by Mary Brendan
‘Are you hungry?’ Elizabeth asked kindly.
The small boy simply stared solemnly at her.
She crouched close to him and took one of his tiny hands in hers. ‘Come, Jack, eat a little of this and you will feel so much better.’ She watched his eyes fill with tears and his lips quiver and immediately cupped his mouth with a gentle hand. ‘Don’t forget…this is a game…like hide and seek…and who is quietest wins. But…if you are to win…and get the cake I promised…you must be as quiet as a mouse.’
‘Don’t want a cake. Want my mam,’ the boy choked miserably.
‘I know, my love. I promise I will try and get her for you,’ Elizabeth said with a fierce glower into space. Lifting him off the small pallet where he’d cat-napped on the floor by her bed, she put him on his feet.
After an awed gawp at the laden tray balancing on the dressing table, Jack’s hunger overcame all else and his fingers stole towards the toast. Soon the eggs tempted him too and he shovelled them up with a spoon.
Josie was clutching double-handed at the bed post, transfixed, as though in the presence of a spectre.
‘We must bathe him, Josie. He looks a little…’
‘Scummy…’ Josie supplied, uninhibited by the delicacy that limited her mistress to wrinkling her nose, and with unaltered pop-eyed entrancement.
‘Fetch hot water and fill the bath. My grandmother will be away in her chamber at this hour. She will not spy you.’
Keen to avoid the old harridan, Josie fled to do her mistress’s bidding. Within five minutes she was back with the first pitcher of water. Within ten minutes, Jack had cleared the tray and the tub was half-full and steaming.
Coaxing him from his clothing, Elizabeth realised, was to be no easy task. He was eyeing the water, and the soap in Josie’s hand, as though it might be poisonous. Elizabeth groaned inwardly. If only she had been able to persuade Hugh to give the boy shelter until they could fathom what next to do! But although the vicar claimed he would do anything for her, it didn’t extend to donning the trousers in his own house. His elderly mother had no qualms in ejecting the lad before he’d set both feet in the hallway of the vicarage. Strict directions were given to the closest foundling hospital, as though her son might have forgotten the location since Tuesday when last he read scripture there! Sheepishly Hugh had offered to drive them either to that bleak institution or Connaught Street. Elizabeth had no intention of little Jack exchanging one miserable existence for another, so had brought him home.
Prising Jack from his mother to take him anywhere had been a heartbreaking feat. Nothing would sway Leachie into letting Jane go. Not her son’s howling, nor Hugh’s appeals to the man’s conscience, nor Elizabeth’s irate insistence that he honour his word to do so. Quietly resigned to sacrificing her own health and happiness for her son, Jane had begged them to go and keep Jack safe from sweeps and pickpockets. The lad’s fate if left behind was inducement enough for Elizabeth to concede defeat. Besides, demanding back her necklace from the duplicitous devil would have been quite futile. He would have laughed in her face. So, home she brought Jack, with him sobbing all the way. Hugh passed the time muttering the marriage was probably a sham and Leach was simply keeping Jane to put her back to work.
Her grandmother was still abed and, thankfully, the only two servants in the vicinity of the side doorway were Josie and Peter, the youngest groom. They were sweethearts and had been bestowing a hearty good morning on each other away from prying eyes, as Elizabeth and Jack slipped in at seven o’clock. They had been equally disconcerted at the untimely encounter and were easily sworn to silence. In all, things could have been worse. With that encouraging thought, Elizabeth confidently advanced on Jack. He backed away to the window. ‘Your mama will want you to be a nice clean boy when you again see her. I shall tell her you’ve been very good.’
It seemed to strike a chord. With his sweet solemn face lifted to hers, his small fingers picked at his buttons to undo them and the toe of one boot fastened over the heel of the other to remove it. Gratefully, Elizabeth sank to her feather soft mattress and, as slowly, shyly, he revealed a skeletal, milky body filmed with grime, she felt enraged that it might so easily have been crusted with burns; or blackened with soot…or bruises from Leachie’s fist should his stepson’s pickpocketing fail to satisfy his avarice.
She knew she couldn’t keep the boy secreted indefinitely and there was only one person left to turn to for aid: Ross. He had asked her to share her problems with him before and she had rudely rebuffed him. Now she wished she had confided in him yesterday. He had the strength and experience to know what must be done. He would doubtless be cross she had disobeyed him…but…she needed him now. She must humble herself and beg his help in finding a solution to this regrettable fiasco.
‘It is a miracle he is alive.’
‘He has sharp reflexes. How do you think he has survived so long in such a perilous trade?’ Edwina remarked, while tipping her head this way and that, assessing her butler’s contortions.
‘Rumour has it that Cadmore was so early with his fire he could have shot him in the back!’
‘What are you doing, Pettifer?’ Elizabeth asked from the parlour doorway, while frowning at the spectacle of their sedate butler standing sideways with his lofty frame bowed and one of his arms up as though he were taking aim at an imaginary adversary.
Pettifer straightened his shoulders and his black uniform. ‘Er…I am…er…demonstrating a particular method of protecting one’s self whilst engaged in a duel, Lady Elizabeth. It is, by all accounts, no mean feat to master the art whereby a ball needs to pan all the way up the arm before touching a vulnerable part.’
Elizabeth chuckled. ‘Are you to duel then, Pettifer? With whom, may I ask? Have you and Grandmama been at odds again?’
‘Why, no, Lady Elizabeth. Your grandmother and I are…ever harmonious…’ That elicited a blush from Edwina…and a smile from Harry when he saw it. ‘Besides, my technique may not match Mrs Sampson’s. She may have received tuition from her friend.’
‘Good. The Bow Street Runners might arrest you both. Duelling is stupid and criminal, too!’
‘Also heroic,’ Edwina interjected, patting the sofa cushion invitingly. ‘Especially when life is risked to avenge wrongs done a lady.’
‘I’m sure the lady would rather not have such barbarism on her conscience…’ Elizabeth’s voice faded, her skin crawled fearfully.
Harry abruptly busied himself clearing away the coffee pot and the depleted dish of sweetmeats. Quietly he quit the room. His retreat seemed diplomatic. It also seemed to confirm Elizabeth’s dreaded suspicions. ‘Who were you talking about, Grandmama? Which friend might have taught you a duelling technique?’ Before Edwina could reply, she resumed in a panic, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me, earlier?’
‘Well, m’dear, am I right in thinking you’ve grown a little fonder of the Viscount recently?’
Pansy-blue eyes grew dark and large in a snow-white face. She simply nodded jerkily and small teeth sank into her lower lip.
‘Your good opinion of him is overdue but well deserved, Lizzie. Ross has put life and limb in jeopardy returning you status and respectability. This morning the announcement of your betrothal is in the paper; it coincides with him meeting Cadmore on Wimbledon Common…’
Elizabeth heard no more. Her heart had vaulted to her throat where it pulsated crazily. An anvil was pounding in her fragile head. She grasped at the nearest chair and lowered herself stiffly into it. She could see her grandmother’s mouth working, realised she was explaining about the cards she was fanning out on the sofa-table. There looked to be at least eight. Edwina was tapping a fingernail on one of them.
‘So of them all, I think we ought go to Lady Regan’s first, then on to the Braithwaites’ later. Unless you’ve a preference for one or two of the others.’
‘Is he dead?’ exploded in a whisper.
‘Ross? Dead? Of course he’s not dead!’ Edwina snorted. ‘He wouldn
’t be wounded but for that lily-liver getting a shot off early, but…’
Elizabeth sprang to her feet. Her complexion was now ashen, her eyes bright with tears dammed by shock. ‘Badly wounded? Are surgeons attending him?’
‘It’s a flesh wound, I’ve heard. As Pettifer was demonstrating—quite admirably, I thought—there is a technique whereby one can use an arm as a shield to cover oneself. Obviously Ross has long ago mastered it…’
‘What of Cadmore? Is he dead?’ Elizabeth breathed.
‘He deserves to be. Ross shot off his hat, by all accounts, when all present believed he would put a bullet between his eyes.
‘Thank God, he missed…’
‘He didn’t miss!’ Edwina scoffed. ‘Ross spared him. He’s given the skunk a stripe straight across the pate, so rumour has it. Cadmore’s branded as the poltroon he is. Not that he’s likely to again show his face in public. Ross is a marksman…even left-handed,’ Edwina said on a proud, emphatic nod.
‘Where is he? I must see him…’ Elizabeth gasped, twisting about agitatedly on the spot.
‘I believe he is with his brother. Luke will ensure he gets the best physician. You would not want to see him all bloodied. I understand the surgeon has extracted the bullet.’
With nausea bubbling in her throat, Elizabeth stuffed a fist to her mouth and turned and fled.
‘Open this door at once, Lizzie. Do you intend to stay in there for ever?’
‘I’m staying home this evening, Grandmama. I’m tired.’
‘Tired? You’ve slept the clock round these past few days. How can you still be tired! You must venture abroad this evening,’ Edwina wheedled. ‘Look…it is the most prestigious invitation yet,’ she enthused. ‘From the King’s favourite: Lady Conyngham. Now what do you say to that?’ The thin card was slipped under the door.
Elizabeth retrieved it, saw it boasted an Italian diva performing at a notable Mayfair address. Listlessly she dropped it onto a sidetable to join a pile of others with which Edwina had recently tried to lure her out.
‘Is the Viscount yet back in town?’ Elizabeth asked huskily. There was silence for a long moment from the other side of the door.
‘I don’t think so; but men always take themselves off for a while after such scandals, Lizzie. Gentleman that he is, Ross is probably allowing Cadmore time to scuttle back to his wife in the country before he returns to town to be fawned over. As his fiancée, grandes dames are falling over themselves to secure your presence at their little functions. Bets are being laid as to who will first manage to tempt you out. We could lay a discreet wager and collect a tidy sum…’
‘Has he a fever, Grandmama? Has the wound become infected, do you know?’
Edwina let out a mighty sigh. ‘No, I do not know! But he has fought battles with soldiers, with smugglers, with the revenue, with drunken cronies and come through them all. He’s as strong as an ox and has taken more stitches over the years than you’ll count in your bridal gown! Besides, not so long ago, you would have filled him with lead yourself, given the chance! Oh, I shall go with Evangeline then,’ Edwina mumbled and was heard rustling away.
Elizabeth sighed; her grandmother regretted resorting in pique to that last accusation. She was equally ashamed, for it was quite valid. She leaned her head against the door panels, again tortured by the vision of him raddled with ague and poisoning of the blood. She might never again look upon his gypsy face, never again hear his voice, feel his strong, dark fingers fasten gently on her. She might never have the opportunity to apologise for her rudeness…and say she loved him…
Edwina stomped, muttering, down the stairs. In truth, she was a mite worried herself now. Little was known on the grapevine of Ross’s recovery or his whereabouts. She frowned, wondering whether to call at Grosvenor Square on her way out to Lady Conyngham’s and see if he was yet at home. She was spared the need. In the hallway, Harry was in the process of taking her prospective grandson-in-law’s coat.
‘Where have you been?’ she barked at Ross, sheer relief making her irritable. ‘It’s as well you’re here! M’granddaughter’s acting very strange. Even before she knew of the duel she was pasty-faced and ailing. She’s barely quit her room since discovering you were hurt…’ Enlightenment abruptly dropped her chubby jaw, and she gawped at the handsome, virile man who had his fierce agate gaze angling up the stairs.
Edwina’s gimlet eyes attached to his dark profile while she reflected on the time her Lizzie had disappeared from home. She’d been brought back close to midnight by this charming romeo. ‘Morning sickness…damn!’ she groaned to herself. ‘Why did it not occur before? Blast that Wapping drab! It’s her fault! No wonder Lizzie’s fretting so. Not yet wed and really ruined…’
‘What?’ Ross frowned, obliquely aware of Edwina glaring and mumbling.
‘You’d best get her respectable as soon as maybe, or I’ll fill you full of lead m’self. See if I don’t!’ She flapped a hand. ‘Oh, go on up. Third door on the left. No point in standing on ceremony now. I’m off out to hear Signora Favetti…’ trailed back at Ross who was taking the stairs two at a time.
If Josie’s short double tap at the door seemed a little heftier than usual, it didn’t disturb Elizabeth enough to stir her from her comfy spot on her bed. A call to enter vied with a yawn as a slender finger touched a lock of hair away from Jack’s brow. She smiled tenderly as he snored; in the short while he had been with her he looked healthier, with colour in his cheeks. She was sure he had even put on a little weight. He rather resembled her little half-brother, Tom, she judged, assessing his small regular features and mop of flaxen hair. And of a similar age, too…
‘Is that the problem? I’m too old for you?’
Elizabeth’s finger froze by Jack’s head. Abruptly she squirmed on to her stomach on the counterpane. Pushing back on her elbows, her satin-sheathed derrière poked provocatively into the air, before she made it onto her hands and knees, where her eyes were immediately level with muscular buff-coloured thighs. She swallowed, her violet gaze sliding upwards over blatantly hardening masculinity before skittering hurriedly on to encounter an elegant chestnut coat. She stared up at him, unblinking, as though he was a ghost, and a small hand actually fluttered out to test his arm. Her weak prod blunted on healthy muscle. The light, hungry touch transformed into a furious slap. Platinum tresses danced about her slender shoulders as she shook back her head to get a good look at him. ‘You…you absolute devil! Why did you do that?’ she squeaked. Instinctively she’d lowered her voice to avoid waking Jack, yet her tone quavered with despair.
‘Why did I do what?’ he asked huskily, his eyes hot as molasses and coating her curvacious body. Her breathing was coming in sharp bursts and her nipples were clearly visible beneath the sleek negligée. With a groan he reached for her, but she reared back onto her heels away from him, then scrambled to the edge of the bed.
‘What did I do? Startle you? I’m sorry…’
Elizabeth drew herself up to her full five feet three. He seemed larger and darker than usual; apart from that he was perfectly normal. The agonies she’d endured imagining putrefied flesh and amputated limbs seemed now so wildly unnecessary. She rushed to the table, strewn with invitations and grabbed a handful. ‘This!’ she hissed. ‘This is what you did!’ She advanced back towards him, bristling like an angry kitten, then lobbed them up at him.
Ross turned his face and the cards fluttered about his long dark hair before scattering on the floor.
‘You risked your life to get me this?’ she choked. ‘You thought I’d be impressed by some…some grand gesture allowing me to ride back into the beau monde on your undertaker’s coat tails? I don’t want society invitations!’
‘What do you want?’ he asked immediately, softly.
She could feel the pull of his eyes on hers, insisting she look at him. The small space between them was cramming with heat, with tension, with unspoken words.
‘Come, tell me,’ he said. ‘You can do it…you’r
e a very brave woman. Tell me what you do want, Elizabeth…’ His voice was low, hypnotic and drew a single, croaky syllable from her.
‘I’m all yours, sweetheart,’ he said with hoarse contentment. ‘And I did it…because it needed to be done, that’s all.’
‘I thought you might be dying of fever or poisoning,’ she gasped.
‘I’m fine. I’ve been at Stratton Hall for a couple of days. I usually go to the coast when I’m wounded: sea water’s healing.’
She backed away, tears sliding her face, sticking silky curls to her cheeks, scraps of shock and anger still writhing in her.
He cornered her and exasperatedly she flung up her fists. They froze in mid-air. ‘Where are you hurt?’
He smiled down at the top of her smoky head. ‘Everywhere…’ he purred as he lifted her up so her face was level with his. ‘Where are you hurt?’
‘Everywhere,’ she echoed.
‘Good…it’ll all need kissing better…’
With a defeated sob she wound her arms tightly about his neck and ran her lips fleetingly over his face, covering his skin from bronzed brow to abrasive jaw. It was tender, at odds with the punitive fingers that twisted in glossy mahogany hair.
‘Have you something else to tell me? Something I’d love to know?’
Elizabeth opened her eyes and, past his head, Jack stirred in his sleep. ‘Promise you won’t be angry…he’s a good little boy.’
‘I didn’t mean that, actually, sweetheart,’ he said wryly. ‘But now you’ve mentioned him…is he your half-brother?’
Elizabeth looked at his frown. Her tongue tip nervously moistened her lips. She struggled to free herself, to act decorously when she explained. As she pushed against his right arm he winced. Immediately she was still and hugging him. ‘Sorry…oh, I’m so sorry for everything, Ross. Promise you won’t be angry with me…’ There was raw plea in her voice for she so wanted to build on this new harmony and affection, not destroy it with her revelation.