Philip put his head down, and his body shook with silent sobs. Oliver could only put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and sit in silence while he cried.
Cracked ribs, four broken fingers on one hand, a broken orbital bone, and so many cuts and bruises that you couldn’t count them all. That’s what the doctor told them. He was optimistic that she would heal fully, although her fingers might pain her for the rest of her life.
She was resting uncomfortably when Oliver and Philip were finally allowed to see her. The housekeeper had dressed her in a white, frilly nightdress and pulled the covers up to her bosom. Her arms were crossed outside the blankets. Her hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder, and the blood had been cleaned from her.
Her eyes were swollen shut, and a slice on her cheekbone was seeping. The physician said that she’d been punched with so much force it had caused the orbital bone to break.
Her lips were cut and puffy and her hand was bandaged, the broken fingers splinted. That had caused the worst pain, according to the physician. She had moaned when he’d set the fingers. His hope was that they would heal straight, but he wasn’t positive they would.
He had bound her ribs but didn’t think they had to worry too much about her moving around. He thought she would be unconscious for quite some time.
“It’s the body’s way of healing,” he said. “In sleep it will repair itself.”
Philip had hung back by the door, unable to look at her until Oliver coaxed him forward. He didn’t know how he was going to convince the boy that this wasn’t his fault. Philip felt quite a bit of guilt.
Finally Philip had stepped up to the bed and looked down on his mother. She was nearly unrecognizable, only the color of her hair and the arch of her brows gave her away.
Philip stuck close to his side.
“Who did this?” the physician asked as he was packing up his supplies.
“William Needham,” Oliver said, his voice flat.
The physician paused and glanced at Oliver. “Needham the surgeon?”
“Yes.”
The physician’s gaze went to Ellen. “Are you sure?”
“Very,” said Philip in almost the same tone that Oliver had adopted. “I saw him myself.”
“But—”
“It was him,” Oliver said.
The physician shook his head. “You just never know about some people,” he muttered. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on her, then again tomorrow morning. I truly don’t think she’ll wake up before then, but if she does I’ve left laudanum to help with the pain.” He tipped his head to a brown bottle on the bedside table.
When the doctor left and the housekeeper stopped fidgeting with Ellen’s blanket, there was a suffocating silence that descended on the three of them, punctuated by Ellen’s shallow breathing.
Oliver felt as if the walls were closing in on him, like he couldn’t breathe, and his skin itched all over.
Philip pulled a chair close to the bed and slumped down in it, chin on his chest.
Oliver paced until he thought he would go mad.
“I’ll be back,” he said into the stillness.
Philip’s head jerked up. “You’re leaving?”
“For a little bit. I’ll be back.”
“What if something happens?”
“You heard the doctor. She’ll sleep the rest of the night.”
Philip sat up straight. “But you don’t know that. What if she wakes up?”
Oliver sighed. “Philip, it will be fine. Nothing will happen. I have something I need to do.”
“Something more important than this?” He swept his arm toward the bed. Oliver didn’t look in that direction, because seeing Ellen like that nearly buckled his knees, and he couldn’t spend one more moment in this room without doing something to avenge this brutal beating she’d endured.
It would not go unanswered, and he was afraid if he waited too long Needham would make some move to block him.
“I won’t be gone long. If something happens fetch the physician.”
“I can’t believe you’re leaving us.” Philip’s voice wavered, and Oliver was afraid the boy was going to start crying again.
“Philip, I’m not abandoning you. On my honor, I will return.”
He sidled out the door as Philip glared at him. Ellen did not move. She didn’t even know he was there, let alone that he was gone.
At least that was what he told himself to allay the crushing guilt of leaving her.
…
Oliver felt bad about taking his father’s curricle, but he had every intention of returning it, and he couldn’t very well expect Ellen to ride all the way to Scotland on horseback. In time his father would understand.
It was his mother he feared the most. His marriage to Ellen would get the tongues wagging in London, and his mother hated when the Armbrusters were the topic of conversation. But Oliver was convinced that the gossip would blow over, replaced by something even more salacious the next day or the day after.
Like his father, his mother would forgive him in time.
But none of that mattered, because being with Ellen, marrying Ellen, was more important than anything else. They would figure the rest out later.
He pulled the curricle under the tree in Hyde Park where he’d first kissed her. Strangely, he was calm. He’d thought he would be nervous to be taking such a huge step in his life, but that wasn’t the case at all.
This was right. It felt right. And he couldn’t wait to start his life with Ellen.
He’d arrived early so he sat back in the curricle and looked out over the pond. Hyde Park was quiet at this time of night, which had been his hope. No use getting the tongues wagging before they even left London.
He wasn’t even that angry that it had come to this—running away in the middle of the night. He was disappointed that he’d been called away and hadn’t been able to speak to her father before the betrothal contract with Fieldhurst. And he wondered how Fieldhurst would take the news that his betrothed had run off. If it were Oliver, he would be furious.
He pulled out the pocket watch that his parents had given him for his sixteenth birthday. It was midnight exactly. Heart leaping, he straightened up and looked around. There were no shadows running toward him or lurking about, so he settled back down.
By fifteen after the hour he was becoming anxious.
By half after he was nervous.
By one o’clock he was scared.
What if something had happened to her? He decided to trace the route she would have used to get to him, but there were no bodies lying about and nothing out of the ordinary. He stopped in front of her darkened, quiet house and contemplated throwing stones at her window. But he didn’t know which window was hers.
He drove back to the tree and waited until the subtle rays of a new day lightened the sky. And still no Ellen.
As traffic increased in Hyde Park he took up the reins and drove home, confused.
Once in his bedroom he found a folded piece of paper on his pillow, and he picked it up. In elegant, feminine handwriting it said: I’m sorry.
…
The three sat in silence, O’Leary and Ashland trying to absorb the story that Oliver had told them.
“This is not right,” Ashland muttered, shaking his head. Ashland understood Oliver’s feelings the most. He seemed pale and angry.
O’Leary appeared contemplative. “We can have him picked up,” he said. “If you’re positive it was him.”
“Oh, I’m positive,” Oliver said. “I didn’t see him myself, but all of the staff did, as well as Philip.”
“A boy’s word and the word of servants.” O’Leary shook his head. “I wish we had more to go on.”
“People heard him beating her!” Oliver was becoming outraged, and he knew he shouldn’t take it out on O’Leary. It was incredibly difficult to convict someone with as high a standing as Needham. The court, if it even got that far, was always in favor of the person with the power.
While Philip was an earl, Needham was older and respected. He was a physician to the royal family, and that was something special, indeed. And Philip had his own problems and a soiled reputation.
“He’s already slithered out of one scandal,” Oliver said.
“With no proof that he knew what his assistants were doing, there wasn’t much we could do.” O’Leary was beginning to sound defensive.
“I’m not blaming you,” Oliver said, although his frustration was directed at O’Leary and the judicial system that let a man like Needham walk free simply because the word of a gentleman meant more than the word of a servant.
“What are you going to do?” Ashland asked.
“Take matters into my own hands,” Oliver said grimly.
“I would advise against that,” O’Leary said.
“As would I,” added Ashland. “Although I understand why you feel the need to do so.”
“I can’t let this go unanswered. I won’t let this go unanswered.” He could not walk away from this if he tried, and damn he didn’t want to try, either.
“Will you confront him?” Ashland asked.
“Yes.” There was no doubt that he was going to confront Needham.
“I’d like to go with you. You can’t do this alone.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. You have a new standing in Society as well as a reputation as a fair and honest solicitor. I won’t let you jeopardize that.”
“But we can’t let you walk into this alone,” O’Leary said.
Oliver was surprised that O’Leary was backing him, considering that what he was thinking of doing was not quite legal.
“I definitely can’t ask that of you,” Oliver said to O’Leary. “It would ruin your career. Although I appreciate that you want to help.”
“We can have your back,” Ashland said. “We can be ready in case things go bad.”
Oliver hadn’t considered that something could go bad. He was so angry, and he had right on his side. The thought of it all going wrong hadn’t occurred to him.
“All right then,” he said. “I’m grateful that you have my back. Here is what I’m thinking of doing.”
Chapter Thirty
Before leaving to meet with O’Leary and Ashland, Oliver had posted footmen at all the entrances with strict instructions that they were not to allow Needham in.
“Any problems?” Oliver asked the butler when he returned from his meeting.
“None, my lord. We are being very vigilant.”
“Good. What about Lady Fieldhurst? How is she?”
“Sadly, the same. No improvement, I’m afraid.”
“That just means she’s healing from the inside out. I will go up to see her now, but will stay for only a short time. I have some business to attend to.” He gave the butler a pointed look that the man seemed to understand immediately.
“Certainly, my lord.” He cleared his throat. “Could I, uh, be of some service with this business you must attend? I have a great right hook, if I do say so myself.” He grinned, and Oliver laughed. Probably the first time he’d laughed in days.
“I appreciate the offer, but this is something I need to do myself. If my plan should fail I will certainly call on you.”
“And I will answer the call. Justice comes in many forms.”
“Yes, it does. Yes, it does.”
Oliver headed up the steps to Ellen’s rooms. Philip was still slumped in the chair and appeared to be sleeping, his chest rising and falling deeply.
Gently he lowered himself onto the side of the bed. Ellen’s head turned toward him, and the tip of her tongue came out to lick her cracked lips.
“He will pay for this,” Oliver whispered. “You have my word that he will never darken your doorstep again. You will never have to lay eyes on him again.”
Her eyes fluttered but did not open and she seemed to have fallen back into the void that she had escaped to.
Oliver leaned forward and lightly kissed her brow, the only place on her that wasn’t bruised or bleeding. She sighed but did not wake up. “I love you,” he whispered against her hair. “And I love our son.”
He stood and glanced at Philip. The boy was staring at him. Had he heard what Oliver said?
“I need to leave again,” Oliver said.
“I want to go with you.”
“No, son, you can’t.” It felt so right calling him son. At some point they would need to talk about it, acknowledge it openly, and discuss their next steps.
But not now.
“I’ve taken boxing lessons,” Philip said. “I know how to fight.”
Oliver took in his blackened eye. The swelling had gone down, but it still looked painful and raw. Another wave of fury overtook him. Needham had caused that. Needham had punched his son, and he wasn’t getting away with that, either.
“I need you to watch over your mother for now.”
“You don’t think I can do it. You don’t think I can fight Needham.”
“That’s not true. I know you can. I know you feel the same rage inside that I do. There is a parallel rage inside me for what he did to your eye. I will avenge that as well.”
Philip appeared stunned for a moment, then frightened. “What if he hurts you, too?” he whispered.
“I won’t allow that to happen.”
“But what if you can’t stop it? What if he has a pistol and he shoots you?”
“I won’t be completely alone. I’ll have friends watching from the shadows. He won’t kill me.” But part of Oliver wondered at the outcome. Philip was right. If cornered, there was no telling what Needham would do.
He’d already escaped one scandal. He might not escape another. Killing a nobleman such as Oliver would be a bold and stupid move, but desperate men did desperate things.
A week ago he wouldn’t have cared if his life ended. Now it was all about Ellen. Avenging Ellen. Protecting Ellen. But there was Philip to think about now. His son. He couldn’t leave Philip an orphan even if he could never acknowledge their relationship outright.
“He won’t be so stupid as to shoot me,” he said.
Philip glanced at Ellen, then down at his hands. “I wouldn’t think him so stupid as to hit a woman, either,” Philip said softly.
“It’s never right to hit a woman, Philip. Never. No matter the circumstances. They are bold and wonderful creatures, women. And we are here to protect them. When that trust of protection is breached then justice must serve.”
“And you are the justice?”
“I am.”
Philip nodded. “Just come back to us.”
“I will return.” He took one more look at Philip—his son. He was just on the cusp of manhood but not really a man yet. There was still much of the little boy in him, the one who needed his mother and a good father figure. He would be a fine man someday. He just required guidance to the right path.
Oliver nodded to him as he left, sending up a small prayer that he would be back.
It was surprisingly easy to gain entrance to Needham’s townhouse. The housekeeper simply let him in and directed him to the front parlor where Oliver cooled his heels for about ten minutes.
Needham’s home was not at all what Oliver would have pictured. It was nearly sterile, with no pictures on the walls or carpets on the hard floors. He had utilitarian furniture as if he knew he needed furniture so he’d bought the least expensive he could find. Being such a prominent physician and especially one to the royal family, you would think he was wealthier than this. But then Oliver knew of men who were hugely wealthy but chose not to spend money on things that would make them more comfortable.
Needham appeared in the doorway then stopped short, surprise in his expression.
“I take it your housekeeper didn’t tell you who was calling?”
“She didn’t.” Needham stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him, but he stayed where he was, not venturing inside. “What are you doing here?”
“I think you know.”
“If this has to do with Ellen, then it is none of your business. The moment she agreed to wed me she was out of your life for good.”
Did the man have no remorse? Did he not care that he’d left her nearly dead?
“I did not agree to that.” Oliver started walking the perimeter of the room, still far away from Needham, but when he completed his circuit he would be next to him. Needham watched him closely. “She has four broken fingers, bruised ribs, a broken orbital bone, and so many cuts and bruises that the physician stopped counting.”
Needham remained silent, his gaze fixed on Oliver.
“Does it not concern you that you almost killed her?”
“But I didn’t.”
Bastard.
“And that is acceptable?”
Needham shrugged. “She was not following my orders. It is in my right to discipline her.”
Oliver had to forcefully not clench his fingers into a fist. The man was a monster.
“It is your right to discipline her if she is your wife. She is not your wife.”
“Close enough.”
“I wonder—” Oliver edged closer. “What kind of parents teach a child that it is acceptable to beat a woman?”
Needham huffed out a laugh. “Please. Don’t get all high-and-mighty on me. A woman is a man’s property, and it is perfectly acceptable to discipline her as a husband sees fit.” He paused, considered Oliver. “Besides, it was your fault she had to be disciplined to begin with.”
“Mine?” Oliver raised a brow even as his insides clenched. He knew the man was testing him, getting under his skin on purpose and damn it, it was working.
“I told her she was no longer to see you or converse with you, yet she continued to do so.”
“That is not her fault. I was the one who called on her.” Had Needham really beaten Ellen because of Oliver?
Needham shrugged. “She should have told you.”
And she had. The first time he’d visited after the engagement was announced, but he’d continued to call on her, and she’d paid the price for his stubbornness.
But that did not make what Needham did right.
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