“They think wrong,” John’s tone was flat, obviously annoyed at the notion people were talking about him. He withdrew his hands from hers and sat straighter in the pushchair.
“I assure you, they’re not making fun. In fact, I think they’re somewhat in awe. Most can’t believe you lived, what with the increasingly gory versions of your many broken bones and all the blood loss.”
After another long moment, in which Maggie wondered what he was thinking, John offered a wry smile.
“Awe, indeed. They haven’t a clue.”
With the mood lightened, Maggie looked at the chessboard once again. To her delight, she saw the pieces anew and realized her opening.
“Goodness,” she declared, moving her bishop into place. “It’s checkmate.”
“What?” John exclaimed, raising his voice slightly.
Maggie felt a frisson of nerves rustle through her. Was he going to become upset? Would he lash out in irritation? Biting her lip, she waited.
Then he burst out laughing. “My fiancée is one of the best chess players I’ve ever encountered. How is that possible?”
“Because she is a woman,” Grayson said off-handedly. “No doubt she’s been distracting you with her beauty and feminine wiles.” His wry smile softened the effect of his words.
“Nothing of the sort,” Maggie told him. “I know you’re half-joking, but I’ll play you later if you like. No feminine wiles will be used upon you, good sir.”
Grayson opened his mouth, but John cut him off. “He’s probably too busy for such frivolity.”
“I just gave pony rides and picked apples while searching for fairies!”
“Exactly,” John said. “I assume you are still my estate manager and will be working this afternoon in your office. Plus, I have some investments to discuss with you.”
“Slave driver,” Grayson said. Then he turned to Maggie. “Our game will have to wait for some other day.” He was nearly at the door to the house when he turned.
“Cam, do you need anything? What about laudanum?”
Maggie saw John’s face pale. Perhaps he hadn’t told Grayson he had stopped dosing himself.
“No, I’m fine,” her fiancé said evenly, turning away to end the conversation, fixing his glance on the children in the field.
Most probably it was still uncomfortable for him to think about opium, knowing the relief it would give him, particularly if he were in any pain at that moment. Maggie decided to speak with Grayson privately to let him know not to bring it up while John was still weaning himself from the substance.
After dinner she found an opportunity. They were already down to six with most of the Angsley family having returned home after the midday meal, leaving only Beryl with them. Having excused herself to go to the water closet, before returning to the drawing room in which everyone was playing cards, Maggie encountered Grayson in the hallway. In his hand, he held a bottle of apple brandy.
Holding it up for her inspection, he quipped, “His lordship had a thirst for this.”
Nodding, she thought how best to approach the subject.
“I know you and John have been friends for many years, and I would not tell you how to behave around him except in this one important issue.”
Grayson tilted his head, staring at her with interest.
“Go on.”
“He has ceased taking laudanum, and I would ask you not bring it to his mind, nor tempt him with it at present. I know doing without it is extremely difficult for him.”
The man stared at her, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him.
Then he sighed. “Margaret, I understand your concern. However, I must tell you you’re acting under a misapprehension.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Grayson frowned. “John hasn’t stopped dosing himself with laudanum.”
His words fell on her like bricks. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s the truth.” His gentle voice somehow made it worse.
Her ire flashed like dry leaves touched by a torch. “You’re wrong. John promised me he would stop taking it after I found him in a terrible state. Why, in the past few days alone, the hollowed look under his eyes has all but vanished, and he’s eating more. Stopping the tincture has done him a world of good already.”
Gray shook his head, dashing her hopes, though her brain still fought against what she was hearing.
“Having you here is what has done him some good. He definitely wouldn’t bathe for my benefit or let us cut his hair. Not even for his mother.”
“Why do you believe he is still taking opium?”
“Because I was here the last time he tried to stop. It was a terrible sight to see. When he is fighting the effects of wanting opium, he doesn’t look calm as he does now, nor act civilly. When he needs a dose and doesn’t have it, he is impatient and irritable, downright rude, and sometimes, he lashes out with irrational full-blown anger.”
“A few times I have witnessed such behavior over the past few days.”
“It would be consistent, Margaret. What you may have witnessed was him needing his next dose. If he behaved better soon after, then he took it. I’m sorry, but I am confident in my assertion.”
“He looks better,” she protested.
“There’s the proof. When he stopped taking it before, he looked terrible. He had uncontrollable sweating and shaking of his limbs. His body will have to go through some very unpleasant sensations again when, or if, he stops. I believe it happens while one’s personal chemistry, if you understand me, is releasing all remains of the opium. Like those who cannot handle their alcohol and must give it up or die. I’ve been around my share of men ‘drying’ out, as they say. It is not agreeable to watch and worse to experience, and I think the effects of opium are far more severe.”
Her heart sank. All sense of relief she had previously felt vanished.
“He promised me.”
Grayson touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hold it against him. He is a good man, one of the finest I’ve ever known. This accident has thrown him off-kilter. I know him, though. Cam will persevere.”
“What should I do?”
He dropped his hand from her arm. “Confront him, I suppose.”
“What if he lies to me again?” Dammit. She couldn’t keep the tears from pricking her eyes.
“I believe you hold the key, Margaret. Nothing and no one else will make him give it up. It is too difficult a thing to ask a man. In fact, maybe until he has his cast off and can be distracted by walking or riding, it isn’t fair to ask it of him anyway. When I arrived yesterday, I thought that was the arrangement you had made with him—to let him take laudanum until he had an entirely healed body with which he could fight the terrible symptoms of not taking it.”
“I don’t know what’s right. I fear the longer he waits, the harder it will be.”
“You may be correct. You will be his wife soon. I leave it up to you to decide.”
With an encouraging nod, he walked past her to reenter the drawing room. As he opened the door, she could hear John’s happy laughter alongside Eleanor and Beryl’s. How different from the man she’d encountered upon her return!
What should she do? She wished she could ask Jenny or Simon. Perhaps she should write a letter, confessing her dilemma, and asking for their advice. One thing she did know with certainty. Whether she thought it acceptable for him to continue taking laudanum until his cast came off or persisted in her request for him to stop, Maggie could not allow him to lie to her any longer.
If he could show her such disrespect as to make a promise and lie to her face before marriage, what would stop him from betraying her afterward? He must tell her the truth, or she feared it would be the end of their engagement.
With such a dire thought in her head, she followed Grayson into the drawing room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cam relaxed in his chair when he saw Gray return alone, and he let his friend pour a round of apple brandy for all
of them. At his mother’s permission, even Eleanor and Beryl received a few mouthfuls in small sherry glasses.
However, when Margaret entered the drawing room a few moments later, with her readable countenance plainly distraught, his heart sank. He had a suspicion she knew.
Sipping his brandy and trying to catch her eye, he allowed for a small feeling of outrage to seep into his heart when she wouldn’t look directly at him.
How dare they discuss him as if he were a child!
No one had the right to dictate what he should do, a grown man who’d been through hell, and he mightily resented Margaret’s judgmental attitude. When every man jack used laudanum for each and every tiny ache, not to mention the women dosing themselves for their natural monthly flow, which was probably utterly painless, why shouldn’t he, who had suffered broken bones, be allowed to ease his anguish?
At that moment, he knew he was only a couple hours from turning in for the night and enjoying his last dose of the evening. The anticipation of relief gave him a sense of peace. She had no right to wish to take it from him. None at all.
Tossing back the brandy, he held out his glass toward Gray who, with raised eyebrows, refilled it.
Nodding his thanks, Cam settled into his chair for the next round of whist.
Nevertheless, his enjoyment of the evening was dimmed by Margaret’s cool reserve, so noticeable, Eleanor asked her sister if she felt well.
“A slight headache is all,” Margaret said, and Cam could only hope it were true. In his gut, though, he knew it to be otherwise.
Gone was the lively, loving fiancée, and he sorely missed her. Glancing at Gray, Cam considered whether he should question him on what was said. It was damnably difficult to arrange to catch someone where and when he wanted while stuck in the pushchair.
Before he could think of a way, the night was over, and Gray had left for his own home across the field. There was always tomorrow. In any case, if he couldn’t speak to his estate manager that evening, he could at least hope to speak to Margaret.
In his bedroom, watching the glowing of the coals in his fireplace, Cam yawned and punched his pillow, occupying the wait with thinking how much he loved her. Should he confess to still taking laudanum drops knowing it would upset her?
Waking with a start, Cam realized he had dozed off. Glancing at the clock on his mantle, he frowned. It was far later than any of the other nights Margaret had visited.
Finally, it occurred to him she was not coming.
What should he make of that?
He could ring for Peter and … and what? Ask him to knock on his betrothed’s door and summon her to his room? Hardly.
Another thought struck him. Could he possibly get to her room unassisted? He’d had a cast on his leg for two months, or thereabouts. Surely, he could stand upright, hop on his good leg, and touch the injured one down on the floor, when he needed to, without doing it any harm. If only he had crutches, which he had soundly eschewed.
Cursing his pride, he recalled how he’d forbidden the doctors from bringing any into the house, either his London home or to Turvey House when the doctor who removed his arm cast had offered one.
“I will not look like an invalid,” he had railed. “Nor a beggar!”
In his mind’s eye, he’d seen those unfortunate men and women from Covent Garden or Whitechapel.
Stupid vanity! Who cared what he looked like if a crutch helped him to reach Margaret?
Swinging his good leg off the bed, he eased the other one down until his foot touched the floor. There were those toes which had never heralded gangrene, thank goodness, and which he could now wiggle if not effortlessly, at least stiffly.
Easing to a standing position, Cam hopped. Then he hopped again. So far, so good. Hopping once more, he realized he was bloody exhausted already. Breathing hard and feeling sweat trickling down his back, he would need another bath in the morning.
Lowering his right leg to the carpet, he winced at the strangeness of it. He dared not put any weight on it, at the risk of re-injuring bones that weren’t yet set. Thinking of what could happen if the large thigh bone shifted, he felt the blood drain from his head.
“The Devil!” he swore, and then he toppled over.
Lying upon his thick, soft carpet, he considered his options. He could attempt to crawl to Margaret’s room. Most probably, she would think it a good arm strengthening exercise.
Alternately, he could creep toward the bell pull by his bed and pull the damn cord to summon Peter. Such a course of action seemed preferable since he was utterly naked. In hindsight, he would have been prudent to grab his robe before he got out of bed. Regrettably, his mind simply wasn’t thinking clearly, perhaps due to the lateness of the hour.
In any case, there was no doubt had he attempted to hop or crawl to Margaret’s room, he would have been caught somewhere in the middle between his room and hers, with his bare arse and his yard on display for all to see.
Sighing, he dragged himself the short way back to his bedside, finding it nearly impossible to crawl with only one knee and with the other leg out straight behind him. Rising up on his good knee, which took him a few long minutes, at last, he was leaning on the side of his bed at an awkward angle.
Reaching for the bell pull, brushing it once, twice, three times with his outstretched fingers, at last, he grasped it and yanked hard.
Then he waited. He had never taken a really long look at his bed with its solid walnut headboard and footboard, elaborately carved. He traced the elegant arched moldings and leaves with his gaze, finding it satisfactory.
In a few minutes, the door opened behind him. Craning his neck, Cam saw Peter in his robe, staring at him, eyes popping from his head at his bare-assed lord.
“Don’t stand there like a ninny-panny. Help me back into bed. And in the morning, first thing, I should like a hot bath.”
*
Maggie awakened feeling exhausted as she’d spent the better part of the night battling with herself about whether to visit with John in his room. A couple times, she’d even made it as far as his door before turning back.
Lying awake, she’d stared at the ceiling considering what would happen if she went to him. He would overwhelm her senses with a kiss and then they would become intimate again. If that happened, it wouldn’t be appropriate to bring up her concerns or to accuse him. Finally, she’d fallen asleep, still in her dressing gown.
Bleary eyed, she arose the next morning, still pondering her best course of action. She must hold onto the fact she loved him and his assurance he loved her.
Unable to get him alone until after breakfast, when Beryl and Eleanor went gamboling off like colts to do who knew what and Lady Cambrey went to the drawing room to read the dailies, Maggie stared at him. How to start?
“I missed you last night,” John said.
“I missed you, too.” She might as well be honest since truth was the issue at hand. It had been difficult to forsake having his mouth and hands upon her. Even more difficult, though, to think he was lying to her.
“I didn’t want to come to you again until I spoke with you, and last night didn’t seem the right time.”
“I wish you had come to me. I will discuss anything with you. Any time.”
Very well. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Are you still taking laudanum?”
Frowning, his glance slid away from her, and she knew it to be true. Instead of answering, he asked, “Did Gray tell you that?”
“Why does it matter? I only want to know if you lied to me.”
“It matters if my good friend and my lovely intended are speaking about me behind my back.”
The importance of this discussion was not lost on her. Standing up, Maggie found she needed to pace the room.
“Two people who care about you happened to believe opposite things. Which of us is correct? If Grayson is correct, then you lied to me and broke a promise.”
John was silent for a long moment.
“I need th
e opium tincture at this time,” he said at last, his voice soft.
“I see.”
“Do you, Margaret? For I am not certain you do.”
Maggie felt tears prick her eyes but worked hard to tamp down her emotions.
“You offered to stop taking laudanum. I didn’t ask. You offered.”
“I knew you wanted me to. Despite the fact I need it for the pain, you wanted me to stop taking it.” His tone was accusatory.
Nodding, she felt a cold chill run up her spine. “And then you promised me.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“No, I suppose you shouldn’t.” He didn’t look contrite, not one bit. “You’ve made other promises, and now I must wonder about all of them.”
“Don’t,” he said at once. “Except for this one instance, I have never lied to you. I had no choice. Why can’t you allow me the benefit of opium for as long as I need it? You shouldn’t want to take this small relief from me, and I shouldn’t have had to lie about stopping.”
Was he blaming his lie upon her?
“How long do you think you will need it?”
“I don’t know for sure. How can I? And will you please stop pacing?”
Frustrated, Maggie came to a halt before him.
“Don’t look sad.” John reached out and took her hand. “Nothing else has changed.”
Staring at their entwined fingers, Maggie disagreed.
“Nothing except I know you can easily stare into my eyes and lie to me. Nothing except I am engaged to an opium addict.”
Dropping her hand like it was a hot iron, he worked his mouth into a thin, angry line. “An addict! That’s absurd.”
“If you weren’t, you could stop when you wish.”
“I don’t want to stop because I’m in pain,” he insisted.
“Are you? Even now?”
“Not now,” he muttered, “because I take a dose every morning when I awaken.” Then with a louder voice, he asked, “You don’t feel the least to blame for my accident, do you?”
She felt her mouth drop, and then closed it. “You blame me? Because you misinterpreted what you saw at the pavilion and chose to come to my home? What of the reckless driver? Am I more to blame than he is?”
Beastly Lords Collection Page 62