“I’d forgotten how much I loved the place until we returned last year. My father seldom spoke of it, and God knows I hadn’t spent all that much time there since I was a boy—first to school, and then traveling on the continent. But this last year has been thoroughly enjoyable becoming reacquainted with the riding, hunting, shooting, farming, the neighbors, the tenants, and most especially my family.” He had smiled down at her with a gleam in his eyes. “And you would be fascinated by some of the characters in the village, my dear. We’ve a blacksmith who reads Shakespeare, and a butcher who raises magnificent roses. The dame school is run by a woman surprisingly like your aunt, and the parson’s daughter has gone off to make her fortune on the London stage under Garrick’s auspices. I imagine it’s much the same sort of country life you knew when you were growing up.”
“My fondest memories are of the countryside. Even Hampstead wasn’t the same; it’s far too close to London. You don’t seem to have the same knowledge of people in a city as you do in a village. There weren’t many young people where I lived, but Freddy—Lord Selby—and I, roamed about pretty much at will. He was like a brother and taught me to shoot and row a boat. Papa was often away from home, but I had a dear lady for a governess until I was old enough to come out.”
Although she released his hand in seating himself, Marianne found that he reclaimed it when they were comfortably disposed and she met his eyes rather timidly, but said nothing.
The earl acted as though nothing out of the ordinary were going forward. “Did the Petrie cousin live near you?”
“No, but he came on visits. Freddy and I thought him odious, forever blaming any misadventures on one of us, though he was so inept that he was invariably the one to fall into the river or snag his breeches climbing a fence. I remember a time when he teased one of the dogs so wickedly that it bit him, and then he went wailing to his father that it was a mad dog and should be shot. Freddy hid the dog until tempers had cooled down, and we were able to convince my father that there was not a grain of truth to the story.”
"He sounds a wretched fellow,” Latteridge commented in the most indifferent tone possible.
“I could almost feel sorry for him, he was so laughably clumsy.” There was something she very much wanted to tell the earl, but found it impossible to do while he held her hand, so she very gently withdrew it. He made no effort to restrain her. "The night he abducted me, I was furious with him. Percy is too much of a marshmallow for anyone to be afraid of him, you know, so I spent my time attempting to convince him that I wouldn’t marry him under any circumstances. But Percy was always rather in awe of my father, and he just sulked and stubbornly refused to take me home.”
Marianne had been speaking to the bush closest to her, but now she turned to look at Latteridge, her lips twitching almost impishly. “I’m afraid I was a little hard on him. We drove for two hours without a change of horses, and when I chided him for being so thoughtless of his beasts, he called to the postboy to stop at the next town. Percy had no intention of getting out, of course, but I told him I wished to stretch my legs. In true cavalier fashion, or perhaps because he thought I intended to escape, he started to get out first . . . and I tripped him. The long and short of it was, that he broke his leg and I had the post chaise take us back to London.”
Latteridge shook his head wonderingly, and reached for her hand, which she hesitantly replaced in his. “You could have made a wonderful story of it for the ton. From what Susan says, they would have believed you.”
“It would have damaged his pride irreparably, and he wasn’t really to blame. He let Papa goad him into it, and he was greedy for the estate.”
“Better that his pride be ruined than your reputation,” he said dryly. When she frowned, he pressed her hand with comfortable reassurance. “We won’t speak of that. I know you take the matter seriously, much more so than you ought. I’m glad you told me, my dear, for I confess to having some rather vengeful thoughts toward your cousin, and I see he’s unworthy of the effort and has already been well repaid.”
“Why, of course he isn’t worth your lordship’s slightest thought,” Marianne protested, horrified.
“If you say so, Miss Findlay, I shall certainly take your word for it,” he murmured with perfect agreeableness. “I must admit that I had rather not think of him. My mind is fully occupied at present.”
His eyes rested gently on her face and she flushed, but in a moment, when she realized that he might well be talking of something quite different, such as his sister’s predicament, she hastened in confusion to her feet. “I think we had best be getting back, Lord Latteridge.”
Marianne had turned the conversation over and over in her mind, inspecting it from every possible angle, but there was nothing to be gained from such an exercise. As her aunt had just said, it could as easily be interpreted as showing the earl’s concern for the whole situation his mother had exacerbated. Aunt Effie was forcing her to be realistic, to see Latteridge’s attentions through her own detached, though compassionate, eyes. Marianne set aside her embroidery with an aching heart. “I would miss them if they didn’t call anymore. Shall we walk to Micklegate Bar, Aunt Effie?”
Chapter Fifteen
As if having the concern over Louisa were not enough, Latteridge was growing increasingly concerned about the fact that his brother Harry did not return from his sojourn at the castle. Although Lady Latteridge had desultorily inquired after her younger son, she evidenced no chagrin that he had deserted York for other pleasures. Her time was fully occupied with her role in society, both at the assemblies and in the house in Micklegate, where she entertained lavishly when the mood took her. Her dinner parties and musical evenings served the dual purpose of exhibiting her social prominence and displaying her daughter to the eligible bachelors who might be interested in making an advantageous match. The earl was aware that his mother invited most of the young men who chose to dance with Louisa at the assemblies, always provided they met her superior standards. Surely it had never crossed her mind to include Dr. Thorne.
No word had come from Harry, except for a brief note after the first week of his absence informing his brother that he planned to stay on for a while. Latteridge had actually begun to pen a note to his brother when the young man himself knocked and entered. There was a ghastly pallor to his face and he walked unsteadily, gripping his stick until the knuckles on his hand turned white.
"Good God!” Latteridge was instantly on his feet and lowering the young man onto a sofa. “Have you had a fall?” As he drew out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from Harry’s forehead, he gave a violent twist to the new bellpull. “Just rest a moment and get your breath.” He tugged off the dusty boots, loosened the crumpled cravat, and made to push back the coat and waistcoat, but his brother stayed his hand.
“Let it be a minute, Press. I need a doctor.” His voice was no more than a whisper.
William came in response to the violent summons and took in the situation at a glance. “Shall I go for Dr. Thorne?”
“Please. Hurry!”
The secretary gave a brief nod and disappeared, the sound of his hurrying footsteps dying away after a moment. Latteridge turned back to his brother, whose eyes were closed now, but one of his hands pressed feebly against his waist. Frowning, the earl gently pried away his fingers and opened the coat and waistcoat to find the shirt stained with blood, and beneath was a makeshift bandage, also soaked.
Harry’s eyes opened to meet his brother’s, a sickly attempt to smile contorting his lips. “I’ve made a mess of it, Press. I’m deeply in debt and I’ve fought a duel.”
There was a gasp from behind them and Latteridge swung about to find Louisa staring horror-stricken at Harry’s bandage. He was about to comfort her and send her away when she stepped closer and took hold of one of Harry’s hands: “I saw William hurrying away, and a footman said Harry had come. Have you sent for Doctor Thorne?”
“Yes, love,” Latteridge said gently. “Why don’t
you find Mother and tell her, but don’t bring her here. I’ll come to her when the doctor has seen Harry.”
Louisa didn’t move. “She’s not at home right now, Press, and I don’t expect her back for several hours. I’ll stay here with you and do what I can. Would you like some wine, Harry?”
“Brandy, if you please, Louisa. I’m sorry.”
She pressed his hand and smiled. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be right back.”
Left alone, Harry attempted to speak, but the earl placed a finger against his lips. “You can tell me later. Save your strength.”
Harry shook his head with fretful determination. “I want to tell you now in case . . . in case I can’t tell you later. Everything was fine for a while. We had races and went shooting and fishing, and in the evenings we sang and gambled. Had a frightfully jolly time, in fact, but there was always burgundy and claret, port and punch, and my head was seldom clear. Not that anyone else’s was either. Or so I thought. I went through everything I had with me, and then I started to write notes, mostly to Harper. I’m not sure how much I lost, but it has to be several hundred pounds.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Harry grimaced. “Not the notes to Harper, Press. The other day I remembered what you said, about gambling when your mind wasn’t clear. I’d forgotten. But I was losing so badly each night that I became rather desperate, you see. I wanted to leave but I kept hoping I could win the money back. What a fool I am!”
Louisa had returned with the brandy which she brought herself on a tray with several glasses. She set it down on the monk’s table and poured a glass, then held it while her brother took several small sips and motioned it away. Unwilling to interrupt Harry’s urgent tale, and fearful that the earl would send her from the room, she slipped into a chair some distance away and sat quietly listening.
The brandy seemed to restore Harry somewhat, and he continued his story in a slightly stronger voice. “We had been out shooting one day and I bagged three brace of partridges with eight shots, so naturally I thought that luck was running with me. You know how it is, Press.”
“Yes, I know,” the earl said sadly.
“I decided not to drink that night. Not because of what you’d said,” he confessed, “but because something at dinner didn’t agree with me and the liquor made my stomach curdle. Everyone else was as foxed as usual, and after some raucous singing we sat down to the tables in earnest. It’s funny, you know, but I didn’t want to seem different than anyone else, so I was acting as though I was as bosky as the rest of them. I hadn’t the least idea how a roomful of disguised gentlemen must look to an outsider. The jests seemed coarse instead of amusing, the clumsiness totally foreign to the usually elegant graces they displayed. Someone would overturn a wine glass and the others would laugh. The cards were sticky and there were wet glass rings on all the green baize covers. It was disgusting, Press.”
“Yes.”
Harry sighed. “Anyhow, we were playing deep at basset, and the long and short of it is, that I saw Harper cheat. At first I didn’t credit my own eyes, but I watched him circumspectly for some time and there was no doubt of it. What do you do in a situation like that, Press?”
"There’s no good solution, Harry. I myself leave the game and hint at my knowledge to the cheater another time. One doesn’t want one’s friends to be taken, and yet calling a man a cheat is a very serious matter.”
“Can I have another sip of the brandy?” When the earl held the glass, Harry again took a few small swallows. “Well, I tried to just leave the game. But Harper already had several of my markers and I was angry, too. When he twitted me about being a poor loser, I said I liked to play where I had a fair chance.”
The earl groaned and Louisa’s eyes widened but neither said anything.
“Of course, that put the fat in the fire; he couldn’t very well let the matter alone. He jumped to his feet, overturning the table in the process, and demanded if I was calling him a cheater. I couldn’t back down then, Press. I said I had been watching him cheat for more than an hour.” Harry gave a helpless shrug which caused him to wince. “Harper immediately took the tack that I was trying to welsh on the notes I’d written him, and they were very substantial losses. I could see that some of them believed him, so I told the whole group precisely what I had seen him do. Of course, he challenged me.”
“Poor Harry,” Louisa murmured.
“I didn’t mind so much. I’d never been out before, but I’m pretty good with a small sword. Well, yes, I did mind, really. Harper has been my friend for some time, and I felt disillusioned, and all I really wanted to do was never see him again. The others were so drunk that they thought it all a lark, our meeting. Half of them stayed up drinking the rest of the night, so there was a pretty rowdy company to witness the duel. All I wanted to do was pink him, Press.” His voice broke on something suspiciously like a sob. “I found myself fighting for my life. He must have known that I was thrusting only for a touch, but he wasn’t. It was awful. Finally I got him in the arm and I was withdrawing satisfied. Before the seconds could step in to push up the swords he skewered me. I’m not sure what happened then. The next thing I knew I was being bandaged by one of the fellows at the house party. I was sick over the whole thing; I didn’t want to stay there. So Hall agreed to put me in a post chaise and send me here. I think he was relieved to be rid of me.”
Latteridge’s lips were pressed tightly together but he said only, “Well, I’m glad you’re here now so we can have you taken care of, but it was not wise to travel such a distance in your condition. Please rest, Harry. William should be back with the doctor soon.”
Harry obediently closed his eyes, satisfied that if he should die, the earl would know exactly what had happened. He did not know whether or not he was fatally wounded, but he thought not, despite the loss of blood and the pain of the wound. If something vital had been pierced he felt sure he would already be dead, rather hollow comfort in his weakened state, but sufficient to temporarily ease his mind. Despite his disillusionment and the wretchedness of feeling a fool, Harry did not want to die.
The room was silent for a few minutes, the earl studying his brother’s pale face and Louisa silently praying for Harry's recovery, but soon there were footsteps in the hall and William held the door for Dr. Thorne. The doctor went directly to the injured man without a glance about the room. As he laid aside the bandage, he let out an involuntary whistle.
“A sword wound?” he asked, puzzled.
“Yes. He had a duel this morning,” Latteridge informed him softly, “and he’s been on the road in a carriage for several hours.”
Terrified lest she faint, Louisa was yet too concerned to resist coming forward to see what caused the drawn expressions of the three men standing over Harry. Rather than a simple stab wound, there was a long gash, as though the sword had been drawn upward on being removed, and although the two edges of the cut had been drawn together and held there haphazardly with sticking plaster, the wound still oozed blood sluggishly.
Dr. Thorne had flung open his bag and withdrawn the necessary items to stitch up the wound, muttering angrily, “Damn fools. Why didn’t they have a doctor to him immediately? Bring me some water and clean cloths. Get the rest of the brandy down him.”
While William executed his first order, the earl complied with his second, and still Louisa watched, ready to do what she could, confident as only one in love could be, that Dr. Thorne could mend her poor broken brother, if anyone could. He cast one critical glance at her, determined that she was not going to collapse under the strain, and said, “Thread the needle; my fingers are too sticky,” before turning back to gently explore the wound with his fingers. In order to deserve the faith reposed in her, Louisa, without a tremor, threaded the needle with silk thread and held it ready for him. He reached for it with a brief smile. “Good girl.”
“This will hurt him, Lord Latteridge. Better hold down his shoulders, and Lady Louisa can hold his hand.”
&
nbsp; The operation was painful to watch, even more so to undergo, but Harry clenched his teeth and clasped Louisa’s hand until she thought he would crush her bones to splinters. Even in his sympathy for Harry, the earl was struck with admiration for Louisa’s calm efficiency. While Dr. Thorne worked quickly to seal the wound, perspiration stood out on his forehead and Louisa withdrew his own handkerchief from his pocket with her free hand and mopped his brow. He never glanced at her, but there was that unspoken message which passed between them, and Latteridge felt again the despair which each new example of their devotion inspired in him. Obviously, it was far too late to keep Louisa from being hurt, and he had no one but himself to blame. If he had not been drawn to Miss Findlay’s house, and taken his sister with him, there would not have been an opportunity for their affection to develop.
With the cloths and water William brought, the doctor cleaned the wound and its surrounds, giving Harry’s shoulder a gentle pat. “You’ll do, young man. You’re a very fortunate fellow. Quite incredible, really, that nothing vital has been badly damaged, but for all the length of the wound, the penetration was not great.” As he spoke, the earl assisted him to remove Harry’s coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and the doctor sprinkled powder on the wound and neatly bandaged it. “Once they’ve gotten you to your bed, you’re to stay totally immobile; I want no strain to reopen the wound. I’ll come around in the morning to check on you.” He beamed his contagious smile on Harry who whispered, “Thank you, sir,” picked up his bag and motioned that he would like a word with Latteridge in the hall. Before he walked from the room, his eyes met Louisa’s, and he accepted his handkerchief, but instead of congratulating her on her courage, a matter unnecessary for him to put in words, he said, “My microscope arrived this morning.”
The Lady Next Door Page 16