Preposterous! Thank goodness Simon had intervened.
Facing Mr. O’Connor, painfully aware he had witnessed her splayed atop his employer, was bad enough. She found him in his office on the first floor, as directed by one of the maids.
Knocking, Maggie entered at his behest. He rose to his feet.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was hoping I could go riding again.”
“Do you have feelings for John Angsley?”
Gasping before she could stop herself, Maggie felt a surge of annoyance.
“I beg your pardon, but that is none of your business. I shall go find a groom and not trouble you any further. Evidently, you already have much on your mind. Perhaps too much.”
She turned to leave.
“Please, Miss Blackwood, stay. That was inexcusable. Won’t you sit and I’ll explain myself.”
Hesitating, finally, she took the seat he offered.
“I only ask because John is like a brother to me. We have known each other since we were very young. Seeing him laid up like this has, I admit, sobered me as to our mortality.”
Maggie nodded. “Something can happen accidentally to any one of us. That is certain.”
“Exactly. John will recover. I have no doubt. Moreover, I know he was already in search of a wife, if not exactly in a straightforward way. Still, it was on his mind. An heir for the Cambrey earldom and all that.”
What could she say? Should she point out Lady Jane Chatley would fill the position perfectly, and John seemed to have already chosen her? Shrugging slightly, she waited.
“If you are interested in becoming his wife because you care for him, then I wish you joy. If you are not interested, then I hope you will leave here soon because I know he will come to care for you since you are pretty and well-spoken. In my opinion, as his friend, I don’t think he ought to be injured in any further manner, not even in his heart.”
“I appreciate your plain speaking, though I must still tell you it is not any of your business.”
“Be that as it may, there is a third scenario I think is my business. If you do not care for Lord Cambrey but think you can now snag a somewhat damaged earl for your husband, then I must warn you, I will do everything I can to stop you. As his estate manager, I consider the earldom under my purview, and I won’t take kindly to a female fortune hunter.”
“You are thinking of this from every angle.” Maggie was actually glad John had such a friend. “However, don’t you think you are putting too much power regarding whom Lord Cambrey will marry into my hands? Have you forgotten he has a say in it?”
“Not at all. Yet, bedridden as he is, with his self-confidence dented like a tin milking bucket that’s been kicked by a particularly heavy hoof, I think he might be more malleable to someone else’s whims or machinations. I am keeping my eye out for him. As I said, like a brother.”
“Good.” Maggie stood, and the estate manager did, too. “Then I believe since I am neither whimsical, nor at this time involved in any machinations toward the earl, we are not at cross purposes. Do you wish to ride or shall I locate a groom?”
“I’ll be happy to ride with you, Miss Blackwood.”
*
Seated on the veranda with his injured leg propped on the chair in front of him and his arm in a sling, Cam felt the green-eyed monster inhabit his body. Right before him, coming in from a long ride was Margaret on the slightly rotund Nell. Beside her was his own estate manager, laughing at something she had just said. They looked relaxed and happy, the picture of easy camaraderie.
It vexed him he couldn’t jump on a horse and take her on a tour himself.
Jealousy warred with envy, and they tied.
Gripping his teacup so hard, Cam feared he would snap its delicate handle. He knew it had been a long ride, as he’d been sitting there for the better part of two hours with Simon by his side. They’d talked about everything, including Simon’s reason for going to the Continent earlier in the year. It had been eye-opening, to say the least. Cam was beyond thrilled his friend had found a cure for his violent outbursts while asleep, so disturbing they had nearly ended not only his marriage but his wife’s life.
After being sworn to secrecy, especially not to tell Margaret, Cam had moved the conversation to lighter topics of importing wine and of horse breeding.
Simon stood and waved to his sister-in-law as she and Gray entered the paddock. In a few minutes, she rushed across the grass until she reached the paving stones and then the terrace. Finally, she mounted the steps to the veranda, beginning to speak as soon as she was within their hearing.
“What a glorious day,” she exclaimed, gesturing to the blue sky and bright sun, “and your estate, Lord Cambrey, is positively lovely. I’ve seen fields of gorgeous flowers and orchards with every kind of fruit. Cows, sheep, pigs, all well-tended. And Nell never faltered. Grayson was kind to show me around.”
Cam felt her words like a knife twisting in him. He should have been the one showing her around. And he noted her use of Gray’s first name, while she still called him—after so many kisses—by his title. Even after he’d bloody well had her on top of him a few hours earlier.
“I never noticed before how you babble like a brook, Miss Blackwood,” he heard himself say, and his tone was practically a snarl.
“Cam,” Simon protested. “Maggie’s simply excited by how well you maintain Turvey House. You’ve lived here all your life and forget how it looks to fresh eyes.”
However, Margaret’s expression had tensed, and neither of them sat down. That only irritated him more.
“I don’t maintain it at all, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be doing so in the near future. And excuse me, Miss Blackwood, for not standing.”
God, but he felt irritable. What’s more, his entire body ached and his stomach hurt. Blasted tea! Pushing it away from him, both cup and saucer, not caring how it sloshed over the side of one and into the other, he scrabbled in his coat pocket.
His fingers found and held the bottle of laudanum he’d remembered to grab as his valet lifted him onto the stretcher to bring him downstairs. Yanking it out, he unstopped it and took a small sip.
“Are you two going to stand there all day like a couple of Greek statues?”
Simon frowned at him. “I’m going to go for a walk and stretch my legs.” Then he winced. “Sorry, old chum. I didn’t mean to rub salt in your wound. As soon as you have the cast off, you’ll be strolling around like you used to.”
Cam could think of no response as he still had months before that terrifying event. He said nothing, only glaring at Simon until the man nodded and wandered off in the direction of the stables. He expected Margaret to do the same since he’d offended her. To his surprise, she pulled out a chair and sat down.
As soon as a servant had offered her some refreshments, she turned her attention to him, staring at him.
“Are you in a great deal of pain?”
“At present?” Cam considered. The ache he thought he’d felt had vanished as soon as he’d sipped from the bottle. “No, the opium tincture works almost immediately.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t want to speak frankly while you were distracted by your injuries.”
“I’m always somewhat distracted by them,” he confessed, his irritation dwindling. Because of her nearness, he thought. “The plaster casts are hot, and my skin has started to itch under them.”
“Does your mother knit?”
“Rarely,” he responded. “What a strange question. Do you wish to speak to me about knitting?”
“No, but if Lady Cambrey has any knitting needles, I believe you could slide one between your skin and the cast and ease some of the itching.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Actually, he wanted to hug her.
“What a dashed good suggestion. I can already imagine the relief.”
“Is the itchy skin why you were so beastly rude when I came back from my ride? Because I do not babble.”
He f
elt his face heat up with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
“You are forgiven.” She sipped her tea. “Also, I’ve seen pushchairs in the city.”
He held up his hand. “I’ve already got one on the way though mostly, I need to keep my leg up.”
“Still, it will offer you a degree of mobility. You can race between the dining room and the front parlor. Or ride it across the grass to the river.”
“Yes, if I can convince Cyril to give it a hearty push.”
She laughed lightly, and he relaxed. Why had he been such a boorish cur? He couldn’t even recall.
“Why did you think I was a dream this morning?” she asked him, and he knew their frank discussion had begun.
Remembering how he told her to remove her gown and then, good God, he’d mentioned her female parts, Cam wished he could slide under the table and disappear. Somehow, until that moment, he’d pushed aside his entirely inappropriate behavior, or the laudanum kindly had.
“I had a dream about you. I have many dreams, of course.” That was all she needed to know.
“I’ve heard opium tincture can cause dreams to be vivid.”
Nodding, he fiddled with the tea cup in front of him until she reached over and poured him a fresh cup.
“It helps with the pain and with sleeping,” he told her.
She nodded. “I’m sure it does. Were you awake when they set your bones? It’s terribly painful, isn’t it?”
“The surgeon offered me ether or chloroform,” he said. “I actually don’t really remember this, but Mother told me I said it was too experimental, and I could handle having my bones set without being put to sleep unnaturally. In all likelihood, I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up. Who knows?”
“Indeed,” she remarked. “I would feel the same way. I’ve read some success stories in the papers, and also a few tragedies.”
“Laudanum and brandy are far safer, in my humble opinion. The worst pain was waking up while someone, I don’t know who, carried me off Oxford Street. I was already a bleeding, crumpled heap. I suppose it was imperative I be moved, or I might have been run over any number of times.”
Though he was attempting to make a little jest, Margaret didn’t look amused.
“You could have been killed instantly. I heard the driver of the carriage that hit you was.”
Cam nodded, recalling why he’d been where he was in the city at that moment. Margaret didn’t know he’d gone to speak with her. How he’d left her door feeling despondent after learning she’d departed for Sheffield. How he’d wanted to ask her if she understood their kisses were better than any he’d ever had and demand to know if she felt the same.
Here they were, chatting together in the sunshine, sipping tea. He should count his lucky stars.
“May I?” she asked, pulling the laudanum bottle across the table toward herself. Oddly, he had the impulse to snatch it back but didn’t. She lifted the stained cork and sniffed.
“I thought it would smell more bitter,” she noted. “What’s in it?”
“Sherry, cloves, and cinnamon,” he said, irrationally wanting her to return it immediately so he could hold it close. “Dr. Adams said it was the most palatable blend.”
Eyeing him over the bottle, she put the stopper back in.
“You don’t mind the dreams?”
Holding his hand out, she placed it in his palm, their fingers brushing as she did.
“Not some of them, no.”
He watched her cheeks pinken delightfully. For his part, he felt a surge in his loins as he recalled his dreams and the reality of having her atop him, her bounteous breasts crushed to his chest.
Should he do what his mother practically insisted and ask her to marry him?
“When do your plaster casts come off?”
Not soon enough! He wanted to scream it out loud. Such behavior would frighten her.
“I have months to wait still, at least for the leg. I think the one on my arm will be removed sooner.”
He’d answered his own question about proposing. Even if he wanted to ask for her hand, he wouldn’t do it in his current state, not while standing at the altar to say his vows was an impossibility. They couldn’t go on a proper wedding trip. He wasn’t fit to be anyone’s groom at present.
“It was kind of you to come visit.”
“Jenny would have come if she could, but there is Lionel.”
Cam couldn’t help smiling, thinking of his friend as a father.
“What is it?” Margaret asked, seeing his expression.
“I’m adjusting to Simon as an adult, I suppose. One minute we’re green youths, then we’re supposed to be responsible enough to raise children.”
There was no question he would have children of his own one day. What of Margaret? He hadn’t thought of her in any maternal sense before, only as a sensuous, fun-loving creature.
“And do you like being an aunt?”
Her smile spread. “It seems I am good at it. I figured out how to stop Lionel from crying, and that was a blessing. He is easy to love, warm and cuddly. Yes, I confess, I enjoy being an aunt.”
As she’d spoken, he’d fallen in love.
He wanted to sigh loudly, his heart was beating fast, and he was making moon-eyes at a woman while she spoke. He couldn’t deny it. Hearing her talk about holding a baby, Cam could easily picture her with their own child in her arms. Yes, this was love.
“Do you realize since I sat down you’ve had two swallows of your laudanum mixture?”
Sitting up straight, he stared at her.
“No, you are mistaken.” Then he looked around for his bottle, realizing he still clutched it in his good hand. “It’s right here.”
“Yes, but you’ve raised it to your lips twice. By the way, how much did your physician advise you to take? Each day, I mean?”
Why was she asking him such personal questions?
“I believe I may take the amount which eases my pain. How would Dr. Adams know if I need a few drops more or less?”
“I suppose a good doctor would have an idea of how much is correct. And safe.”
Safe!
“I assure you, after what I’ve been through, I am proceeding with all due caution.”
Even in the matter of love.
*
“There’s a flower in your garden as big as a dinner plate,” Simon commented without preamble when he returned. “I’ve never seen the like. Not in England, anyway.”
Maggie was glad he’d returned. She thought it might be better if her brother-in-law were to make sure John wasn’t taking too much of the strong opium tincture. Nearly monthly, she read in the papers about some poor soul who’d become addicted to it. What’s more, there was the titillating book from a couple decades earlier, poor Thomas de Quincey and his Confessions of an Opium Addict.
Moreover, everyone suspected the recent death of the brother of those clever Bronte sisters was tied to the young man’s use of laudanum.
Yes, the more she thought on this, the less she liked it.
“I’m going indoors for a moment. I’ll leave you two gentlemen to talk.”
Simon stood, of course, whereas John could not. Slowly, she walked around the table until she was behind the earl’s chair, and then she widened her eyes at Simon and nodded at the laudanum bottle still grasped in John’s fingers.
When Simon frowned at her, and John began to squirm in his seat trying to see behind him, Maggie even mimicked someone drinking.
Finally, her brother-in-law stopped staring at her blankly and smiled down at his friend.
“I’ll go find out about our next meal, shall I?”
Simon grabbed her arm as he passed her, hurrying her into the back hall of the manor.
“What was all that about?”
“I am concerned with Lord Cambrey’s use of opium tincture.”
She watched Simon’s thoughts play across his face. He didn’t dismiss her worries out of hand, for which she was appreciative.
“You understand he is in considerable pain,” Simon pointed out.
“Yes, I know, but perhaps we should keep an eye on how much he is taking. Opium is not without its ill effects. De Quincey, you recall.”
Simon nodded. “I’ve read the Confessions.”
“Who has not?” she said. “In some ways, it glorified the pleasurable aspects.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Is there some reason you are concerned. Has he been acting strangely?”
Maggie hesitated. “Well, he kissed me.”
Simon shrugged. “I’m not sure that is so strange. Besides, hasn’t he kissed you before?”
“Jenny!” Maggie exclaimed, realizing her sister must have disclosed this personal detail of her time in London.
This time her brother-in-law grinned.
“All right, I’ll tell you,” she said. “Being grabbed off my feet and hauled atop him was not the type of kiss we’ve exchanged before. And what about his ungentlemanly remark right before you left the table?”
“Hardly the terrible ramblings of an addict.”
“No, but completely out of character. What’s more, as soon as he had a sip from that bottle, he became his sweet self again.”
“I will keep my eye on him.”
“Thank you.”
Simon gazed at her a moment. “You sound as though I am doing it for you, as if you care for him. Do you?”
Maggie shot him her candid smile.
“I don’t usually allow people to kiss me unless I care for them.” Then she recalled some of the other men she’d kissed during her Seasons. “Actually, I suppose that is not entirely accurate. I—”
Simon held up his hand. “I think I’ve heard enough. Unless there are men against whom I need to defend your honor, please don’t say anymore.”
“You are a dear brother-in-law.”
“Visitors!” came Lady Cambrey’s excited voice, floating down the corridor. “Where is everyone?”
Chapter Fourteen
Lady Cambrey appeared in a lovely day gown of cream brocade with navy thread. “Where is John?”
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