Ellie reached under the thick glasses, wiped her eyes, and tried to control her emotions.
“Would you mind letting me lift your skirt to see that cut?” Hugh asked.
A blood-soaked tear on her white slip appeared. He pulled the fabric away from the wound. “That’s a nasty puncture. We need to get that cleaned right away.”
The groom hovered over her, studying the cut and her ankle at the same time. “Me cousin Porgie got a poke like that. Took him away in a few months, it did. All full of pus and such like. Ugly as sin.”
“Why don’t you run up to the house and ask for Miss Ellie’s sisters to come down,” Hugh told him sharply. “Stories of dying relatives are less helpful than you might imagine.”
“Right then, my lord,” the groom said, backing like an oversized bear from the tack room.
As soon as he’d gone, Hugh rooted about in a basket of grooming brushes and excavated a pair of scissors. “There’s a bit of your slip still in the wound. I’m going to cut it.”
“Oh, my beautiful slip,” Ellie said.
“I’ll do it nice and clean so it can be sewn back, how’s that?”
“Very kind of you, Lord Davenport.”
“Yes, well … ” He bent down and began snipping.
Overcome with a need to redeem herself, Ellie blurted, “I’m actually an excellent rider. I almost never fall off.”
“I see,” he said, still cutting.
Did his voice just get a little colder? “I’ve ridden my entire life. It’s just the horse shifted its weight and … ”
“It doesn’t matter. We all have our moments.”
“That’s exactly right. And this was really a fluke.”
“Of course it was.”
Why did she feel like the more she talked the less he believed her? “Lord Davenport, I really, honestly am a good rider. Some say an excellent rider, and I do love horses.”
Hugh stood and stepped away from her, the bloody cloth hanging from his hand. She smiled her most dazzling smile. His eyes narrowed. “I understand,” he said, growing more remote, his voice getting increasingly distant with each syllable. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if the groom is coming down the path with your sisters. I’m afraid to pry in the wound. Miss Claire, I hear, is a better candidate for that job.”
“Yes,” Ellie said, miserably. “She’s a good doctor.”
• • •
Chase Hart dashed into the library as soon as he heard the front door close. With the household at Ellie’s side in the barn he could get the pearl necklace. The strand didn’t belong to Aurelia, he reminded himself. And since she planned to use it for his — their — escape to America, it was as much his property as hers.
Shoving the key into the slot, Chase wiggled it, listening for the click of the catch releasing. The library door creaked open. In walked Sport. The spaniel wagged his tail, then sniffed and stopped. He trotted to the desk and smelled Chase’s boot. “Stupid dog,” Chase mumbled as he tried to push Sport away. “Out.” The spaniel didn’t budge.
Sport circled Chase, a ridge of fur rising at the back of the dog’s neck. “Leave me alone,” Chase commanded. He yanked the drawer open, and his jaw dropped in disbelief. The drawer wasn’t empty — it didn’t exist. He could see the floor through the empty frame. Sport came into view, an aggressive gleam in his eyes.
Chase took a cautious step back from the desk just as Lady Davenport threw open the door. She looked at him and a smile of understanding crossed her lips. She turned her back and trilled, “Bring Miss Ellie in here. We’ll lay her on the window seat.”
The library filled with houseguests, led by Flavian Monroe who carried Ellie in his arms. Claire and Peggity rushed to arrange the pillows on the window seat. Claire piled them for Ellie’s head. Peggity insisted Ellie needed support under her knees. Ellie tried to convince Peggity to go along with Claire’s plans while the groom, Rosemarie Philapot, George and Hester Pitt, Poultney, and Algie chattered about the hazards of riding horses.
Standing outside the agitated circle, Hugh fixed Ellie with a look of disgust.
Lady Davenport bent over Ellie, resting the tips of her breasts on the girl’s chest. “My dear, remain calm,” she said. She flicked her hand at the groom. “You — get Sally Hawthorne to boil water and bring clean linen for a poultice.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” the groom said, “but I got no idea who Sally Hawthorne is nor where to fetch her. I’m just a barn man.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, then what are you doing here?”
“I come to help the young lady,” he said defensively.
“Well, that was useless of you with all these people around. Out! Go move some straw.”
The groom didn’t wait for further instruction. He dashed from the room.
Truss, the Davenports’ butler, stood primly by the door until his mistress acknowledged him. Clearing his throat, he announced, “My lady, I’ll ask Mrs. Hawthorne to prepare for the patient.”
“Also, ask her if she has any rotten fruit in the larder,” Claire said. “Particularly, oranges with mold on them.”
The butler raised one brow a fraction of an inch, nodded, pivoted on his heel, and closed the door behind him.
As the others fussed over Ellie, Lady Davenport caught Chase’s eye. He’d remained hovering by the desk. She extracted herself from the clustered guests and sidled over to him.
Chase fought an impulse to run — her breasts were like twin cannons on a frigate.
“You’ve discovered my little secret,” she whispered.
“Where did you put the necklace?”
“Don’t be upset, my darling. I had to put it in a safe place. The guests are into everything. Who knows what they’ll find.”
“Let me see it.”
“Come to my room,” she said, running a manicured finger along the edge of her bodice.
Chase glared at Lady Davenport’s duel mounds of flesh. “I need you to get Lord and Lady Albright here as soon as possible,” he said under his breath. “This is the perfect time. Invite them to a dinner Friday night. Tell them Miss Ellie would appreciate the care of her mother.”
He grabbed a handsome, leather-bound volume from one of the library’s shelves. “Lure Lord Albright here with Ibn Wahshiyah’s volume on ancient writing systems,” he whispered, shoving the book into her hands. “Write down the title Devotee’s Yearning to Understand the Symbols of Pens. He’ll come.”
She stepped back. “Darling, there’s no need to go through with Baron Wadsworth’s plan now. The necklace will fetch us a pretty penny and all our dreams will come true.”
“Yes, but you’ve hidden the pearls from me, haven’t you?”
“As I said, I’ll show you the necklace in a way that will make your blood scream.”
“Don’t be a whore, Aurelia,” Chase snapped. “I’ll come to your chambers the night the Albright family is here, not before. If you love me, you’ll help me buy my freedom.”
Hurt filled her eyes, and she moved swiftly away. Chase caught her arm and led her back to the desk where he held her shoulders and forcibly pushed her into the chair. Worried the crowd would take notice, she did not resist.
Handing her a sheet of notepaper, Chase dipped a quill in the ink well. “Tell the Albrights to come,” he instructed. “Add that Miss Ellie has taken a fall from a horse, and while not seriously injured, would appreciate her mother’s presence as she recovers.”
When Lady Davenport completed the note, Chase dusted it, put it in an envelope, and watched her stamp it with her personal seal. Then he patted her on the back and tucked the note in his jacket pocket.
Subtly, they returned to the huddle of people watching Claire wash bits of dirt and grit from Ellie’s puncture wound.
“
That’s the way to operate,” Chase said. “Dig deep and wrest the thing that festers. It’s the only way to keep infection from spreading.”
• • •
When Claire finished bandaging the wound with a mixture of mold from an overripe orange, she gave Ellie a cup of bitter tea. “It will make you feel better,” she explained.
“Would you mind if I stay in the library and read?” Ellie asked Hugh.
“That would be fine,” he replied.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your room upstairs?” Peggity interjected.
Ellie put her hand to her throat, subtly miming a necklace. “Actually, I find it suitable right here.”
“Nonsense,” Peggity said, reaching to pull Ellie from the window seat. Claire intervened, stepping on Peggity’s foot.
“Ouch!”
“This is a lovely spot for Ellie to recover. She’ll have solitude and the comfort of so many fine books all around her.”
“Oh,” Peggity said, a look of understanding rising in her eyes. “Yes, you need lots of solitude. Here, read this.” She grabbed the nearest book, a dictionary, and dumped it in Ellie’s lap.
“I’ll send the butler shortly,” Hugh said. “You may ask him for anything you need.”
“You are very kind, Lord Davenport,” Ellie said. “Thank you for being so solicitous.”
“It’s nothing.” He executed a formal bow and left the room. Claire herded the other guests out.
Ellie waited for the butler to appear. She explained she had everything for a pleasant afternoon, except for the “peace and quiet I so crave.”
Truss nodded. “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”
The moment the servant left she limped to the cushioned chair and searched every inch of it again. The necklace must be here, she thought, flipping the seat. Nothing.
Securing the glasses to her nose and hiking her riding habit, she dropped to her knees and searched the cracks in the floor.
The door creaked and Hugh entered.
“May I assist you?” he asked.
Ellie scrambled to her feet, moving so fast she clunked her head against the back of the cushioned chair. “I was just searching for a good book. Have you read anything of interest lately?”
As her cheeks grew hot, Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “What a fascinating place to seek a volume,” he said. “Do you always approach a library from the bottom up?”
“Actually, I do. One finds so many forgotten gems on the lower shelves.”
He grimaced and went to the desk. Lifting a book from a neat stack, he said, “Perhaps you’d enjoy Guy Mannering. It was published in February and has caught the attention of the literary salons in London.” He held up the book for Ellie to see.
“Oh yes, I’ve heard of it. By the mysterious author of Waverley, so they say.”
“Sir Walter Scott wrote it.”
“The poet?”
“Only a few people are aware that Walter Scott has turned to novel writing to rescue a pinched purse.”
“I’m sorry for him,” she said, taking the book and examining it. “It must be awful to want for money like that. Thank goodness my Papa is fairly flush in the pockets.”
“Ahh, that is a blessing,” Hugh said. “So he’s selling your horses on a lark.” She caught him rolling his eyes as he returned to the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to fetch my pipe.”
Insufferable indoor monster, she thought, clutching the book to her chest as she limped back to the window seat.
Flipping a few pages of Guy Mannering, she decided to distract him from her family’s fortunes. “Books are my Achilles’ heel,” she said. “I’m such a reader — it’s destroyed my eyes.”
He paused in the search for his pipe. “Yes, I meant to ask you about that. You weren’t wearing spectacles at the Mortimers’.”
“We didn’t know I had this eye condition at the time.”
Hugh approached, looming over her as she sat on the window seat. “Condition?” he said.
“It’s ocular … titus. The doctor’s very worried. Apparently, I might go blind.”
“Oculartitus, did you say? How unfortunate.” He paused. “Before they lose the luster of sight, I’d like to see your eyes again unfettered by spectacles.”
Fear stiffened her limbs. “It’s a rare disease. I’ll probably be over it soon, then you can look into my eyes all you’d like.”
“Just a peek now,” he said. With a lift of his hand, he gestured for her to remove the eyewear.
Ellie raised her hands to either side of her head and touched the smooth tortoise shell frame. “We shouldn’t be alone in a room together,” she blurted, lowering her hands to her lap.
“If you’re stripped of your spectacles, will you consider yourself defiled?”
She bit her lip. “Of course not.”
“Well then … ” His hand gestured up, up, while his eyes never left her face.
Ellie lowered her head until it was nearly in her lap and slowly unhooked the temples from behind her ears.
“Here we are!” cried Lady Davenport, barging through the door. “Dr. Goddard traveled all this way to see you.”
Shoving the glasses back in place, Ellie had never been so relieved to see Lady Davenport in her life.
The doctor entered the library behind her ladyship, black eyes blazing under a mop of gray hair. “If I could have a moment alone with the young lady, please.”
“Of course,” Lady Davenport cried. “Come, darling, you’ll have to drag yourself from Miss Ellie’s side and leave the doctor to his ministrations.”
“Let me know if you need anything, Doctor,” Hugh said, backing away from the window seat.
“I need something,” Ellie said. “Please fetch Claire.”
“Actually, Lord Davenport, I may need you to keep the patient in place.”
“I’d be delighted,” Hugh said, a smile dancing on the edge of his lips.
“My sister Claire has training in the medical arts, Doctor. I’m sure she’s better suited to helping you.”
Doctor Goddard patted her arm. “Medical assistance is not required. Physical strength is what’s needed. Now, may I see the wound, please?”
“But it’s on my ankle — surely it’s improper for Lord Davenport to view such an intimate part of my body.”
“Why?” said Hugh. “You let me bandage your ankle in the barn.”
She didn’t like the gleam in Hugh’s eye. He looked too pleased with the situation.
She lifted her skirt, the doctor examined the bandage at her ankle, and went to his black bag, removing an ivory-handled knife. Ellie tucked her dress around the ankle. “I’d rather you didn’t use that,” she said.
“Now, now — a good bloodletting will put you back in order,” Dr. Goddard said. “Take her other arm, please, Lord Davenport.”
“Stop!” she screamed, scrambling off the window seat. “Claire!”
Hugh blocked the door, so she bolted to the far side of the library, keeping the massive desk between her and the two men.
“It appears Miss Ellie would rather not be cut,” said Hugh, barely suppressing a laugh.
“She may not want to be, but all of medical science says she must, or her wound will not heal properly,” Dr. Goddard said, walking swiftly toward her. She scooted to the far side of the desk. “Come here and be reasonable. Once the cut is made, the procedure is quite pain free.”
“But my sister already took care of me. She always takes care of me, and my cuts and scrapes heal … ” A powerful hand closed around her upper arm. “Help!”
“Got her,” said Hugh. “Where do you want her, Doctor Goddard?”
“You let go of me this instant,” Ellie struggled in his grasp.
�
��Shall I lay her out on the window seat, or maybe we could strap her down on top of the desk?”
“Confine her in any chair,” the doctor said, approaching with the glinting blade.
“No!” Ellie wriggled desperately, finally sitting on the floor and dangling from Hugh’s grasp with one arm while gripping the carpet with her other hand.
“She doesn’t seem to appreciate your healing expertise, Doctor,” Hugh said.
“Silly wench.” Dr. Goddard shook his head with disapproval. “This is not the way to behave when a professional offers treatment.”
“Thank you, but I feel my sister has already taken good care of me.”
“Doctor, I could sling her over my shoulder and lock her in a closet until she comes to her senses?”
“That hardly seems necessary.”
“Well, clearly she’s not willing to submit to treatment,” said Hugh, looking thoroughly amused. “If she feels she can live without cutting, let her suffer under that illusion until we need to call you back to the house, eh?”
“Nay, blooding in cases such as these … ”
Hugh reached into his pocket and pulled out a well fed purse. “I’m going to pay you for all your trouble,” he said, letting go of Ellie’s arm. She scrambled to her feet and dashed to the safety of the door. “Perhaps you’ll join me for a glass of claret, Doctor. It’s an excellent vintage. Imported from France.”
“France, you say?”
“The very same.”
“Not from Bordeaux by any chance?”
“I believe it is.”
The doctor smiled. “Ay, we’ll let the foolish filly have her head, for now.”
Hugh fixed a stern look on her. “You may go now to your sister.”
Trembling with outrage, Ellie limped from the library.
Chapter Nine
In the gray morning light, nearly an hour before their usual practice time, Ellie galloped Manifesto over the mocked-up Haldon Race course.
As the finish line flashed under Manifesto’s hooves, she heard Hugh shouting, “Toby, pull up. Pull up!” Between Hugh’s behavior in the haymow and his performance in the library, she was in no mood to talk to him, but there was no logical place to go, no excuse she could think of to avoid him.
Time After Time Page 14