Laurence looked to the duke, who nodded, and the butler bowed and followed the tailor and the London men out into the hallway. Once alone, Drummond poured himself another glass of brandy and also one for his nephew. The duke handed the refilled glass to the earl. “Charles and Elizabeth seem to be getting on well.”
Aubrey’s mood had darkened, but he managed a reply. “Yes, so I’ve noticed.”
“Beth will make her own choice in time, son. Let her have a bit of space, and be generous with Sinclair. This is all new to him, and the newspaper articles only make it worse, which is why I have tried to douse that fire before it begins. Now, tell me more about this woman doctor. Does she seem capable?”
“I expect so,” he said vaguely, for his mind still wondered why he had felt so drawn to her considerable charms.
The duke laughed. “So! She is beautiful, is she?”
“I did not say so,” Paul protested. “She has a pleasing face. Somewhat tall, I imagine. She certainly seems capable with regard to her art.”
“Medicine or bewitchment?” he asked with a mischievous grin. “It’s natural to find a beautiful woman attractive, Paul. Elizabeth knows your heart is hers alone. And I know you could never truly be, shall we say, distracted. Not now that you have grown wiser.”
Paul shook his head. “Elizabeth knows nothing of that, James. But perhaps I owe it to her to tell all. I do not like keeping secrets. Not from her.”
“She would probably forgive you, son, but it would break her heart, I think. She has always seen you as perfect. Do you dare reveal that you are but a man after all?”
He sighed, his head dropping against the high back of the leather chair. “I was certainly foolish then. How do I know I am truly immune to my foolish nature now?”
“Because you are,” he said simply. “Which reminds me, I’m bringing Adele here. I’ve worried that our scattered family is like sheep without a shepherd, so I’ve sent a letter to Briarcliff, instructing Henry to send her to us tomorrow morning along with the additional men. Our girl will arrive just after eleven.”
“Uncle! I am ashamed not to have thought of that! Sweet Adele, my angel. How can I have forgotten her, all alone and far away?”
“You’ve had much to occupy your mind this past week. Much to distract you, but she will be delighted to find her brother waiting, and I am always happy to hear that child’s laughter.”
“Was I right—was my father right—were we right in what we did, James?”
“You made the best choice, son. What is past is just that—past. Della loves you, and she is much better off, is she not?”
“I like to think so. I could not abide leaving her there. Not after what happened to her mother.”
James sipped the brandy, thoughtfully. “She is with family, and that’s what matters. She needn’t know the truth, unless you choose to tell it. It is your past, Paul, but your choices impact Beth’s present, as well as her future. So, this woman in Glasgow, she’s a beauty then?”
“She is, but—she, well, now I don’t know what to say. You make me wonder now if I’ve been a fool.”
The duke’s black eyebrows shot upward, and he laughed heartily. “You? A fool? Paul, my boy, you are no one’s fool! Would Gladstone and Salisbury both have placed the fate of the empire into your capable hands—more than once, I might add—had they believed you a fool? You are a crack shot, a keeper of dark secrets, an erudite man who can box, hunt, spy upon, and kill without remorse anyone who dares to threaten those you love. But you are also a true servant of Christ, who knows his Bible better than most parsons. Son, you are a rare man, and England and our beloved Scotland are both better for your birth.”
The earl’s shoulder ached, but his heart hurt more. “I wish I found your confidence in me cheering, James, but I feel as if I’ve made a mess of this from the start. Had I not been wounded during the skirmish outside the train, I’d have been able to go with her to those hellish tunnels, and…”
“And what? Somehow all this would have gone better? Paul, if you had been down there with her, Charles would not have known how to organise an escape. Yes, I know, Kepelheim is a cool head, and his connexions are vast, but yours are intricate and your men are completely loyal to any command you give them. They follow you like they would a prince. All has turned out well, my lad, so let’s drink to that and learn from our mistakes. If you want to speak of blame, it was my trust in Lemuel that nearly led to all our ends.”
Laurence entered and whispered into the duke’s ear, who sat forward and tapped his nephew on the knee. “You’ve a visitor,” he said, standing. “A young woman, I’m told.”
“Surely not Adele already?”
“No, but someone you’ve seen this very day,” James remarked. “Show her into the blue room, Laurence. And ask our other guests if they wish to join me in the music room. Whilst we wait upon the piano concert, I’ll give a listen to some of those cylinders Elizabeth bought for me today.”
“Very good, sir,” the young man said and left to follow his orders.
James led Paul out of the drawing room and into the main hallway, where the grand staircase curved upward, past full-length portraits, potted ferns, and mullioned stained glass windows toward the two floors above.
The duke had been a magnificently handsome man in his youth, with a muscular build, not unlike his nephew’s, but with black hair and fierce black eyes. He had grown a moustache in the Crimean War, where he served not only as espionage agent but also helped with the Paris negotiations afterward in ‘56. Once accomplished, he’d been assigned to gather information on the autonomy movements in Wallachia and Moldavia. Upon his return in 1860, his duchess, Elizabeth Elaine Campbell Stuart, the third daughter of the Duke of Argyll, had demanded he forever keep the moustache, preferring him with the facial hair.
Since her passing in 1875, three months after suffering a stroke, the duke had continued to wear the moustache, salted now with grey, thinking of his beloved bride each time he trimmed it. He thought of her now as he and Paul joined their unexpected guest in the blue room, a magnificently furnished parlour, preferred by the late duchess for its low, deep-seated chairs and cheerful, yellow and white, silk upholstery.
“So, you are Dr. MacKey,” the duke said with a wide grin, his hand out to take her own. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
She held out her hand and let him kiss it. MacKey wore no gloves, and the duke noticed that her skin smelled of soap and lavender—and one other trace scent, which he could not quite place.
“I am honoured, Your Grace,” she cooed. “Please, forgive my impertinence. I know that I am not expected, and that it was thoughtless to show up at your door unannounced, but I simply could not stop thinking of your nephew’s shoulder. He told me that your family doctor died quite suddenly, and that only your good housekeeper has been tending it. I have brought my medical bag, and it would ease my mind to make certain that his injury is not serious, and that it is mending as it should.”
Paul stepped forward, feeling completely undone. “Lorena, this isn’t necessary. It is kind of you, but I am fine and mending speedily.”
“My Lord Aubrey, I am the better judge of that, and it would be a disservice to my oath were I not to assure the duke that his gallant nephew is out of all danger.”
The duke winked at Paul and again kissed the doctor’s hand; another chance to smell the odd scent lingering beneath others more pleasant. “I’ll leave you to your patient, then, Doctor. My staff are available should you require anything. Just ring; the bell pull is by the fireplace.”
He shut the doors, leaving Paul alone with his beautiful but devious physician.
“Will you sit, Lord Aubrey?” she asked, lifting her medical bag to a table and opening it wide. Inside, Paul could see instruments, powders, bottles, syringes, and tubing, much like any other medical kit he’d seen before.
&
nbsp; “Remove your shirt, please,” she said simply as if it were a matter completely ordinary. “Please, sir,” she added, seeing the reluctance on his face, “I do not bite. If I am to examine your injury, then I must have access to it. Here, let me help you.”
She leaned in close and removed the sling, setting it to one side. She then helped him to unbutton his waistcoat, and then release both the waistcoat and shirt sleeve from his left arm, and then the right.
“What have you done to your right palm?” she asked, noticing the cuts where he had smashed the tumbler two nights before. “You must be more careful, my lord! So important a personage cannot risk sepsis of the blood. This will become infected if it is not cleaned again. And it may require stitches. How was this done?”
The earl sat in the room, bare to the waist, his heart beating fast. He wished her examination would end, but he knew his wound did need looking after, and part of him hoped she might ease the pain in his shoulder and help him to sleep.
“You flinch,” she said, her practised hands probing the palm first. “So, how did you cut yourself?”
He shook his head, keenly aware of the perfume upon her throat and scarf. She wore a satin dress unlike the one he’d seen that morning. This was more for evening, cut low with bared arms, but she had demurely covered her décolleté with a silken scarf, which rounded her slender throat and ample bosom, making it more noticeable by half.
“I broke a glass,” he said, hoping she would probe no further.
“What was in the glass? Water? Wine?”
“Whisky,” he said, and she laughed.
“Typical, and so completely in keeping with my image of you, my lord. Scotch whisky. Well, the good news is the alcohol content probably kept your injury from causing mischief, for it may have added a cleansing effect, but it should have been tended earlier. I fear you will have a scar there, and such a shame, for your hands are so very nice.”
“It won’t be my first scar,” he admitted, immediately wishing he’d not said it, for when his ears heard it, the phrase sounded boastful. “I mean only that life brings injury at times. I should have been more careful.”
“I understand, my lord. I have a salve which will aid in healing and perhaps prevent a scar, if I may apply it?”
He nodded, and she removed a small jar from the bag and spread a pleasant smelling ointment into his palm. “I want to bandage this, to seal the salve’s healing powers within and keep out any agents of mischief.” She then wound a gauze bandage around his hand, and finished by tying and knotting it. “There. Now, to that shoulder. You say it was treated by a doctor when first it happened?”
“A doctor of a kind,” he explained, not wanting to reveal the truth. “A hunting accident, as you may have guessed. It was a foolish move on my part. Another hunter mistook me and fired.”
“A bullet wound! Oh, my, that is different!” she exclaimed, though she knew precisely how he’d been injured and where. “I thought you said it happened—well, no matter.” She removed the bandage set there the night before by the housekeeper and shook her head. “Paul, this must have bled a great deal, for it lies close to a major blood vessel. I’m surprised you are even walking about. Why, on earth, were you shopping this morning, when you should have been in bed?”
Her hands probed about the wound, and he gasped in pain as she pushed into the centre. “I am sorry, but pain is a good sign. I had feared nerve damage when I first saw this. Evidently, the bullet passed through cleanly, which is good, as you know I am sure. I see that it has been stitched three times. I take it that the wound re-opened after the first attempts. I wonder if you refused rest even then.”
“There’s been much to occupy me these past few days, but I’ve rested whenever I could.”
She pulled a chair in front of his, sat into it, and then took his hands in hers, looking deeply into his eyes. “My lord—Paul, my brave and handsome knight—I imagine that you are one of those wonderful men who rescues damsels, and who refuses to sit until all around you are settled, but I tell you that if those around you are to rely upon your good deeds, then you must take better care of yourself. Strength of heart does not always make up for weakness in body. Trust me, I know. My father was a slave to his own foolishness, and he died of sepsis. It was a horrible way to die, and—well, that is why I vowed it would never again happen to one for whom I cared. I enrolled in medical college one month later.”
He had watched her eyes and mouth the entire time that she spoke, and he found her words almost hypnotic and her perfume delightful. “Perhaps, you are right, Doctor.”
“Lorena, please.”
He blinked, wondering how her eyes could be so green. “Lorena. My life is more complicated than I can say, but I promise to be better about resting. Thank you for your kindness.”
“How can I do less for the man who rescued my best hat? Now, I shall clean and redress this, and you must promise to rest. I know you said you would join me tomorrow for luncheon, but I cannot—as your doctor—allow that. You need sleep and lots of it. And eat! Your face is pale, and I expect you have eaten little of late. Red wine will strengthen the blood, so choose that instead of whisky for a few days. I shall leave some morphine with your housekeeper. Does she know how to administer it?”
He nodded. “Mrs. MacAnder served as a nurse in the Crimea.”
“Then she has witnessed sights more horrible than most in this realm. She must be a fine woman. Very good then. I shall leave that with her, and now I would like to relieve your pain by injecting you. It may hurt a little, but I promise you will sleep well tonight.”
Paul did not like the idea of spending another night under the spell of a drug. “I have need for remaining able to awaken easily. It is…”
“Complicated, yes, I can see that it is. Very well. I leave you then with this small bottle of a medicinal which I use myself whenever I have a headache but wish to be alert should a patient require I go out into the night and work. It is a tincture made from a wonderful herb I found whilst in Vienna. A fellow practitioner there grows them, and the plant produces a lovely flower. In fact, it can be made into a fragrance. I wear it even now.”
“Is that it? I’ve been trying to place it, but the scent is new to me. I can discern lavender, I think, but the other is a mystery.”
“It is my little secret,” she replied, smiling. “I now grow them in a flowerbox near my bedroom window. They love any light, and the blossom is a glorious white, putting on a show even in moonlight.”
“You live in London?”
“For now. I seek a practice wherever I might, and I have high hopes. Women doctors are less rare than once they were, and more cities are building hospitals, which means a need for physicians like myself. Now, this liquid is a little bitter. Have you some wine I might mix with it?”
“I am not sure if there is any in here. I doubt it. If you pull the bell rope, one of the footmen will bring you a glass.”
“Or two, perhaps?” she suggested as she completed the work on his shoulder.
“Perhaps. Lorena, it is very late, and…”
“Oh, you are right. Quite correct. I am an intruder, and you and your family have plans, no doubt, which I interrupt. I shall ring for the wine and leave the bottle with you. Just one drop in each glass of wine. No more.”
Paul shook his head. “No, no, you misunderstand me. Our home is more than an hour from the city by the fastest carriage, and that only when being driven by someone accustomed to the roads. How did you arrive here? Do you have a driver waiting?”
She closed her bag and shook her head, her glossy auburn curls bouncing in the chandelier’s glow. “In truth? I rode with a deliveryman who left me at your door. He was passing on his way north, but he said there may be someone else passing by with whom I might find a ride back. I know, it was brazen and quite silly of me. For a woman with a sharp mind, I sometimes leave all com
mon sense behind.”
Paul thought this story thin, but his sense of decency could not permit her to go back into the night on her own. “Then you must stay here tonight,” he said. “I cannot allow you to risk these dangerous roads at night, even were there a deliveryman who passes here so late—something which I doubt. Only two nights ago, we heard wolves on the moors, so you would not be safe.”
“Stay here? But, Lord Aubrey, how can I do such?” she protested. “I have been bother enough. I shall be fine. I am quite resourceful.”
“No, Lorena, I will not hear of it. Remain here tonight. I am sure we can find attire to suit anything you should need, and we’ve plenty room.”
“You do at that,” she laughed. “All right, if you insist, but I warn you; I shall be a pest when it comes to your medical welfare, so do not be upset if I remove any whisky glasses I may find in your vicinity!”
Paul laughed, unable to resist her charms, as she helped him into his shirt and waistcoat. “Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “I’m a bear when it comes to some things, but you have turned me into a lamb.”
And lamb is one of my favourite meals, she thought.
By eight, Charles Sinclair had finished writing his letters, so he knocked on the duchess’s door.
“Elizabeth?”
No reply.
He knocked once more. Still no answer. “Beth?” he called into the darkened interior.
The layout of the large apartment featured a beautifully finished parlour that led into the connected bedchamber and private bath. The fireplace in the parlour had burnt down to glowing embers, and Beth’s bedroom door was ajar. He could hear faint murmurings coming from within. Stepping forward, he peered into the chamber. The duchess lay upon the bed, a coverlet across her hips, and she appeared to be dreaming, though the content of the dream seemed to distress her, for her entire body twitched, and her hands tore at the bedclothes.
Blood Lies Page 39