“Just because you know good bloodlines, does not mean you have not lost your mind,” Brice replied. “Do not try to change the subject.”
“Then forget I mentioned it in the first place,” Alex said.
Brice rounded behind the mare and came alongside him. “Too late. The idea is stuck in my mind. Which make me wonder if perhaps insanity is contagious?”
“It is not insane to escort Inis to a ball. That is what I am training her for.”
“This whole scheme sounded daft when you first mentioned it,” Brice said, “but to expect Inis to maintain poise and composure in front of royalty is ludicrous.”
“She’s quite intelligent,” Alex replied.
“That may be,” Brice responded, “but think, man. English girls born to aristocracy and instructed in proper etiquette since they could toddle still tremble and quake when presented at Court. How do you expect an Irish girl, maybe from peasant stock, to handle that? She will break down, and you will be the laughingstock of the ton, not your brother.”
“I have no intention of becoming a laughingstock, nor will I allow Inis to be humiliated.”
“Fine words, old chap.” Brice unhitched the mare’s halter lead from the post and turned her toward the open paddock gate. “I still think you are on a fool’s mission.”
“It will work. Just stand by and watch.”
“Stand by and watch you completely disgrace yourself, you mean.”
Alex gave his friend an amused smile. “Since when have any of us worried about being disgraced? We are rakes, remember?”
“Rakes with a reputation to uphold,” Brice answered. “How are you going to seduce the rest of the wives on your conquest list if you’re left standing on the ballroom floor with a crying—or worse, cursing—Irish woman?”
Somehow, the conquest list didn’t seem as important as it had only a few weeks ago, but Alex knew better than to say that. Brice already thought he was going soft in the head. “Inis’s vocabulary is already improving. She will not let me down.”
Brice closed the gate behind the mare and shook his head. “I disagree, but if you are planning to go through with this idiocy, the least I can do is help.”
Alex gave him a wary glance. “How?”
Brice grinned. “You can wipe that suspicious look off your face. I am not planning to seduce the girl. You say Caroline is giving Inis lessons in deportment?”
“Yes. So far, we have done tea service and table settings.”
“Moving right along, are we?”
“It seemed the easiest place to start.”
“What Inis needs, if you have any hope at all in making this half-witted plan work, is exposure to the she-wolves of Society. She needs to be able to recognize, and fend off, the snide remarks they make.”
Alex frowned. “I gave Inis my word I would not push her into such confrontations before she feels she is ready.”
“Which might be halfway to never,” Brice responded. “If you keep her sheltered, she will make a fine bit of amusement for the ton. If you intend to send her into battle, she needs to be armed.”
“Good Lord. This is not war,” Alex replied. “It is a ball.”
Brice shrugged. “Same thing.”
Alex hated to admit it, but Brice might be right. “Point taken. What do you suggest then?”
“Hmm.” Brice drew his brows together in thought and then grinned. “Ice.”
Then again, maybe Brice was the one who was becoming daft. “Ice?”
“Ices, to be correct,” Brice answered. “At Gunter’s in Berkeley Square. Since it’s still early in the season, the place will not be fashionably packed, but if you establish a weekly routine, the she-wolves will sniff out the trail. They are already curious over who Inis is, so they will start to show up. They cannot get too many digs in—or ask too many questions—since you will be sitting at the same table with Inis. It will allow her the opportunity to size up the pack and plan a defense.”
“You really do make it sound like war,” Alex said.
Brice lifted a brow. “Is it not? The best thing, though, is that Inis can leave the battlefield when she wants to.”
“I suppose we could give it a try,” Alex replied.
“Please do,” Brice answered. “You cannot lose at this point. Maybe you will see this harebrained idea is not such a great plan after all and prove me right.”
That wasn’t going to happen, but Alex didn’t voice the thought. “And maybe I will prove you wrong.”
…
When Inis went down to breakfast Thursday morning, she was surprised to see Elsie, Mary, and Ivy in the kitchen scooping porridge from the pot on the stove. It was not that much past dawn. Although Inis rose early to get to the stables, the chambermaids weren’t usually about for another hour or so.
“What brings ye to breaking your fasts so early?” Inis asked.
Ivy gave her a churlish look. “Mrs. Bradley has us looking for mice today.”
Inis winced. She’d almost forgotten the rest of the conversation the morning the maids had made fun of her for talking about spider bites.
“She says it’s easiest to find them early in the morning,” Elsie added.
“I thought traps had been set,” Inis replied, hoping to neutralize some of the hostility she felt wafting her way.
“No mice were caught,” Mary said, looking even more dour than Ivy. “But that was not enough to convince Mrs. Bradley there weren’t any. Now we have to crawl along the floorboards looking for specks of mouse shite.”
No wonder they looked angry. Spending a morning with their knees on hard floors was not a pleasant task. “I could help you.”
“Ha.” Ivy practically snarled the word. “His lordship wouldn’t allow it.”
Inis shook her head. “Mr. Ashley—his lordship—needn’t know.”
“He will know,” Mary said and gave Inis a sly look. “He knows where you are every minute.”
Inis felt her face warm. By the saints. Was that true? There were odd moments when Alex would pop into the stable for a minute, but she always thought he was checking with Jameson about something. “I—”
“Mrs. Bradley said to make sure no spider webs lingered anywhere,” Elsie added as Fern entered the kitchen.
“We have already dusted the rooms from floor to ceiling.” Fern looked disheveled, as if she had slept too late, which she probably had since she was still carrying her mop cap in her hand. “I don’t know why we have to do it again.”
“His lordship would not forgive us if Inis got bitten by another spider,” Elsie said.
Fern gave Inis a cursory glance as she helped herself to porridge. “You healed, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Inis said, “and I want to thank you and Elsie for sitting with me on Saturday night. There really was no need.”
“His lordship looked fit to be tied,” Fern answered, placing her mop cap on the table beside her bowl. “It doesn’t hurt to be in the lord’s good graces, does it?”
Mary and Ivy both scowled. “We would have done it, too.”
“Thank you both,” Inis said, “but I am quite well now. Hopefully, no more spiders will accost me.”
Fern reached for the small pitcher of cream as Inis rose to carry her empty bowl to the sink. “Damnation,” she said a moment later as the liquid spilled over her mop cap.
Inis stopped and turned. “Did I bump the table?”
“No, it was me,” Fern replied and picked up the sopping cap. “This was the only one I could find this morning which is why I was late.”
“We all were issued two,” Elsie said.
“I know,” Fern answered. “I must have left my other one somewhere.” She paused and furrowed her brows to think. “Ah. I think I took it off Saturday night when I sat with Inis. I think I laid it on the floor beside the chair.” She looked over to Inis. “Would you mind checking? I don’t like to go into someone else’s room, and I know Mrs. Bradley wants us to be in uniform.”
&nbs
p; “Of course,” Inis said, glad she could be useful to at least one of the maids. “I will be right back.”
Inis didn’t remember seeing a mop cap, but then she hadn’t looked behind the chair, either. She was a little out of breath by the time she reached the fourth floor, but she knew the housekeeper would be popping into the kitchen any minute to collect the maids. And Fern was right. Mrs. Bradley expected every servant to be properly dressed.
To Inis’s surprise, the cap was on the floor. It was pushed halfway under the chair, which was probably why she hadn’t noticed it. Quickly, she picked it up and hurried out, hoping to get down to the kitchen before the housekeeper put in an appearance.
She didn’t notice the loose carpet on the second step until she felt it slip out from under her foot. She tried to catch herself, but her ankle twisted and she pitched forward with a shriek as her hands clawed at nothing but air.
Chapter Fourteen
Alex was reaching for his shirt to finish dressing when he heard a shrill cry and a series of thumps from somewhere above his second-floor bedchamber. He thrust his arms inside the sleeves and ran out the door toward the back of the hall where the servants’ stairs were.
He rushed up the steps and peered down the third-floor hall. Nothing seemed amiss, but at the same time the hair at his nape prickled. Inis? He started up the last flight to the fourth floor and halted so suddenly, he nearly pitched forward onto his nose.
Inis was lying in a crumpled heap at the mid-landing.
He dropped to the floor beside her. Thank God, her eyes were open, but she looked stunned. She tried to rise, and he pushed her back gently. “Lie still. Let me check if anything is broken.” He slipped his hands over her collarbones, down her arms, and over her ribs. Then, as he followed the curve of her waist over her hips and down her thighs, his mind niggled at him that he was touching her the way he’d wanted to for days. He pushed the thought away. Right now, his only concern was that she was all right.
“Nothing seems to be broken,” he said and helped her to sit. She gave him a dazed look and then slumped on his shoulder. He could feel her trembling. “Are you hurt somewhere?”
She rubbed her face against him, which he took to be a “no.” He had the strange urge to sit there and hold her for hours, but he could hear footsteps ascending. Reluctantly, he shifted position so he could stand, and lifted her with him. As soon as Inis put weight on one ankle, she winced. Alex picked her up and carried her up the last few steps back to her chamber. Kicking the door open, he laid her gently on the bed.
“What happened?” Mrs. Bradley hurried inside while the chambermaids crowded into the doorway.
“She fell on the stairs,” Alex said, sitting on the bed beside a chalk-faced Inis and tucking her hair back from her face. “Get the physician.”
Mrs. Bradley turned and motioned to Elsie. “Go tell Evans to bring Dr. Baxter here.”
The maid, who was almost as pale as Inis, turned and left the room without a word. The housekeeper walked over to the dresser, dipped a washcloth into the water in the basin and brought it back to the bed. She started to place it on Inis’s forehead when Alex took it from her.
“I will do it.”
Mrs. Bradley nodded and then coughed discreetly. Alex looked up, and she shifted her gaze subtly to his shirt, which was hanging open. He glanced at the chambermaids in the doorway. Their mouths were gaping, too. He grimaced and fastened two buttons, then turned back to Inis.
“How are you feeling?”
Her eyes moved from his fingers to his face. “A little sore.”
“To be expected. Can you tell me what happened?”
“The carpet came loose,” Inis replied. “I did nae see it until my foot slipped.”
Alex frowned. “Loose carpet?”
“Aye. I hadn’t noticed it before,” Inis said, “but I came back upstairs to get Fern’s mop cap.”
“Fern’s mop cap?” Mrs. Bradley asked and turned to the chambermaids. “Why was your mop cap in this room?”
Fern stepped forward. “I’d forgotten I left it here Saturday night when I sat with Inis. This morning, I spilled cream on my other one.”
“I probably dropped it on the landing when I fell,” Inis said.
“You did,” Fern answered. “I picked it up.”
“Inis should rest until the doctor gets here,” Mrs. Bradley said and made a shooing motion to the maids and then looked at Alex. “I will stay with her if you want to check the carpet.”
Alex didn’t want to leave, but he did need to look at the carpet. Reluctantly, he nodded and rose from the bed. “I will be back.”
After he made sure none of the other maids had a mishap on the stairs, Alex knelt down by the second step. The carpet had indeed come loose. He fingered the runner, examining the two holes on either side where the nails had been. The carpet wasn’t torn. He found one nail on the third step and the other on the fourth. Picking them up, he frowned.
How had two nails become dislodged at the same time?
…
The doctor let Alex back into Inis’s bedchamber once he’d finished examining her. In spite of the soreness seeping into her bones, she smiled at the sight of Alex. His shirt was properly buttoned now, although she thought it had been hanging open earlier. Had it been?
The doctor had given her a rather large dose of laudanum, but she thought she remembered bare flesh… Yes. Alex’s shirt had definitely been open. She remembered seeing the broad expanse of muscled chest and the hard ridges of his belly. Sweet Mary. It had been a beautiful sight.
He looked disheveled now, his dark hair mussed as though he’d run his fingers thorough it in different directions, and a day’s growth of beard shadowed his jaw.
“It is a miracle she didn’t break half her bones instead of just spraining an ankle,” Dr. Baxter said to Alex. “Although, after the incident with the spider bite, I am thinking she may be accident prone.”
Inis glared at him, or at least she tried to. She was beginning to feel a bit woozy. “I am nae. I doona have accidents. I—”
“Now, now,” the doctor said soothingly, “it does seem that you have been one lucky lady.”
“’Tis nae luck so much as belief,” Inis muttered.
“Belief?” the physician asked. “In God, you mean?”
Inis shook her head groggily. “In faeries.”
“I see,” he said, his voice placating.
“Nae, ye doona see at all,” Inis said stubbornly. “’Tis faeries that brought me here.”
Alex gave her a worried look and then turned to the doctor. “Are you sure she did not receive a blow to the head?”
“I do not think so. I felt no bumps, and there are no bruises.”
“Why would Inis suddenly talk of faeries then?” Alex asked.
“Because they sent me here,” Inis said slowly, trying to string her thoughts together. “I think…a faerie gave me the idea to come.”
Dr. Baxter scrutinized her. “What did this faerie look like?”
“I do not think it wise to continue this conversation,” Alex said.
“I am trying to determine if Inis is coherent,” the doctor replied and turned back to her. “What did this faerie look like?”
“I dinna see her.”
“Ah. So why do you think this…faerie…is real?”
Inis blinked slowly, trying to recall. “I felt her.”
Alex gave her a startled look. “You felt her?”
“Aye. By the burn.”
“You were burned?”
“Nae. By the…stream. ’Tis where I felt the faerie.”
Dr. Baxter fixed his eyes on Inis. “How did you do that?”
“She ruffled my hair.”
The doctor frowned. “But you just said you did not see the faerie…her, I mean.”
Inis gave a soft sigh. “She was in the air.”
“The breeze you mean?” he asked. “The wind ruffled your hair?”
“’Twas nae wind.
Nae leaves stirred on the trees. ’Twas just my hair.” Inis blinked even more slowly. “And I thought I heard laughter.”
“The sound of…” Alex gave the doctor an anxious look. “I think Inis is more seriously hurt than you thought.”
“It is probably the effect of the laudanum,” Dr. Baxter replied. “However, a cold compress might be a good idea in case there is swelling to the head.”
“I will see that one is sent up immediately,” Alex said.
“And I will come back tomorrow to check on her,” the doctor said as he gathered his things. “Right now, I think she needs rest.”
Inis’s eyes started to droop as they walked toward the hall, but she thought she saw silvery, shimmering sparkles in the air as the door closed. Her mind started to drift, and the last thing she heard was the soft, tinkling sound of a distant bell.
…
Miranda turned away from the window in her parlor and looked at Fern standing just inside the closed door the next afternoon. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “How could that bitch survive falling down a flight of stairs? Did you not loosen the carpet enough?”
“I loosened the second step so Inis would tumble down the whole flight,” Fern replied.
“Only one step?” Miranda snarled.
Fern seemed unfazed. “If I had loosed more than one, it would have looked suspicious.”
Miranda ground her teeth and then took a deep breath. “Point taken.”
“I even left the nails lying out, so questions wouldn’t be asked about them being missing,” Fern added.
Miranda had to admit, silently, that Fern had probably handled it wisely. The maid was smart, a fact Miranda tucked away to be remembered. “Not even broken bones?”
“A sprained ankle.” Fern lifted both palms up. “The Irish are a superstitious lot. Inis mumbled something about faeries. Maybe she has some kind of magical protection.”
Miranda sniffed. “There is no such thing as magic. The girl is a contriving bitch.”
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