“Where is the house located in Lancashire?”
“I believe it is outside of Prescot,” Lady Pierce supplied.
“And Olivia was traveling alone?” Max realized belatedly that he’d called her Olivia and not Miss Donovan.
“Well, she had a maid with her, of course,” Lady Stratford said.
For a moment, Max rested his forehead in his palm. He should feel relieved. Surely Olivia was safe with her sister and Lady Fenwicke. Yet this news hadn’t placated the foreboding feeling within him at all. He rose from his chair. “Thank you, ladies.”
Lady Stratford rose, too, and hurried toward him. “Oh, Your Grace, what is the matter? Is it that awful Lord Fenwicke? I should send word to Stratford—”
He placed a calming hand on her arm. “Fenwicke is still very ill, and as far as anyone knows, he isn’t aware of his wife’s location. I’m sure the ladies are perfectly safe.” Lady Stratford released a breath of relief as he continued. “There’s no reason to contact Lord Stratford.” He bowed at the older women. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your morning, ladies.”
“I assume you’re on your way to Prescot, then,” Lady Pierce said.
He turned to her. He’d known Lady Pierce all his life—she’d been friends with his aunt. He’d always known she was an intelligent woman. Yet in this case, she’d deciphered his intent before it had even solidified in his mind. However, as he stood there staring at her, he realized that she was right. He was going to Prescot, without delay.
“Yes, I am. Just to make sure all is well.” He offered them a smile of reassurance.
He hurriedly took his leave of the ladies and returned to his house in Hay Hill. That afternoon, armed with descriptions of Fenwicke’s properties throughout the kingdom and the exact location of the house in Prescot, Max left London, heading north.
Although Lady Stratford had pleaded with Olivia to take her carriage, she couldn’t accept such a generous offer, so she’d traveled to Prescot by stagecoach. The journey was longer than Olivia had anticipated—England was much more vast than the small islands she was more familiar with. By the time the coach approached Prescot a few days after their departure from London, Olivia was exhausted.
And she was worried. Throughout the day, she had been experiencing the symptoms of a fever coming on. Cora wasn’t familiar with Olivia’s fevers. Worse, Olivia still hadn’t replenished her supply of quinine. It was so soon after the last fever, and she’d never had two fevers closer than half a year apart, so she’d thought it unnecessary to buy quinine until she could return to Stratford House and ask Serena to order her some.
She sat in the crowded stagecoach, miserable, achy, and feverish. All she needed to do was get to Sebastian’s house. Out of all the people in the world, Jessica was the most experienced and competent when it came to Olivia’s malarial fevers. She would know what to do.
The stagecoach stopped at the only coaching inn in Prescot. Olivia disembarked along with Cora, and they looked around the unfamiliar area.
The town was quiet, with hardly any traffic on the street. She looked at her maid. “Go inside and see if you can find someone we can hire to take us to the house.”
Cora’s brows knitted—to this point, Olivia hadn’t asked her to go anywhere without her—but Olivia knew she needed to conserve her strength. She leaned heavily against a maple tree trunk and awaited her maid’s return. Several minutes later, Cora came back, frowning.
“I couldn’t find a soul, miss.”
Olivia took a deep, stabilizing breath. “Very well. We’ll leave our luggage at the inn and walk, then. It’s only a mile.”
“Yes, miss.” Cora took their valises into the inn, emerging a few minutes later saying the innkeeper would watch the luggage for them until someone came to fetch it.
A mile was nothing compared to Olivia’s daily walks. But she was feeling weaker by the minute.
She squared her shoulders. All she needed to do was walk a mile. A mile wasn’t very far at all. When she arrived, Jessica would be there. Jessica would know what to do.
Side by side, Olivia and Cora walked. Every step was more difficult to make. Blurriness gradually began to overtake her vision, and she alternately shuddered from cold and wanted to rip the clothes off her burning skin. Her muscles—every one of them—ached, and her legs screamed in protest, taking offense at being forced to hold up her body.
“One step forward,” Olivia murmured. “Just a few steps more.”
She hardly noticed Cora’s concerned looks. She couldn’t spare a glance at the maid—all she could focus on were the steps ahead.
“That must be the house, Miss Donovan,” Cora finally exclaimed.
She saw it—a white, block-shaped structure. “Not too far,” she murmured, blinking hard to keep it in focus.
“Not at all,” Cora said. “It’s close as can be.”
Olivia stumbled and felt the maid’s sturdy arms encircle her.
“Just a little more then, Miss Donovan.” Cora kept whispering encouraging words into Olivia’s ear, but they all merged together. It didn’t matter. All that was important was that she get to the white house before she lost consciousness.
“Miss Jessica!” Cora called. “Lady Fenwicke?”
Olivia turned, fighting against the pull of her stiff neck muscles, to look at the maid, but Cora was gazing toward the house. Calling for help, Olivia realized.
“Jessica,” she called, but her voice emerged scratchy and weak.
There was no movement from the house. No one had heard them.
“Anyone here?” Cora sounded more desperate now as Olivia rested more of her weight on the maid.
Still… no movement except for the breeze that rustled over the overgrown hedges of yew lining the path leading from the road to the front stoop. Olivia wondered vaguely what it would be like to sleep in a yew bush.
“Is anyone home?” Cora yelled. The sound was so loud, so frantic. It hurt Olivia’s ears.
She stopped suddenly, blinking at the still house. It might as well have been a hundred miles away. “I can’t,” she whispered.
The yew bushes swallowed her, and everything faded to black.
Chapter Twenty-one
Max was surprised he hadn’t caught up with Olivia and her maid by now. Perhaps they’d traveled through the nights via stagecoach or mail coach. He’d made the assumption that they’d spend the nights at inns along the way, but no inn he’d inquired at had seen any trace of a slight young blond woman and her maid.
On the other hand, Max had made the foolish decision to ride. While it was easy enough to exchange his horse for a fresh mount every once in a while, it was physically impossible for him to ride twenty-four hours a day—even though he attempted to do so. Once in a while, it became necessary for him to rest.
He didn’t arrive in Prescot until late in the afternoon on the third day. He went into the Legs-of-Man and Swan Inn, where he discovered that a stagecoach had arrived an hour before. The innkeeper was eager to offer him the finest room in the establishment, and as soon as the man gave him directions to Harper’s house on the outskirts of the town, Max set off, his heart pounding.
He’d reunite with Olivia soon. He’d make sure she was all right, and he’d see her safely home as soon as she was ready to return.
The drizzle and rain he’d been forging through for the past few days had finally abated, leaving the air cool and fresh, while droplets of water sparkled in the sun like diamonds over the fields.
Within a few minutes, he saw the house—a small, square cottage painted a stark white, with a door in the center offset by two windows on either side. The lane leading up to the front stoop was lined with hedges of yew, and someone was on the lane. It looked as though she was bending to retrieve something.
As he drew closer, Max frowned. There was something on the ground, between the hedges. A person, dressed in white, with reddish blond hair escaping from her bonnet.
“Oh, God,” he choked. “Oliv
ia?”
He urged the horse into a run, then reined in sharply at the head of the path. He swung off his mount, and leaving the horse standing, he rushed toward Olivia and the woman he recognized as one of the maids from Stratford House.
“Olivia?” he shouted.
She didn’t respond, but the maid was looking at him with wide, doe-like eyes. “Oh, sir. I’m so glad you’ve come. Miss Donovan… she’s so feverish, and she fainted, and—”
Max sank down beside Olivia’s limp form and scooped her against him. “Why didn’t you take her inside?” he snapped.
“I can’t,” the maid said. “I’ve called and called, but there’s no one home, and the door is locked. I’ve only just managed to get her out of the bush.”
“When did you arrive?”
“I don’t know, sir. It’s probably been a good half hour. We walked from town…”
God. Olivia burned against him, her skin heating through all their layers of clothing. She was so pale he could see the thin blue lines of her veins through her skin.
“She walked in this condition?”
“She didn’t tell me she was ill, sir.”
Max gritted his teeth. He was furious, but as tempting as it was, he couldn’t take it out on the maid. Lifting Olivia, he stood and strode toward the door of the house.
Holding her close against his body, he banged on the door. “Is anyone home?”
Though he was shouting, Olivia didn’t budge in his arms.
Nothing but dead silence came from inside the house. Quickly, Max assessed his options. He could take her back to Prescot or he could break in to Harper’s house. He knew Harper wouldn’t care about that—God knew he’d want his sister-in-law to have access to the house, especially if she was in the throes of fever. If Max returned her to Prescot, there would likely be a doctor on hand, but she’d be relegated to staying in one of the inn’s small rooms, which wouldn’t be as comfortable as a bedroom in the house.
He glanced back at the maid. “We’re going inside. If we can’t find a way to get in easily, I’ll break down the door.”
She wrung her hands. “Yes, sir.”
He probably should relinquish Olivia to the maid, but his body simply didn’t want to. He found himself drawing her closer against him. He stepped back and circled the house, directing the maid to try each of the windows before he did. He confirmed that they were all locked. The back door was locked as well, and the door leading outside from the kitchen pantry. Max assessed all three entrances to the house, then determined that the pantry door would be the easiest to break down.
He shrugged out of his coat awkwardly and instructed the maid to lay it over a patch of grass that had survived the winter freezes and was somewhat soft-looking. After she smoothed it over the grass, he gently laid Olivia upon it.
He stood, staring down at her for a second. Panic welled, like a swirling hole of darkness, inside him. She looked so helpless, so colorless and weak. So sick.
Swallowing hard, he turned away. He needed to focus. She needed shelter. She needed a doctor. She needed a bed, food, clean clothing, warm blankets.
He stared at the door for a second, then kicked it in, splintering the area around the latch.
He returned to Olivia and scooped her once again into his arms. The maid retrieved his coat and quietly followed him inside.
He carried her through the pantry and kitchen, finding himself in a dining room separated from a parlor by a small entry hall and a set of stairs. He climbed the stairs to find two bedrooms off the landing. He went into the larger room, which was well furnished with a large bed, a clothes press, two comfortable-looking chairs, and a dressing alcove.
Instructing the maid to start a fire, he gently laid Olivia on the bed and sat beside her, placing his palm on her burning forehead.
“Olivia?” he murmured. “Sweetheart? Can you wake up?”
She made a small moaning noise, and she shifted slightly, but she didn’t wake. Max stared at her for a moment longer, then turned to the maid, who was standing behind him, waiting for instruction.
God knew he didn’t want to leave Olivia. But it was almost dark, and he wouldn’t send a young woman into a town unknown to her at this time of day.
“I need you to stay with your mistress. If she wakes, tell her I’m here, and that I’m taking care of her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t leave her side. I’m going to Prescot to find a doctor. I’ll return shortly.”
The maid nodded.
Max turned back to Olivia. He bent down to her and brushed his lips over her earlobe. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”
Grabbing his coat, he hurried downstairs, unlocked the front door, and found his horse wandering a ways down the lane. Poor creature was tired from the day’s ride and needed a brush-down, but that would have to wait.
In Prescot, he returned to the inn first, which, at dusk, seemed to be the center of activity in the town. He burst into the downstairs tavern, causing curious faces to turn in his direction.
“I need a doctor,” he announced. “Does anyone know where I might find one?”
The patrons of the tavern passed curious looks back and forth, but no one answered until the innkeeper he’d met earlier came hurrying up to him.
“Your Grace,” he said. The announcement of Max’s title caused the onlookers’ eyes to widen. “How can I help you?”
“There’s a lady who’s very ill with malaria—”
“Malaria?” The innkeeper frowned, as if he’d never heard the word before. Perhaps he hadn’t.
“And she requires a doctor. Immediately,” Max added.
A line appeared between the innkeeper’s silver-frosted brows. “Well, sir, we have a doctor, but I believe he’s gone to Liverpool to visit with family—”
“You have a doctor? One doctor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Only one?”
“Yes, sir. Prescot isn’t a very large town, you see.”
Max pressed his lips together. “I require a rider to carry a message to Liverpool. I need the best doctor in Liverpool here by midnight. At the latest.”
No one responded until he pulled his purse from the inside of his coat pocket, stood beside an empty table, and started pouring coins onto the wooden surface. In his periphery, he saw figures rising, walking toward him.
“I can do it, sir.”
Max turned, narrowing his eyes to assess the man who’d approached him. He was short and stocky, with a round face and an honest look about him. “Your name?”
“Peebles, sir. Wat Peebles.”
“Very well, Mr. Peebles.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Have a seat.”
Peebles sat, and so did Max, although he didn’t want to be sitting. He wanted to be rushing back to Olivia. The serving girl came by, and he ordered Peebles some ale, then gave the man his instructions. “When you locate the doctor, tell him that the lady suffers from malaria, and to bring…” He hesitated, hoping to hell that he’d get the name of her medication right. “Quinine.”
“Quin-ine,” Peebles repeated.
“Will you remember that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Max gazed at him, assessing. He believed him, but he called for a pen and ink and wrote it down for the man just in case. He also penned a quick letter to the doctor. Max had never thrown around his new title before, but he knew the weight of it would mean something, would induce people to move faster than they usually would, so he signed the letter with his full title.
As he handed the letter to Peebles, he said, “Tell him that the Duke of Wakefield has sent for him and will reward him handsomely if he has a hand in contributing to the lady’s recovery.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll tell him, sir.”
“Good.” He rose with final instructions for Peebles to bring the doctor to Harper’s house on the outskirts of the town. He gave the man a generous portion of the agreed-upon sum, promising the remainder upon his return to
the house before midnight.
Together, Max and Peebles left the tavern and went into the stables. Max wanted a look at Peebles’s horse, to make sure the animal was up for heavy night riding.
“He’s a young gelding, sir,” Peebles assured him. “Strong as can be, and he’s had a full day’s rest since I arrived in Prescot yesterday.”
Max checked the animal over, finding him more than acceptable. Certainly more able to perform the feat of riding hard than his own mount would be tonight.
He instructed the stable master to see Peebles off, then stabled his own horse to rest for the evening and borrowed one of the inn’s horses for the return ride out to Harper’s house.
It was full dark now, and though he carried a lantern, he couldn’t ride as fast as he would have liked. The road was rutted and uneven from the winter storms of the past months, but the horse seemed to sense his anxiousness, and held a pace faster than Max would have chosen at any other time.
He arrived at Harper’s house in a few minutes. Behind the house was a small stable, where he put the horse, quickly unsaddling it before leaving it for the evening and rushing inside, taking the stairs two at a time in the dark house.
He slowed when he saw the soft light glowing from beneath the door of the room where he’d left Olivia. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.
The maid, who was sitting in the armchair nearest the bed, jumped up in surprise. “Oh, sir, it’s you!”
But he was looking at Olivia’s still figure, relieved to see the blankets move in just the faintest rise and fall with her breath. “Did she wake?” he asked in a low voice.
“No, sir. She’s been fast asleep.” She frowned in Olivia’s direction. “She’s still burning with fever, but she’s started trembling. As if she’s frozen cold.”
Max strode to the side of the bed. Olivia lay on her side, clutching her knees to her chest. The maid had stripped off her pelisse, dress, and petticoats, and she was clothed only in her chemise. The room was warm—the fireplace coals glowed with heat—but gooseflesh rippled over Olivia’s exposed arm.
Secrets of an Accidental Duchess Page 26