No Ordinary Groom

by Gayle Callen

  When Will returned to Jane’s room, he found her lying off the edge of the bed, vomiting into the chamber pot. He caught her shoulders and held the hair off her face. When she finally lay back on the bed, he was alarmed by her pallor and the sheen of sweat on her skin.

  He rinsed out the cloth and washed her face, but this time she didn’t smile.

  “Jane?” he said softly.

  Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open.

  “Jane?” He shook her.

  “I’m awake,” she murmured.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Didn’t I just embarrass myself by showing you?”

  He smiled and tried to relax. “My head is still aching. How about yours?”

  She nodded and frowned, and he knew that motion hurt her. Though she protested, he helped her change into a nightdress, knowing that she might be embarrassed to be seen naked in bed, even by a doctor. Then he pulled a chair up, sat down, and reached for her hand.

  “So what shall we talk about?” he asked.

  “You talk; I’ll listen. Tell me about India.”

  For an hour he described his journeys through Asia, what the landscape looked like, how the people lived. Half the time he thought she was asleep, but whenever he asked her a direct question, she answered.

  Finally the doctor arrived. Dr. Plum was a short, round man wearing spectacles, with an air of confidence that Will liked. Will explained the situation, and then the doctor sent him away.

  Barlow met him in the corridor, and together they entered Will’s room to wait. Killer greeted them joyously. When Barlow offered to take him outside, Will gave him a tired smile.

  “I must look a sight for you to offer to watch Killer.”

  “The dog is not so bad,” Barlow said, and Killer happily trotted out the door at his feet.

  Will could only pace. It felt like forever until the doctor finally came for them. Dr. Plum looked the two men over briefly, but it was obvious they were on the mend. He was more cautious about Jane’s prognosis. She had not been able to keep down the medicine. If the vomiting continued for any length of time, it would not be good for her. He could only promise to return the next morning to check on her.

  After paying Dr. Plum and sending Barlow off to find Nick, Will quickly returned to Jane’s room. She appeared to be asleep, which the doctor had said could make her stronger.

  So he began the longest vigil of his life. For hours he sat at her side, giving her water to sip when she briefly stirred, only to watch her throw it up.

  By evening she was no longer talking to him, and by midnight he had stopped trying to awaken her. The doctor had said sleep could help—at least she wasn’t vomiting anymore.

  Before dawn, every quarter of an hour Will was reduced to making sure she was breathing. She seemed so still, so deathlike in her pallor. When was the doctor going to arrive?

  He leaned his elbows on her bed, clutched her cool hand between his, and stared at her face. He tried to imagine a lifetime without her, and his future yawned like a black chasm he couldn’t bear to face.

  What good were a land and a house without Jane? He didn’t want to marry anyone else. He loved her—if he didn’t he wouldn’t be feeling this pain that closed up his throat and made his eyes blind with tears. He kissed her fingers, pressed his mouth into her palm, and prayed like he never had before. If she died, he had no one but himself to blame.

  He heard a quiet knock on the door. Wiping his forearm across his eyes, he went to answer it. Nick stood there, wearing a grin that was wolfish with satisfaction.

  “I take it everything went well,” Will said tiredly, stepping back for Nick to enter.

  Nick came up short when he saw Jane asleep in the bed. “Is she doing better? Should we step outside to talk?”

  “I’d rather stay here,” Will answered, taking his customary seat beside Jane. He lifted her hand again and tried not to show that he was feeling for her pulse.

  But Nick’s somber expression told him he’d seen everything. “She’s no better?”

  Will shrugged, holding onto a feigned calmness, barely keeping his panic at bay. “She’s been unconscious since last night. The doctor said it would help her to sleep.”

  Nick nodded and began to pace with a restless energy that Will well remembered in him.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” Will said mildly. “Did you catch the bitch?”

  Nick’s dark brows rose. “Unusually harsh for you.”

  Will glanced at Jane. “I’m not feeling particularly charitable today.”

  Consciousness came slowly to Jane, and since it hurt too much to move, she didn’t. But she could hear well enough, and she allowed herself to just float, content to be feeling the slightest bit better. She listened to the two men talk, knowing that her own decisions still waited, and she didn’t want to face them.

  “We have Julia in custody,” Nick finally said in a grim voice.

  Jane was surprised he wasn’t more triumphant.

  “Did she go to her accomplice, as you thought she would?” Will asked.

  “She did—though she claimed to be there on a family errand. She said that the man’s mother, her governess, had died. To support her story—which she’d obviously thought out well—she had his mother’s possessions. But she also had a pistol strapped to her thigh.”

  Jane felt sad at such revelations about someone she’d thought a friend.

  “Did she turn herself in without a fight?”

  “Yes. Claims she’s innocent, of course. We showed her the coded letters, and she had nothing more to say, except that she wanted to speak with her brother, General Reed.”

  “Are you going to arrange it?”

  “Maybe. If he even wants to speak to her. Hell, I’ll have to go tell the Duke of Kelthorpe the truth, as well.”

  Jane tried to rally and say that even a villain deserved such a little request, but her eyelids were still too heavy, and sitting up seemed impossible.

  “Is Sam guarding her?” Will asked.

  “With help from Charlotte.”

  She heard the softening in his tone and was pleased.

  “Trust her already, do you?”

  Surely Nick must have shrugged as he said, “She’s proven herself. We’ll see what happens next.”

  There was a pause in their conversation, and Jane felt certain that they were looking at her.

  Nick said, “So what are you going to do about Jane? Surely you’ll make clear to her that she cannot speak about anything that transpired with Julia Reed.”

  “I have her under control,” Will said in an impassive voice.

  His words had the same effect as if he’d struck her. Under control? What was he implying?

  That once again he’d been manipulating her? That he was using sex to make her do as he wished?

  God, she could not believe such a thing. Yet—how else to take his words, his meaning? Had she been manipulated again, just as her parents had done when they’d promised her in marriage to him?

  But she loved him. She couldn’t be so wrong in her judgment, could she? She had grown to trust him, and the merest thought that he was using her for other purposes seemed like a foreign concept.

  Distantly, she heard Will see Nick to the door. She didn’t listen to what they said, only concentrated on her own pain and what to do next. She couldn’t believe her every instinct was wrong about him.

  Chapter 26

  The room was quiet but for Will’s footsteps. Jane imagined him standing over her, wondered if he watched her with annoyance—but no, she didn’t believe that. She couldn’t be so wrong about him.

  She heard the creak of the floorboards, felt the weight of his hands or elbows on the bed, and realized that he was kneeling at her side. He took her hand in both of his, and she felt the warmth of him, the roughness of his palms. But for his gloves, she would have long ago realized he was not a pampered nobleman but a man who had worked hard in his life.

  She felt the mo
ist press of a kiss against her knuckles.

  “Jane,” he whispered.

  She heard a wealth of emotion there that he had concealed from Nick, and some deep part of her relaxed with the satisfaction of having been right.

  “I’ve spent the last several weeks letting you see only what I thought you wanted to see,” he began in a sad voice. “I only pray it’s not too late for you to hear me, for you to understand. I never thought I belonged here in England, even from the time I was a child. I thought my parents were boring and staid, and too content with a life that I thought of as meaningless, just because it was simple and good.”

  He took a deep breath, and she wanted to grip his hand tighter, to encourage him, but she didn’t want to stop this final revelation.

  “They’re long dead now. When I came back to England, it was as if a part of me was cut off—I had no idea who I was, or what I was once like. There wasn’t one soul who knew me before. So I…so I stayed like the last character I played. It was easier, I guess, but it was a lie. I knew you didn’t like me, but I needed our betrothal. I needed some purpose in my life.”

  His voice broke, and the lump in her throat tightened.

  “I thought if we could be like my parents—happy, settled, far removed from any turmoil—then everything would be all right. But I know I went too far, Jane. I clung to my image of a perfect marriage, forcing you to accept my vision, rather than one we could create together. I was controlling you, but that isn’t the case anymore. I love you, Jane, and I can’t lose you.”

  There was a dreadful, awful silence as he pressed his mouth to her hand, and she tried not to cry.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “I love your bravery, and the cool, intelligent way you think things through. I love your spirit of adventure, something I once had, but lost over the years. My God, I’ll do anything—be anything to keep you. What kind of man do I need to be?”

  As the first tears leaked down her cheeks, she realized that in attempting to have life all her own way, she’d been trying to control him. He was only a man, trying to find his life’s path, just as she was.

  Forcing open her eyes made the pain pound in her head again, but as she looked into Will’s hopeful, disbelieving eyes, it no longer mattered. Her life would be what she made of it.

  “Jane?”

  “Will, you don’t have to be anyone else,” she said, her voice hoarse from sickness. “All I need you to be is my husband.”

  The warm brown of his eyes swam with tears. “Jane, you’ve come back to me,” he murmured, then pressed his face against her chest and held her.

  She stroked her hand through his hair. “I love you, Will. I fought it too hard, and that was my mistake.” She moistened her dry lips. “Maybe we were both so desperate for some idealized version of life that we never thought about the excitement of loving each other, the adventure of having children. You made me see the great joy in just being together.”

  He raised his head and stared into her eyes. “Then you’ll marry me?”

  “Yes,” she answered quietly, letting all her love show in her eyes. It felt so good not to be conflicted, not to have to pretend anymore.

  He gathered her into his arms and sat back against the headboard, holding her safe against his heart. It was a good place to be.

  “We’ll make our marriage work,” he said softly, kissing the top of her head. “And I’ll never allow you to be put in danger again. I’m done with that life.”

  “But the government will know where we are, Will. They’ll come to you for help again.”

  “Not if they have trouble tracking us down.” His face smiled down at her with those wonderful dimples flashing.

  “And what does your questionable imagination have in mind?”

  “The government won’t easily find us, because we’ll have plenty of travel plans.”

  “What kind of travel plans?” she asked doubtfully.

  “I think we’ll start in France.”

  “France?” She stared up at him, unable to believe what he might be suggesting.

  “Well, if you can compromise and marry me, I can compromise and travel occasionally. We could even combine our writing talents on a book about our journeys. The editors said my words lacked emotion—maybe together we could write something spectacular. You have an…innocence, a way of seeing things through fresh eyes, something I lost long ago.”

  “We would be writers,” she said softly, feeling as if the last piece of her life slid into place.

  “Unless you don’t want to…”

  She weakly swatted him on the arm. “Foolish man.”

  “Foolish beloved man.”

  She smiled up into his twinkling eyes. “Beloved…hmm, yes, that might be appropriate.”

  He had made a difficult decision—he was giving up the safety of a simple English life for her, to take her places and show her the world. She would never give him cause to regret it.

  His expression sobered. “You’ve made me realize how many things I want to show you, to experience them through your eyes.”

  “Do you think there are things you can still teach me?” she teased.

  His answering grin was wicked.

  Several days later, Mr. Barlow drove the carriage onto the grounds of Ellerton House, Jane’s father’s estate outside York. She sat within Will’s arms, staring out the window at another view of England, so different from the southern part of the country. She’d never grow tired of exploring it, and now she had a very willing partner.

  And he was willing in every way, she thought, blushing as she remembered the things they’d done together the past night.

  When they reached the ancient, rambling manor house, she could barely contain her excitement. She was about to see her father again after two long years.

  He was waiting for them in the paneled library, seated in a wingback chair, a blanket over his legs. He looked paler, gaunter, and older than she remembered, but when he smiled, she knew everything would be all right. She left Will’s arm and flew to embrace her father.

  The old colonel patted her back and greeted Will, but he didn’t stand up. She sat back on her heels and looked up questioningly into her father’s eyes, then glanced at the blanket across his lap.

  He cupped her cheek and smiled at her from beneath his gray mustache. “Jane, my dove, how wonderful to see you looking so happy.” He glanced at Will. “I don’t suppose you have anything to do with it, do you?”

  She heard mostly good intentions in those words, but Will looked pale. Was he thinking about the recent nights, when he hadn’t behaved with the utmost propriety?

  Will finally smiled. “She is the reason I’m happy, Colonel, and I can’t thank you enough for bringing her into my life.”

  Her father’s relief was palpable, but something wasn’t right, and she couldn’t stop looking at that blanket. She put her hand on his thigh, and when he stiffened, she raised her gaze to his.

  “Papa, what’s wrong?”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” he said with a joviality that was obviously forced. “It is good to see my daughter again.”

  “Are you well? Why the blanket?”

  This time he hesitated, and she watched as a silent communication passed between the two men. Will tried to hide his sudden sympathy.

  “About eight months ago,” Colonel Whittington finally said with reluctance, “the army division I was traveling with ran into a bit of trouble with the Sikhs in the Punjab. It was rather exhilarating to find myself fighting for my life again.”

  Her stomach tightened into agonizing knots as she stared at him. Will walked to her side and put a hand gently on her shoulder.

  “In the end, I was wounded in the lower leg—thought it was nothing, of course, and that I’d had worse. But the surgeons insisted the fool leg come off at the knee—seems the infection couldn’t be stopped.”

  Inside her heart broke for this military man who could no longer serve his country. She knew he didn’t want
sympathy, that he’d hidden away in the north rather than face people’s pity. She’d idolized him and thought of him as larger than life, a man with exciting tales to tell. But he was simply a man too embarrassed by what had happened to come to London. He had his faults and misgivings just like anyone else.

  Jane rose to her feet and kissed his cheek. “I’m thankful to those doctors, Papa, because they sent you back to us healthy and recovered.”

  He blinked and looked up at her, then gave a quick nod. “Right, of course. Not pleasant to deal with, but necessary.”

  They smiled at each other, and she clasped his hand.

  “It is good to see you, Jane. My, what a lovely woman you’ve become—hasn’t she, Will?”

  “Yes, sir,” Will answered.

  “And how is my other daughter? I knew she wouldn’t want to leave London so soon. And to think I only knew her young man so briefly.”

  Will and Jane exchanged glances, and she wanted to kick him for betraying that gleam in his eyes.

  “Colonel, your daughter did stay in London, but then Nick stumbled upon her.”

  “Nick?” the colonel said with a frown. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this.”

  Will briefly told him what had occurred with Julia Reed. Jane kept track of the various dangerous events of the story that Will was leaving out.

  In the end, the colonel smoothed his mustache with a finger and looked thoughtful. “Nick and Charlotte,” he murmured with interest.

  Jane hastily said, “Now Papa, I don’t know for certain what is happening. Since she read your journals, I guess she’s fancied herself more…adventurous than before.”

  “I confess I left those journals at the town house thinking that you’d find them, Jane. You always did seem more interested in things of that nature. But Charlotte…” He trailed off and looked thoughtfully into the distance.

  Will watched his colonel fondly, glad that the old man might be at peace at last. “Colonel, if you don’t mind, Jane and I will be leaving tomorrow for Scotland.”

  “Scotland?” Colonel Whittington echoed.

  “Yes, sir. Gretna Green, to be exact.”