Blanche’s death had so sorely shaken Aubree that she could scarcely concentrate on anything else for the remainder of the day. How had Blanche come to be at the bottom of that pit on the same night the sheep met their ruin? Had she fallen? Had she been the perpetrator of these “accidents” and been caught in her own trap?
Aubree found it difficult to believe these possibilities. Louise had deliberately flung herself from the rocks, providing the impetus necessary to miss the rocky ledge and travel to the bottom. But as Heath and the sheep had exhibited, any object simply falling from the cliff tended to remain on the ledge. Blanche would have had to have deliberately dived from the rocks, and in her unwieldy condition, that would not have been easily done. Or she could have been thrown or shoved roughly.
It took most of the day to reach the same conclusion the sheriff had arrived at. In all probability, Blanche had been murdered. Chills of cold fear raced Aubree’s spine.
Luckily, Heath’s fever began to subside late that afternoon, and she had more to occupy her than fretting. Dr. Jennings inspected the wound a final time and pronounced it improving.
Lady Heathmont came up to sit with her for a while, again offering to help with the nursing chores, but Aubree smiled away the suggestion. She had taken to sleeping beside Heath at night so she could be close if he needed her.
“You are helping greatly by keeping Dr. Jennings occupied. There is little enough to entertain him here, but he seems impressed by the quality of the card games you and your friends offer. He is a good man to know, and I would hold his favor.”
“He’s a trifle too sharp, if you ask me, but if he heals my son, I will not complain. If he is any example of the whist players in London nowadays, I may have to visit the city again. My finances could always use a little improvement.”
On that tantalizing remark, the dowager swept from the room, leaving Aubree with a smile. Lady Heathmont was not the mother she would choose, had she a choice, but the widow had a delightfully practical view of life.
After the emotionally exhausting day, Aubree retired early. She slipped between the cool sheets next to Heath’s fevered body and listened to the sounds of his shallow breathing. How strange that she had come this far, from unwilling bride to lover. She could not say wife—that required the consent of two, and she was not at all certain he willingly accept her as such. Somehow, she had to persuade him.
In these last days she had come to learn her husband’s body as intimately as her own. The knowledge took much of the fear from the act they had committed a week ago and made it easy to think of becoming a wife and mother.
Clasping Heath’s wide, capable hand between her fingers, Aubree drifted off to sleep.
To be awakened by a loud clatter and Lady’s hysterical barking.
Groggily, Aubree reached for Heath and found him sleeping. Prying herself awake, she searched for her dressing gown. She had assigned Lady a bed beneath the stairs in the front hall, and that seemed to be the general direction of the pounding. With their very few servants asleep in the attic and stables and the good doctor probably still losing his wealth at the Dower House, there was none to hear but her.
By the time she had wrapped the robe about her, she was more awake and not a little frightened. Men’s voices shouted, and she could hear the unmistakable clatter of steel. Had the sheriff sent for the military to arrest Austin? Whatever else could be happening?
With pounding heart, she crept downstairs. Lady barked frantically, racing back and forth between door and mistress. Aubree contemplated seeking the musket in Heath’s study, but it sounded as if there were too many of them for one gun to be effective. Setting her chin, she defied the fates and threw the bar to the wide oaken door.
She caught her breath in astonishment as the cool night air struck her and she took in the sight on her doorstep.
Four uniformed officers of the British navy returned her stare. Between two of them hung what appeared to be a pile of rags or a scarecrow. Only when the limp figure groaned and moved its head did Aubree recognize it as human.
By this time, John and a number of the farm hands had come racing around the house with pitchforks and shovels in hand. The farm hands stopped short at the impressive sight of gold-braided regalia. John lowered his shotgun and came to stand at the foot of the outside steps.
The officer in the front stared at her. “Is this the estate of the Earl of Heathmont?”
If she had not been so concerned, Aubree would have laughed at what he must be thinking to be greeted by a female in her night robe instead of a liveried footman. “Yes, this is Atwood Abbey. What brings you here?” She studied the ragged figure clamped between steely arms. Surely the navy would not be so far inland catching smugglers?
“We have orders to deliver one Adrian Adams to the door of Lord Heathmont. Is his lordship here to acknowledge that these orders have been carried out?”
Aubree gasped in shock. John hastily ran up the steps. He cast aside his gun and bent to take the limp prisoner on his shoulder. Aubree awoke instantly to the situation and fury raged from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.
As arrogantly as the noble duke himself, she commanded, “John, leave him be! These gentlemen”—she emphasized the word with scorn—”may carry Mr. Adams to his room.”
“Lady, my orders are to. . .” The officer tried to protest.
Aubree had already marched toward the stairs, now she swung on him with a scathing glare. “Your orders are to carry him upstairs, Captain. Any less than that, and the duke shall hear of it. He shall most certainly hear of the state Mr. Adams was in when he arrived, so do not compound the felony. My father is not a gentle man.”
Finally grasping that she was not a maid, the captain gestured for his junior officers to carry the unconscious man up the stairs. John hurried after them, glancing inquiringly to Aubree.
She caught his question instantly. Dr. Jennings occupied the only decent spare room, where should he take this newest patient? The answer was an easy one.
“Take him to the small chamber next to mine and fetch Dr. Jennings. It will be easier that way.”
John nodded, leaving Aubree to deal with the apologetic officer.
“I am sorry, milady. I did not expect. . . I was just following orders. It wasn’t my ship. I’m with the coast patrol. My orders were to board the brig and take one Adrian Adams into custody and deliver him here. No one told me. . .”
Wearily, Aubree waved away his apology. “It is not your fault, then, Captain. Perhaps the fault lies higher up than you or I can achieve. Let me offer you and your men some refreshment before you go.”
The captain relaxed his stiff stance. “I thank you for the offer, milady, but we must return to our duty. We have word of a large shipment of smuggled goods heading toward Exeter. We must be there before the smugglers.”
Aubree absorbed this information with foreboding, but she did not reveal it. “Then I must leave you, sir. I am needed upstairs. Please make yourself comfortable, and I will send your men down to you at once.”
Dr. Jennings was hurrying down the upper hall when Aubree returned to her chamber. She greeted him with a nod as the uniformed sailors retreated down the marble stairway. Men just like those had brought a proud man to the sorry state of a scarecrow. Her stomach churned with the injustice, but she knew there were many more out there, and unlike Adrian, they had no powerful friends to save them. That was true unfairness.
She followed Dr. Jennings to Mr. Adam’s bedside. John had already begun the process of stripping filthy, blood-caked rags from his emaciated body. Aubree used her candle to set the tinder in the fireplace ablaze and with a poker, she lifted the verminous clothing into the flames.
When that was done, she returned to the bed, but Dr. Jennings shook his head. “Do not come any closer, Lady Aubree. He has a pestilent fever. It is possible you could carry it to your husband. Go back and scrub yourself thoroughly. Your man and I will stay here for the night.”
&nbs
p; Aubree stared in horror at the striped mass of bruised and bloody flesh that was the remains of her brother-in-law’s back, and nodded her understanding. Tears sprang to her eyes as she wondered if they might not already be too late. How could any man survive such torture? How could he live with the horror if he did?
She spun on her heels and hurried out. They said troubles came in threes, but she had lost count long ago.
Chapter 24
After spending the night with the injured American, Dr. Jennings departed early the next morning. He refused Aubree’s offer of the carriage, understanding by this time that she could scarcely spare a man to drive it.
He held her hand briefly, looking at her with concern. “I trust Lord Heathmont continues to improve this morning?”
“The leg seems much improved,” she said with happiness, “and his fever seems less. He has been sufficiently awake to take some broth. We owe you a great deal, Dr. Jennings. If there is ever anything. . .”
He waved away her gratitude. “I will admit I considered the case a professional challenge. My success is my reward. I wish I could offer you more help with Mr. Adams, but his case is entirely different. He will live, if he wants to. I cannot be of much help to him there. Keep him cool, feed him liquids, particularly citrus ones, and keep his wounds clean. Perhaps it would be best if I sent someone experienced in nursing to help you. I know several capable people in London.”
Aubree shook her head. “They cannot do the job so well as someone who loves them. John and my mother-in-law will look after Adrian, and I will tend to Austin. We shall be fine, though I thank you for your offer.”
By the time night came around again, Aubree had almost concluded that attempting to run an estate from a sick chamber was the height of foolishness.
Harley had stopped by earlier and discovered the field hands munching apples in the shade of a tree. He reported that he had set them to their tasks and lingered to be certain they stayed at them, but he advised her that a farm manager was needed. Heath could not ride out for weeks, maybe months, and he risked all to allow the farm to lie idle.
Aubree studied the yellowing leaves of the trees outside her window and tried to imagine them bare or covered in snow. Her birthday was little more than a week away. Soon, Austin would be well enough to realize their bargain was complete. What chance would she have then of staying into winter? Very little, she suspected, unless his ship did not return.
She could not wish that disaster on him, though last night’s uneasiness returned at the thought. Smugglers were common enough along the coast. She had no right to think in terms of further disaster.
She checked to be certain John needed no help with his patient, wished her worried mother-in-law a good night, sent Jamie and Michael to make rounds of the estate as she had promised Austin, and returned to allow Matilda to dress her for bed. The candle had nearly guttered to its end before she climbed beneath her husband’s sheets.
Exhausted, she still slept when dawn rose the next day, but the stirring of the man in bed beside her brought wakefulness. He took her hand, and she curled closer and slept again.
The next time Aubree woke, Heath studied her with concern. “You are exhausting yourself, halfling.”
She stretched, distracting him before resting her hand against his brow. “Not nearly so much as you, milord. You have slept this week away.”
Heath schooled his body to peace as soft breasts brushed his side. He ached to caress what was rightfully his, but the pain in his leg made him aware of the difficulty of possession. He submitted to her ministrations with mixed emotions, at best.
“If you have slept beside me all those nights and I did not know it, I must have been unconscious,” he muttered as she moved away to a less-promising position.
“Something like that,” Aubree agreed. “But if you behave sensibly, the worst is over now.”
Heath attempted to drag himself to a sitting position but he was too feeble to complete the effort. He settled for another plump pillow behind his back. “Behave sensibly?” He lifted one eyebrow in inquiry.
“The leg must not be moved until it begins to heal. Then you may move it only a little at a time, to keep it limber while the wound closes. You are a prisoner in this room for some time to come.”
He groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Is there no justice?” he asked. “Trapped in bed with a beautiful woman, and I cannot even move to still her saucy tongue! Was there ever such a misfortunate man as I?”
Grinning, Aubree bent a kiss to his brow, then slid hastily from his reach, groping for her dressing gown. “I can send your mother to tend to you, if you prefer. I am certain she will loan me a bed in the Dower House, should I ask.”
“Preserve me from my mother, please. She will bring out her cards and take what little money I have left. But how is it that I am in your bed? Could you not as easily have taken care of me if we were in separate chambers?”
Aubree threw him an uncertain look. She would rather not remind him of their bargain by naming Adrian, but he had to be told. He was still too weak to protest much, she decided.
“That might be arranged, if you wish one of us to share a bed with your brother-in-law. Shall we draw straws?” she asked helpfully, taking the brush to her hair while waiting for Matilda to arrive.
“Adrian?” Austin asked in astonishment. “You have Adrian stowed in that other chamber? How is he? How long has he been here? I need to see him. . .” He tested his leg for reliability.
“I shall send him to the stables if you attempt any such foolish thing,” Aubree reprimanded him sternly. “I have not worked myself to the bone to save your wretched leg only to have you throw it all away out of sheer perversity.”
Heat fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He was weaker than he had thought, but he detested being at the mercy of this pint-sized termagant. He groaned more with the misery of his position than the pain in his leg, but the effect was electric.
Aubree dropped her hairbrush and rushed to examine his leg. When Heath clung to the covers and refused this intimacy, she placed her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“My Lord Heathmont, I have tended to that leg every day for a sennight. You do yourself no favors by being stubborn now.”
“I am fine,” he insisted. “I need a chamber pot and breakfast, in that order. And I want to know about Adrian. Right now.”
She flushed and relented. “They brought him night before last. He is in poor condition, but Dr. Jennings says he will live, if he wishes. John is looking after him.”
Matilda rapped on the door, at last, and Aubree called for her entrance with relief. A wakeful Heath was quite likely to be a chore beyond her ability to cope.
But nature had a way of taking care of these things. Soon after he had eaten, he fell asleep again, and slept off and on for some days afterward, slowly regaining his strength. He ate ravenously when awake, complained vociferously of his confinement, but fell asleep soon after Aubree brought him some task to keep him occupied. She watched with love and fear as he slept, knowing each passing day brought them to the point of a decision she did not want to face. Soon, too soon, he would be well enough to realize he had a wife he did not want. How could she make him change his mind?
A letter from her father to Austin arrived a few days after Dr. Jennings’ departure, and Aubree added it to the mounting stack on the study desk. She did not quite dare destroy it, but she made no effort to take it to her husband, either. Whatever her father had to say could wait.
When another letter from the duke arrived addressed to Aubree, she frowned. She could not so easily ignore her father’s imperious handwriting as she had the other stacks of unopened messages. Inside, she found what amounted to a royal command to attend Peggy at her lying-in, which meant going to London. Aubree had no intention whatsoever of obeying. She had seen all of London that she wanted to see. Her place was here.
She ripped the letter into tiny pieces and threw it on the fire
before returning upstairs to Heath.
He was alert and restive when she entered. He had gained the strength to sit up by himself, and he had done so now. He threw aside the book he had been trying to read.
“I can’t sit here any longer, Aubree. Call John and hand me my walking stick. I want to see how Adrian fares.”
The commands were peremptory, but Aubree made no effort to obey them. She drifted to the window overlooking the stable yard and stared at the falling leaves. Maybe there would be an early snow. Maybe it would be a terrible winter and it would be unthinkable to return to London until spring.
“They say the stockingers are rioting in the north. They’ve no work since the public has started buying machine-made stockings, and their families are starving. They are holding demonstrations and threatening to overthrow the government. Do you think there could be a revolution here like there was in France?” she asked.
“Dammit, Aubree, if there is one, I’ll be the first to join, but unless you’re intent on fomenting one in this room, I want my walking stick. Do you want to see a grown man crawl across the floor?”
Caught by the drift of dust down the road, Aubree continued gazing out the window. “Adrian’s fever has not improved. It would do you no good to catch it. Your mother and John are doing everything they can, but there is little life in him. I am sorry, Heath. If you think it will help, I will take over your mother’s duties and do what I can. The doctor said it would not be wise for me to go back and forth between the rooms, so I would have to teach your mother to clean your wound, but you are starting to heal. It would not be difficult.”
“You should have told me, halfling,” he replied with more care. “I am strong enough to take some of the decisions out of your hands. No one expects you to wreak miracles. If my mother and John cannot cure Adrian, neither can you. You have had your share of invalids; I will not ask you to take on another. But do not keep things from me, Aubree. It is my leg that is crippled, not my head.”
Indigo Moon Page 23