"Can you lift them?" James asked.
Clayton nodded. "It will be tricky, but we can do it."
The two women were pulled carefully from the carriage and placed on the grassy knoll beside the vehicle, where a carriage blanket had been thrown to keep them partially dry.
With some rope, Clayton secured another blanket over the tilted carriage and tied the other end to a nearby tree. He told James to take his horse and ride on ahead to obtain a doctor and another mode of transportation for the ladies and Harry, who was resting in the shelter of some trees.
Inwardly thanking the earl for his emergency thinking, Clayton found a small medicine box in the carriage, which he used to attend to the ladies' injuries. He had seen worse in the war, but the sight of their blood had terrified him.
Miss Garland had a head wound, a small gash behind her ear. Agatha had a large bump on the back of her head and some small cuts. Both of the women were still unconscious. Clayton knew he had done all he could for the ladies. He had finished cleaning Miss Garland's injury when she started coming around.
As those beautiful green eyes gazed up at his face, a tidal wave of relief swept through him. What was it about this woman that tied his stomach into knots whenever he saw her?
He took hold of her hand. "It's all right, sweetheart. You've had an accident." He managed a smile. "It was a good thing I came along when I did."
"Agatha," she whispered hoarsely.
"She's had a good whack to her head, but she'll be fine once we get her to Grimstoke Hall."
"Must... stay with her."
Clayton ran a hand over Briana's pale skin. "Don't worry."
"M-must be with her."
Clayton's brow creased at the fear he saw in the lady's eyes. "I'll stay with her. I promise. Now rest."
A tear rolled down the lady's cheek as she closed her fairy eyes. "Th-thank you."
He frowned and placed a kiss upon her forehead as if she were his. He didn't want to leave her side. What kind of spell had she cast upon him?
The entourage arrived at Grimstoke Hall late that night. Miss Garland was resting comfortably in the adjacent bedchamber. She had not complained once during the journey in the dilapidated carriage they had obtained from a nearby vicar a few miles from the accident. Though the bumps had made her wince, she had been alert, avoiding any glances his way.
He knew she had been remembering his offer of marriage, but her only concern had been for her godmother. Clayton had assured Miss Garland—who needed sleep herself—that he would personally look after the older lady.
Miss Appleby, on the other hand, had awakened inside the vehicle and had told him exactly how she felt with a lump the size of three eggs on the back of her head.
Although Miss Appleby was now abed, the doctor had told Clayton that the lady also had a badly sprained ankle and should not be up and about for days, and because of her head injury, she was not to sleep during the night. Though it seemed an unusual demand, Clayton had heard of similar requests regarding such head injuries during the war.
Yet it was devilish hard trying to keep Miss Appleby up most the night. She was in excruciating pain, but Clayton soon realized that telling her stories of the war—something she seemed most interested in—seemed to work. She knew she had to stay awake, but she didn't like it.
Lord Grimstoke had been all assistance, even providing a personal maid outside Agatha's door. The door was left open an inch for propriety's sake, Grimstoke had announced, giving Clayton a curt glance. It was the first time Agatha had smiled since the accident. Clearly embarrassed, Clayton wasn't about to go back on his promise to Miss Garland, so he endured Agatha's laughing gray eyes and settled in a chair beside her bed for the night.
If Jared and his brothers could see him now.
With a frown, Clayton regarded Miss Appleby's plump, pale form swallowed up by a mound of pillows and covers. Her lids were slowly sliding over her eyes while he was in the middle of one of his battles. "Miss Appleby," he said a little louder than usual, "am I boring you?"
Her eyes flickered open. "Yes ... yes, you are."
His eyes twinkled. "Good. It's the least I could do after that attack with your parasol."
For a second her lips twitched, and then her eyes closed.
Clayton cleared his throat, trying to wake her. Nothing. A branch of candles flickered at the end of the bed, providing more than enough light for the room, but obviously not enough to keep the lady awake. He glanced at the door. What to do? Should he lean over the bed and shake her?
"I am still awake, my lord. Don't look so scared. No one is going to demand that you marry me."
Clayton flinched, his gaze shooting back to the lady. "Miss Appleby, you do enjoy torturing me, do you not?"
"No, not really." She yawned and winced. "I'm too tired to torture you. But if you want me to stay awake, why don't you tell me something interesting?"
His brows lifted in surprise. "Madam, I thought I was telling you something interesting." There was an amusing edge to his voice that cut through the formality of the situation.
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Well," she drawled, "since we are on such good terms and only a good story will keep my mind conscious, why don't you tell me about Lady Serena?"
For a full minute he could only stare at her.
"Don't sit there like some wide mouth bass with your jaw hanging on every word I say," she said unapologetically. "Entertain me, my lord."
"I fail to see what my past has to do with anything."
"You told me about the war. Now tell me about your heart." Her gaze was firm, making him feel about six years old.
Who the devil had she been talking to? Emily? "I don't think it wise," he said stiffly.
"Pffff. Hearts are made to love, my lord. And before you open your mouth again, let me tell you a story."
A chubby hand rose from beneath the linens. "No, not a word. This is my story, my lord. A story of how I found love, lost love, and never loved again."
The sun had begun to peek through the sides of the curtains when Clayton realized the lady had kept him captive for a rather long time herself.
Wordlessly, he had sat glued to his chair, listening to this extraordinary woman tell her story of how she had met a handsome naval officer, had fallen in love, and had lost him at Trafalgar. He was younger than she, and feeling pressure from Society, she had refused his proposal of marriage. She regretted it as soon as he had left, but it was too late. He had died during the battle.
"I have never told anyone the true story," she said, her eyes misty, "but it seemed appropriate, since you had the gallantry to sit by an old maid and succumb to the embarrassment of Lord Grimstoke's servant guarding my virtue."
He chuckled. "I can see why a man would want you, Miss Appleby. I give Grimstoke credit for guarding you."
The lady gave him a light swat on his wrist. "What the ladies say is true, then. You are a charmer. I have been warned, and so has my godchild."
At the mention of Miss Garland, all playfulness fell from his face. Had Miss Appleby been told about his proposal? "I see."
"You had better see, my lord, or another whack from my parasol will be the least I do."
Clayton sank back in his seat and gaped at the older lady. Devil take it. There had always been a certain mystery about Miss Agatha Appleby, and he didn't doubt her in the least.
"And another thing," Agatha said. "If I ever catch you proposing to that wonderful girl again without some feeling behind your words, I will—well, I will send word to the duke himself."
Clayton's face went grim. More the reason for me to marry and gain that deuced castle! He loved his brother Roderick, but he didn't need the duke's interference in his life.
There was a knock on the door. The maid entered, crossing the room to drawn open the curtains, and mentioning something about an early breakfast. It took all Clayton's willpower not to follow the servant out the door. The duke was one of the very reasons he wanted t
hat castle. To him, it meant freedom from Roderick, who thought to run everyone's life, including Clayton's.
Clayton poured a drink of water for Agatha and handed it to her. "My brother has no say in what I do, madam."
The lady's gray eyes peered over the cup as she sipped. "I declare, you do get your back up. But depend upon it, one word from my mouth on your conduct toward my godchild, and the duke will cut off your quarterly payments."
Would he indeed? Clayton stared at the lady as an adversary would study his opponent. Undeniably, Miss Agatha Appleby was more than she appeared. He took her cup and set it down on the table. "I have other means of supporting myself."
Her sharp gaze narrowed. "Do you now? Since you lost everything in that ridiculous tobacco venture, I suppose you mean that old goat's castle."
Clayton had started to rise, the chair scraping against the floor, and he caught himself midway. Who the devil had told her about that?
"I am not as blind as you think," she said, waving her hand toward the door. "But that is neither here nor there. Since I cannot be by my godchild's side, I want you to do it for me."
Clayton stood and adjusted his jacket, halting at her words.
He leaned against the bedpost, struggling to maintain a serene appearance. "First, you tell me to stay away from the lady, and now you want me to stick to her like a paid companion. I believe that lump on your head has done more damage than the doctor thought."
She rose on her elbows, her sleepy gaze searching the room. "I am as sane as you are, if that is any measure."
He laughed, but the wheels starting turning in his mind. Was she mad? Why would she want him to keep an eye on Miss Garland, the very person he had been warned to stay away from?
Was it because of the carriage accident? He intended to investigate that entire incident. The footman had mentioned a broken axle. Had it been sheared on purpose? Or had it purely been worn and Stonebridge's servants missed it? What the devil was going on here?
"Where in the blue blazes is my parasol?" she snapped.
"The last time I saw your weapon, madam, it was squished between the door and the seat of the tipped carriage. Broken like Napoleon's blasted empire."
She huffed. "Never compare any of my effects to that man, if you please."
It was hard for Clayton not to laugh. He pulled out his pocket watch. Five o'clock.
The doctor had said that if she stayed awake until five in the morning, it would be quite all right to let her sleep the day away.
Clayton had already decided that he would leave when the maid brought in the breakfast tray. It was odd, but he was beginning to feel a strange urge to look after Miss Appleby, and it had nothing to do with duty or his sister's attachment to the lady, let alone that she was Stonebridge's aunt.
"You need your rest, Miss Appleby. I made a promise to your precious goddaughter that I would stay by your side during the night. I believe I have done my duty."
The lady's head sank into her pillow. "I thank you for that, my lord. But a maid would have sufficed."
"Forgive me for being blunt, madam, but you would have had the maid in tears and running from the room in thirty minutes. And besides Miss Garland, my sister would never have forgiven me if something had happened to you, and neither would my brother-in-law. So sleep the day away and rest that sore head and injured ankle. Oh, and be secure in the thought that nothing will happen to your goddaughter, for I have no intention of proposing to her again."
Steel gray eyes captured his, but there was a weariness in Miss Appleby's expression that told him she was losing her edge. "That isn't what I meant."
They both turned their heads as the maid entered again with the breakfast tray. "I know it's early, but his lordship wanted a tray sent to your chambers as well, my lord," the girl said, setting the food beside Agatha.
It seemed Grimstoke had insisted on sending the servant to be at Miss Appleby's side by the appointed time. Clayton needed his sleep, and now that he knew the older lady would be fine, he had to address his own problems, namely finding a bride.
Miss Appleby looked drained, but she managed to raise her forefinger and curl it, summoning Clayton to her side.
He nodded for the maid to wait outside the door, then he leaned his ear toward the lady, his lips twitching. "I am at your command, madam."
"Do not leave her alone."
Clayton's brows creased. Before he could answer, she grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Kingsdale ..."
Clayton stiffened. Kingsdale here?
"Promise me... my lord." The lady was fighting with everything she had to stay awake. "Keep her away from him. Don't ... like the man."
"I will give her fair warning about the man, Miss Appleby. But Miss Garland will have to make up her mind about him, not me."
Another frown flitted across the lady's face. "Other things ... danger ... must watch her."
The lady started to rise, and Clayton put a gentle hand to her shoulder. "Upon my word, you are going to kill yourself if you think to get up with that cursed ankle."
"Must warn her." The lady's eyes were mere slits.
"I believe your godchild is resting comfortably. No need to concern yourself."
The lady fell against her pillow, thoroughly exhausted. The next moment a deep sigh passed her lips and she was fast asleep. Clayton walked to the door and called for the maid. He took a step into the hall.
"Keep her in bed. You can send another tray to her room when she awakens. I, as well as the doctor, will be checking on her. As long as she passed the night without complications, the doctor mentioned a few drops of laudanum in her drink or her food. Once she opens those eyes, she'll demand to get up. She must stay immobile until she heals."
"I have seen to many ladies, your lordship. She be like my own mum."
Clayton left, feeling quite satisfied that Miss Appleby was in the best of hands. He would have a little food and then rest. But as soon as he entered his bedchambers and discarded his jacket, the image of Miss Garland and Kingsdale stood out in his mind. Did she know anything about the man's past and his treatment of women?
His conscience would not let it go. He would have to warn her. He told himself it was his duty as a gentleman and as a friend of the family. After that task was done, he would search for a bride.
Frowning, he pulled out his list. Instead of Miss Cherrie Black, all he could see was a head of rich auburn hair, two sensuous green eyes, and a pert little nose sprinkled with adorable freckles. No, he thought, smiling. Not freckles. Feckles!
He raised his hand to the bridge of his nose and gave it a pinch. Hell and spitfire. For the life of him he couldn't remember what Miss Cherrie Black looked like at all. He blamed it on his loss of sleep. That was it. It had nothing to do with feelings for Miss Garland. Nothing at all.
In her chamber down the hall, Briana peeked through a crack in her door and overheard Clayton spouting orders to the maid outside Agatha's room. His voice was low but still audible to her ears. The man was an enigma. He cared for Agatha as if she were his own mother.
When they had arrived at Grimstoke Hall, Briana had wanted to stay at her godmother's side, but both the doctor and Lord Clayton had insisted she rest. Lord Clayton had promised to stay with Agatha during the night.
Knowing the stubborn man was probably the only one who could stand up to the headstrong lady, Briana had agreed, and it seemed he had kept his promise to the last detail.
His coldness toward marriage bothered her, yet when he thought others were not looking, he showed a heart of gold. Oh, for a few short minutes during the night, Briana had tiptoed down the hall and spied on him and Agatha, listening to their conversation—not that they ever knew she was there. The two were so wrapped up in Lord Clayton's war stories, they didn't even flinch at the snores coming from the maid posted in the hall.
Frowning, Briana slowly closed her door and went back to bed. She pulled the covers up to her neck and stared at the ceiling. While it was true that Grimstoke's s
ervant was certainly no guard dog, Briana wished with all her might that someone or something existed in this grand house that would guard her against Lord Clayton's charms.
She couldn't deny that the man's kindness was beginning to penetrate even the hardest part of her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Later that morning Briana situated herself on the window seat in Lord Grimstoke's guest chamber, examining Agatha's papers that she had extracted from the lady's reticule the night before.
Once Lord Clayton had descended from the vicar's carriage, shouting orders for Grimstoke's servants to send for a doctor, Agatha, though still in pain, had used the time to warn Briana that perhaps their sudden stop had not been an accident after all.
Minutes later Briana heard Lord Clayton mention something to their host about the axle on the Stonebridge carriage being sheared; whether it was worn or done on purpose he wasn't certain. At that point Briana could no longer dismiss her godmother’s warning.
Briana had had a breakfast tray sent up to her chambers, and after eating she had stopped in to see how her godmother was doing. The lady was sleeping, looking fragile and pale, like a small child lost in a sea of pillows and satin covers.
Immediately after visiting Agatha, Briana met up with the doctor, who praised Lord Clayton to the highest heavens. It seemed his lordship had been a miracle worker. Well, Briana didn't need the doctor to tell her that. She had seen it for herself. The man was quickly breaking through her defenses.
"Bree, may I come in?"
The young voice belonged to Grimstoke's only daughter, Violet, taking Briana completely by surprise. But they were to meet later in the day.
Stuffing the papers back into her reticule, Briana stood and walked toward the door. "Come in."
Violet hurried into the room and greeted Briana with a hug. The young lady stepped back, clasping Briana's hands.
"Oh, Bree, last time I saw you, you were in mourning, and now here you are, coming to our house party and you have an accident along the way. Papa told me all about it this morning at breakfast. It must have been dreadful."
The Convenient Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 13