“Your help means much to me as do your feelings.” She reached for his hand. He grasped hers. “I care for you in a special way, John. But I need time—”
He stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips. “We need not rush anything. We only need to learn more about each other and see what grows from there.”
She smiled. “Like the tiny bud in your garden.”
He nodded and returned her smile. “Nature shall nurture it until it bursts into full bloom. We shall nurture our relationship and wait for the results.”
o0o
Two hours later Billie returned to the manor, the sound of banging hammers greeting her.
Pembrooke welcomed her with a frown and a protest. “They are completely destroying the dining salon.”
She deposited her cloak over his arm and hooked her bonnet’s ties on his fingers. She assumed he referred to the workers. “They follow my instructions.”
“My lord would not be pleased,” Pembrooke said with a firm shake of his head.
Billie calmly addressed the issue. “Pembrooke, I understand your loyalty to Lord Radborne. I have heard many speak of his courage and kindness, but he is gone and I am now lady of Radborne Manor.”
Wide-eyed wonder seized him as if he only realized her words bore truth.
“I know you don’t approve of the changes, but they are necessary, for me and for the manor. Please try to understand my sorrow for your loss and my hope for your acceptance of my ownership. I do so want you and Matilda to be happy and stay on with me. But I can no longer tolerate you reminding me that Lord Radborne wouldn’t be happy with the changes. He is gone. I am here. The manor will see changes.”
Pembrooke seemed to accept her directive. “As you wish, m’lady, though I request that you instruct the workers that they are to follow my rules. One being that they are to finish an hour before sunset so they do riot disturb your evening meal.”
Billie smiled, realizing this was Pembrooke’s way of accepting her as lady of the manor. “I shall inform the workers that they are to receive their instructions with regards to starting and finishing times from you.”
“Cleaning up as well,” he added. “They leave their tools scattered like children leave their toys and neither I nor Matilda shall abide such untidiness.”
“I shall so instruct them.”
“Thank you,” he said with a quick nod. “Is there anything you require now, m’lady?”
“No, thank you, Pembrooke. I have some correspondence to see to. I will be in the study.”
Pembrooke was about to take his leave when he paused. “Do you plan changes to the study, m’lady?”
Billie knew all too well that the study had been Lord Radborne’s ultimate domain. No one had entered the hallowed room without his strict permission. She had to insist after being there two weeks that she be allowed to enter and even then Pembrooke had protested vehemently.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she answered, not wanting to admit that she favored the dark colors in the room. The dark green walls and highly polished dark wood trim blended beautifully together and the beige, green and garnet Oriental rug that covered nearly the whole wood floor added that perfect touch of color.
Pembrooke took his leave without comment, though she was certain a protest rested near his lips.
She hurried off to the study, planning to answer the few letters she had received from friends in Nantucket and the letter she had received from Jeremy requesting her hand in marriage yet again. He even suggested that he wouldn’t be adverse to joining her in England and becoming lord of the manor.
She laughed at the thought and entered the study, surprised that a lamp was already lighted. She approached the large desk, oversized for her small frame, though she was certain it had accommodated Maximillian perfectly.
She noticed as she neared the desk that her letters lay spread open on top. She didn’t recall leaving them as such and glanced about the room.
She was alone and yet someone had been reading her letters.
Maximillian?
A sudden gust of wind swept the room, extinguishing the lamp and sending a chilling shiver through Billie.
“Maximillian,” she called, annoyed that he toyed with her.
No answer came and the chill grew stronger, racing gooseflesh over her cool skin along with a sudden pinch of fear. The dark grew darker and she could see nothing. The blackness swallowed her whole along with whoever else occupied the room.
“Maximillian?” Her call turned frantic.
She heard a scurry like someone rushing about, but she was unable to detect the sound’s direction. A table toppled over and glass shattered just as a shaft of light speared the room. A crouched, dark figure jumped up and raced full speed toward her, knocking her down as he bolted past her.
Before her head hit the floor she could have sworn she saw the powerful figure of Maximillian silhouetted in the doorway, speared by light, but the doorway wasn’t where it was supposed to be and darkness was fast engulfing her, confusing her senses.
She only had time to reach her hand out and whisper, “Max,” before being swept away into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twelve
Billie heard voices as if off in the distance. Whispers and mumbles. She strained to hear more clearly but her head hurt terribly. She groaned pitifully, the sound an aching vibration at the base of her skull.
“Open your eyes, Billie,” she heard Max demand harshly.
She wanted to shake her head. Refuse him. But the murderous throbbing in her head robbed her of speech.
“Now, Billie, do you hear me?” He continued his bullying tirade. “Open your eyes now!”
Her mind shouted all sorts of nasty retorts at him and with her head still protesting she lay in forced silence. She tried to recall the reason for her faint, but the pain hammered incessantly in her head, giving her little room to think of anything else.
“You’ll do as I tell you, Billie.” His voice rang loud and clear and Billie was certain it echoed in the room, reverberating in her own head.
“This minute, madam, this very minute. Open your eyes. I am still lord of this manor and you will obey me. Open—”
She couldn’t stand to hear another command from his annoying, blaring mouth. With great effort and her eyes remaining closed she said, “Be quiet, please be quiet.”
“I beg your pardon, m’lady.”
Matilda’s soft voice caused her eyelids to flutter and fight their way open. “Matilda?” Her voice sounded weak and barely audible.
“Yes, my lady, ’tis me,” Matilda answered with a hand on Billie’s shoulder to prevent her from attempting to rise. “You’ve had a nasty fall, my lady. Please don’t try to move. Pembrooke and I have sent for the vicar.”
Billie cringed, more from the pain that lanced her head than from the couple’s decisive action. “You shouldn’t have disturbed John.” Her voice blared in her head though Matilda strained to hear her.
“Rest, the vicar will be here shortly and—’
“Billie,” came the concerned shout that caused Billie’s hand to seek her head and hold it, afraid it was about to explode.
John dropped down to his knees beside her where she lay on the floor.
“It’s the back of her head where she took the bump,” Matilda explained, standing out of the vicar’s way so that he could tend her.
“Does it hurt?” John asked, easing his hand beneath her head.
“Like bloody hell,” she replied without thought, her eyes clamped shut.
She heard Matilda chuckle. Pembrooke suppressed his laughter with a forced cough.
And the vicar cleared his throat before saying, “Then I suggest we get you upstairs to your bedchamber so you may rest.”
She groaned in protest.
“Open your eyes, Billie.”
The familiar arrogant voice had her eyes shooting open. “No,” she cried as the pain speared her head.
John’s hand cupped the back of h
er head and he spoke softly. “Let me help you to the chair first and then we’ll see about getting you upstairs.”
Before she could voice her objection, John slipped his arm around her waist and as he stood her up he leaned her body against his own.
Soft like pillows, she thought, cushioned against him.
Gently he moved her to sit in the chair near the desk.
Her head still throbbed but she was regaining her wits.
While John issued instructions to Matilda and Pembrooke, Billie scanned the room for Maximillian. She had heard his voice. She wasn’t imagining things. He had been there, she was certain of it. Why, she could still detect the slight scent of the sea.
Her hand sought the back of her head. Unable to find the source of the pain, she removed the combs, allowing her hair to fall freely over her shoulders.
She was then able to run her fingers through her hair and locate the source of her distress. She winced when she connected with a large bump.
“A cold compress will help,” John offered, coming to rest on one knee beside her.
“I’m sorry to have troubled you,” she said, reaching out to him.
He took her hand in his. “Nonsense. I would have been upset if Pembrooke hadn’t summoned me. I told you, Billie, I’ll always be here for you.”
She squeezed his hand, happy he reiterated his promise. It felt so good to have someone care for her as much as he did and she was beginning to feel a strong stirring of emotion for him as well. She wondered over it often. It was as though she was long familiar with him, and yet they had only recently met.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Billie began to nod and then stopped, thinking better of it. “I came into the study to tend to my correspondence. The lighted lamp blew out. I heard a noise and knew I wasn’t alone. Then a flash of almost blinding light pierced the room. That’s when I saw a figure run toward me. He sent me toppling to the floor.”
She omitted the vision of Max silhouetted in the stream of light, certain John would surely think that the bump on her head was the cause of her delusion.
John looked at Pembrooke. “Did you hear anything?”
“A crash, which brought me rushing in here to find m’lady lying unconscious on the floor.”
“No one was in the room?” John queried.
“No one, sir, and the door was closed.”
“Is there any other way out of this room?” Billie asked, surprising both men.
Pembrooke looked at her oddly. “There’s only one door, as you can see, m’lady.”
Billie recalled the hidden entrance to the caves behind the cupboard in the pantry. If one hidden exit existed, then why not others?
Not prepared to share her opinion on hidden passageways just yet, she sighed dramatically and raised her hand to her head. “I’d like to rest now. This whole ordeal has greatly upset me.”
She didn’t catch the three wide-eyed looks sent her way.
John assisted her in standing, “I will help you to your bedchamber with Matilda’s assistance, of course.”
Matilda stepped forward.
Billie objected immediately. She didn’t require nursemaids. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. “Nonsense, John. You have done more than enough for me. I’ll take myself directly to bed and rest.”
John, as if not trusting her, turned to Matilda and instructed, “Please see that she is settled comfortably for the night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll look in on you tomorrow,” John said and with a gentle squeeze of her hand, he followed Pembrooke out the door.
“Now, m’lady,” Matilda started. “I’ll help you upstairs and then I’ll fetch a nice bowl of beef broth with—”
“I appreciate your concern,” Billie interrupted. “But I don’t require any help.” She walked toward the door, her steps slow and shaky, “though I would enjoy the beef broth.”
Matilda grinned at the young woman’s tenacity. “With fresh-baked cheddar bread?”
Billie kept walking and held up two fingers. “Big slices.”
Matilda didn’t bother to follow her and insist on tending her. She would do fine. Strong and resilient. Billie was a match for anybody and any ghost.
o0o
Billie took the stairs slowly. She wasn’t fool enough to think she could maneuver the steps at her usual pace. She had suffered a serious bump and if she recalled her mother correctly she shouldn’t seek sleep for a while. Rest, yes, but sleep wasn’t a wise choice at the moment.
The throbbing increased as she climbed the stairs and she paused once or twice, steadying herself with her hand on the banister to regain her strength. By the time she reached the landing she felt dizzy and weak.
She paused for a few minutes and then headed down the hall to her bedchamber. The passageway to her door appeared much farther away than she remembered, much too far a journey for her to make in her weakened condition.
She leaned against the wall and rested her head back. Her eyes caught sight of Maximillian’s portrait hanging above her.
Jokingly, she admonished, “Where are you when I need you, Max?”
“Right beside you, Billie,” he whispered in her ear and effortlessly scooped her up into his strong arms.
Relief rushed through Billie. He was there. He had come to help her.
His shoulder cushioned her head as he walked at a considerate pace so as not to cause her more pain.
“I heard you,” she murmured, feeling content in his protective embrace.
“I should hope so. I shouted loud enough at you.”
She smiled at his arrogance and the hint of concern he failed to keep from his tone.
He carried her to the bed and gently placed her down, resting her back against a fluff of white pillows. “Stay put.”
He crossed the room, returning to the door to close it. He then searched her chest of drawers.
“Whatever are you looking for?” she asked.
“Your night rail.” He pulled a soft white cotton gown from the bottom drawer and marched toward her.
She attempted to move. The pain prevented her from doing so, forcing her to speak firmly from her reclining position. “I can’t undress in front of you.”
“I’ll turn my back, but I want you in this night rail and in bed resting.”
“An order?” she asked with a touch of defiance.
He leaned over her, his nose touching hers. “A strong suggestion.”
“And a good one,” she said, her voice breaking with a quiver. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him. She was more afraid of her response to his presence. She had allowed him to kiss and touch her intimately. What else would she allow him to do? What else would he seek from her?
Maximillian eased her to the edge of the bed and helped her to stand, giving her time to steady herself. He unfastened the ties of her dress, warned her to inform him if she required help and then moved away from her to stand at the hearth.
Billie hastened to make fast work of her clothes, discarding her garments at the end of the bed. Feeling vulnerable naked, she hoisted her night rail over her head and shoved her arms through the armholes. Unfortunately her aching head couldn’t find the neck of her gown and she soon became tangled in the garment.
Fighting it only made her dizzier and her bare legs shivered with a chill, the gown resting just below her bottom.
Mortified at her predicament and feeling close to fainting, she called out to Maximillian.
He spun around at her weak cry and hurried to her side. “Relax,” he ordered gently. “I’ll free you.”
His strong voice and tender hands worked their magic. She was safe. He was there with her. He would help her.
He eased the gown over her head and untangled her arms in the sleeves. His hands inched the gown down along her body until at her thighs he released the material to drop to her ankles.
Her body sagged against his. “I’m so dizzy, Max.”
Sh
e closed her eyes as he tucked her into bed and a light knock sounded at the door.
Billie opened her eyes to look up at him, but he had already vanished. She hadn’t wanted him to leave her. She wanted him right there beside her, holding her, caring for her.
Matilda entered the room, carrying a bed tray filled with food. “You look exhausted, m’ lady,” she said on closer inspection.
Billie only nodded though the effort hurt. Her mind remained on Max and this sudden need for him.
Within minutes Matilda had her sitting up, a mound of pillows supporting her back and head and a cold compress applied to the bump. The tray sat across her lap and the rich aroma of beef broth, thick cheddar bread, chunks of white cheese and chamomile tea made her mouth water.
Matilda busied herself with seeing to Billie’s discarded garments, though Billie suspected that the woman wanted to stay close by should she need assistance.
Coincidentally, Billie finished her meal at the same time Matilda finished tending the room.
Making certain Billie required nothing further, Matilda took her leave.
Billie closed her eyes but only for a moment.
She sensed his presence before he sat beside her on the bed.
“Why did you leave me?” She sounded as if she scolded him.
He pushed away the strands of hair from her eyes. “I didn’t leave you. I was here the whole time you ate so heartily. Now open your eyes, you should not sleep yet. I’ve known too many who have suffered a bump to the head and fell into sleep never to awaken.”
“My mother told me similar stories, yet I grow tired.” A yawn affirmed it.
“Then we shall talk.”
“About what?”
“About the bump on your head.”
Billie poked his chest. “You were there.”
“Afterwards I was, demanding you open your eyes,” he admitted.
“But I saw you,” she said, though she wondered if the bump had actually caused an illusion.
“I was not in the room, Billie. Perhaps it was another ghost come to your rescue,” he teased.
She wore a worried frown. Could Oran have ventured upstairs?
He sought to ease her concern. “The bump on your head could have caused you confusion and misinterpretation of what you actually saw.”
Donna Fletcher Page 11