“If you want my advice, wait until you meet the right woman.”
Anthony studied him for a long moment. “You don’t think Lady Beatrix could be the one?”
“It would be ungentlemanly of me to imply such a thing. Perhaps you might spend some time talking with her before we return to London or call on her in town. I have found her ideals do not mesh with mine, but you might feel differently.” Preston had gone as far as he was willing to warn Anthony. The rest was up to him.
“I’ll consider what you’ve said. Good night, Pres.” Taking the steps two at a time, in short order, Anthony was out of sight.
The knocker on the door struck loudly twice. It was late for callers, and that always meant trouble.
Preston arrived at the door just as Strand appeared in the foyer. “I’ll get it, Strand.”
Pulling open the door revealed a disheveled messenger. “A letter for a Miss Millicent Edgebrook, Your Grace.”
Preston took the envelope. His heart pounded at what bad news the missive would report. “Strand, take this lad down for a bite to eat and see he has a warm bed. He can ride back in the morning. I’m sure his horse can do with tending to as well.”
“I will see to it, Your Grace. Do you want me to deliver the letter to Miss Edgebrook?”
If Millicent received bad news, he wanted to be there for her. Maybe it was just an excuse to see her. He hoped it was the former. “Not necessary. I will bring it up.”
Strand nodded and gave the messenger instructions before closing the door.
Preston climbed the stairs and knocked on Millicent’s bedroom door.
Listening while she shuffled within, he eased his grip on the letter. It wouldn’t do to crush the reason for his coming to her. “It’s Preston,” he whispered and hoped she heard him through the door.
The latch lifted, and she opened the door. Her hair framed her face in a wild halo, and her sleepy eyes watched him wearily. “What’s wrong?”
“A messenger just delivered this for you.” He handed her the letter.
Opening the door fully, she took the envelope and left the door ajar. She had wrapped herself in a blanket and walked to the fireplace for light.
Without stepping inside, he watched as she opened the message. His heart broke when her first tear fell on the page. Unable to stop, he stepped inside, closed the door and went to her. “What is it, Millicent?”
She walked into his open arms and cried against his chest. Pain poured from her and into him as if they were one. When had her feelings begun to mean more to him than his own? “Uncle Francis has injured himself. His lab is destroyed, and he is unconscious. The note came from Lady Jane. The doctor was trying to find me when he didn’t wake in twenty-four hours. I assume it is a bad sign for him to not wake after a full day.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but at least he’s alive.” He took the letter from her hand and read the date. “This was three days ago. He might be awake and planning his next disaster by now.”
Laughter mixed with her tears. Her arms clutched around his waist, the blanket fallen to the floor. “I have to go home, Preston. I need to take care of him. He cared for me all my life. He needs me now.”
“We will find a way to get you home. Of course you want to be with him.” Francis Edgebrook was Millicent’s only family; Preston wouldn’t think of keeping her away. If he died, she would have no one to ground her to England. Sorrow sprang from the place where he stored his father’s death, and he hugged her tighter. It was impossible for Preston to leave Brookhaven with a house full of guests. He had to stay and play host. Running his hand along her back and arms, he wished she would let him hold her for reasons other than distress.
“Do you think Mr. Laurent would see me back to London?” Pressing her hands against his chest, she eased away from him.
He had no choice but to let her go. The loss was excruciating, though the imprint of her body still formed to his. He trusted Jacques with his life, and he could trust him with Millicent’s as well. “I’m sure he will, but I will ask him before I go to bed.”
Her gaze flitted to the closed door and then back to him. Taking the letter to the desk, she put it down and smoothed it where she’d clutched it in her fist. “You will make a decision with regard to a wife? I’m sorry to run out before the task is fully resolved.”
“Do not concern yourself with that.”
“I assume you have ruled out Beatrix and Wilhelmina.”
Her thinking he would marry Helena, even after all he’d tried to convey to her, was another chink in his armor. He’d been a fool to agree to this house party when he’d known before they left town that Millicent was the only woman he would ever marry. “I have made my decision.”
Sleep long gone from her eyes, she watched him and another tear gleamed on her bottom lid. “You will make your proposal soon?”
It was an opportunity to tell her what was in his heart and ask her to be his, but such a joyful event shouldn’t be tainted by her worry over her uncle’s health. She was in a vulnerable state, and if she said yes, he would always question if that was the reason. He would wait. She was only going to London. “Very soon.”
“She will be delighted, I’m sure. I liked her best too.” A little tremble in her voice made him wonder if she regretted her position as an Everton Lady or if she was only upset about her uncle.
If he stayed longer, he didn’t think he could keep himself from touching her, comforting her and possibly making love to her. “I will go and speak to Jacques. Try to rest.”
His hand on the door latch, she stopped him. “I will miss our chess games, Preston. I don’t think I’ve ever had a truer friend than you.”
Unable to look back, he pressed his forehead to the cool wood. “You shall always have it, Millicent. My friendship with you shall span our lifetimes.”
The slightest hiccup followed him out into the hallway while he closed the door behind him.
Chapter 19
Millie woke early, and she and Doris packed their things. Jacques was waiting with his carriage by the time they broke their fast. She managed to force down a few bites, knowing it was a long ride.
The Middleton driver, William, appeared from around the corner of the house, and Doris rushed over. They spoke in hushed tones, but how they looked at each other spoke of deep intimacy. Millie looked away.
The luggage was loaded in a second carriage with Jacques’s things. Weighted down, it might be a day or two behind them. Millie packed a small bag to travel in the carriage.
Thicket mewed from inside. He would take up a seat in the crate William had fashioned from a rabbit trap that morning.
Preston shook Jacques’s hand before handing Millie into the carriage.
Beauty bounded up behind her and settled on the floor.
“I’ve had Cook make up a rather large lunch should you want to avoid delay.”
“Thank you. I feel we must travel quickly.” Unable to find the right words to tell him goodbye, she met his gaze and hoped he understood. She would likely never see him again and wanted to remember every line of his face. Becoming attached to him had never been her plan, but here she was, heart breaking as she rode away from Preston for the last time.
Doris sat beside her before Jacques climbed in, facing them.
Taking a breath, Preston gripped the window of the carriage door. “I rely on you to take good care of these ladies, Jacques.”
A hint of a smile, he said, “I will protect them with my life, as you well know, Pres. I’ll see you when you return to London.”
With a nod, Preston knocked on the side of the carriage signaling the driver to move.
Millie’s gaze locked with Preston’s, and she held on until the driver angled right and she couldn’t see him. Tears clogged her throat, but she couldn’t shed them. The time would come for that, but not in fron
t of Doris or Jacques.
At the end of the long driveway, Jacques said, “It is difficult to leave one’s friends.”
“I’m sorry we pulled you away from the party early, Mr. Laurent. I cannot begin to thank you for returning us to London.” She smoothed her skirt and toyed with the lace in an effort to stay any show of emotion.
He cocked his head. “I was speaking of you, miss.”
“My uncle needs me. Some things must be put ahead of what one might want.” Her worry over Uncle Francis shared an equal place in the knot of worry firmly centered in her chest. The remaining half was full of regret and self-censure about Preston.
“Yes. Family must come first.” He stared out the window at the trees whipping by.
“You must miss your family very much.” It was none of her business, but they could not sit in silence for days of travel. He was Preston’s closest friend, there was no harm in getting to know him better.
The smile that lit his eyes could make many a lady swoon. Charm oozed from Jacques in quantities unmeasurable. “Yes. They will arrive soon, so my sorrow will pass quickly. I hope your uncle will heal and yours will pass as well.”
“I will nurse him back to health. It does worry me that he was unconscious for so long. Hopefully by the time we reach London, he will have woken.” She’d been praying for that since getting the letter the night before.
“If you ladies can tolerate a rigorous pace, I will have you in London in three days.”
Hope spread out like a warm blanket around Millie. “That fast? Oh, that would be outstanding indeed.”
Nodding, he said, “It will not be easy, and if you feel you must have more time at an inn, tell me and we shall slow down.”
She looked at Doris, who gave her an assured nod. “We shall be fine. I must get to my uncle as soon as possible. I wish I’d never left London.” It was a half-truth. If she had stayed in London, she would never have experienced the horror of her uncle’s need or the terrible nightmare at the burning inn, but she also might never have known what it was like to be in Preston’s arms or make love to him. Guilt riddled her, but she could never regret those moments with Preston.
“Regretting an action does no one any good. You could not have known your uncle would have an accident of this kind. He will understand, and you will get to him as quickly as possible.” Turning his head, he studied the scenery again. “It’s a pity we don’t have time to explore though. This is beautiful country.”
“Another time, perhaps.” She turned to her own view and tried to free her mind of the worry pressing down on her. Poor Uncle Francis, he didn’t deserve to be left all alone and hurting.
* * * *
Three days later, they arrived in London. Uncle Francis was not awake. He had a nasty bump on his head, burns on his face and hands. According to the nurse, who made an ugly face when she looked at him, he had only opened his eyes one time, moaned and fallen unconscious again. Perhaps the nurse had seen too much and no longer had the heart to care for people.
Millie was glad to be home and able to take over.
Uncle Francis was still covered in soot, his jacket removed, the white blouse was stained black, and his stench was unnatural. “Oh, Uncle what have you done?”
Doctor Smith, a frail man with a wisp of a mustache, had come to check on Francis. “It’s actually a good sign that he woke up at all. Nurse has been putting ointment on the burns and forcing tea into him. The fact that he swallows is another good sign. The only worry is starvation. It’s been six days since he’s eaten. Nurse will try to force broth into him, but he’ll need to wake soon.”
“I appreciate the help, Doctor. Mrs. Whimple and I will care for my uncle. You may take your nurse away. We have enough staff here to help me, and they are all loyal to the Edgebrook family. If you would stop in and check on him, I would be most grateful.”
“You will need the nurse,” Doctor Smith insisted as he packed up his bag to leave.
Millie was beyond the point where she would be bullied by any man. “No. We do not.”
Smith turned to Jacques, who stood on the sickroom’s threshold. “You, sir, you must talk some sense into her.”
A shrug. “Je ne sais pas. The lady seems to know her own mind. If she needs a nurse, she will ask for one.”
Relieved that she had an ally, Millie put her fists firmly on her hips and stared the doctor down. “Come back tomorrow, please.”
As soon as the doctor and his angry nurse were gone, Millie pulled off her coat, rolled up her sleeves and began giving orders. “Doris, ask Cook to make a light broth and get me a basin with warm water to clean up his face. Ask uncle’s valet, Reilly, to come in and help get him cleaned up. Six days and that woman didn’t even get him out of these smoky clothes. We may need another footman to help as well.”
Jacques stepped inside. “May I be of service, Miss Edgebrook?”
He was too kind, but Millie shook her head. “I think my uncle would be mortified if he knew you had helped with this. Perhaps you might come back and discuss science with him. I wonder that he might hear us even if he does not show it. Perhaps his mind needs more stimulation.”
With that warm smile, he bowed. “It would be my honor. If you don’t need me now, I will go to my townhouse and get cleaned up then return.”
Grabbing his arm, she said, “You have no obligation to come here. You have done more than your part just by bringing me home.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “I would hardly be a good friend if I was not available in your hour of need, Miss Edgebrook.”
Heart lodged in her throat, she didn’t know what to say. Preston had the most excellent friends. “If we are to be friends, please call me Millie, Jacques.”
A wide grin and a bow. “You honor me. I shall return in an hour or so with a book on the properties of rocks. It’s fascinating.”
Once he left, Millie let Reilly and Fenwick enter. Fenwick had been the Edgebrook butler for as long as Millie could remember. His face was tight with worry. “I’m sorry, Miss Millie. That nurse wouldn’t let us touch him, and we were afraid to do more harm than good.”
“It is not your fault. Be gentle with him but wash him and put him in fresh bedclothes. The sheets could use changing as well. They are full of soot. I’ll see that clean ones are brought up. Perhaps you can ease them under him without jostling him too much?” She should never have left London.
“Of course, miss. We shall see to it.”
“Thank you. I will be back after I’ve changed from my travel clothes.”
When she returned to Francis’s room, she pulled back the curtains. The last of the day’s sunlight streamed through the window. Uncle would like to have a touch of light. Sitting by his bed, she brushed the gray hairs off his forehead and smoothed his wild eyebrows. “Uncle Francis, I am here. You are going to be just fine, but I’m telling you right now, you will have to be much more careful in the future. I’m not nearly ready to lose you. No more combustibles in the laboratory.”
Reilly arrived carrying soup and explained that the maids were trying to get the acrid smoke out of the sheets and clothes, so he volunteered to bring up the broth. “He didn’t open his eyes, but he did groan once while we put on his nightshirt. That seems a hopeful sign, don’t you think, miss?” The valet was a few years older than Millie. He’d been with Uncle Francis since he was twelve and had worked his way up from the kitchens over the years. Worry etched in the lines around Reilly’s eyes.
Millie forced a smile. “I refuse to believe anything other than he will make a full recovery. I suggest the house staff follow my lead. You know how irritated I become when anyone disagrees with me.”
Grinning, he placed the tray on the table near the bed. “Yes, miss. If you need anything, ring.”
Doris walked in as Reilly left, and between her and Millie they managed to sit Uncle up and
feed him a few spoons of soup. Much of it dribbled onto the towel they used to keep him clean, but some he swallowed.
Afterward, Doris took the tray away.
Millie sat on the edge of the bed. “Uncle, Jacques Laurent is going to come and read to you. He is excited to get to know you better.”
As promised, Jacques arrived thirty minutes later with his book on rocks. Millie tried to listen, but her eyelids weighed her down and she kept snapping herself awake.
“Millie,” Jacques said. “Go to bed. I will stay with him. You do not want to become ill yourself. We set a brutal pace to get you home.”
“I don’t want to leave him.” The last of her blood relatives, if Francis died, she would truly be alone in the world. How would she face that much loneliness?
Jacques closed the book and kept his steady gaze focused on her. “You will only be down the hall. I will send for you if there is any change. And if it will make you feel better, I will have a maid wake you in a few hours.”
About to refuse, her yawn intervened. “All right, but four hours. No more.”
“Yes. I will see to it. Now go and sleep.”
* * * *
Just before noon on the day after her return to London, Uncle Francis opened his gray eyes. “Millie, my girl.” His whisper, painfully rough.
Millie cried tears of joy and the pent-up sorrow. “Oh, Uncle Francis. I’m so upset with you.”
Closing his eyes, he winced and took several long breaths before he opened them again. “I thought you were in the country with Middleton.”
The mention of his name shot pain to her heart. “You have been unconscious for over a week. You nearly got yourself killed.”
He closed his hand around hers at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what could have gone wrong.” His gaze grew distant. “Well, maybe I do. I am sorry to have worried you though. Do you think I can have a bite to eat? I’m terribly hungry.”
The purest joy swathed Millie. He would be okay. Giving him a stern look, she said, “You may have broth until the doctor says otherwise. I will bring you a bowl and send for Doctor Smith.”
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