yes, the right foot, for God’s sake. The one at the end of my badly broken leg!”

  “No need to shout, dear. At least it’s not swollen.”

  “How could it be? It’s devoid of blood, if you ask me. My foot is numb from being raised up in the air so damn long.”

  “No need to swear either,” she admonished, standing up and bending over his foot, peering at it. “Are you wiggling your toes now?”

  “Yes,” he ground out, feeling irrationally irritated at her. It certainly wasn’t her fault.

  “Hmm. Do it again.”

  “I am, Mother.”

  She put her face even closer, and he hoped his foot smelled fresh after his recent wipe down.

  Then she straightened and looked at him, her face telling him all he needed to know.

  “Give it more time,” she said.

  That was all he could give anything or anyone, his time. What a useless lump, he felt, unable to even move his own toes properly.

  “Keep reading,” he said, knowing he sounded imperial and short-tempered.

  His mother resumed for the next few hours.

  The rest of his day was spent napping, eating, stretching his good limbs, and eyeing his bottle of laudanum until Gray entered. Like clockwork, his mother visited him each morning and Gray, in the late afternoons.

  Today, Cam intended on dictating a letter to his business manager in London.

  “You could try learning to write with your left hand,” Gray said after he pulled up a chair beside the bed and leaned his tablet of paper upon the mattress. “It would probably look as good as my chicken scratch.”

  Cam barely cracked a smile. “I hope you’re joking with me about both. Firstly, I don’t want to learn as it implies my right arm might not work correctly when this bloody cast comes off in another month. And my arm is itching, by the way.”

  Wrinkling his nose, he stared at the offending plaster.

  “Secondly, you had better write as clearly as you can. This isn’t some frivolous love letter or laundry list. This is business, and if done correctly, it pays for all of us.”

  “Folks break bones every day. Your arm will be right as rain. Didn’t the doctor say the same?”

  Did he? Cam couldn’t recall.

  “Besides,” Gray continued, “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I invested as you suggested.” He waggled his eyebrows and offered Cam a smug smile.

  “Is that so? How did you do?”

  “Rather well. Therefore, if your business dealings don’t work out as you hope, I could be the one paying for all of us, as you say.”

  Cam nodded. “I hope you’re erring on the side of caution, just a wee bit.”

  Gray grinned. “Coming from the man lying immobile in a sling.”

  Offering him his most sour expression, Cam felt like growling.

  “It wasn’t my fault. I am a good driver, you know that. The other fellow was a fool.” He paused, realizing he knew nothing of the other man except he was dead.

  “I hope he didn’t leave behind too many loved ones.”

  “I will look into it if you like,” Gray offered.

  Cam nodded.

  Then, he began to dictate his wishes regarding his investments. Now he was enjoying the healing benefits of laudanum, he wondered if his money was being used to sell Indian opium to China, giving the East India Company enough money to purchase Chinese tea, which now seemed to be in every household in England and Scotland.

  When the long shadows of early evening turned Cam’s room dusky blue, Gray lit the lamps and went off to see about dinner which they’d taken to eating together with companionable conversation. Cam told Gray about the past year in London, and Gray told him about the ins and outs of the estate, as well as any news of Cam’s uncle’s estate close by.

  “Your mother is in good health?” Cam asked, feeling a little sheepish he hadn’t inquired beforehand.

  Gray’s mother was a housekeeper at his cousin Beryl’s home, working for Cam’s uncle and aunt. Or maybe she was retired somewhere now. He didn’t know.

  Gray nodded. “Better than you, I’d warrant.”

  Cam tried to swing at him with his left hand, feeling like a girl swatting at a wild boar. Ridiculous!

  Pretending to duck as if Cam were a real threat, Gray laughed, nearly upsetting his meal on a tray on his lap.

  “She’s not at the old granary lodge yet.”

  Cam’s aunt and uncle had some servants living in a modified granary, the older folks who had nowhere else to go and who could no longer offer much service.

  “Mum’s still one of the two sewing maids,” Gray continued. “She doesn’t mind it. She says, ‘What else have I got to do?’ And then goes on as how I haven’t given her any grandchildren.”

  “I guess we’re both supposed to start thinking about heirs,” Cam said.

  “You more than me, I’d warrant.”

  A knock on the door interrupted him.

  “Come,” Cam said at once for anything out of the ordinary was welcome.

  His butler, Cyril, entered and bowed.

  “My lord, you have visitors.”

  “Visitors?” Cam asked, stupefied by the idea anyone had arrived uninvited.

  Normally, if he weren’t bored beyond belief by the sameness of each of his days, Cam would have been prepared to tell his butler to send them packing at once.

  As he hesitated, Cyril added, “Yes, my lord, the Earl of Lindsey has arrived with his—”

  “Simon! He’s here?” With joy, Cam looked to Gray who merely shrugged good naturedly. Gray knew Simon, of course, from when his friend had visited over the years, but they didn’t have the close connection of going to Eton.

  “Send him up at once.” Cam felt like bouncing right off the bed. “Wonderful!” Then he groaned in pain.

  “What is it?”

  “Too much enthusiasm,” Cam said, reaching for his laudanum. “God almighty. All this resting will be the death of me. My muscles will forget how to work entirely if I’m not careful.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Maggie, with Simon pacing nearby, waited in the spacious parlor for Cyril, the Turvey House butler, to return. Her maid and his valet were seated discreetly at one end of the room. From the moment Maggie had entered, a veil of shyness had covered her at being in John’s home, especially uninvited.

  At the sound of footsteps, she tensed. When Lady Cambrey entered, Maggie felt as if her face were frozen in a grimacing smile. In any case, John’s mother went straight to Simon whom she’d known for many years.

  “So good of you to come, dear boy,” Lady Cambrey said, moving toward him to offer and receive a comforting embrace. Then she glanced at Maggie and frowned.

  After a deep curtsey, Maggie stammered, “I came to … to …” Good Lord! Why had she come?

  “Oh, I’m very glad you’ve come,” Lady Cambrey said. “I merely expected you to be Lady Lindsey. Naturally, you are welcome.” And she gave Maggie a brief kiss on each cheek.

  “My wife is only lately delivered of our son,” Simon explained, “or she would have come, as well. She, too, considers John to be her friend.”

  “Of course, yes. Congratulations. Nothing like a son,” she murmured, and Maggie saw tears well up in the older lady’s eyes. However, in a moment, with visible determination, Lady Cambrey steeled herself, taking a deep breath.

  “What can I offer you? You must be starving and thirsty.”

  Before she could say more, the butler returned. Bowing to Simon, he said, “Lord Cambrey asks that you go upstairs to his room. May I show you the way, my lord?”

  “No, I know where it is.” He glanced at Maggie. “Will you be all right staying here?”

  “Of course she will,” Lady Cambrey answered for her. “I will get her fed and send food up to John’s room for you. It is sent up
there regularly anyway as he hasn’t been downstairs since he arrived home.”

  Maggie’s heart sunk while at the same time, nervous tension drained from her. On the one hand, she felt badly John was now sequestered in his bedroom. On the other hand, she could postpone seeing him. Perhaps there would be no welcoming expression on his handsome face. At least, Simon could warn him she was there, and John could remain in his room and never have to speak to her if he wished.

  “Cyril,” Lady Cambrey addressed the butler. “A meal for Lord Lindsey upstairs, and the same for Miss Blackwood in here. And then have two rooms made up.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  With that, both Simon and the butler left, as did their servants they’d brought from Belton who would unpack their things and get them settled.

  “I’m sorry for coming along,” Maggie blurted when she was alone with Lady Cambrey. “It seemed a good idea to keep my brother-in-law company on the trip when my sister suggested it. I don’t want you to go to any trouble, though.”

  “Nonsense. I was delighted to meet your family in London and just as happy to have you here with me in Bedford.”

  She crossed to one of two large sofas facing each other before the fireplace. “Please, sit, dear girl.”

  Maggie did as she was told, relaxing more. After all, even if this woman had her heart set on Lady Jane Chatley being her daughter-in-law, she could hardly begrudge Maggie sitting in the drawing room with no designs at all upon her son.

  “How is Lord Cambrey doing?”

  The older lady smiled slightly. “I still think of my husband when someone says those words,” she confessed. “It’s been four years since his passing. I’m out of mourning, of course, but not finished grieving, if you understand my meaning.”

  Maggie nodded. “I believe it is the same with my mother.”

  Waiting, she desperately wanted to know how John fared. Simon would tell her later, but after coming this far and now being merely a floor away from him, Maggie longed to learn of his condition.

  “My son is much improved from the day of the accident. I have never been as frightened as when I saw him carried into our front hall on a litter by two constables. Beryl saw him first and started screaming. There was blood all over his face,” Lady Cambrey added, her words drifting off with her thoughts.