To Protect and to Cherish

by Becky Riker

  She rose quickly and left the dining room, no longer interested in trying to keep up the charade for the servants.

  Slade did not follow her up or call to her, but she heard him ask Erin later about her welfare.

  The snow did come. It fell so fast and heavy that Slade had a morning during which he was trapped in the great house with no excuse to escape.

  Jillian felt his restlessness. Had they not been at odds, she would have enjoyed the time with him, but she had trouble relaxing – knowing he was around the corner stewing about being imprisoned with her.

  “Would you care for tea?” she dared to seek him out in his study.

  “I am not hungry,” he looked back at his paper.

  Jillian began to close the door but he stopped her, “Could you ask Bailey to send something in here about four?”

  She stopped and looked at him for a moment.

  He kept drawing lines on his paper. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind herself.

  He did not look at her.

  She moved silently across the floor and stood in front of him – waiting for him to acknowledge her.

  He finally looked up, “What do you need, Jillian?”

  She placed her hands down on his desk and leaned toward him, “Am I so repulsive that you do not want even to dine with me?”

  Slade blinked.

  “Is that not why you want Bailey to bring you tea at four? So you will not be hungry for dinner?”

  “Jillian,” his mouth was tight and annoyed, “I am simply in the middle of something.”

  She grabbed his pencil from his hand and threw it across the room, “I do not care,” she snapped at him. “I do not care one whit if you are in the middle of something. You have refused to tell me how I have offended you, but you continue to hold it against me anyway.”

  He stood up and looked down at her.

  She shot around the desk so she could stand nearer to him. Even in her anger, she wanted to feel his presence.

  “For years my uncle hit me,” she was so close she could feel his breath on her face, “it wasn’t until he threatened to do worse that I left.”

  Pain registered in Slade’s eyes, “I know that.”

  “What you don’t know, Slade,” she moved slightly so her torso was pressed against his, “is that the pain he caused me was nothing compared to what you are doing to me now.”

  He flinched, “I’ve never laid a hand on you.”

  “Oh, yes, you have,” she picked up his strong hand and held it with both of hers. “You touched me so gently and kindly that I was beginning to believe you might learn to love me.”

  Slade did not pull away.

  “But then you ripped that away from me, and I do not know why.”

  His expression was unreadable because a myriad of emotions played across his face so fast that she could not latch onto any one of them.

  “I need to work,” Slade’s voice was deep and scratchy.

  Jillian dropped her head and left him.

  The snow let up and Slade was able to leave the house the following day. By the next week, it had warmed enough to begin trenching.

  While out visiting the horses in the barn, she overheard Peter talking with Mr. Tellem.

  “I don’t know why his grace is so intent on getting it started,” the groom commented, “the other years he’s been about trenching, he doesn’t start until April or May.”

  Tellem grunted in reply. Jillian assumed it was because he didn’t believe the trenching schedule had anything to do with the groom.

  Jillian knew all too well why her husband had started the trenching process so early.

  CHAPTER 14

  Dear Marianne,

  It was lovely to hear from you. I am glad you were able to sell two of the collars I sent to you, but I beg of you not to send me any more of the proceeds. I was never able to pay you for the room and the food you provided me in so desperate a time. I know you did so out of the kindness of your heart, but I would feel so much better if I could give back a small part of what you gave me.

  With great affection,

  Jillian

  Jillian had just set aside her letter when a noise from the passageway alerted her to trouble.

  She rose and walked toward the south corridor, “Mrs. Bailey,” she addressed the housekeeper before that woman could speed by her, “What has happened?”

  Bailey slowed her steps, but didn’t stop, “His grace has had an accident, madam.”

  Jillian followed the woman and the noise to the back steps.

  “Make way,” Tellem was shouting as two men carried Slade up the steps and into the house.

  “Take him to the kitchen,” Jillian stopped them in their tracks. “It will be warmer in there.”

  The workers glanced at Tellem for confirmation of the order, but he was already turning toward the kitchen.

  “Please leave us,” the mistress ordered the culinary staff, “Lay him on the counter,” she swept the food off the work table to give her husband a place to lie down.

  The maids and cooks were gone from the room, followed quickly by the workmen who had brought the duke in. She assumed all were remaining nearby. Mrs. Bailey and Mr. Tellem stayed in the room.

  “What happened, Mr. Tellem?” she came near her husband’s side and began stripping the clothes from him.

  “His horse slipped on the embankment and he fell into the creek.”

  Jillian took the blanket Mrs. Bailey presented her and covered her husband’s naked torso, “Though the ice?”

  “There’s not much ice out there,” he pulled at his master’s boots, “just a bit around the edges.”

  Jillian looked at the housekeeper, “Oswin should get a warm bath and a good fire going in the master’s rooms.”

  That woman hurried to comply while the wife and steward removed the remaining clothing. If Tellem did not think it proper for her to be dealing with his grace in such a manner, he did not comment. She wrapped the woolen blanket firmly around Slade’s body.

  “What happened to his head?” she began rubbing Slade’s limbs.

  “He hit it on the way down. I believe it is the reason he does not wake.”

  Jillian whispered a prayer and tucked the blanket under her husband, “How long was he in the water?”

  “Not very long. Josiah and Harold were standing down below, and they pulled him out, but the cold March wind blowing on his wet body. . .” Tellem seemed to flush a bit at his use of the last word.

  “Are they the men who carried him home?”

  He nodded.

  “I think we should have them carry him up now.”

  “As you wish, milady.”

  Jillian followed the men up to her husband’s chambers, grateful that Tellem had remained with her.

  “Has someone sent for the doctor?”

  “Yes, madam. He should be here shortly.”

  Jillian was pleased to see Oswin had the bath ready.

  “Do not bother about the blanket,” she instructed Josiah and Harold. “Put him directly into the water.”

  The men didn’t question her directions.

  Oswin held the duke’s head as that man reclined, unaware, in the warm water.

  Jillian looked at him, “I will return in a moment.”

  Tellem had led the other two out into the corridor. Jillian hastened after them.

  “Excuse me,” she called after them. They stopped and turned.

  “I wish to thank you for saving my husband and bringing him here.”

  They nodded, apparently not daring to speak in the presence of the duchess.

  She met Tellem’s eyes. His nod was nearly imperceptible, but she knew he would ensure the men received a tangible form of her gratitude.

  Jillian returned to her husband’s bathing chamber.

  “Mrs. Bailey,” she looked at the woman who was wringing her handkerchief. “I forgot to ask Mr. Tellem to plan to meet the doctor so he could give him an account of all th
at happened, and I did not inform the kitchen that they could go back to their duties.”

  Mrs. Bailey was pleased with something to do. The woman was normally competent, but seeing her master’s blue skin and still form, had given her a great fright and set her off-kilter.

  “Oswin,” she reached into the water, “you may stay or go, but I intend to restore circulation to my husband’s limbs.”

  He nodded, “I will remain here, milady.”

  She took a piece of toweling from a nearby cabinet and began running it briskly over her husband’s arms.

  He groaned, but did not rouse. His lips were still blue, though his breathing was regular.

  Jillian took a deep breath and rolled the blanket from his chest, shoving it down to his hips. She repeated the motions with the cloth, up and down his chest.

  He emitted a moan.

  She waited until he was resting before speaking to his valet, “I think some hotter water is in order, Oswin.”

  The man nodded and went to the warming stove for another pitcher.

  “Perhaps just one at a time,” she chewed her lip as she looked at the steam. “I do not wish to scald him.”

  Oswin poured it in and then tested the water, “The temperature seems safe to me, madam.”

  She was grateful for his input.

  “Can you support his head, please? I am going to work on his . . . lower limbs.”

  Oswin seemed a trifle more uncomfortable with this, but he did not refuse his assistance.

  Jillian leaned into the water and rubbed at her husband’s calves. She was certainly not going to go higher than that, but leaning so far into the water was creating a mess on her gown.

  “Lady Jillian,” Mrs. Bailey stood in the doorway, “Mr. Mitchell has arrived.”

  The doctor did not await the duchess’s greeting, but hurried to the duke’s side.

  “He appears to be warming,” the man sounded pleased. “Excellent work, Oswin.”

  Oswin was too proud to claim credit not his own, “It was the work of the duchess, sir.”

  Mitchell shot her a look of appreciation before returning to the patient, “Has he wakened?”

  “No,” Jillian was going to have this communication with the doctor herself. “He did make some noises, but his eyes have not opened nor has he shown signs of being alert.”

  He nodded and felt the water, “Was it when you placed him in the water?”

  “No. It was when I rubbed his chest,” she hated being so graphic, but in the interest of helping Slade, she felt she must.

  “Very good,” he smiled. “Do it again.”

  Jillian made an attempt to not feel like her husband was a trick pony. She reached for the cloth and ran it almost roughly over her husband’s torso.

  The man groaned again, his head lifting slightly from the back of the tub this time.

  “That bone is called the sternum, Lady Jillian, and the technique you are employing is quite effective in waking people.”

  He demonstrated, but with his knuckles and no cloth.

  Slade’s eyes fluttered as a rather foul word escaped his lips.

  The doctor smiled, “Oswin, let’s see if you and I can get his grace out of the tub, shall we?”

  Oswin glanced at the woman in the room.

  The doctor smiled and shook his head, “Milady, if you would be so kind as to fetch a robe for your husband?”

  Jillian left to get the item. By the time she returned, the men had Slade out of the tub, seated in a chair with some toweling around his middle. She tried not to flush as she helped her husband into his dressing gown.

  It was difficult, however, as he was now awake and glaring at her.

  “I think your bedroom fire and the chair will be more comfortable than the one in here, your grace,” Mitchell suggested boldly.

  “Do you not think he should lie down?” she questioned him.

  “I would like to examine him while he is upright,” the doctor explained.

  “The chair it is, then,” she stepped toward the door.

  Slade didn’t take his eyes off his wife as he grunted in response.

  He attempted to rise, but fell heavily back into the chair.

  Oswin and the doctor each stood on a side and helped him to his bedroom.

  The few feet had caused him to breathe heavily, and it appeared he had sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  Jillian had positioned a blanket in the chair he was to sit in. As soon as he sank into it, she wrapped the covers tightly around him.

  He continued to glare, but Jillian chose to ignore it to the best of her ability.

  “Now that your lovely wife has assisted you in warming up,” the doctor spoke to Slade, “perhaps she would like to go change so she doesn’t end up with a chill as well.”

  Jillian glanced down at her attire, and, with a promise to return shortly, left the room.

  The doctor was sitting across from Slade when Jillian came back into the room. Oswin was standing by the door nearest the bathing chamber.

  “I’d say his grace will heal just fine, madam,” he looked up at her. “He has injured his leg in all this nonsense, but it doesn’t appear to be broken.”

  Jillian stood next to Slade but did not touch him, “Should he remain here – in this chair?”

  “I think not. The bed would be best for him unless he begins to cough or has difficulty breathing.”

  She nodded and chanced a glance down at her husband.

  “Keep him warm.”

  Slade made a growling noise in the back of his throat that indicated he did not appreciate being spoken of as though he was a child.

  The doctor left then.

  Jillian moved so she was standing in front of the duke.

  “Why?” Slade’s voice sounded as though it came from across the moors. It was distant and hollow.

  “I am your wife, am I not?” Jillian tucked the blanket in still more tightly before crossing to the door to speak to her husband’s valet.

  “Oswin, would you please be so kind as to have my husband’s water emptied?”

  That man nodded as he entered the room, “Yes milady.”

  “Is Mr. Tellem waiting for me?”

  “In the study,” Oswin acknowledged.

  Jillian looked toward the man sitting in the chair. He was glowering at her, but she straightened her spine and turned back to speak to the valet, “Please leave the duke where he is until I return. I will assist him to his bed at that point.”

  She found the steward where Oswin indicated.

  “Is his grace well, milady?” the man was rather forward to ask, but Jillian didn’t mind.

  “He is better now, Tellem. Thank you for asking. I think he had better remain in his rooms for the remainder of the afternoon, however. Are there any pressing matters of business that cannot wait until tomorrow?”

  “I think not,” he looked uncomfortable discussing this with his mistress.

  “Tellem,” she began patiently, hoping he was not going to prove to be difficult, “I am not asking you to divulge any secrets, but I do not wish to cause further strain on him, and I am certain leaving anything unfinished will cause him more stress than is healthy.”

  “There is one small matter,” Tellem began with a degree of hesitancy.

  “Can I relay it to him, or would it be better for you to address this in person?”

  Tellem thought for a moment, “I think he’s made a decision about it already. Maybe you could just ask him?”

  Jillian was grateful to the man, “Would you like to write it down or is it a simple message?”

  Tellem laughed, “I think you can manage.”

  He gave her the information, and she promised to send the answer down with Oswin.

  She returned to her husband’s room to find that man attempting to get out of his chair.

  “Oswin, get these cursed blankets off of me,” he was struggling against the many layers of fabric.

  The valet looked up in relie
f when the duchess entered the room.

  “Thank you, Oswin,” Jillian indicated the bathing chamber with a nod of her head.

  The man bowed stiffly, “If there is nothing else, madam.”

  “Actually,” she released her husband from the sheath in which she had fastened him securely, “his grace has a message for you to give to Tellem.”

  Slade frowned up at her.

  Jillian looked down at the irate man, “He wishes to know if you have made a decision on whether to turn east or west with the current drainage ditch. He said all other business can wait until tomorrow.”

  Slade folded his arms across his chest, an action that was formerly impossible due to the swaddling method his wife had employed, “I’ll go tell him myself.”

  Jillian arched her eyebrow.

  The duke braced his hands against the chair’s armrests and rose to his feet, “You may be excused, Oswin.”

  That man knew better than to defy his master, but Jillian hoped he would wait outside the door.

  “Slade,” she moved closer to his side to offer her assistance, “why don’t you give me the answer to the question?”

  “Because,” he snarled at her, “I am going downstairs to talk to him myself.”

  Jillian wrapped an arm around his waist, causing him to intake a sharp breath, “Did I hurt you?” she pulled his arm over her shoulder so he could lean on him as they walked toward the bed.

  “No,” the answer was curt, but, at least, he wasn’t yelling.

  She helped him sit on the edge of the bed and untied the belt of his robe. He seemed too engrossed in what she was doing to argue that she had led him to the bed rather than his dressing room.

  She reached up and gently pulled the robe from his shoulders.

  “Are you afraid you’ll have to go back to your uncle if something happens to me?”

  Jillian knelt to lift his feet into the bed, “You wouldn’t do that to me, Slade. I’m sure you have provided for me in any case.”

  He lay down at her slight push and then rolled over so she could remove the robe from under him.

  “I don’t have time to take a nap in the middle of the day, Jillian. I’m not a child.”

  Jillian dared to sit on the edge of the bed, “I know you aren’t, Slade. But you need to give your body a chance to recover from the accident.”