“This is a beautiful home, Lord Remington, but I am certain there was a draft in my room. How do you manage to keep up this grand house with such a limited and, ahem, inefficient staff?”
“Really?” Theo joined in, “a draft? I have never experienced any kind of drafts at Rose Hill.” He turned to Marcus. “What did you do, ol’ man, put them in the attic to sleep?”
Sir Tidley stood near the fire. “Perhaps they are sleeping in the cellars. That is certainly the only place I have ever experienced a chill.”
Lord Westcombe coughed and cleared his throat in an exaggerated manner before exclaiming, “As for drafts, I’ve not noticed any in this mansion, and Lord Remington’s staff is of the most excellent quality. Of what could you have found fault in their performance?”
Lady Heticia chimed in. “I rang my bell this morning desiring hot chocolate brought to my room, and it took more than a quarter of an hour before it arrived!” She nodded her head and crossed her arms with a “hmpf!”
Phillip placed a hand on his chest, and his eyes grew big. “You had to wait that long for hot chocolate? Dear Remington, I didn’t know you even liked hot chocolate. How would your staff happen to have that on hand when you start your day off with a bracing cup of coffee? How could it be possible your chef managed to come up with hot chocolate in such a short time?” He turned to Heticia. “My lady, you must understand this is a bachelor establishment, and as such, the servants are accustomed to meeting the needs of men. That you should get hot chocolate so fast is beyond belief.” Phillip faced Marcus. “I hope you plan to give your chef a special bonus, or these ladies might attempt to offer him a position for such superior service.”
Heticia stuttered, “You do not understand. I awaken to a steaming cup of hot chocolate at home. Whyever should I need to wait at all?”
Lady Widmore patted her daughter’s knee. “Hetty, he already said they do not make hot chocolate, as the chef is used to preparing only coffee in the morning.”
Heticia’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“I know what the problem is,” Michael offered. “The root of your complaint is because this is a far larger home than you are used to being in and do not realize the time it takes for a servant to retrieve your desire from the kitchen and return to your room still hot and without spilling it.”
Marcus nodded his head before speaking. “It truly astounds me how they do that. You are correct, Phillip. An increase in wages is in order.” His mouth twitched at the corners. In truth, his staff were handsomely compensated.
“This conversation is nonsense. You cannot believe you employ superior help in this monstrosity of a house?” Lady Widmore bristled.
Lord Remington stood and narrowed his eyes as he glared at the woman. “Dear Lady Widmore, I extended my hospitality and yet you would pay me back with insults? I have no previous complaints from visitors to this home about the rooms, chimneys, windows, food, or the service. As this is my principle seat and has been in my family for generations, it is with great pride that my staff and I would offer hospitality to anyone. If you find us lacking, I will arrange for my carriage to transport you to The Crown in Didcot until your carriage is fit for travel. Your servant.” With a curt bow, Marcus exited the room, giving his friends a wink on the way out.
The men would not find as easy an escape, at least until after the tea tray had arrived. It was an underhanded trick. He had not taken as much umbrage at the ladies’ comments as he had pretended. With relief, he escaped the Widmores’ presence. He hoped his friends would forgive him.
Marcus took the stairs two at a time and veered off to the south wing. He entered the sitting room doorway and walked across the carpet to the door to the bedroom. Miss Storm was speaking to the dog. Charlie wagged her tail and soaked up the attention. Marcus nodded to Molly, who sat over by the fireplace mending.
“Be careful, Miss Storm. If you spoil my dog, I may be forced to give her to you and let you suffer the consequences.”
Josie grinned, and Charlie rose, stretched forward her front paws, leapt off the bed, and ran to the slightly open door. The dog made a quick glance at Miss Storm.
“Be gone, fickle wench!” Marcus laughed as Charlie barked a retort.
Josie bit back a giggle.
Marcus admired the dimple, which appeared for a brief moment.
Charlie scampered out the door.
“Do you mind if I pull up a chair?” Marcus asked.
“Please do.” Josie smiled.
Marcus moved closer to the bed and sat. “How do you fare?”
“I am improved this evening, thank you. I am ashamed of how I reacted the last time you visited. I expect had I been able to see your face, I might have shown more restraint in your presence. In that regard, this blindness is a curse.”
“No apology necessary. How is your pain?”
“Not as intense. The doctor has advised me to lay flat, but I doubt I will be able to do so for much longer. My head aches, and I’m irritated at not having anything to do. I am also unaccustomed to having my maid and others wait on me to this degree. It is humbling.”
“I am unable to imagine how difficult this is for you.”
“Thank you, Lord Remington.”
“For what?”
“For listening and not judging me. I sense grace from you, which is more than I can give myself. I appreciate that you care.”
“Molly and Charlie care too.”
Josie gave a soft smile. “Molly does care, and I do not know where I would be without her. Charlie is a lovely dog, and I’m grateful to you for letting her stay with me. You, however, have no reason to care. You are not of my acquaintance, and yet you take time out to visit. You do not act as if my presence here in your home is an imposition. I am quite sure we upset the plans you had for your stay.”
“Plans rarely cooperate. While mine changed, I do not begrudge your presence.”
There was a sound at the door. Charlie pushed it open a little further and scrambled across the room, jumped onto Marcus’s lap, and licked his face. “Scamp!” He laughed as he petted the dog.
Mrs. Hughes had also arrived.
“Miss Storm, I’m afraid I need to depart now.” He set the dog on the bed near Miss Storm, and Charlie proceeded to curl up in a ball.
“Thank you for coming.”
“My pleasure.” Marcus walked to the sitting room door and carefully checked the hallway before leaving to make sure the Widmores did not discover him. He made his way to his suite of rooms.
He pulled off his boots and loosened his cravat as he sat in front of the fireplace. He picked up a tattered piece of paper, which had been delivered late. He was long overdue to hear from his brother, Captain Jared Allendale, but the January date and the state of this letter disturbed him before he even opened it.
Dear Marcus,
I pray Henri and Charles have returned safely to England from their honeymoon. I’m pleased with our sister’s choice of a husband, and I’m certain you’re relieved of the responsibility of finding her one. Well done, brother.
The war has been brutal, and in spite of my previous letters to detail the beauties surrounding an officer’s encampment, life is hard here. I don’t want to worry you, but you are a praying man and rumor has reached me of an invisible evil force gathering on England’s shores to defeat our nation from within. How Napoleon has managed to woo members of the peerage to do his bidding is a terrifying thought. I pray you and your friends and others can withstand the attacks when they come. What form they would take, I do not yet know. Just beware evil lurks on the shores of bonny England, and I fear for our country.
Pray for me, dear brother. I am a hunted man. Every mission I undertake I fear will be my last. I have not forgotten the God of our parents, the one you so nobly follow. My fear, however, is He has forgotten me.
I long to see your face again. To fish the lake at Rose Hill. Give my regards to our friends. Tell them to stand firm when the devil comes knocking, for s
urely he will.
Captain Jared Allendale
Marcus paced and prayed late into the night as a deep weight of concern for Jared rested in his heart.
~*~
Josie was bereft at Lord Remington’s departure. He hadn’t even touched her hand, as he had during past visits. She stroked Charlie’s silky fur. She realized proprieties kept the master of the house at a distance, and yet that seemed somewhat silly since a good reputation would not be of much value to her now. She would never make it to London, much less be a byword amongst the ton. Who would consider a blind cripple for a wife? Even if she came with a fortune, which she didn’t, no amount of money could entice a worthy man to wed her. Why would anyone want her when she would not be able to participate in life alongside him as a helpmate? Josie imagined her future stretched out before her—dark, colorless, and loveless. She wept out of a depth of self-pity.
Charlie lifted her head to lick Josie’s tears.
Against doctor’s orders, Josie fought to roll to her side. She struggled to get her lower body to move and somehow managed to find a position where the sharpness of her pain lessened. Her legs tingled. She drifted off to sleep and dreamt of impossibilities.
The next morning, she awoke and listened carefully. Charlie softly snored in her arms, and pain radiated down her right leg. Someone else was in the room. She listened for sounds of movement. It wasn’t Molly. This presence was different. She inhaled. Sandalwood. “Lord Remington?” she whispered. She was afraid there would be no response to her question and Molly would think she was losing her mind. Maybe she was.
“Good morning, Miss Storm,” came the soft, deep reply. His voice sounded farther away than usual.
“I realize you cannot watch the sunrise, or paint the colors, but I thought I might describe it to you and somehow you would find some joy.”
“It is time for the sunrise? You rose early.” Josie held Charlie a little tighter, closed her eyes, and smiled. “I would like that.”
“Very well,” he replied. “The sky has been pitch black but is slowly starting to turn to a deep, dark sapphire blue. The stars are still twinkling above.”
“I can imagine. I have witnessed this so many times.” Josie surprised herself at the wonder in her voice.
There was a pause before Marcus continued.
She understood the colors changed subtly and slowly.
“There are hills to the east which are part of the Rose Hill estate, and above those hills a few stretched out, thin, white, lacy clouds are beginning to be tinged with the faintest color of peach.” Another space of silence. “The sky is now a much lighter blue, with streaks of vivid pink above the horizon.”
Josie delighted at what he was doing for her. She had challenged him, and he wasn’t able to make her physically view the sunrise, but he gave her one nonetheless. What a priceless gift.
He continued. “More yellow is emerging, and the sky is almost white with light. The bright pink is gone completely now, and a brilliance of white gold hovers along the horizon.”
More silence ensued.
Josie spoke softly. “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.”
Silence.
“Lord Remington?”
“Hmm, the sun is about to make an appearance. The sky is getting brighter, and I can hardly bare to look with that bright orb popping up from beyond the horizon.”
“Thank you, Lord Remington.”
“Call me Marcus, or Remy.”
“Please call me Josie.”
“I’m glad to be of service, Josie.”
“Will you sit beside me and visit?”
“I’m afraid I cannot this morning. Dr. Miller will be here soon enough. I will try to visit you later.”
She bit back her disappointment. “I’m grateful for your gift of the sunrise. I’ll look forward to your return when you are able.” She tried to keep from sounding desperate.
“When I can manage to steal away, I will do so. I must go now, but I am continuing to pray for you.”
“Thank you, Marcus.”
His footsteps grew further away. She wondered at a man who would awaken early to do what he did. She snuggled Charlie as close as the little dog permitted and drifted back to sleep.
~*~
Widmore Estate
“You fools!” The man groaned and threw his glass across the room. The breaking glass and stain of wine on the wallpaper gave him perverse pleasure. “A simple task was all I asked of you.” He slumped further in the chair. “Where are they now?”
“Lord Marcus Remington’s Rose Hill estate just west of Didcot.”
“Keep watch. If they leave and head for London, follow them and keep an eye out for other opportunities.”
“The carriage is being repaired at Lord Remington’s expense.”
The lord smiled. “Good. Just remember, whatever happens needs to appear an accident.”
“We won’t fail you, m’lord.”
“If you fail, heads will roll.”
“This is not France, m’lord.”
“Not yet. But you just wait.” He growled at the servant. “Leave me.” He took out a piece of paper to write. Perhaps a note to the Black Diamond could give him a reprieve from the debtors soon to be calling. If he played his cards right, he could get in on a bigger game than at any gambling den. He scratched out the note, sanded, and sealed it with red melted wax so very much like...blood. Yes. Blood would work. But it could not be his.
6
Marcus left Josie’s room deeply unsettled. He had stood at the window for what seemed like the longest time. He tried to avoid staring at her as she slept but failed. Her dark hair shone against the white pillowcase. How could he not look? At least she wouldn’t catch him observing her. He noticed furrows between her eyes, indicating pain.
He made noises in an effort to gain her attention while at the same time not awaken Molly, who rested on a pallet in the corner. Was it wrong that he had been unable to avert his eyes from his injured guest? In spite of her bruises and bandage, she radiated beauty. He didn’t understand what drew him to her. They could never be more than acquaintances. Men and women in their world could never be friends outside of marriage.
For a wife, he needed someone who would be a political hostess. A woman who would ride across the estate and seek after the welfare of his tenants. A mother who cared for their children with the help of nannies but not abdicate to them. He wanted a lady who would love him like his mother loved his father. How presumptuous was he to present such a list to God?
But what would life be like for Josie? His heart grieved at the thought of her living out her days lonely and alone, perhaps in her father’s home. Who would make her laugh, and how would she bear that kind of life? Would he willingly marry and be content with a wife who was so limited and unable to share his life? If he married and something like this happened, would he love his wife less? Where did love and duty meld? Marcus shook his head. He had no answers to so many questions.
Marcus grabbed his greatcoat, headed out the back door to the stables, and mounted Cloud. He often did his best thinking on horseback. Once he entered the courtyard, he urged his horse to a gallop. The brisk air was refreshing, and he gave himself over to the wind in his face, the rhythm of the horse’s hooves pounding the ground, and the aroma of spring. His mind cleared, and the tension ebbed away, if only for a brief time.
After a few miles and taking several fences with ease, he finally stopped by a brook, tied his mare, and sat down on a rock by the
bank. The ground was still damp from the rain. His breath hung in the brisk air. He leaned against a tree and savored the silence, alone with his thoughts and prayers. All centered on a certain young woman. Josie. His imagination ran riot with visions of her walking and dancing and smiling up at him as he held her in his arms. Since when had he become fanciful in his thoughts? Never before had a woman been the focus of his thoughts and aroused such emotion. But in the back of his mind was always this “what if…?” Did he dare hope and pray for her healing? Would God grant a miracle?
It never hurt to ask. He bowed his head to pray. When he finished, he remounted and headed back home at a more sedate pace.
~*~
Remington opened the door to his study and took a step into the room.
His three friends stared back at him. Silence pervaded with the exception of a log falling in the fireplace.
He shut the door and turned the key. “Is this an interrogation?” Marcus asked as he made his way across the room to his desk. He sensed their gaze on him. This did not bode well. He sat at the desk, leaned back in his chair with his eyes narrowed and lower jaw stiffened as he considered his friends.
Phillip broke the silence. “We met last night and agreed there was safety in numbers, and you play least-in-sight. You left us to play host again to the Widmores. What’s going on, Remy? Is there something you’re not telling us?”
Michael walked over and placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “We wish you would confide in us. We are your friends, lest you’ve forgotten.”
Marcus gave a chuckle. “As if you would ever let me?” He rose and walked over to a chair closer to where his friends sat.
Michael followed.
Marcus ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Someone planned the carriage accident. But who? I’ve not had a reply from Bow Street about providing an agent to investigate.”
“We already knew some of this. What’s bothering you?” Theo countered.
“Lady Widmore only once inquired of her niece and how Miss Storm fared. She has never asked to visit her. Those ladies seem at ease here and willing to take advantage of my hospitality to the degree my servants are being run ragged by their demands. I shall need to hire more if they are staying. I hope Mr. Storm or my aunt, Lady Grey, arrive posthaste. I find any moment spent in the Widmores’ company to be vexing, and I wish them to the devil, or at least London, as soon as may be.”
The Virtuous Viscount Page 5