“Lord Kerr,” said Dr. Vance, his usually pleasant face pinched with annoyance, “I will thank you to let me know what’s best for my patient.”
“I will instead let Miss Wareham be the one to know what’s best for her, sir,” Quill said firmly. “She is surely the one who knows how laudanum has affected her in the past. Why can’t she get roaring drunk instead? I daresay it may make her feel ill too, but its aftereffects will be of a much shorter duration.”
The doctor’s expression said he thought this was a foolish notion. Yet, he was a man who knew which side his bread was buttered on.
“Very well, my lord,” he said with a supercilious sniff. “If that is how you wish to handle the matter, I shall leave you to it. I will be downstairs enjoying a cup of tea. When Miss Wareham is, as you so eloquently put it, ‘roaring drunk,’ send for me and I will clean the wound.”
“He is a good physician,” Serena said from where she sat on the other side of the bed, “but Dr. Vance can be a bit of an old woman at times.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said, reaching for Quill’s hand with her uninjured one. “I would probably have allowed him to sway me if you hadn’t intervened.”
“I doubt Serena would have let him dose you against your will,” Quill assured her, kissing her forehead gently.
“I’d have tried,” Serena said wryly, “but I suspect the good doctor is not very fond of having his wishes contravened by ladies.”
“Well, we’ve routed him regardless,” Quill said in a tone that sounded falsely cheerful, but Ivy was too distracted by the throbbing in her arm to make mention of it. “Maitland, bring the brandy if you please.”
And as if Quill had conjured him from the air, the Duke of Maitland appeared bedside, holding a decanter of amber liquid up high. “At your service, your grace,” he said, making an exaggerated leg to his cousin before handing him the liquor and a glass.
Seating himself beside her, Quill poured a generous glass of brandy and put it to Ivy’s lips. “Sip it so that you don’t choke,” he told her in a gentle tone. “There’s no rush.”
The brandy burned at first, but the trail of warmth as it slid down into her felt comforting, and soon Ivy was feeling much more the thing. “This is really quite pleasant, isn’t it?” she asked after she’d finished the first glass. She wasn’t generally one for strong spirits, but if this was how they made her feel, perhaps she should start drinking them more often.
“I think she’s well on her way,” Serena said from what to Ivy seemed like very far away, though she was sure Serena was standing only a little behind Quill.
“One more glass I think,” Quill said, giving Ivy another sip. But when Ivy felt herself hiccup, he pulled the glass away. “Or perhaps she’s had enough now.”
“I’ll go get Vance,” Maitland said.
When did he get here? Ivy wondered, her fuzzy brain trying to make sense of the scene.
“He accompanied us upstairs when I carried you inside,” Quill said patiently, as he patted her uninjured hand. Oh, that’s right, she remembered as if through a fog, I’m injured.
“Someone shot me,” she said, her voice sounding slurred to her own ears.
“They did, indeed,” Quill said, and she could tell that he was angry. Was he angry at her? She must have said the words aloud for he assured her, “No, sweet, I’m angry at whoever shot you. But you rest now. And concentrate on healing. I’ll keep you safe from danger.”
Danger. Danger. There was something in the back of Ivy’s mind trying to catch her attention. But the fog was so thick now, she couldn’t quite get to it. Danger. She could hear an old woman saying the word. And other things too. Things she needed to tell Quill. But just as soon as the thought occurred to her, it was gone again.
“Ah, I see she’s all but insensible,” Dr. Vance said from where he appeared behind Quill. “I hope this works as you think it will, Kerr, else Miss Wareham will be in a great deal of pain.”
Ivy heard the doctor as if he were speaking from a very long way away. Then she heard Quill respond, but couldn’t make out the words. Just the familiar deep rumble of his voice.
I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, she thought,… and take a little nap …
And then she knew no more.
* * *
Though Dr. Vance strongly suggested that Quill leave the room while he extracted the bits of cloth from Ivy’s wound, Quill had answered in no uncertain terms that either he remained at her side, or it was the good doctor who could leave.
Perhaps knowing when he had been bested, the physician muttered something about high-handed aristocrats, but did not further object.
Holding the hand of her uninjured arm tightly, lest she awaken and need him, Quill took up the position on the other side of the bed from the physican, and watched with grim anger as the doctor used a pair of tweezers to pluck bit after tiny bit of cloth from the oozing wound in Ivy’s upper arm. Though she flinched, and groaned in pain from time to time, she did not awaken fully, and by the time the doctor was finished, she was snoring softly.
“I know you will not believe it, as worried as you are, my lord,” Dr. Vance said as he sprinkled basilicum powder over the wound before pressing a clean bandage over it, “but this is not, as these things go, all that bad. Your lady was incredibly lucky it only struck her arm. Do you know who was out shooting today? Has anyone come forward?”
In one thing, the doctor was correct, Quill thought, staring down at Ivy’s sleeping form: he didn’t wish to hear how much worse her wound could have been. The fact that she’d been injured at all was something he would rue to the end of his days.
“It was no accident,” he told the other man with a scowl. “You know as well as I do that the hunting in this part of the county is all but nonexistent. And no one with any sense would practice his aim so close to the footpath.”
“But that’s impossible,” Dr. Vance said, his mouth opening and closing like a trout on a line. “Who would wish to harm Miss Wareham for God’s sake?”
Caution kept Quill from revealing too much of his suspicions about who had reason to wish Ivy dead. He might wish to, but now was not the time. Instead he shrugged. “I have no idea. For a sweeter, more innocent lady you’re not likely to meet.”
The doctor’s jaw clenched. “You don’t suppose whoever it was that poisoned your aunt…”
Not wanting to give the other man a hint either way, Quill shrugged. “I have no idea. But if I find out who harmed her, he will rue the day he decided to go after the woman I love.”
Swallowing in the face of the marquess’s vehemence, the doctor set about putting his instruments back into his black bag. Placing a small vial on the table, he said, “I’ll leave the laudanum just in case she has more pain that the brandy can manage.” Turning to Serena, who just returned from emptying the basin of dirty water, he said, “Keep her wound dry and clean. And make sure to use plenty of powder on it. If she begins to turn feverish, send for me at once. Make her comfortable, and don’t let her out of bed for several days at least. And give her beef broth to replenish the blood she lost.”
Despite his anger with the man, Quill said a grudging thanks as the doctor opened the door to leave. Turning, his eyes shadowed, Vance said, “I am sorry, my lord. If I could go back…” He left the unsaid words hang in the air for a moment before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.
Quill could feel Serena’s gaze on him like a tangible thing from where she stood behind him.
“Why didn’t you tell me that aunt was poisoned?” she demanded quietly. “Or that you and Ivy were trying to determine who did it?”
He did her the courtesy of not denying that he and Ivy had been looking into the matter.
“Do you recall the letter Aunt left for Ivy,” he said tightly, “the one I presume you left for her in her bedchamber that first night?”
“Yes,” Serena said, her brows drawn. “I remember it.”
“Aunt told her she suspected someone
was trying to kill her. And as it happens, she was being poisoned,” he said, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. The events of the day, the long journey back from the scene of Ivy’s shooting, were finally taking their toll now that Ivy was resting comfortably.
But Serena had just learned now why it had even happened. And she wanted answers. “Why would she tell a stranger and not one of us?” she demanded, the hurt in her voice evident even through Quill’s fatigue. “She’d never even met Ivy. And why Ivy of all the ladies?”
“I don’t know,” Quill said wearily. “Perhaps Aunt didn’t trust us to look at the thing with the necessary lack of emotion?” Though even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t fair to Ivy. She’d been affected greatly at the knowledge her benefactress had been murdered. She just hadn’t had decades of memories to go along with it. “Who knows why she did it, Serena?” he asked with a sigh. “The simple fact is that she did do it, and because Ivy didn’t quite feel she should go about investigating it alone, she told me. And here we are.”
“All this time,” Serena said with a shake of her head. “I thought the two of you were conducting a love affair. But you were merely conspiring to find who killed Aunt. And now you’ve compromised her, so you’ll have to marry her.”
That started a huff of laughter from him. “Oh, the affair is quite real,” he admitted with a weary grin. “But, yes, what initially had us putting our heads together was an attempt to discover who poisoned Aunt Celeste.”
* * *
“Ivy might have been killed,” Serena said, her voice tight with emotion. “You might have been killed.”
He could see that she was just as upset by the news as he’d feared she would be. But to her credit, her back was straight, and his cousin seemed ready to do battle.
The fact that he might have lost Ivy to a murderer today was something he wasn’t ready to think about just yet. But something he could do was reassure his cousin. “We are well. All of us. And of all people, Aunt Celeste wouldn’t have wanted us to hide ourselves away in fear. And I will do what it takes to protect Ivy and the rest of this family.”
Serena shook her head. “Stubborn man,” she said softly. “When will you learn that we can take care of ourselves?” Her eyes softened. “But we do appreciate some assistance from time to time.”
She reached out a hand to touch his arm. “I am glad you’re both alive. See that you remain that way.”
Giving her a crooked smile, he said, “I plan on it.”
She was silent for a moment as she looked at the sleeping Ivy.
Quill had leaned his head back against the headboard when Serena’s peeved voice broke through his exhaustion. “You told Dalton, didn’t you? That’s why he suddenly appeared out of nowhere.”
At his nod, she muttered a word he’d not heard her use since they’d first learned it as children from one of the grooms.
“I’m going to rip him to shreds,” she said, striding across the room to the door, the purpose in her gait spelling imminent doom for her brother.
“Don’t kill him,” Quill called after her.
“I haven’t yet,” was her tart reply. “Though lord knows he’s given me reason enough over the years.”
Quill heard the door close behind her with a snap, and giving in to the demands of his body, he closed his eyes and slept.
Chapter 26
Ivy awoke the next morning in pain. Both in her head, which informed her in no uncertain terms that it was not fond of strong drink, and her arm, which was throbbing in concert with her head.
She thought at first that she must have slept on it wrong, but that was before she felt a heavy masculine arm draped over her middle and the events of yesterday came rushing back to her. The morning light made her close her eyes again at once, but when she raised her lids more slowly, she saw Quill lying on his stomach beside her, his handsome face looking younger somehow in sleep.
His morning beard shadowed his jawline and, as if approaching a wild thing, she reached out tentatively to brush her fingers over the prickly stubble. She gasped when, without opening his eyes, he brought up his large hand to cover hers. Bringing her palm to his mouth, he kissed it.
Then, as if he too had just remembered why he was there, his eyes flew open and he scrambled into a sitting position.
“How are you?” he asked, his brow furrowed. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, but to Ivy’s mind he was looking far more handsome than he had any right to at this hour of the morning. She certainly suspected she paled in comparison. “Is your arm paining you? Were you able to sleep?”
He stood and hurried over to the other side of the bed to pour her a glass of water. “I’ll ring for some tea, shall I?” He rang the bell pull, then sat down on the edge of the bed and made as if to hold the glass to her mouth.
“Stop,” Ivy said, pushing his hand away. “I can hold it myself, Quill. I’m not incapacitated.” She tried to sit up and, despite her impatience, was grateful when he helped her by adjusting the pillows. After taking a long sip of the water, which felt like heaven on her parched tongue, she handed the glass back to him.
“Why are you here at this hour anyway?” she asked, as she watched him put the water back on the table. “Where is my maid?”
He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, only making it worse. “I stayed in here with you last night because I wasn’t convinced that a footman outside the door would be enough to keep out whoever took a shot at you yesterday.”
“And Lady Serena allowed this?” She was rather shocked since the chaperone had seemed earlier to not want to add further flames to the fire of gossip surrounding her relationship with Quill.
“I gave her no choice in the matter,” Quill said with the air of a man used to getting what he wants. “Someone tried to kill you yesterday, Ivy. I’m damned if I’ll let him make another attempt while I’m here to prevent it. Serena knows better than to cross me when I’m protecting what’s mine.”
That declaration should have set her back up, but Ivy was strangely reluctant to call his words into question when he was so intent upon keeping her safe.
“And Polly?” she asked, referring to the absent maid.
“I told her to let you sleep as long as you needed to,” he said. “I’ll ring for her if you’d like to have her take care of you while I dress.”
Since she’d very much like to relieve herself, she nodded. “I wonder if any of my gowns will work with my bandage,” she said thoughtfully as he slipped on his waistcoat and picked up his coat from where it lay draped over a chair.
“You won’t need to worry about that for a couple of days at least,” he said pulling his cuff from the sleeve.
“With the exception of a headache from the brandy I drank,” Ivy said reasonably, “I am quite well enough to go downstairs.”
His expression turned mulish. “No you are not,” he said firmly. “It’s very likely that your wound will cause a fever, and you must rest as much as possible to reserve your strength.”
“But that’s nonsense,” Ivy argued. “I see no reason on earth why I should remain cooped up in this bedchamber when I can be looking over Lady Celeste’s collection of relics and artifacts. Or looking over some of her translations. I’ve been so intent upon finding out who killed her that I’ve not spent even an entire hour in the library. Surely that is unobjectionable. It’s not as if I’ll be out combing the countryside in search of a killer.”
“It’s only nonsense if you discount the importance of your health,” he said, not looking appeased by her explanation. “You might be carrying my heir, I’ll remind you.”
If anything could have been more calculated to set her back up, Ivy could not have imagined it.
“Ah,” she said with a scowl. “I see now why you are suddenly so interested in my health. I might have known it was only because you see me as a brood mare.”
“Don’t be absurd,” he retorted mildly. “Of course I see you as much more than that, which you should kn
ow by now. I only meant to remind you that if you will not rest for your own sake you might do so for the sake of the child.” He leaned forward and kissed her, taking care to avoid touching her injured arm.
“The child we aren’t even sure exists,” Ivy said, exasperated. Though his reassurance made her feel a bit more sanguine about his admonition for her to rest, it didn’t dismiss the fact that she’d be stuck alone all day.
Standing upright, he gave a put-upon sigh. “If you must go to the library, then I suppose you must. Have one of the footmen there to fetch things for you, though. I don’t want you to make your arm worse with overuse.”
“Where will you be?” she asked. Somehow she’d hoped that he would come with her to look over the collection. Though he’d never expressed a particular interest in translation, she’d perhaps foolishly expected him to be there when she first looked at his aunt’s books. Or perhaps that was just a wish on her part to read some of the more salacious bits of poetry to him. She couldn’t be sure.
His face hardened. “I’m going to see the magistrate, who in this case is Squire Northman, about the attempt to kill you yesterday. I hold out little hope that he’ll be able to do anything to find them, but I wish to follow proper procedure in case I do find the miscreant.” He didn’t say what he’d do if he found them, but it was implied that he wanted it on the record that he’d reported the crime before he meted out his own brand of punishment for the attempt on her life.
At the mention of Northman, Ivy blanched. “Do you really wish to risk seeing Mrs. Northman again so soon?”
But if the idea bothered him, Quill didn’t let on. “I’m not ashamed of you, Ivy,” he said with a quizzical look. “If anything, the fault lies with Cassandra for being so histrionic about it. And since we are betrothed now, I don’t think it’s an issue. I doubt I’ll see her today anyway. It’s far too early in the day for her to have risen. She keeps London hours even in the country.”
Ivy wasn’t quite sure his lack of worry was warranted, but she supposed it was too late to worry about reputations—hers or his—at this point. And his dismissal of Mrs. Northman went a long way toward quieting any fears she might have had that he nursed a lingering affection for the lady.
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