Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “He won’t let me.” Her words came out as a whisper. Then she cleared her throat. “It is a terrible thing to witness someone you love deteriorate before your eyes. You will find it so, as well.”

  Maggie had slumped in her seat, matching Lady Cambrey, but at those words, she straightened. Glancing toward her sister who was taking it all in with wide eyes, she knew what she absolutely would not do—give up.

  “No, I will not find it so, for I won’t allow it.”

  Lady Cambrey produced a raw sigh, an expelling of pent-up air.

  “Don’t think badly of me, young lady. I have tried. After you and Simon left, it happened quickly. One day, he was still my John, though injured. And the next …” she paused. “Very quickly, he started slipping away, refusing to eat or to come downstairs, uninterested in his appearance or his health.”

  She took a fortifying sip of wine, and Maggie reached over to cover her hand where it rested on the tablecloth. It was shaking.

  “When the plaster cast came off his arm, I thought he’d rally at the newfound freedom. He could use his pushchair by himself more easily, and he could write, including letters to you, which he did in copious volume.”

  “Yes, he did,” Maggie agreed, trying to produce an encouraging smile. At least, at first.

  “At the same time, he did nothing else except stay in his room. He argued with Grayson more than once, and he was cross with me when I expressed my worry regarding his condition.”

  “I think we should send for a physician, either the surgeon who mended him after the accident or someone who has knowledge of …” Maggie trailed off.

  “Of what? Do I look for someone who has a special interest in general malaise?” Lady Cambrey sounded at her wits’ end.

  “No, a doctor who treats those with a severely depressed spirit,” she offered. Then she got to the heart of the matter. “And someone who knows how to help with opium addiction.”

  Lady Cambrey wrenched her hand free. “Opium addiction?”

  “It’s the root of all his trouble,” Maggie began.

  “No, dear girl, it’s what helps him feel better and deal with the pain. Laudanum is a blessing.”

  “It’s a curse,” Maggie insisted.

  “How can you say that? It’s on every drugstore shelf. Mothers give it to their babies, for goodness sake. Why, I take it myself for headaches every now and again.”

  “I doubt you have ever taken it on a daily basis, multiple times per day for months.”

  Lady Cambrey considered Maggie’s words. Then she shook her head.

  “How humiliated John would be if it got out he couldn’t handle a little laudanum.”

  Maggie felt like shouting but kept her voice calm. “Humiliation is better than the alternative. Certainly better than the current state of the man lying upstairs. And I don’t think it’s a little laudanum. He was dosing himself quite heavily weeks ago. I can only wonder how much he might now be taking if he’s increased it.”

  Lady Cambrey stood up. “You are not his wife yet, nor mistress of this home. We shall say nothing to anyone about addiction.”

  Maggie rose slowly to her feet. “I hope to get the chance to become his wife, but John looks to me as though he’s heading for death’s door.”

  Lady Cambrey paled and shook her head.

  “Maybe you have grown used to his appearance,” Maggie reasoned, “but surely you can see he is in a bad way. You are aware of the recent demise of Branwell Bronte, are you not? We only know of him because he was somewhat famous. There are probably hundreds more like him, who are slowly dying from this drug. Including John.”

  “No,” his mother shrieked, with uncharacteristically unbridled emotion. With that one word of denial, she turned and left.

  Maggie heaved a sigh and sat again across from her sister.

  “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” she told Eleanor.

  “You were magnificent,” Eleanor insisted. “And you were right. You must send for the doctor at once. As with the natural world, you cannot do this rescue alone. Neither the bees nor the ants nor a pride of lions can succeed without their entire colony.”

  “I have you,” Maggie said. “What’s more, I think Lady Cambrey will come around and see reason. She is frightened for her child, like any mother. Let’s not talk about it any further tonight. Tomorrow, I shall face this head on.”

  “Lord Cambrey couldn’t ask for a better fiancée,” Eleanor insisted as their first course was brought in.

  Maggie hoped Eleanor was correct. For when she imagined a capable mate for John, a queen bee or even a lioness, it was Lady Jane Chatley who came to mind, not herself, ordinary Margaret Blackwood.

  *

  For the briefest moment when Maggie awakened, she forgot where she was. In the next instant, she recalled she was once again at Turvey House. John’s condition came to the forefront of her thoughts, as well as his mother’s denial, and the monumental task ahead of her.

  “Dear God,” she said aloud, “give me the strength and the wisdom to help the Angsleys. Oh, and the capability of Lady Jane Chatley, so I don’t lose my sanity in the process.”

  After breaking her fast with Eleanor, without any sign of Lady Cambrey, Maggie rang for John’s butler and his valet. The two men entered the drawing room, looking wary.

  “Thank you both for coming.”

  They each bowed, mumbling a simultaneous chorus of “Yes, miss.”

  “I know your first loyalty is to Lord Cambrey and to his mother, of course, but I fear the former is too ill and the latter too overcome with sentiment to be making the wisest decisions.”

  The two men looked at each other, and then back at her, waiting.

  “Cyril, please send to London for the earl’s physician. I recall his name is Dr. Adams. Did he come to remove the cast?”

  “No, miss, another doctor did. Dr. Brewster, a local man, who also unwrapped his lordship’s ribs. The earl was told practically anyone could do it with a saw and some snips, but Lady Cambrey sent for the local doctor in any case.”

  “Then maybe I should speak with him first before we send for Dr. Adams. Please send him word that …” She could hardly say ‘Miss Blackwood requested his presence.’ Who was she to send for anyone?

  “Please tell Dr. Brewster the earl’s betrothed asks he come at his earliest convenience.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Maggie turned to the valet. “I’m sorry,” she told him, “I don’t know your name.”

  “I’m Peter, miss.” He bowed again.

  “Peter, please draw a bath for your master, and sharpen your razor and scissors. We are going to get him cleaned up this morning.”

  She was well aware the man had paled while she spoke, and thus, she offered him an encouraging smile before adding, “I know the earl might not appreciate this—”

  “Begging your pardon, miss,” Peter said, showing his nervousness by the inexcusable act of interrupting her, “but his lordship will send me packing at once if I try to do what you ask. Without references!”

  That would condemn the man to a hard life, indeed.

  “No,” Maggie said, “I won’t allow it.”

  His hesitant expression reminded her once more of her precarious position.

  “I promise you. What’s more, we shall do this together. He can hardly send me packing, can he?”

  On second thought, Maggie supposed John could break their engagement, but he’d declared his love only the night before so she doubted that would happen.

  “Come along, then. Let’s get to our tasks. Cyril, let me know when you hear a response from the good doctor. Peter, I’ll be upstairs shortly. Even sooner if I hear any yelling.”

  “Yes, my lady.” They both said at the same time.

  All three of them froze at the error until she gave a nervous laugh and the men left. Perhaps she was going to do well at this countess position after all.

  Maggie tried to hang onto such hope a quarter hour later when she p
ushed open John’s door, only to have to duck as an object came hurtling in her direction.

  “What on God’s green earth?” she exclaimed, glancing down at the thrown book at her feet, then taking in the scene before her.

  A copper bath had been dragged into the middle of the bedroom since the earl must have refused to go along the hall to the bathroom. The beleaguered valet was standing beside it, holding a towel in one hand and a soap cake in the other.

  “I told you, miss, he wouldn’t agree.”

  “You’ve been talking about me, have you?” John asked, sounding enraged. “Gossiping about your betters, eh, Peter?”

  “No, he hasn’t,” Maggie said. “And you nearly hit me with a book.”

  John focused on her.

  “Did I?” A chagrinned expression flickered across his face. “I was aiming for this creature.” He gestured at his valet and then he looked angry again. “He’s trying to get me into the tub. I’ve had a wash with a cloth nearly every other day, all the parts of me that matter, so this is unnecessary. Besides, I can’t get my plaster wet. It will dissolve.”

  “I know you can’t get your cast into the tub, but we can lower the rest of you into it, and keep your leg up in the splint if we rest it over the bath rim. It’ll be unwieldy but not impossible.”

  She nearly uttered the unwelcome words of making him feel better, but bit her tongue at the last second.

  “And either Peter or myself is going to wash that mat of hair, and then he’s going to cut it. You don’t have to do anything except to not impede our progress.”

  John crossed his arms over his chest, and she waited for his verdict. If he said no, what could she do? Threaten to leave, she supposed, but it might not work in her favor. She almost wanted to encourage him to take a sip of laudanum to make him more amiable. However, tackling that issue was going to be her next task, and she didn’t want to even bring it up at present.

  “Very well,” John agreed, “but without Gray here, we’ll need Cyril or a footman. Moreover, you must turn your back until I’m in the tub.”

  Nodding, Maggie immediately rang for Cyril. Inside, she was feeling elated. So far, he was much more cooperative than she’d feared he would be after last night.

  “While you’re bathing, we’ll get your sheets changed,” she added, deciding to keep pushing while John was obliging. “And directly after your haircut, I’m taking you downstairs to get some air and to visit with Eleanor.”

  He scowled at her. “It sounds like an exhausting morning when I’m perfectly happy resting in my bed.”

  “Resting from all your resting?” she asked.

  Thankfully, instead of becoming annoyed, he grinned.

  “Did you sleep well last night?” While they chatted, Peter began to set the sling up to rest on the edges of the bath tub.

  “I did. I think it was knowing you were here.”

  “And did you eat the food I sent?”

  Shrugging, he hesitated. “I ate some of it.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, trying to sound encouraging.

  Cyril arrived, and Maggie agreed to leave the room while they got the lord of the manor stripped and into the bath.

  “The water better be nice and hot,” she heard John grumble as she stepped into the hallway.

  *

  Cam didn’t mind the bath. Margaret had been right. It felt bloody good to submerge his body in hot water for the first time since the accident, even with his right leg up in the air. Though, when she offered to be the one to wash his hair, he balked.

  “Peter will do it,” he told her. “I don’t want you peering into the bathwater and seeing me.”

  She’d thought he was either joking or prudish. He was neither. He was vain. This was not the body he wanted her to see when she saw him naked for the first time. Luckily, she agreed to let him finish his grooming alone with his men, as long as he promised to come downstairs directly after.

  Thus, bathed and with his hair cut and still damp, he let them carry him down the stairs and place him in his awaiting pushchair. When he rolled himself onto the veranda, he found Margaret looking beautiful in the midday sun and Eleanor chatting like a magpie beside her.

  Margaret stood up immediately. He could see she was pleased by the results when she looked him over and gave him a spectacular smile, like a gift. In fact, Margaret, herself, was a gift of which he was not worthy, but for some reason, she was his.

  And there was Eleanor, a fresh-faced debutante in the making.

  He waved at her.

  “He doesn’t look appalling at all,” she said, and Margaret blushed.

  Out of the mouths of babes, he thought.

  When he reached the table, Margaret leaned over, kissing him on his newly washed forehead.

  Hm, like he was her child or her grandfather. That would never do, but for now, with Eleanor seated nearby, he could hardly haul her onto his lap as he had done before.

  “You were right,” he began. “I do feel better.” Reaching up to stroke his shaven chin, he added, “I’m sure I look better.”

  “You look very handsome,” Margaret said, stroking his soft hair. “I hope it’s all right for you to be outside with your hair not yet dry.”

  “I’m not an invalid,” he said. Then hearing his own words and seeing the humor in them, he started to laugh. Both the sisters joined in.

  Footsteps behind him and then a gasp heralded his mother.

  “John!” she exclaimed and rushed to his side as Margaret returned to her chair. “I’m delighted to see you up and about. And looking very well, indeed, just like your former self.”

  He thought he saw his mother send a smug glance toward his fiancée.

  “I knew all you needed was to get cleaned up and have a good night’s sleep.”

  “All I needed,” he added, taking hold of his mother’s hand, “was my lovely Margaret to give me a swift kick in the backside and get me out of my room.”

  “Oh,” his mother said. “Well, whatever it took, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Tonight, we shall return to the dining room, and tomorrow, we shall invite your aunt and uncle. I can’t wait to see them.”

  “As long as you’re not throwing a ball and expecting me to dance,” Cam joked, wondering at the frostiness between his mother and Margaret. That had not been there before.

  “It will be lovely to see Beryl again,” Eleanor spoke up.

  “Yes,” Lady Cambrey agreed, still staring hard at him as if she couldn’t fathom the transformation.

  He must have looked a terrible sight previously for his own mother to study him like a stranger.

  “I suppose when all the womenfolk are here, you shall talk endlessly about the wedding,” Cam said, trying to draw Margaret and his mother into a conversation. “Loads of plans to make for the breakfast reception and where we shall go for a honeymoon.”

  However, Margaret only nodded while his mother didn’t look at her but kept her gaze on him, smiling tightly.

  They had fought, he surmised. And probably over him. His mother had let him have his head and do what he wanted, whereas Margaret, in all likelihood, thought he should be taken to task. Exactly as she’d done. He could fix this.

  “I’m sorry I’ve behaved badly,” he told his mother. “I’ve been very hard on you. I’m glad you like how well I’ve tidied up.”

  His words brought a genuine smile to Lady Cambrey’s face, and she visibly relaxed.

  “My mother is very good with organizing large parties,” he said, turning to Margaret. “If the ton escalates our wedding into the event of the year, she shall know exactly how to handle it. Without my mother, the cricket banquet would most likely have been a disaster. Or at least, the entire thing would have fallen onto Jane’s shoulders.”

  “You did a fine job,” Lady Cambrey said. Then she finally looked at his betrothed. “I do like to plan parties, though. We should discuss the location at least and the food and flowers. And maybe you have a particular liking to certai
n music.”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. I’m glad you are here to give your advice,” Margaret said graciously. “By the manner in which your homes are decorated, both this one and the London townhouse, I know you are a woman of great taste.”

  There, he thought, they’d made up.

  “Shall we take a walk, or in my case a ride, around the property and show Eleanor the river?”

  Eleanor clapped her hands.

  “Perfect,” Margaret agreed. “My sister will love to see your horses, too.”

  “Mother, will you come?”

  “No, dear, I’m going to write to my brother-in-law at once and confirm their visit.”

  “Very well. Someone needs to call for Cyril to push me since Gray is away.”

  Margaret wore a surprised look upon her face.

  “Whyever for? You wheeled yourself out here. We don’t need to bother your butler, do we?”

  “Bother my butler?” Cam tried to keep the irritation from his voice, thinking of the exertion it would take to roll himself. “I’m positive he will not find assisting me a bother, my darling.”

  “But it is unnecessary, isn’t it? Only last evening, you said you needed to strengthen your weakened arm. Surely, this is a perfect way to work your muscles.”

  His mother made a humming sound, then said, “If John needs help, then he shall have it.”

  Margaret sighed. “John won’t know if he needs help if he doesn’t try to do it himself first.”

  “John is right here,” he told them both. “And bugger it all, I will wheel myself if only to stop the two of you from behaving like fishwives.”

  He should have been ashamed of his language, but seeing both his mother and his fiancée close their mouths, he felt a sense of satisfaction.

  “Very well, let’s go.” This from Eleanor, who was probably impatient with everyone’s bickering.

  In a short while, he was sweating like a ploughman as he pushed the rims of the wheels, round and round. So much for being clean and sweet-smelling from his bath. Now, he was hot and feeling out of sorts as they approached the river. The damn river he’d seen hundreds of times and, at this moment, didn’t give a fig about unless he could throw off his clothes and swim in it to cool down.