Benjamin had never seen a man look as exhausted or downtrodden as Mr. Watson. Though he’d never met the man before, he knew the house, or what had been the house, several hours earlier. It had not been a great estate, nothing like Pritchford Place, but a nicely situated manor house.
“Papa, I am all right,” Catherine croaked from the bed. Benjamin wondered if it was the smoke she’d inhaled that caused her voice to be so hoarse. Had she cried for help for a long time? How frightened had she been? Had she seen the fire eating the walls? Though he was twelve, nearly thirteen, and wanted to be brave because that was what his father, the Earl of Wembley, would expect, he shuddered. His uncle, the younger son to Benjamin’s father and one of Benjamin’s heroes, was the bravest man he knew. He had bought a commission in the army as soon as he was of age to fight Napoleon. Still, Benjamin could not imagine waking in the middle of the night to a fire on the great estate of Pritchford Place. He would not know what to do. Would he think of saving his sister as this young girl had? Or would he be selfish, in the way that fear makes most people, and think only of getting out himself?
Benjamin always worried he would fall short, both in terms of Uncle Robert’s bravery and his father’s expectation of responsibility, but this Catherine had exceeded both of those expectations. A girl! And younger than him, too!
Honestly, when his father woke him in the middle of the night, Benjamin had complained over going to see this family. “What does this have to do with me?” he’d asked. But his father had insisted that they had a responsibility to the people of Pritchford, and that this responsibility would one day be Benjamin’s as the future Earl of Wembley. It might not be as large of a city or as connected to London as Ripon, but the majority of the land was owned by Benjamin’s family, the Fredericksons. Duty ran in his father’s blood—passed down by grandfather and beyond. His father expected it to be in Benjamin’s blood as well, but Benjamin feared he was lacking some essential element that would make him the great earl his father was. More and more, conversations with his father left Benjamin feeling like there was a giant weight around his neck.
His father wanted him to care about the land and the people, but how could he care about what he didn’t know, especially when he was sent to boarding school at Eton in a few days? He had friends here and lessons. He was focused on withstanding the pranks and teasing from the older boys, not the land he would someday inherit. All the while, his sister watched him in between lessons with her governess, and Benjamin knew she was thinking what a better job she could do someday of running the place. But she was a girl, so none of this actually belonged to her. It all fell to Benjamin.
But now that he was here with this family, the Watsons, now that he could see the little girl and the people who loved her, he realized his father was right. It was not about owning the surrounding land or even responsibility. It was impossible to see his fellow man, Mr. Watson, lose so much and not care. It was impossible to think of an injured girl and not consider how he could help. Perhaps some of what made his father such a great Earl of Wembley had been passed to him after all.
For the first time, Benjamin’s world grew to include the needs of others. He would never forget this night as long as he lived. He knew the Watson family would not forget either, but for very different reasons.
“They said she was trapped,” Benjamin murmured aloud. Having seen the wreckage of her home, the way the fire had eaten it alive and devoured it, the destruction complete and absolute, he had to wonder how a girl of no more than eight could escape that. “If she was trapped, how did she get out?” The mystery would confound him whenever he thought of it, but for now, his attention was on the area of the room where the little girl lay prone and suffering.
The local doctor stood from his place at her bedside. Lord Wembley had already sent his carriage to Ripon for the doctor there, but the roads this time of year were rough, and the horses and livery had a good thirty miles to travel. The current country doctor was the same man Benjamin saw years ago when he took a tumble from his horse, but at that time, the man had been gregarious, making Benjamin laugh to keep his mind off of the pain. Now, he was incredibly tense. A line of worry appeared on his already sweaty brow. “I need more laudanum to manage her pain. And I need to speak to you, Mr. Watson. We need to discuss her options. I fear this is beyond my expertise.”
Benjamin’s fingers twitched, wanting to be helpful but having no idea how to begin to be of service.
“I will find you some laudanum, Doctor.” If it was odd that the Earl of Wembley would be the first one to offer help, no one said so as the doctor took the girl’s father aside. Benjamin could hear bits and pieces of the conversation, words like “burns” and “scarring.” Without realizing it, he moved away from the voices and toward the bed. Could she hear them? She must be terrified. He felt as if a magnet was drawing him nearer to her. He could not turn away from the pull of it, even knowing there was nothing he could do.
Her breathing was a quiet wheeze as he moved next to her. Then he saw what had previously been hidden from view. Her entire hand and arm, even a part of her neck, looked as if someone had sliced the top layer of skin off, red and angry, mottled and blistering. His stomach pitched into his throat. I will not be sick. I will not be sick. Uncle Robert is fighting Napoleon; he would never be sick, so I will not be sick and scare the little girl.
Her burns were nothing like the giant bruise he had received when his horse threw him. They were like something out of a nightmare. He repeated his mantra. I will not be sick. I will be an adult as my father expects. I will not be sick. But it was easier said than done as he swallowed bile.
“Was it you?” she whispered, breaking into his thoughts. Her eyes, a pretty blue like some of Mama’s flowers, were dazed from the medicine she’d already been given, the dark of her pupils nearly overtaking sapphire. “Did you save me?” she asked, her unscathed hand scratching restlessly at the blanket covering her. Her wrist was the size of a twig; she seemed so tiny and fragile, like the glass figurines his grandmother had once collected. It didn’t make any sense to him, how someone who had not been in the world long enough to do any damage to it, could be so damaged by that same world. Bad things happened over there on the continent because of Napoleon, not here in Pritchford.
“No, I did not save you,” he admitted softly. “But you are safe now.”
She reminded him of one of the kittens born in the horse barn. He had snuck off to cuddle the little gray ball of fur whenever the lectures over how he was to act like a man now became too overwhelming. That was the year Uncle Robert left for the army, and the tiny cat soothed Benjamin as much as he soothed it. He wished it would be as easy to soothe this girl as it was to comfort that kitten. He had never told anyone about the kitten before, finding it embarrassing. But a part of him that he could not explain wanted to tell this girl his secret.
“Are you in pain?” he questioned as he moved nearer to her. He would do anything to make her feel better. For the first time in his very privileged life, this was not a problem his family’s money or position could solve. Someone had cleaned most of the soot from her face, but a few smudges remained.
Beside the bed, he found a wet cloth. He dipped it into the shallow bowl of water and touched it to her cheek. She let out a deep sigh and turned her cheek into his touch and then moaned as the motion pulled at the skin of her neck. “Are you in pain?” he repeated, as he touched the cloth to her pale cheek, wiping a bit of gray off. He could not remember ever touching anyone but a family member with tenderness and not for a very long time. He had certainly never been in the role of a caregiver before, except for that kitten.
He continued to dip the cloth in water and touch it to her face where there were no burns long after the soot was gone, if only because it seemed to soothe her a little. Eventually, she rasped, “No. I am not in any pain.”
Benjamin felt an ache in his throat and pressure behind his eyes. She was pitiful, but he did not want to pity h
er. He wanted to make it better and knew he could not. Her wounds were no longer what made him want to cry; it was her very bravery in the face of those wounds that brought him to the verge of tears. He was one of the toughest boys in his class, or at least that was how he appeared to his peers, and the possibility of tears should have appalled him. But that was not why he was able to hold them back. He did not want the girl to know just how serious her situation was. The doctor made it sound dire. Moments ago, he had been worrying about being brave to save himself embarrassment or for the sake of his father or Uncle Robert. Now, he wanted to be brave for her. If she was going to perish, he wanted to offer her whatever he could to make her feel better and right now that was a cool cloth.
“Liar,” he accused gently. “You must be in a great deal of pain.”
He was rewarded when one side of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. She blinked at him a few times, like a baby owl, before she asked, “Is it very bad? Do you think I will I recover?”
He wiped her brow. No one seemed to be paying attention to him as Mr. Watson spoke with the doctor and Benjamin’s father searched for medicine. He was not sure that it was proper for him to nurse her, but he did not care. All he could do was place the cool cloth against her forehead. It seemed like such a small, paltry thing, and then he realized there was one other thing to give her. Hope. “I am sure you’ll be just as you were before.”
Her eyes shut, and a lone tear escaped down one cheek. Impulsively, he caught it with his finger. Benjamin gulped even as she opened her eyes and stared at him. When she smiled, his breath hitched. “Who is the liar now?” she wondered aloud in that raspy voice, which he would never forget as long as he lived.
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FIRE AND SMOKE
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THIS BOOK IS COPYRIGHT © 2016
BY CHARLOTTE STONE
AND
SHERMANBROOKS PUBLISHING HOUSE LLC.
THE CHARACTERS AND EVENTS PORTRAYED IN THIS BOOK ARE FICTITIOUS. ANY SIMILARITY TO REAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DECEASED, IS COINCIDENTAL AND NOT INTENDED BY THE AUTHOR.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED, STORED IN A RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM BY ANY MEANS, ELECTRONIC, MECHANICAL, PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING, OR OTHERWISE, WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
PUBLISHED BY: SHERMANBROOKS PUBLISHING HOUSE LLC
COVER DESIGNED BY: SHARON CALDWELL
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Table of Contents
Copyright
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Personal word from Charlotte Stone
Dedication
About The Author
The Viscount's Blazing Love
.
Prologue
.
1
The Last Ball of the Season
.
2
The Surprise Dance Partner
.
3
Old Friends
.
4
The Other Side of Life
.
5
The Forgotten Memory
.
6
A Humble Hero
.
7
A Pritchford Place Reunion
.
8
A Visit Begins
.
9
Some Things Stick Forever
.
10
A Heart to Heart
.
11
I Know It in My Bones
.
12
Three Sisters
.
13
The Prodigal Son
.
14
A Monster’s Last Secret
.
15
An Accidental Interrogation
.
16
A Secret is Told
.
17
Goodbye Kiss
.
18
The Aftermath
.
19
A Change of Heart
.
20
King and Queen of the Fairies
.
Epilogue
.
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Publishers Notes
Regency Romance: The Viscount's Blazing Love (Fire and Smoke: CLEAN Historical Romance) Page 15