“I understand you are here on urgent business. My butler said the telegram that arrived announced a family emergency, but it was addressed to my cousin so I sent it to Lady Varney’s home with a footman this afternoon.”
“Miss Cross is at this Lady Varney’s home?”
“Yes. She is the great-aunt and confidante of Sir Octavian Feathercote.”
He couldn’t care less. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I must see Miss Cross. I promised her brother I would return her to London.”
“Who is ill, Lord Judah?”
“Captain Shield,” he corrected. “It is her brother, Manfred. George Cross told me that Manfred’s fever is dangerously high.”
“Has a doctor been to see him?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is unlikely to be the imaginings of a drunkard,” Lady Bricker murmured. “Hopefully my cousin read the telegram. For now, I have instructed the housekeeper to air a guest room for you.”
“I need to go to Lady Varney’s.” He wanted to ask if Magdalene had become engaged. It was not a polite question, but this was Lady Bricker, after all.
“Not tonight. It is too late. It is snowing heavily, and there is no train until morning. I shall instruct the housekeeper to send a footman at the crack of dawn, and have Miss Cross delivered here before the morning train.”
“She will want the news.”
“As she can do nothing tonight, it is best to leave her in ignorance, I think. After all, she has already received the message to pack. I am sorry I am not good company.” She went even paler, and covered her mouth.
Judah leapt to his feet and shoved his empty plate under her chin. When she grabbed it, he ran for the bellpull. He hovered over her shoulder while she retched, daring to spread a cloth napkin over her gown when it was needed.
A maid rushed into the room, and seeing what was transpiring, said, “I’ll fetch a basin, my lord.”
Soon, the housekeeper arrived, and a footman. The soiled articles were cleared away and Lady Bricker was helped to her feet.
“I am so sorry I took you from your bed,” Judah called, regretful that he had learned no details about Magdalene.
“I am like this all the time,” she said mournfully. “You can see why my cousin could not stay here.”
A few minutes later, the housekeeper returned and led Judah to a bedroom overlooking the front door. He peered out the window as a maid ran a warming pan over his sheets. The snow was coming down hard. He could see there really was nothing to do but go to bed. Insisting a footman go out in that weather to deliver a note would accomplish nothing.
As a soldier, he had trained himself to have an internal clock and he woke at about six, to a cold, pitch black room. He changed into his spare clothing and packed his few belongings, then looked out the window. It had not kept snowing all night. While there was snow on the ground, it was hardly blizzard conditions.
He took his valise in hand and went downstairs. A footman saw him and directed him into the dining room.
“I am sorry, my lord,” the housekeeper said, coming in. “We do not keep early hours in this household, but I shall bring you eggs, toast, and tea right away.”
“Has a footman gone to Lady Varney’s home?”
“Yes, half an hour ago. He was to suggest they send Miss Cross and a maid in a carriage here, then you could go to the train station together.”
“When do you think they will come?”
“In an hour, I believe.”
Judah ate his breakfast, then was allowed into the library where he passed the time looking at the viscount’s collection. He had a goodly amount of volumes about the natural history of this part of the country, but little else. So, he settled himself with the papers until he heard bustling and voices in the hall.
He opened the door and stepped out. Magdalene stood there, dressed in her same shabby black coat and crepe-covered bonnet. He thought she’d lost a little weight, and she had circles under her eyes, but she was still the most beautiful sight he’d ever set his eyes upon.
Blood drained from her cold-stung cheeks when she saw him. “Captain Shield! What is the meaning of this?”
“It is Manfred. George sent me for you. Will you come?” He held his breath, wondering if she would turn him down in favor of staying here in her new surroundings. Given the weather, she had every reason to refuse to travel.
Her gloved hands went to her mouth. “Manfred? What has happened?”
“A high fever. Mrs. Gortimer has been caring for him, I believe, and a doctor.”
“Is he at risk?” she whispered.
“George believed so. I said I would come.”
Her hands shook as they lowered to her waist. “You should be at Redcake’s. And since you are not, I must infer the seriousness of the matter.”
“I have not seen Manfred myself,” he admitted.
“Nor should you, or you could infect half the ladies in London through the tea shop,” she declared. “Are you ready to leave? We should go to the station immediately. It is slow going out there.”
A footman brought his coat and other possessions and they were back out the door into the black winter morning within a couple of minutes. They reached the train station with acceptable speed, but at that point all seemed to slow to a pre-coming-of-the-railway level. The snow started again, keeping the skies leaden and the tracks dangerous.
Magdalene woke as the train jerked to a stop. She glanced around, blinking, only half aware of where she was. “Are we in London yet?” She reached out a hand and brushed Captain Shield’s knee, then snatched it back.
After insisting the maid return to Lady Varney’s home since she was developing an illness that Magdalene could not afford to have, she had put herself at the captain’s mercy. But, any fantasy she might have had, that he’d come to whisk her away, to seduce her from the life she was so close to accepting, had vanished since he’d scarcely said a word to her.
“We have only been on the train for four hours.”
“Oh. Where does that put us? Leicester?”
“We have only made it to Doncaster. I just saw the sign.”
“Doncaster? But that is less than fifty miles or so from Harrogate.”
“Quite.” The captain’s voice was clipped. “We have been traveling at a snail’s pace due to the snow.”
A conductor opened the door of the compartment. “I am afraid there is too much snow on the tracks to continue, ladies and gentlemen. We are only a five-minute walk from Doncaster proper. I would suggest you look for accommodations in town.”
“There is too much snow for the train, but you expect us to walk to town?” Captain Shield asked. “What about the women?”
“The truly heavy snows are about ten miles south of here. I do not think you should have trouble walking to town. But I would not dally.” His speech was lent charm by his Yorkshire accent, but the words were no less alarming for the charm.
“Should we hire a carriage?” Magdalene asked. “I need to get to Manfred.”
“Better to wait for the train,” the captain said. “We’ve days to travel by carriage and only hours by rail. Come, let us find an inn before all the rooms are full.”
She took his arm, feeling the muscles bunch, even under the thick wool of his greatcoat. He still had his valise, but she only had her reticule. The stationmaster promised all the baggage would be kept under lock and key. They hurried along with the crowd. Many dashed into the first inn they came across.
“Let us keep going,” Judah suggested, passing by the inn. Next came a row of shops. One caught Magdalene’s eye.
“Wait,” she said, tugging on his arm. “Can we go into the telegraph office and send a telegram to George? I do not want them to worry and he can send word back to us in care of the office.”
“Very well,” he said, allowing her to pull him into the building.
Quickly, she wrote out a note and Captain Shield gave it to the operator and paid for it. Within five minute
s, she also had directions to all the inns in town, which she thought was adequate recompense for the stop.
“Let us go to the inn two streets over. That is least likely to be overrun by the passengers.” She took his arm again and they moved as quickly as possible through the steadily drifting snow.
Unfortunately, street traffic was heavy and when they entered the inn they discovered it was full.
“I am Lord Judah Shield,” the captain said.
Magdalene jerked her head in his direction. He was using his aristocratic title instead of his military one? He must be worried.
“And this is my wife.”
Magdalene froze. No, he wasn’t stubbornly declaring ownership despite her rejection of him; he was trying to give her higher status in order to find her a bed for the night.
“I am truly sorry, my lord. The only accommodations we have are stalls in the stable. Ideal for a bachelor of low birth, but certainly not you or your wife.”
“Any suggestions for us? We are stranded by the train and I would imagine the other two inns are full by now.”
“There is a boarding house behind us, my lord. We share the alley. I would try there, or Mrs. Miller’s house on that same street. She is a widow who takes in the occasional boarder as well.”
“Thank you.” Captain Shield tugged Magdalene’s arm and pulled her out of the lobby.
She was mortified. “We shouldn’t have stopped. I’m so sorry.”
“Do not trouble yourself. It is completely understandable that your brother would be paramount in your thoughts.”
“You have gone to so much trouble for us. Why, Captain Shield?”
“Call me Judah,” he said, pulling her closely against his body as they crossed the alley and walked through a snowy side yard. “We are husband and wife in Doncaster.”
Little did he know he’d rescued her from having to give Sir Octavian her answer this morning. The mere thought of the word “wife” was enough to give her a megrim. Why wasn’t she excited to receive the proposal? She would be Lady Feathercote, a high-ranking member of local Society.
Perhaps it was because she knew she would never outrank Lady Varney, or Lady Bricker, two extremely strong personalities. It had never troubled her before to not be at the top, as long as she was a part of Society, but at least as a Scandalous Cross she had stood apart, part of a tribe with a very specific identity, rather than a colorless younger member of a local family.
“Here we are,” Judah said, pointing to the sign in the window of a large house.
They were turned away here too, all the rooms having been filled. They walked down the block, feet leaving tracks in the snow.
“This will be Mrs. Miller’s,” Judah said.
The house looked very small. “We may end up sleeping at the train station,” Magdalene said. Her voice sounded hollow in the snow-dampened air.
“Chin up,” Judah said, tugging her up the steps. He tapped the door knocker on the plate and a couple of minutes later, the door opened to show a robust lady in her late fifties.
“Mrs. Miller?” Judah asked. “The innkeeper at the Doncaster Arms said you might have a room. I am Lord Judah Shield and my wife and I have been stranded by the weather.”
“Is that all the luggage you have?”
“The rest is at the station.”
She clucked. “Come in, then. I do have a small room with a double bed. Not what you quality are used to, but I’m sure young people like you can make do for a night or two.”
Magdalene turned to Judah. He caught her look of horror and raised an eyebrow, then squeezed her shoulder. The warning was obvious. Say nothing or we’ll be sleeping at the station.
“You are most kind,” Judah said.
“I expected guests what with the weather today, so the room is ready. Would you like to dine first? I have some fresh bread and stew. Normally I would not offer food this early in the day, you understand, but I am sure it has been a trying day for you both.”
“Thank you,” Magdalene said. “But I think I would rather go to our room.”
Judah’s expression remained distant as Mrs. Miller expressed surprise. “Oh dear, my lady, you must be soaked through. Come upstairs then. I hope your husband has a change of clothes for you in that bag.”
Of course, he had nothing of the kind, but not five minutes later she and her false husband were ensconced in a room in the back of the house. Mrs. Miller had the fire going, though she assured them that this was the warmest room of the house, because it was over the kitchen.
“I’ll have to charge extra for the coal, of course. We do not usually have fires in the bedrooms, but on a day like today it seems necessary.”
“You are too kind,” Judah said, pressing shillings into the lady’s hand and gently maneuvering her to the door.
“We are lucky there is a fireplace,” Magdalene said, a little faint at the idea of being alone with him in a bedroom. She had certainly joined the ranks of the Scandalous Cross women today.
“You’re shivering,” Judah said, pulling the one armchair in the room directly in front of the fire.
“I don’t have anything to change into.” Nor was there a screen she could change behind if she had anything.
“You can wear my nightshirt,” he said. “Take your shoes and stockings off. We can get those dry easily enough.”
“Captain! You are talking about my garments.”
“Judah,” he corrected. “You cannot afford to become ill. You will be nursing your brother soon.”
“We should go back to the telegraph desk,” she said. “My brother may have written back.”
“He told me he had no money for telegrams,” Judah countered.
“Manfred always has a few shillings to spare,” she said. “Unless George has found it and spent it on claret.”
“He was sober when he came to Redcake’s. But I didn’t give him any money, mindful of what you’ve said.”
“You keep being forced into my family’s business. I am sorry for that.”
“I love you,” he said, kneeling at the side of the armchair. “I have not stopped loving you, even though you rejected me and left me.”
“Oh, Judah,” she whispered. Why wouldn’t he let her go? Why couldn’t she do the same? She should have accepted Lord Octavian’s proposal instantly.
“Are you engaged to the baronet?” he asked.
She dropped her head into her hand and rubbed her forehead. “No.”
He made a noise, but she couldn’t quite interpret it. She squeaked though, when she found his hands above her knees, expertly removing her garters and rolling down her stockings. No man had ever touched her thighs. Her flesh heated where his fingers landed.
“Your shoes are soaked,” he said, working at the stiff leather. “And your legs are like ice blocks.”
“Kindly do not discuss my limbs,” she said, wishing his hands were on her thighs again. She felt like a damsel in distress with a knight worshipping at her feet.
“Then let us discuss the baronet. Has he not come up to snuff, or have you rejected him?”
She gritted her teeth as he pulled her wet stockings off her feet, then began to massage her toes. Should she push him away or run? Or stay . . . ? But the feelings his touch provoked could bring about madness. She could feel the sensations evoked traveling up her cold calves. As each stroke of his fingers warmed her, it sent sparks of heat into places they had no business going. Her belly, her breasts, even between her legs. Even her lips felt puffy and hot. No unmarried woman should be put in this position. She was not made of stern stuff where he was concerned.
“Magdalene?”
“Neither,” she said. “He proposed, but kindly gave me time to think it over. Then you came, before my deadline.”
“Deadline. What a romantic way to consider a proposal.” His warm hands closed around her heels.
She pulled her feet away. “They are quite warm now. You must be soaked.”
“Good point.” He
sat on the floor and calmly removed his own shoes and socks, then put both sets of footwear and stockings on the screen in front of the fire. His toes were long and elegant, but pale with cold.
“Your lower attire is soaked as well,” she remarked, amazed by her own daring. She should not have looked.
“I’ll take off my trousers if you take off your petticoat and dress. They are equally damp.”
Before she could think up a reply, there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Miller came in, balancing a tea tray.
“I thought you might like this,” she said cheerfully, setting it down on the trunk at the foot of the small bed.
Magdalene tucked her feet into her dress as Judah jumped up to shield her. “Thank you, Mrs. Miller. I believe my wife would like to rest now.”
Mrs. Miller looked her over, as if to assess if she had a reason to be tired. Magdalene let her hands creep over her flat belly. If it gave them some privacy it was worth the deception.
“Of course,” said the lady knowingly. “Dinner will be at seven. We gather in the parlor for a scripture reading at a quarter to the hour.”
“Excellent,” Judah said, rubbing his hands together.
Magdalene stared at the teapot while he moved the woman out of the room.
“No lock,” Judah reported. “I would wish for a spare chair to hook under the doorknob.”
“She will not interrupt us again. She thinks I am with child,” Magdalene told him.
Judah shook his head. “We are getting ahead of ourselves. Now, as to your engagement. Are you going to accept? Were you going to accept?”
“It matters little now. I cannot respond to him by letter or telegram. It shall have to wait until Manfred is recovered.”
“What about me? Is it too brazen for me to suggest that, if you had no feelings for me, you might have found it easier to accept the man with alacrity?”
“Pour me a cup of tea, will you?” Magdalene asked.
“If it gives you time to think.” His voice dropped into a seductive register.
She shivered, listening to the sound of the tea and cream being poured into a cup. Such quiet, domestic sounds. Outside the room it was silent, as if they were cast on a mighty ocean all by themselves. The stillness pressed in on her, just like her slimy cold garments. In that moment, she could take it no more, and began to unbutton the front of her dress. He took a flask from his pocket and doctored her tea.
One Taste of Scandal Page 26