Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance

by Sahara Kelly

  “Children?” asked Lucius.

  “Three sons, if my memory serves me. Oldest son was Lionel, and he’s the one who wed Mabel. Can’t remember the other two. I think one died young and another in battle, but where…well, I’m sorry. That escapes me.”

  “I’m amazed you know so much, Aunt Bertie.” Ian was impressed. He’d questioned quite a few people in his time at Bow Street, but Aunt Bertie’s powers of recollection were outdoing them all.

  She chuckled. “Well, darling, in my line of work back then, a good memory was a distinct advantage.”

  Dev cleared his throat loudly. “Moving on, Bertie…”

  “Right.” She winked at Dev. “Lionel and Mabel were the talk of the Season back then. Quite a few years ago now, and more than I’m going to talk about. Lovely thing she was. They had three daughters. Two made good marriages, but the third wasn’t so lucky. Her husband was killed in Europe a few years ago. One of those terrible confrontations with the Little Monster.”

  “How sad.” Ian sympathized. He’d known more than a few widows who had gained that status at the hands of Napoleon’s army.

  “I wish I could remember her name. Her married name. But at that point I wasn’t really paying much attention to the leading lights of the Season any more. That’s about all I can tell you, I’m afraid. But I will add one thing…” She leaned forward, a conspiratorial air surrounding her. “I think those Springers were a bit of a daft lot.”

  “What do you mean, Aunt Bertie?” Charles looked puzzled. “Define daft.”

  “Well, you know the sort of thing. A lot of relatives that they didn’t talk about. A few that wound up like poor old George.”

  “Er…”

  “Oh good grief.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Old King George, bless him. Talking to trees. Mad as a hatter, they say.”

  Ian blinked. “So to be clear here, you believe there may be a strain of insanity in that family?”

  “Wouldn’t be at all surprised,” answered Bertie. “Probably no more than a lot of other highborn and inbred lines, but yes, I think the Springers may have had more than their fair share.”

  Lucius looked around. “That, my friends, gives us plenty to go on, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’d say this lovely lady deserves three cheers.” Charles stood and led his friends in a round of huzzahs, which pleased Bertie enormously.

  She was glowing, noted Ian, and gazing fondly at Dev. There was a lot of affection there, and Ian was pleased to see it.

  He hoped that she’d like Amelia.

  As soon as he thought of his wife, his anxiety returned. “All right then. We have avenues to pursue. And just as soon as I’ve popped upstairs and checked on Amelia, we can be off.” He looked around him. “I’m for Bow Street and their records offices.”

  “I’m for the club,” said Lucius. “Best place to start for rumors and gossip. The manly versions, of course.”

  “I want to talk to a couple of chaps I know at the Horse Guards.” That was Charles.

  “Time for me to drop in on an old friend. The Earl of March offered me some help a little while ago. I didn’t need it then, but I might need it now.” Dev added his schedule to the verbal list.

  “And I am going to take a nap, then go and visit your Amelia, Ian.” Bertie rose. “So be off with you, boys. Let’s start this campaign and ensure a victory for the righteous.”

  On those stirring orders, the men scattered and the process of gathering information began.

  *~~*~~*

  Amelia opened her eyes with difficulty.

  The room was dim, the fire the brightest thing in it, and she had a hard time focusing on anything in particular.

  “Hallo dear.” A motherly voice addressed her, and a soft hand stroked her forehead. “Still feeling poorly?”

  She examined that notion, then groaned as she attempted to nod.

  “Sshh. That’s answer enough.” The hand continued the gentle soothing motion over her head and it felt nice.

  “Who are you?” Amelia croaked the words, unable to bring the woman’s face into focus. A sharp thought hit her. “Am I dead?”

  A little chuckle answered her words. “No, dear. You are not dead and I’m certainly no angel. You’re still at Deverell House. You have the ague, and that’s why you’re in bed.”

  It took a few moments for that information to sink into Amelia’s mind. Then she examined her situation and discovered that her legs were too weak to move and her head ached badly if she tried to move it.

  “All right.” It was all she could manage for the time being.

  “I am Dev’s Aunt Bertie and I’m looking after you for a bit, while your friends have a little dinner.”

  Amelia sighed. “I have no friends.” She coughed a little and moaned again. Truly every inch of her body seemed to hurt all the way to her bones.

  “No? That surprises me. Someone as lovely as you should have dozens of friends.”

  A thin but strong arm slid beneath her and Amelia found her head raised enough to sip the glass of water held to her lips.

  “Tastes funny,” she murmured as she swallowed a couple of mouthfuls.

  “It has medicine in it to help relieve your fever, dear.”

  “Oh.” She lay back, waiting for her head to stop pounding so much. “Am I going to die?”

  “Not if we can help it. And you must help too.”

  “Why must I, Aunt…”

  “Bertie.”

  “Aunt Bertie. Why must I help?”

  “Because you have a husband downstairs who is devoted to you and worried about you every minute.”

  “He is?” Amelia’s eyes filled with tears. “Ian is worrying? I don’t want him to worry. Really I don’t. I’m not worth worrying over.”

  She choked out a sob, but the pain in her head swamped the pain in her heart and for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Hush, dear child.” The hand was back. “You are loved, Amelia. Very much. And you have friends.”

  “I was a terrible person. I did awful things and shocked everyone.”

  “Did you?” The woman sounded interested. “So did I as a matter of fact. And I have friends. So you should too.”

  “I took lovers, Auntie. And sometimes I stole them away from other women.”

  “Well that is rather reprehensible, but a woman can’t be hanged for attracting a foolish and weak man with a wandering eye.”

  Amelia’s tears eased and she was silent for a moment or two. “I’d like to think about that.”

  “When you feel better, I’m sure you will. But you should sleep a little bit now. Rest is the best medicine for the moment.” The hand stroked again, and Amelia found herself drifting…

  Aunt Bertie watched the eyelids close over those extraordinary blue eyes. The fever was mounting, if she were any judge of these things. Pray God it broke before morning. A prolonged fever could be very dangerous, and Aunt Bertie had seen it before, on her travels across Europe.

  Amelia had the best of care, but fevers knew no boundaries, no position in society and had no respect for care and attention. They would rise and fall as they wanted, and bedamned to the patient.

  She was an interesting woman, mused Bertie. Incredibly beautiful, but haunted by the sound of things. Bearing the weight of past sins, as everyone must at some point in their lives.

  Still, if anyone could get her past it, Ian was the man for the job. And he was head over heels for her—another point in their favor.

  Bertie sighed. She’d rather like to have a man head over heels in love with her, but had to admit that she was probably past that point in her life. Although there had been that charming Sir John Barrington…

  *~~*~~*

  Ian crept in to their bedroom, not sure what to expect. He’d been much longer than he’d expected, missed dinner, and arrived barely in time to snatch a quick drop of brandy with Aunt Bertie before excusing himself and dashing upstairs to check on his wife.

>   Aunt Bertie had warned him that he would find her uncomfortable, and that she would improve once the fever broke. But until then it would be a rough few hours for the poor girl.

  The maid who was with her was skilled in nursing, so he wasn’t to worry. She was in the best of care.

  In fact, all the women had taken turns in watching over her during the day, and Ian’s heart swelled at the generosity and affection they were showering on his wife.

  But now it was his turn.

  “How is she?” He addressed the whispered question to the maid, who had risen when he entered.

  “She’s about the same, sir,” the maid whispered back. “I’ve just given her another dose of the willow bark tincture, and there’s willow bark tea over there. She should have some of that around midnight if you can get her to take it. Otherwise I’ve cool cloths for if she gets fretful, and plain water to ease her thirst.”

  “Thank you. I can see my wife is getting the best care of anyone in London.” He smiled gratefully at the maid.

  She curtseyed. “I’ll be off now then. Now you be sure and ring if you need anything at all, sir. We’ll have someone up all night, just in case.”

  On that bracing note, she left the room.

  And Ian found a shiver of dread crossing his skin at the implications of the maid’s words.

  He quickly readied himself for the night, and although he wanted to hold his wife close, he knew she’d be better with room to move. So he pulled a large chair as close as possible to the bed and made himself comfortable, reaching out to touch Amelia’s hand as he did so.

  She turned toward him and closed her fingers around his, still asleep.

  He smiled, happy that in some strange way she knew he was there and would keep watch over her.

  He hoped he could also keep her safe, and mulled over the events of his day. It had been a simple matter to get any progress on her court case delayed. A quick word with his supervisors, and a note was dispatched to Sir Percy at the magistrate’s office explaining the situation. Dr. Pennyhaven’s credentials had been approved and a response arrived just after lunch, informing Ian that the Magistrate sent his best wishes for Mrs. McPherson’s speedy recovery. At that time they would review matters and decide how best to proceed with the current court case.

  With that out of the way, Ian had been able to turn his attention to the business of finding out more about the Springers.

  He was on his way to the Records office when a lad peered in from one of the hallway doors and caught his attention by waving a note at him.

  Since he knew the lad, he let him in, gave him sixpence for his trouble and took the note.

  What it contained disturbed him deeply and remained on his mind as he sat and held his sleeping wife’s hand. He wasn’t even sure if he should tell her or not. It was one of those dreadful dilemmas he much preferred to avoid, but since this was his wife, he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

  He looked at the bed. She was sleeping, but didn’t seem too restful. Clinging to his hand, she moved often, shifting her head or her limbs as if trying to find a more comfortable position.

  Ian worried. He was a practical man and knew of illnesses and the toll they took. But it was out of his hands, now, and all he could do was wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amelia’s world was one of pain, fear, heat and the strangest notions. She was flying like a bird over thick green forests and rolling golden hills. No, she was sailing in a boat, trying to find Ian, but she couldn’t find him and everyone was speaking in a language she couldn’t understand.

  Her head hurt. Why did her head hurt? Had she fallen?

  She whimpered. “Mama, where are you. I hurt so badly…”

  “Where, darling?” A man’s voice answered.

  “Papa, you shouldn’t be here. You know you hate women’s business. Where’s Mama?”

  “She will be here in a little while. She asked me to look after you while she stepped out.”

  Amelia couldn’t puzzle her way through that. “No. Mama’s not coming back.” Her voice fell flat. “I’m hot. So hot. Maybe I’m in hell where Mama is.”

  “Your Mama is not in hell, sweetheart.”

  “You said she was. You said all bad women go there. You said I’d go there too. Not Georgie though. She’s a good girl, you said. You loved her. Didn’t love me.”

  “Hush, darlin’. I know your Mama loves you dearly.”

  “I hope so.” Amelia started to cry, the hiccupping sobs of a little girl who doesn’t know which way to turn or who to ask for help.

  “I’m here, sweetheart, hold my hand.”

  A cool cloth came down on her heated brow and for a moment she sighed with relief. “Good. That’s good.”

  “I know. Here’s another one.” A cloth swept over her neck and across her chest, then her arm was lifted and the sweet relief stroked over the skin there as well.

  “I am going to die, I know.” She sobbed again, her voice growing hoarse. “I can’t move for the pain. It’s too much and I can’t stand it.”

  “Here, lass. Drink. It’s almost midnight…”

  The soft burr sparked something in her mind and Amelia drank the strange tasting tea. It soothed her throat, so she finished the cup, leaning back with little strength left after the last swallow.

  She ached—oh how she ached. And she was so very, very hot…

  Ian’s heart was racing. Amelia was beyond him, out of touch, drifting into some strange place in her mind that bore no resemblance to any reality. He knew the crisis of the fever was on her as she tossed and turned, mumbling things now and again, words he couldn’t make out.

  He couldn’t decide if he should call someone, then asked himself who that would be? Who could do more? Even Dr. Pennyhaven couldn’t help at this point. It was a matter of time.

  He bathed her searing hot skin, cooled her as best he could and then replaced the blankets she’d kicked off in her feverish struggles.

  It was exhausting, for both of them, and Amelia soon subsided into a shuddering, shivering bump beneath the covers.

  He moved from the chair, lying on top of the blankets, wrapping her in them snugly and then in this arms, willing his heat and strength into the body of this woman he’d come to love beyond all measure. He would not lose her. He could not lose her. It was unthinkable.

  Thus entangled, the exhaustion and worry of the day finally took its toll and Ian fell asleep.

  It must have been two or three hours later when he awoke; the candles were almost gutted and the fire had burned low. His first thought was for Amelia.

  Turning, his heart missed several beats.

  She was lying still, so very still. Not a movement, a moan or a twitch of a muscle.

  Terrified, he reached out a shaking hand to touch her face.

  It was wet.

  The fever had broken at last.

  He wanted to cry with relief, but knew that now he must keep her dry and warm. So without a second thought he stripped her of her sodden nightgown and took a soft towel to her, drying every inch.

  When she started to shiver—from the cool temperatures not the fever—he wrapped her in a flannel robe he found near the bed, then put her where he had been sleeping on dry blankets.

  She sighed a little as he tucked her up snugly, and went to stoke up the fire. Twice more during the night he did the same thing, using the linens he found stacked in one corner of the room.

  As the dawn broke, Ian found himself with a large pile of laundry and a wife who slept like a babe.

  Which, all things considered, was about the best way he could think of to greet a new day.

  *~~*~~*

  “Are we expecting Ian for breakfast?” Charles brought his plate to the table.

  “Not sure,” said Lucius, swallowing down eggs. “I think he had a late night.”

  “How’s Amelia doing, anyone know?” Dev poured tea for himself, having dismissed Baxter on the grounds that it was only family and they c
ould very well do for themselves for once.

  “Not yet. I think our wives will be looking in on her as soon as they’re dressed. Or at least mine will.” Lucius looked at Dev. “Pass the jam?”

  “When are we going to tell them our news?” Charles looked smug as he munched toast.

  “We should tell Ian first, I think. He was out so late that I didn’t see him at all last night. Did any of you?”

  Heads were shaken.

  “Well then, Ian first. Then he can decide what to do with the information.” Dev’s decisive tone settled the matter and the three men made a hearty breakfast for themselves.

  Which was pointed out by their wives when they arrived in the parlor not twenty minutes later.

  “Did you eat all the bacon?” Hannah stuck her forefinger into her husband’s chest as he bent to kiss her.

  “I did not.” He protested his innocence and stole a quick taste of her lips. “Dev and Lucius helped.”

  “Hey.” Lucius tenderly seated Julia at the table. “Food, dear?”

  She shook her head, looking a bit white around the gills. “Not yet. Just tea.”

  Baxter entered the room with two servants bearing replacement covers. “For the ladies, sir,” he murmured to Dev. “We assumed that your repast—that is yours and your gentlemen friends—would make drastic inroads on the initial servings.” He took the cover off a smaller dish. “And Cook suggested this for Lady Gordon.”

  She heard him. “What is it, Baxter?”

  “Dry toast, my Lady.”

  “Oh excellent. Please give her my most profound thanks, and regards. And bring that toast over here…”

  Léonie was the last to enter. “I just checked upstairs. All is well. The fever broke sometime before dawn, so Amelia is now sleeping normally. Ian is also sleeping normally, since it seems he was up with her most of the night.” She beamed at them all. “We’re over the worst of it, thank God.”

  There was a round of applause and a sigh of relief. Nobody wanted to see Ian go through the hell of losing the woman he loved.

  And not one man at the table could even begin to imagine how painful that would be. They’d fought for, and won, their women, albeit in different ways. But the love and respect they bore for them…well it transcended words.