“Can I help you?” Elizabeth asked, coming to her side, and Sarah nodded. Of anyone, Elizabeth was the least likely to lose her head in a traumatic situation. Sarah had no idea how she would respond to the bloody mess that could ensue, but then, if there was ever anyone she would trust to handle all that came her way, it would be Elizabeth.
Sarah located her bag, looking through it until she found what she was looking for. First, a powder she had made of Cleavers. She had trouble, at first, determining which English plants would substitute for those she had used in America, but Sarah had found enough women in London to advise her.
After convincing Lord Upwell to remove his hand from where it clutched the wound, Sarah cut off his jacket and shirt at the shoulder and tied a long piece of fabric she had ripped from a towel around the top of his arm. She then sprinkled the powder over the wound, which she hoped would staunch the bleeding. Sarah found another jar and passed it to Elizabeth.
“Give him some laudanum, will you?”
Elizabeth complied despite the man’s attempt to refuse, and he finally took a spoonful.
“Is the boiling water here?” Sarah asked, and when Elizabeth answered affirmatively, Sarah found her long instruments, which she would use to try to pinch the bullet, and placed them in the water.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked, and Sarah turned to find her friend watching her quizzically. Sarah shrugged.
“My mother always told me that anything touching the interior of the body should be put in boiling water first. She never determined exactly why, but it had been taught to her by another, who was convinced it prevented infection from settling in. To this day, I am not entirely certain, but I’m not about to test otherwise right now.”
Elizabeth seemed interested in asking more, but their patient groaned and so they turned their attention back to him. Sarah took out the long metal pincers and looked at Lord Upwell’s face to see if the laudanum had begun to take effect. She figured not entirely, but she didn’t want to wait any longer.
The bleeding had mostly stopped, thank goodness, and she dabbed at the wound with a wet towel to clean away any blood so she could see what was beneath. He gave a slight yelp at her touch, and she cringed when she brought the pincers to the arm.
She paused.
“Elizabeth, can you please ask one of the gentlemen to come in here?”
Elizabeth, though not one to typically follow orders, seemed to understand the importance of the request and she complied, coming back in moments with her husband in tow.
“What do you need?” he asked, and Sarah bit her lip for a moment in contemplation. Should she really be asking a duke to assist her in this? But, then, she supposed, Elizabeth was a duchess and Sarah hadn’t thought at all about any issues in asking her.
“Just hold him down,” Sarah said.
“Hold him down?” the Duke repeated her words as he looked down at the man for a moment as if contemplating whether or not to comply, but then Elizabeth nudged him and he braced his hands upon Lord Upwell’s shoulders.
“Here we go,” Sarah said, taking a deep breath then looked over to the Duke of Clarence, nodded, and began to search for the bullet as efficiently as she could.
Lord Upwell bucked up off the table, but Sarah breathed deeply, ignoring him for a quick moment as she found what she was looking for, pinched it, and slid it out quickly.
“You found it?” Clarence asked incredulously, and Sarah nodded. “I did.”
Sarah cleaned the wound as best she could, before bandaging the arm and sitting back to survey her work.
“I’m impressed,” Clarence said, just as the door opened and a man, who must have been the physician, walked through.
“How is he?” The physician asked, coming to the side of the bed, then saw that the wound was bandaged. “What have you done?” he asked, looking at Sarah with wide eyes.
“I’ve found the bullet and treated the wound,” she said, turning from him and beginning to clean her instruments. “He will be fine.”
“How can you be sure?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “What training have you had?”
Sarah was well aware that most physicians did not respond well to women who were practiced in healing. She understood. Their type of training was vastly different than hers, which she had learned from her mother. Hers was a knowledge passed down through generations of other women.
Sarah had full confidence in her abilities and how she had treated the man, yet how was she supposed to best share that information with the physician standing in front of her?
Before she could say anything, however, the Duke stepped forward.
“Miss Jones has done an exemplary job, Doctor,” he said. “I apologize that you have been summoned unnecessarily. If there is any reason for us to contact you once more, we certainly will do so. We will ensure you are paid well for your time.”
And with that, the Duke was escorting him from the room, and Sarah let out a long sigh as she looked over at Elizabeth and then Phoebe, who had remained by the door, surveying the scene and prepared to offer any additional assistance.
“If only people would listen to me like that,” Sarah said with a wry grin, and Elizabeth laughed.
“I would like to say it is all his title,” she said with a bit of a shrug. “But it is practiced charm as well.”
“Whatever it is, I could use some of it,” Sarah said as she lifted her bag and went out to the hall to speak with Lady Upwell about her husband’s prognosis.
*
David heard all about Sarah’s treatment of Lord Upwell’s wound, though he certainly wasn’t surprised, seeing how well she had treated his own injury. Most of the party were now much more intrigued in Miss Sarah Jones and her healing abilities—where had they come from and just how did she know how to treat Lord Upwell? For the man was out of bed and at dinner the very next day, shocking them all as he praised Sarah and her treatment of him.
The weekend at Berkley’s house had been filled with hunting, drinks, musicales, and billiards. Yet David could think of nothing other than Sarah, and the mystery of her father.
Of course, it didn’t help that everywhere he turned, there she was, just out of reach. Lady Alexander had arrived along with many of the other guests who had been invited, and the woman looked at him as though he were a jackal attempting to steal her beloved hare.
Why she cared, he had no idea. She clearly had no intention of helping Sarah beyond offering her the link to society. If Sarah mattered more to her than that, why did she not truly provide her with a home?
He attempted to work on that angle further one evening after the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room.
“Lady Alexander,” he said, taking a seat in the stiff-backed chair next to her. She always seemed to choose the most uncomfortable chair in the room, he noted. “How do you do this evening?”
“I am well,” she said, eyeing him from the side without actually turning her head toward him, as though if she ignored him he would leave her be. David, however, was far more determined than that. He pasted his most charming smile on his face—one that had won many hearts—and continued in as friendly a manner as possible.
“I am certainly glad to hear it,” he said. “Lord Berkley has a lovely home, does he not?”
“He does.”
“How do you know the family?”
“I am here, Mr. Redmond, to chaperone Miss Jones, as you well know.”
“Of course,” he said, attempting to infuse all matter of warmth into his tone. “However, your families must surely have had many connections over the years, have they not?”
“As much connection as to any other noble family, Mr. Redmond.”
David had never met an icier woman, and he wondered how Sarah spent any manner of time in her company.
“Yes, well,” he said, clearing his throat, attempting another tactic. “It is kind of you to chaperone Miss Jones.”
She finally turned her head
to look at him, and he nearly recoiled at just how icy her eyes were; how she caused a chill to creep down his spine as though melted snow was running down it.
“How did you happen to meet?”
“It seems to me that you have come to know Miss Jones well enough to ask her that yourself, have you not?”
David raised an eyebrow at the woman, who was certainly attempting to match wits against him. What he had done to garner her ire, he had no idea, but it only served to interest him all the more about Lady Alexander’s connection with Sarah. She cared enough to note the young woman’s attachment to him, yet not enough to offer her a home while she was in England?
“She mentioned that she met you shortly before coming to London, though did not provide details as to where exactly that was.”
“Then perhaps she would not like you to know.”
“Perhaps,” he said, now losing all facade of charm.
“Did you know of Miss Jones prior to meeting her?”
“I did not.”
“I can see why you would want to help her, however,” David continued. “She has quite the caring soul.”
“That she does.”
David had run out of questions to ask her. The woman had won this round, he decided.
“Well, Lady Alexander, it has been a pleasure.”
She simply looked up at him with one eyebrow raised as he stood, telling him that it was not a pleasure—for either of them—but she had enough good English breeding within her to keep her from doing so.
“Good evening, Mr. Redmond. And do take care with my charge’s reputation.”
“Of course, Lady Alexander,” he said with a true smile now. If there was one thing he was convinced of, it was to do just that. “Good evening.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sarah finished brushing out her hair and stared at her reflection in the mirror. It had been some time since she could remember her skin being so pale, her freckles so pronounced. She knew that the color of her skin, normally much darker with the sun, was not fashionable with the English, particularly the set who she was finding herself amongst. Yet if anyone had asked her, she would say that she felt rather sallow, sickly looking almost, when she was so wan.
Ah well, she thought with a shrug. Soon it would no longer matter. She moved toward the bed when a soft knock came at the door, and she padded over to see who would be here at such an hour. Her heart began to beat in a slightly irregular pattern as she had a feeling of who it might be. She should turn him away, tell him that he couldn’t be here, that she needed time alone. She cracked open the door.
“Hello.”
Her voice came out in just over a whisper, and she couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face. Only one thought entered her mind—she was losing her heart to this man.
David smiled at her in return, then slipped in through the crack in the door when she opened it a bit wider.
“I apologize,” he said immediately as she shut the door behind him. “I did not mean to force myself into your room, but nor did I wish to loiter in the hallway outside the door, in case someone should get the wrong—well, I suppose, the right—idea about us.”
She laughed then, pulling her wrapper tighter around her as she moved closer to the fire once more.
“Come sit,” she beckoned, interested in his company if nothing else.
“I’ll leave if you are tired,” he offered, but she shook her head, and they each claimed one of the matching chairs in front of the fire. As she looked over at him, Sarah’s every instinct was to sit in his lap and allow his arms to surround her and hold her close, but that, she knew, would be a mistake.
“I’m not sure that I should ever become accustomed to someone tending to my every need,” she said, nodding toward the grate, in which a servant had come in to prepare the fire for her.
“And I would have difficulty living without a valet,” he said with a bit of a rueful laugh, which then caused a moment of silence between them as they were both reminded of just what different worlds they were from.
David opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, but then closed it quickly once more. She looked at him quizzically, about to ask what was on his mind, but he began speaking before she could do so.
“What was your mother’s name?” he asked, and Sarah started slightly in surprise.
“My mother?” she asked. “What makes you ask?”
Had he found something?
“I only determined that if I am going to be looking into who your father might be, I should likely know her name.”
“Mary,” she said softly, a smile covering her face as she said it.
“Mary Jones?”
“I assume so,” Sarah said with a bit of a shrug. “Unless she changed her name upon departing England. I must admit that I have been unable to find any relation with such a name, but then, she could be from anywhere within England, and there are quite a few people with the surname of Jones.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I shall remember it.”
“Will you tell me once you learn anything?” she asked, not wanting to be left out of this quest she had been embarking on by herself for so long. She appreciated David’s help but would prefer that they work on this together, that he not simply take over from where she had left off. “Do you promise not to keep anything from me?”
For a moment she wondered if he was hesitating, but then she quickly shook the thought out of her mind as he spoke.
“Of course I will.”
“Thank you. I saw you speaking with Lady Alexander this evening,” she said, turning to him now and raising an eyebrow. She had, in fact, been quite interested in their conversation, though she had no desire to enter into it herself.
“She’s an… interesting woman,” he said, as though unsure of just how deep were Sarah’s feelings toward her.
“She can be a bit cold, I know that,” Sarah said, aware that Lady Alexander did not approve of David, and had not been shy about telling Sarah exactly how she felt. “But I owe her a great deal, and therefore cannot say anything against her.”
“Tell me again how you came to be acquainted with her,” he said, and Sarah inwardly sighed. She had no idea why this was relevant, but if it would placate him, then so be it.
“Lady Alexander and I were on the same ship to England. I was gifted a first class passenger berth, and she and I happened to be placed at the same table for dinner the first night. I didn’t share much of myself, though she was interested in who I was, and concerned that I was alone. She said that a woman such as myself should not be sailing across the Atlantic Ocean without a proper chaperone. She had a maid with her, but besides that, she was alone as well. She suggested that we keep one another company for the remainder of the journey. By the time we arrived in England, I had shared with her much of my story, and she offered to chaperone me as I searched for my father.”
David nodded as she spoke.
“I must admit that I am having difficulty equating the woman you describe with the one with whom I spoke tonight, but perhaps you bring out her better side,” he said with a forced smile, and Sarah shook her head slightly.
“That is kind of you to say,” she said, looking down, unable to meet the brilliant green of his eyes, which always drew her in and made her forget all thought. She had a difficult time accepting such praise of her character, for she saw no reason why he should feel the need to compliment her so. Was he playing a game with her?
“You are an astounding woman, Sarah Jones,” David said, planting his feet firmly on the floor and leaning over to cup her face in his hands. “I am a better person to know you.”
Warmth crept up her cheeks that had nothing to do with her proximity to the fire in front of her.
“I do not require your lines, David,” she said, biting her lip, and he ran his thumb over where her tooth left an indentation in the pink flesh.
“There are no lines with you, Sarah,” he said. “Just truth.”
She splayed her hands across his chest over that awful gold wrapper, allowing her gaze to follow her fingers rather than focus on his face, where she knew she would become lost. She slipped her hands within the lapels of the wrapper, shocked when her fingers found bare skin.
“No nightshirt?” she murmured, and he shook his head.
“I sleep without.”
“Of course you do.”
Despite the fact that they had been together before, that she had seen more of him than she had any other man, her heart was beating furiously. She had made a mistake once. Why was she doing so again?
Because her heart wanted nothing more than to be close to David, to be with him again. A place where she felt warm, safe, and loved. As much as her mind told her it would be wrong, her heart, her body, and her soul were crying out that this was not a mistake at all, but where she was supposed to be.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she said, not realizing until afterward that she had spoken the words aloud, and he caught her hands within his.
“Then I will leave you,” he said without any hesitation. “I apologize. I simply… wanted to see you.”
He brought his hands around her waist as though to lift her from him, but she stopped him, covering them with her own.
“We shouldn’t. But I want to.”
Then she leaned down, cupped his face within her hands, and kissed him.
She could feel stubble beneath her fingertips, so masculine, and yet, in a strange way, causing him to seem somewhat vulnerable.
Lady of Charade Page 14