Granted, there were not many people in his life, now. He just assumed that was how everyone would be because a few had behaved in that fashion. It was enough for him to conjecture.
When Jane first saw him, his sight was much worse and he knew he could not see her exact expression. So, he could not fully credit the thought that she was not shocked. Shock, in and of itself, did not bother him anyway. He had been shocked, after all. But her low voice never faltered, and she kissed him on the cheek—and became the first and only person to do so with his new face. Her alacrity to accept her nephew’s new and rather alarming circumstances was only matched by Peter’s calm acceptance and Will’s valet’s warm manner, neither of which had shifted at all.
His constant squabbles with Jane were, in truth, the more endearing parts of their nightly walks around the estate and down into its nearest village, Brookfield.
For the moment, she held fast to her thoughts, allowing silence to reign.
Will knew better than to revel in the victory of the moment. Jane always found it in her petite body to attack again. She rivaled most generals that way.
Together, they continued on their walk, guided only by the full moon and the lanterns and sconces along walls and in arches here and there. Brookfield was a bustling village of predominately farmers and traders, and Will was still uncomfortable with the idea of being a liege lord to so many. His father had been remarkably good at it.
Though Will ensured that Brookfield’s residents never lacked a thing, they had not seen him since his return. He had engaged the services of a steward who worked tirelessly. Milton Benedict was, according to his references, a thorough and fastidious man. Thus far, Will had no complaints with him. But if he’d had his preference, his father’s old steward, who’d been ancient even when Will was a boy, would have been managing the estate still. With old Rufus at the helm, the estate ran like clockwork. While Will was abroad, he’d retired to the country. Old age seemed to have caught up with him at last. Resigned to the idea of picking a new steward without the advice of either his father or brothers, though had they been alive he wouldn’t have been in the situation, Will sent out discreet missives to those he trusted and Benedict’s name was mentioned by two parties.
Benedict was content to act on Will’s behalf in the village and the estate at large. Will saw no one in Brookfield and firmly maintained that this arrangement should satisfy everyone.
Unfortunately, Jane brought him news that people were starting to grumble about it. They had only just been getting used to him before he left, and everyone knew that the older Ainsworth lads were wild and untethered—Will had not quite proven himself to be any different from his brothers simply by omission. Because he had been such a solitary child, few in the village had established a prior rapport with him until he became a doctor.
If the mild-mannered doctor-turned-duke had impressed anyone before his departure, it was still not enough to stop them from wondering why he did not give more of himself to them, now.
He had treated many of their ailments, but he did not feel that he was a favorite of the people as his father had been.
Will knew that this had most to do with his reluctance to show himself, now.
He had tried, and his naked face hadn’t even been exposed at first. Not in Brookfield, but in London.
Really, he didn’t know what he’d expected, and it was true that he couldn’t see his own face. But in London, it was inevitable that someone other than Peter, who’d taken up the role of his companion while he could not see, would witness him. His townhouse in the city was manned by staff that, although impacted by their duke’s state, was sensible enough not to remark upon it.
The doctor who came to the townhouse was not one that either Peter or Will knew personally, though he had been highly recommended to Peter upon their return to London. Peter reasoned that although he could look after Will on his own—and Will would have preferred it that way—it was important to seek a second opinion on his course of treatment. Dr. Hartwright was quite shaken by Will’s state, and kept dropping his implements while he was trying to examine him.
Peter later told Will, reluctantly, that their fellow physician’s hands were shaking. That was why he’d kept dropping everything.
At the time, Will had not quite noticed, firstly, because he could not see and, secondly, because the opiates had blunted his hearing, his other senses. It was all like being blanketed in a warm fog and about as uncomfortable, but it was the only thing that combatted the pain.
And the new carriage driver who’d taken him from London to Brookfield was not subtle in concealing his unease. Stalwart as ever, Peter managed him with a steady tone and calm insistence.
But there was a wobble in the driver’s mumbled “Your Grace” that belied badly shaken nerves.
It gradually became apparent to Will as they rode to Brookfield that the extent of his bandages frightened onlookers and even a doctor could not handle the state of his visage.
He decided that it would be better to lock himself away to spare everyone the fright and discomfort.
But if only all the villagers knew that their duke took a nightly walk around the village with his aunt, perhaps they’d all take a seat at their windows to catch a glimpse of him, Will thought.
He would certainly be the first to profess that he had never truly wanted this title or its inheritance to begin with. Indeed, he’d never expected it and cultivated plans to enter a profession. He recalled settling on studying to become a physician, not just a surgeon, but a man of learning and science, and how naturally it all had come to him.
For four years, he had been almost deliriously happy in his chosen path, feeling as though he had earned every honor he possessed. He treated the villagers of Brookfield, and then mostly worked amongst the poor in London. It was only after Bram had died that he returned to the estate, somber in the realization that he was the last heir of his family. Luckily, he was a quick learner, and he had spent enough time around his father and his brothers’ tutors to have a working knowledge of how everything had to be managed. It was daunting, but he had taken to it.
Then came the call to arms, the summons that was to change his life even further than the deaths of his brothers, mother, and father had.
Will was driven away from his introspection by a sound echoing softly through the darkness.
“Did you hear that, William?” Jane said, grabbing his arm.
The duke stilled as his aunt did. His hearing was still the most heightened of his senses, and he didn’t have to strain to hear the noise again.
It was a tiny sound, a whimper of pain coming from ahead.
“It could be an animal,” he muttered. Carefully, he began to walk toward it. It sounds like a kitten. We are near the brook, and it’s possible that someone’s cat had a litter they didn’t want. Despite all the horrible things he had seen in his time, the idea saddened him.
“Do be careful,” said Jane.
She was, though, at his side even as he began to navigate the slight slope to the brook that gave the village its name. He found it easiest to navigate using the soles and tips of his boots, gingerly nudging what he surmised was rock, then dirt, then detritus. The water was low and gurgled gently.
The mysterious noise came again, rising slightly over the sound of the brook. Will estimated where it was coming from, took a few strides, and thought he could just make out a prone form on the ground. Perhaps not a kitten, then.
“Aunt, could you… I need light.”
Jane dashed off, presumably to the tavern that bordered this stretch of the brook before it became a proper stream, and he dared not go too much further toward the shadow lingering on the damp soil. If it was a person, which he suspected it was, he could just end up doing them an injury if he accidentally stepped the wrong way and tripped.
I never thought I’d have to consider such things.
He was thankful that he only honestly did when it was so dark, because there had been a
time when he assumed he would remain fully blind.
When Jane returned in the space of a minute or so, he was crouched carefully by the figure. As she clambered down the gentle incline toward him, the lantern light solved the mystery for both of them.
“Goodness gracious, it is a girl!” Jane said.
Will hissed a little with sympathy. She looked all of seventeen. Small of stature, she was huddled into a tight ball, both her hands curled against her chest. But for the heavy rise and fall of her chest, and the small utterances of pain escaping her pale lips, Will might have thought she was dead. Her arms were bare and the light revealed wicked, red welts forming on them, as well as her throat. Her lips were nearing blue as she shook fiercely.
Quickly, he removed his coat and bundled it around her. It was not an especially cold night, but Will made an educated guess that she could be in shock. And judging by her very slight frame, she was not getting enough to eat. In combination, those factors could turn one’s blood very cold, indeed.
“Do you know her?” he asked his aunt.
Jane just shook her head, staring wide-eyed at the poor girl.
“Describe her to me. I want to compare what I think I see to what you see.”
“Welts. Horrible ones. Her lips are bloodless. Beyond that, I do not see anything else,” said Jane slowly.
Though his first instinct was to rouse his steward from bed to attend to this matter by summoning some other doctor, Will could not be certain that the girl was not in peril without examining her. To examine her properly, he needed more light. And if she was truly injured, somehow, he needed to be examining her and administering to her somewhere far cleaner than the side of a brook.
All of his previous training plainly dictated that he save the injured first and ask other questions later.
Regardless, his new self protested against the unwelcome idea of tending to anybody. He thought it over quickly, but intensely, and decided that he could not live with himself if he chose to delegate this task to someone with less acumen.
The girl did not have to remain with him forever, after all.
What has happened to you, Will? Time was, you’d never be conflicted when there was someone to treat.
He shoved that aside to contemplate later, and looked at Jane with resignation. “We cannot leave her here, and I would be no physician if I did not see to her recovery to the best extent possible.”
For a flash, his aunt seemed deeply proud of him. “I agree.”
“Keep hold of that lantern. We shall return it tomorrow.” He knew that as a member of his family and a more liked one than him, at that, Jane had most likely been given the lantern without many questions.
With a sigh, he bent over and carefully took the girl into his arms, supporting her shoulders and neck against his body, keeping her legs over the crook of his arm. A small protest escaped her, but she did not regain consciousness. She weighed only a trifle and the effort of carrying her was nothing at all, which was rather shocking seeing as Will was not in his best physical state.
“There’s nothing for it… I think we have to return to the manor.”
“But that could be disastrous for her reputation,” said Jane with a frown, thinking. “She would be alone. Surely we could simply use a room in the—”
Will cut across her. “You may serve as her chaperone. I have no equipment here, and I have no way of knowing how clean any of these establishments keep themselves.”
“Brookfield would only keep the best,” insisted Jane. “And it’s hardly appropriate for a stranger to chaperone a young girl.”
“I do not mean to insult the village, Aunt,” said Will tiredly. “I’m just stating facts.” Not every man of his profession believed cleanliness was so important, but he did himself and had seen firsthand the negative results of disregarding it. Infection. Disease. Botched recoveries. “Now, stop. I understand your concerns over her reputation, but we shall endeavor to keep it intact. Remember that, at the moment, she does need help and we have no idea who she is.”
“Perhaps we should find out before we go!”
Shaking his head, Will said, “Hush. She’s alive and, God willing, she will tell us herself in due course. We need to get her indoors.”
And me to some better light, he added silently. He did not feel the slow seep of warm lifeblood against his clothes and, from the girl’s posture, he did not think anything was broken. But it was impossible to state with any certainty what was wrong with her under the present circumstances.
Truculently, Jane said, “You have a good heart, William.” She sighed and scampered back up the little bank, waiting for Will and his new patient to follow.
*
The manor sat atop a hill overlooking its estate and Brookfield. It was not a far distance, but Will decided that he needed a carriage to transport the girl.
Jane found a small phaeton outside the tavern where she had borrowed the lantern. Passing the sleepy driver some coins, she instructed him, “We need to get back to the manor as safely as you can manage.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said.
“And as fast as you can manage,” Will added.
“Your Grace?” he gawped at Will and the girl in his arms.
“The urgency of the situation should be obvious, even if you do not understand it,” said Will curtly.
The driver recoiled. “What’s this, then?”
“You don’t need to know,” said Will, drawing on all of his learned presence as a duke. It did not come naturally and he supposed he now had more menace than aristocratic gravitas. The pale, middle-aged man before him flinched, and Will could imagine what he saw, even though he largely avoided his mirrors.
Mangled flesh healed over, the white of a fish’s belly, and two eyes, thank Heaven, but they bulged slightly. That, he felt, appeared more jarring than if he’d lost both. A mouth that worked, thank Heaven, again. He could move his mouth. He could emote. He could speak without hindrance. But his chin was the only fully unchanged part of his entire face.
Yes, my man, I know this must be quite a sight in the darkness.
“Very well, Your Grace,” said the driver, after a tense moment in which Jane was gazing at Will while Will was staring him down.
Will didn’t care what she thought of his behavior. He was disgruntled by the man’s open, repulsed stare, as well as the nearly palpable way in which his mind seemed to be turning.
It must have looked incriminating for a duke to be holding a prone female body that bore marks of violence.
But Will didn’t want to waste more time explaining what exactly had happened, regardless of how dastardly the situation seemed to be.
The driver got no answers.
But thanks to Jane’s sound payment, he went as quickly as he could to the manor.
*
The girl would not say a word to him, not even her name.
In reality, she was a fully grown woman, though Will might put her age at no more than twenty or twenty-one. He had no help from her in understanding how old she really was, because every time he posed a question it was met with obstinate silence. He supposed that was fair. He looked fearsome and she had been taken to a completely new environment. She was amongst strangers. If he was in her position, he could not say he would react any better. It still galled him that she would not speak.
Jane had not left the room once since he began his ministrations. But because the woman had only woken up in the midst of them, she had every reason to assume the worst.
He explained patiently that he was Lord Ainsworth, the duke, and he was also a doctor. Trying to make calm conversation with her, he jested that he’d technically been a doctor longer than he’d been a duke. But she did not so much as smile. He was happy that she didn’t scream or utter a sound of disgust. When his easy words did not garner the reaction he desired, he just shrugged and got on with things. He saw no need to undress her; her dress was flimsy enough that he could gently inspect her limbs. And her ribs were so
prominent that he could feel without pressing much on them to note that none were broken.
Though she was small, she was no child. A serious face and roughened hands told of a hard life, and Will wondered what sort of life she had. Despite the somberness of her expression, she was lovely in an almost elfin way.
He was sorry to conclude that the more recent welts on her person could be caused by only one thing—a crop. She was being abused. The primary question was, by whom?
He shoved it away. For all he knew, they could be self-inflicted or willingly borne.
While he would not show it, for it could only exacerbate her clear discomfort, he began to grow aggravated by his patient’s continued, pointed silence.
He paced the length of the room, very aware of her large, luminous brown eyes following his every movement. She had been brought to the first parlor and placed gently on the chaise. The room was easiest to maneuver around, the best lit on the ground floor, and the first suitable place he could think of to put an immobile woman. The manor was so large. Every new generation of Ainsworths had added something onto it. In its present state, it was a hodgepodge of wings influenced by different eras and styles.
“You must tell me your name,” he said quietly, but firmly, as he paused in his steps. “And who left such marks on you?”
Rather than illustrate his commitment to keeping her from harm, his question seemed to upset her. Her mouth was pressed so tightly closed that even he could see her jaw ticking.
Jane went to her and said, “My dear, we are only trying to help.” She did not get a response, either, and looked up at Will helplessly.
Will grimaced, not that it would look much different from the usual cast of his face. He was irritated that they seemed to have reached such an impasse.
Trying a different approach, he asked the woman, “Would you like a brandy?”
Duke of Sorrow Page 3