“Now you see that you did indeed strike your head.” He bent and scooped her up like a child, carrying her back toward the path. “I will take you to the manor house. My father’s wife will care for you until your injuries mend.”
She felt as confused as a child, too, and feared she might start crying like one. Forcing herself not to give in to hysterics, she put her free hand against the cool skin of her face. “I just want to get back to the bus.”
“We shall send a footman out to your people and tell them to bring the coach around to the stables. Don’t concern yourself about their being well received. You will find the marchioness a very kind hostess. How she ever fell into my father’s clutches I cannot say.”
“I don’t understand this,” she managed to say. “The guide told us there was no marchioness. I must be hallucinating. Yes, that’s it. I didn’t get enough oxygen while I was underwater, and my brain still hasn’t recovered.”
“Well, your brain will recover nicely under Phoebe’s care.” He set her on her feet and loosened his grasp, not letting go completely until he saw she could balance herself. “Can you stand on your own for a moment while I untie Reveler? If I mount him first, he should allow me to pull you up without much protest.”
Distracted by her reeling thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed the enormous black stallion snorting and shuffling on the other side of the path. Never having stood so near a horse, she watched in awe as David Traymore untied the reins and stepped into one stirrup, swinging his other long leg over the saddle. When he motioned for her to come closer, she hesitated. She had never realized a horse could be so large.
“You are frightened of horses?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “I shan’t ask why, since your answer would likely make as little sense as everything else you have said. I assure you Reveler will do you no harm. He may have the bearing of a demon, but he is as gentle as a pussycat.”
He looked down at the animal, scratching him softly behind the ears and getting nuzzled in return. “Of course, he does all he can to hide his softer side.”
Witnessing the exchange, Leah guessed the horse and master were well matched, not only in appearance but personality. Convinced of her rescuer’s “softer side,” she went forward and lifted her arms. He pulled her up with no trouble, placing her sideways in the saddle in front of him. She leaned into his chest, soothed by the warmth of his body and the faint woodsy scent of his cologne--a brand she didn’t recognize.
He put one arm around her midsection and held her tightly as the horse trotted up the path toward the house. She closed her eyes and held onto his hips, a little embarrassed by the intimate position. Luckily, she had plenty of other worries to distract her--the prospect of Jeanine’s anger, as well as the alarming hallucinations she’d had at the spring.
“Here we are,” David said after a few minutes. “Hold onto the saddle, and I’ll assist you down after I dismount.”
She opened her eyes and grabbed the horn of the saddle as he slid off behind her. He turned and lifted her from under her arms, setting her gingerly on the dirt. Another employee dressed in an old-fashioned costume took charge of the horse, eyeing her soggy form briefly before bowing and walking away.
David took her elbow and steered her across the dusty drive toward the manor. When she recognized the door as the main entrance, she gulped down another rush of misgivings. “I could have sworn this driveway was paved.” She tried to shake off the eerie feeling, telling herself she must have been mistaken.
He ignored her comment and led her up three polished marble steps, which Leah knew had been cracked and stained earlier. Another costumed man opened the double doors for them, and they stepped inside the house . . . only the shabby interior she’d seen an hour or so ago had somehow transformed into a beautifully maintained decor.
She slapped her hands over her eyes, then uncovered them again, but the dreamlike grandeur was still there. Instead of the faded wallpaper she’d seen before, intricately carved panels lined the hall. While the walls had been practically bare earlier, they now displayed a stunning selection of paintings. And the ragged, garish red rug she remembered had been replaced by an elaborate paisley carpet in rich, dark tones.
“Oh, my God.” She closed her eyes again. “What is wrong with me?”
A feminine voice broke into her thoughts. “What has happened, David? Who is this young lady?”
“You will hardly credit the story when I tell you, Phoebe. It seems I have rescued a helpless maiden from drowning.”
“David, this is clearly no time for your nonsense.” Warm, slim hands took Leah’s own and rubbed them vigorously. “Oh, you poor thing, your fingers are like ice!”
A meeker, girlish voice said, “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I just stoked up the fire in your sitting room.”
“Perfect, Molly.” The more mature woman took on a tone of urgency. “Let us move her in there.”
Leah had no choice but to open her eyes in order to be led through the house. David held her one arm, and at the other was a mahogany-haired beauty, noticeably pregnant and also dressed in costume.
The costumes bothered Leah. The employees she’d seen earlier had been wearing normal clothing. And how could she explain the changed appearances of the manor and the springhouse? Could she trust her perceptions at all?
She began to tremble, making out only bits of the others’ conversation as they talked above her head: “nearly drowned” . . . “her shift only” . . . “an American” . . . “coach waiting” . . . “brain entirely addled” . . .
They directed her toward a blazing fire, and the heat comforted her a little, but she felt a pang of uneasiness when David left the room. A girl in an old-fashioned maid’s cap helped her undress and slip into a flannel robe, then the hostess had her stretch out on a backless sofa, wrapping her in a thick down comforter. She propped two big feather pillows behind Leah and handed her a steaming cup that smelled like some sort of herbal tea.
Leah sipped the somewhat bitter drink, hovering over the cup while the two women fussed with the pillows and comforter. The tea soothed her remarkably--more than she imagined possible under the circumstances.
Her body began to thaw, and the frightening images in her “addled brain” grew murky. A strange contentment settled upon her, and she sank back deeper into the pillows. Gradually, she realized her fear had melted right along with the chill she’d felt. Now she felt warm, relaxed, almost blissful.
“The tea,” she murmured, gazing into the empty cup. “What
was in the tea?”
“Her ladyship put in a black drop, I reckon, miss.” The maid took the cup from Leah’s limp fingers.
“A black drop? . . . Sounds exotic.” Smiling faintly, she let her head fall back into billowing down. Wonderful, warm, secure. She felt as though she’d been cold all her life and now, for the first time, had a toasty blanket to warm her. Her strange experiences took on the hues of a fantastic adventure. She felt as though she’d never known what it meant to be alive, and now she stood at the brink of ultimate knowledge.
David Traymore–where had he gone? She had to thank him . . . for saving her life.
CHAPTER TWO
David Traymore rode up to his father’s residence for the second consecutive morning, setting a personal record in the frequency of his visits. During his childhood, his mother had brought him to Solebury House quarterly, dropping him off at the back door, where she collected him again several days later. As he grew, his service-door entry gained significance, and when he got old enough to understand his position in the family, he stopped coming altogether. He had believed nothing would ever coax him back, especially after his mother, the only person much concerned in the matter, died.
He slowed his horse at the front entrance, mulling over the event that had changed his mind. Phoebe, the only daughter of his late army mentor, Colonel Albert Sheffield, had married the Marquess of Solebury. She had played big sister to David since his father purchased
him a commission in the cavalry for his sixteenth birthday. When Colonel Sheffield lay on his deathbed, David promised him to look after her. If he had known the girl would end up marrying his own father, he might have hesitated. But these days, the need to ensure the marquess treated her decently outweighed his own wish to avoid the man. Hence, once again, he found himself visiting Solebury House.
Swinging down from the saddle, he tossed Reveler’s reins to a waiting footman and took the marble steps two at a time. He nodded to the butler and brushed past him into the hall just as the marchioness emerged from her sitting room. Leaving the door ajar behind her, she held a finger up to her lips.
He glanced through the crack, attempting a peek at the beautiful American he had rescued the day before, but a large cabinet clock blocked his view. Phoebe tapped him on the shoulder, and he heeded her motions for him to follow her across the hall.
“Miss Cantrell has just fallen asleep,” she whispered, leading him into the library. She collapsed on a settee near the fireplace, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the seat. “She had a most fitful night, alternately tossing in her sleep and waking in a cold sweat. I fear I gave her too much laudanum. I should have taken into account how petite she is.”
“And you should take your own condition into account as well.” David pulled up a chair and sat facing her. “Nursing an invalid through the night is hardly a task you should undertake at this time. Now, more than ever, you need your rest.”
She smiled and placed a hand on her rounded belly. “You are kind to worry about me, David, but I assure you I have been coddling myself. Molly is the one who sat with Miss Cantrell all night. I relieved her only an hour ago.”
“Good.” He looked down at his hand, examining his nails for nothing in particular. “Are you certain the laudanum is what disturbed your patient? I judged her state of mind rather fragile even before you gave her the tea.”
“I fancy that a brush with drowning would have a similar effect on most of us.”
He looked up into her large brown eyes. “But she should have been able to wade out of that pool with no difficulty. Even at the deepest point, I doubt the water rises higher than her waist. Has she said anything more about how she came to fall into the spring?”
Phoebe shook her head. “No. From what you told me yesterday, she spoke more to you than she did the whole time Molly and I sat with her.”
“Yet nearly everything she said to me made no sense whatsoever.” He stood and walked to the fireplace, staring into the flames with one hand braced on the mantel. “The footman I sent to question your neighbors reports that no one saw the coach she claimed waited for her.”
Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “Did you have time to inquire in the village?”
“I did, but I had no better luck there. No one knew of a young American of her description, and I should think her unusual hair color would be remembered if seen. Furthermore, none of the innkeepers had served travelers at luncheon or tea. Your foreign houseguest is attaining quite an air of mystery.”
“Yes. I only pray that when, or if, she gives us an explanation, the tale is not so horrid as I fear.”
Before David could ask her meaning, solid footsteps sounded in the hall, and they both looked to the door. The marquess entered the room, combing his fingers through his thick, salt-and-pepper hair. On spotting David, he hesitated in the doorway, the jamb providing a frame for a more substantial, yet not stocky, version of his son’s lean body.
Straightening in reflex to his father’s entrance, David considered the irony of their marked family resemblance. His half brother, William, had all the legal claim to being the man’s son, while he, David, possessed all the physical evidence. Indeed, the likeness between him and the marquess went so far they might have passed for brothers, rather than simply father and son. Solebury had sired him as a mere stripling.
His lordship regained his bearing and gave David a stiff nod. He went to Phoebe and kissed her cheek, then walked to a large cherry wood desk, where he picked up a decanter. Without meeting his son’s eyes, he said, “Good to see you again so soon, David. Will you join me in a brandy?”
“I believe I will.” His father’s excellent brandy offered some aid, however inadequate, in tolerating the man’s presence. He stood back and watched until Solebury had filled two large snifters, then came forward to claim the one holding slightly more.
After both men had gulped down mouthfuls of the fiery liquid, the elder spoke, his voice slightly unsteady. “Have you learned anything more about the young lady?”
David shook his head and said nothing, stepping back to the hearth to reclaim his post before the flames.
Phoebe looked at him with pursed lips, then turned to her husband. “No one in the neighborhood or village knows anything about her. The whole business is most unfortunate. Whoever her family is, they must be frightened out of their wits wondering what has become of her.”
“If so, then why are they nowhere to be found?” Lord Solebury rubbed his chin in thought. “Perhaps we should call in a constable. With no one nearby claiming a relationship to her, she may well be a runaway.”
“No, Harold, please.” The marchioness stood and went to her husband, taking up his hand in hers. “If she is a runaway, she may have had good reason to leave home.”
“My dear, she is far more likely to have no good reason. I daresay most young girls who bolt from their parents do so because their spoiled nature has not been indulged quite so well as they have learned to expect. We have no cause, nor indeed any right, to keep her from her family.”
“But, Harold, have you given much thought to the way David found her? Drowning in a pool only a few feet deep? I loathe to voice such a thought, but do you think she may have . . . may have been attempting something desperate?”
David’s focus shot from the fire to Phoebe, and gooseflesh rose on his arms. He had known moments in his youth when death had called to him with the seductive lure of peace. Schoolboys’ taunts had sometimes mounted to a crippling crescendo. And his mother’s passing had left a looming void within him. But he had never reached the point of capitulation. Had that beautiful young woman sunken more deeply into despair than he ever had? Unhappily, the appalling suggestion fit the puzzle too well.
The marquess stared at his wife, at last taking another swig of brandy. “You think she may have intended suicide?”
“I don’t know, Harold. Indeed, I don’t even want to consider the possibility unless she gives us more cause for concern when she speaks to us. But, at all costs, I should like to avoid sending her back to an abusive situation. Let us at least wait until she recovers and see what she has to say.”
David watched with balled fists while his father eyed the ceiling in thought. Finally, the marquess looked back to his wife. “Very well, love. We shall wait until we know her story. Meanwhile, if her people should turn up, I’ll make inquiries before placing her in their charge again. Thus, we can ensure no villainy awaits her at home. Have I satisfied you?”
“As ever.” She stretched up to kiss him, but something made her start and shoot a look toward the door to the hall. She held up a hand to silence the others, and the sound of a quiet moan drifted in from the sitting room.
“Miss Cantrell is having another nightmare.” Wasting no time, she picked up her skirts and hurried out of the room.
David wanted to run after her but quickly suppressed the urge. What good could he possibly do? He exchanged a glance with his father, downed the rest of his brandy and set the snifter on the mantel. “I suppose I may as well be on my way.”
“Stay a minute, David. Please.” Lord Solebury held his gaze, his upper lip twitching ever so slightly. “I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you.”
He raised his brows in surprise. As much as he would have liked to escape, the novelty of his father’s request intrigued him. He propped himself against the mantel again. “Very well. What did you wish to discuss, my lord?”
The marquess sighed and shook his head. “So much that I scarcely know where to begin.” He reached for the decanter and lifted the stopper. “Would you like another drink?”
“I think I’ll pass this time.”
While Solebury poured himself a second brandy, David’s mind wandered to the scene taking place across the hall. What sort of nightmares plagued Miss Cantrell?
“To cut to the core of the matter,” his father interrupted his thoughts, “I should like you to take up residence in the gate house. The Sargents moved out last month, and the place is left without a tenant. As a bachelor, you will find the dwelling quite commodious, and you can have use of--”
“Wait.” Scarcely trusting his own hearing, David held up both hands, palms facing out. “First, tell me one thing: Why on earth would I want to move onto this estate--or anywhere even remotely in the vicinity?”
“Well, I know you like to look after Phoebe, though I assure you that you have no need to do so.” Solebury leaned back against the heavy desk. “I also hope, perhaps in vain, that your presence here might garner your brother’s notice, possibly even prompt him to come home.”
“My brother?” David laughed. “I shouldn’t think the prospect of seeing me would provide much attraction for William when he has gaming and women to keep him in London.”
“Yes, rather too much of gaming and women. Obviously, you have heard the tales.” The marquess swirled his brandy and took a sip, then looked his son in the eye. “I thought setting up a bit of rivalry between you two might do the boy some good.”
“Indeed?” David turned back to look into the fire, a burning sensation lashing his guts like the orange flames licked the flue of the fireplace. “So this is all about bringing your heir to heel?”
“Not entirely. Your living here would also give me the chance to come to know you.”
Spinning back around, David stared at him. “So you have suddenly decided you want to know me, have you?”
As You Wish Page 2