The Last Waltz: Hearts are at stake in the game of love... (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances)

by Dorothy Mack

  “A mere connection only,” replied the lady, returning his smile.

  The earl’s expression became serious. “For our present purposes, I am persuaded it would be best if we did not draw attention to the distant nature of the connection, do you not agree, ma’am?”

  Before Miss Beckworth could express her probable agreement, Adrienne demanded to know what his lordship meant by “present purposes.”

  The earl smiled at the truculent girl and said gently, “I am referring of course to my mother’s plan to assist in your return to England.”

  “England!” exclaimed Luc, pinning an accusing glare on his sister. “You couldn’t be so … so paltry as to think of cutting out of Brussels just as the fun is about to start!”

  Adrienne cast an imploring glance at Becky, but it was Lord Creighton who came unexpectedly to her rescue. “Surely it must always have been an object with Miss Beckworth to see an English family resettled in England, where you have ties. And there is your education to be thought of as well. How old are you, Cousin…? I beg your pardon, but I do not seem to recall hearing your name.”

  Luc pronounced his name and grudgingly admitted his age while both women hastened to apologize for the oversight. Lord Creighton returned his attention to the boy, addressing him as an equal. “My name is Dominic, by the way. I can see that it must seem vastly exciting to be in the area where fighting might ensue, but I must tell you that it is no such thing for civilians. It becomes excessively crowded and uncomfortable beforehand as well as vastly expensive as commodities grow scarce. And if there should be any fighting, you would not be in a position to see it, only the suffering that comes afterward, and that, let me tell you, is not an edifying sight.”

  “I want to join the army!” Luc insisted with a mulish glint in near-black eyes. “Wellington will need all the soldiers he can get to beat Bonaparte. I’m big enough to fight.”

  For a moment, the earl’s gentle manner was replaced by sternness. “You may be big enough, but you are not old enough to make that choice. There may not even be any fighting in the end. No one really knows what is going to happen. Meanwhile, this is an unsettled existence for all of you.” He appealed to Miss Beckworth. “How much time would you require to arrange your affairs and pack up, ma’am? There is a packet leaving Ostend on Monday. Could you be ready by then?”

  “Why, yes, I should think —”

  “Becky, no! We cannot allow Lord Creighton to assume our obligations. It may take a little longer, but we’ll get to England on our own.” Adrienne ignored the colonel entirely while she pleaded with her companion.

  The earl watched the young girl’s gamine features grow impassioned, those incredibly coloured eyes all but drowned in tears she refused to shed. Without understanding it, he was touched by her pride and desperation. His voice was gentle as he inquired, “Are you of age, Miss Castle?”

  “I shall be shortly,” she returned, not taking her eyes from Miss Beckworth, who sat twisting her hands in her lap in indecision.

  He tried to conceal his surprise. “How shortly?”

  “My birthday is in August.” She supplied the information impatiently, her attention still on her companion.

  “Is your guardianship of my cousins legal or unofficial, ma’am?” asked the earl, addressing the older woman.

  Miss Beckworth smiled briefly. “Unofficial. If you had known Matthew Castle, you would not have found the question necessary.”

  “If you have it in your mind to try to assume guardianship, my lord, let me warn you that Becky and I will not permit it. I do not think you would be able to prevail at law before I reach my majority.”

  Lord Creighton smiled at the defiant girl facing him. “I wish you will try to rid your mind of the notion that I intend to involve myself in your affairs except to act for my mother in the matter of arranging your transportation to England, which was, you will allow, the reason Miss Beckworth contacted Lady Creighton originally.”

  Colour flooded into Adrienne’s cheeks at this polite set-down. She opened her lips to retaliate, but Miss Beckworth intervened.

  “Adrienne, dearest, I am persuaded we must accept Lord Creighton’s kind offer. Our situation here in Brussels is not going to improve materially.” She cast a lambent glance at the youth, who was following the conversation closely, before returning her serious gaze to his tense sister.

  Adrienne took her meaning, and quite suddenly her resistance collapsed, leaving her completely dispirited. “Very well. It shall be as Lord Creighton directs.” She picked up her sewing and sat back in her chair, withdrawing herself from the conversation. Luc offered a few more protests that were speedily overborne by the earl, who then insinuated himself into the boy’s good graces by promising to send him reports of the military situation as it developed. Looking up in surprise, Adrienne searched his lordship’s face and could not doubt his sincerity. His clear blue eyes were regarding her brother with sympathetic understanding. When they headed in her direction she dropped her own and hastily resumed her stitching, though her thoughts remained with this incomprehensible new relative, who was now discussing the practical aspects of the prospective move with Becky.

  “Ouch!”

  All heads turned to the girl, who coloured up in confusion as she sucked her punctured finger.

  “Are you much hurt?” inquired Lord Creighton, reaching automatically for her wrist.

  “No, no!” She shook her head vigorously and pulled her hand away. “It was my own fault entirely and just the merest prick — really, my lord,” as he seemed momentarily disinclined to accept her description of the injury.

  “Adrienne is what is meant by the phrase ‘accident prone,’” laughed her brother. “She is forever tripping over cracks or dropping things.” His engaging grin took the sting out of the words, although his sister replied by sticking out the tip of a pink tongue before turning her back on him.

  “A good soldier knows how to avoid an unnecessary skirmish,” said Lord Creighton, rising from his chair with a mocking smile. “I shall take my leave of you before this degenerates into a family quarrel. By the way,” he added, struck all at once by something missing, “I thought there were three of you. Was I misinformed?”

  Adrienne answered with less constraint than she had so far demonstrated in his lordship’s presence. “Our brother, Jean-Paul, is suffering from a feverish cold, so we are keeping him in bed today.”

  “I trust he will be recovered before Monday,” replied the earl easily as he moved toward the door escorted by all three residents. “I shall look forward to meeting him then. How old is Jean-Paul?”

  “He’s twelve,” said Miss Beckworth, offering her hand to the departing caller. “You know how children are, ailing one moment and better the next. I have every confidence that we can be ready to catch Monday’s packet. Good day, my lord, and thank you.”

  The earl responded suitably and left to set in motion the mechanics of removing a family of four and their belongings across the English Channel. He did not in the least begrudge the effort required and was glad he had been on the spot to ease the transition for the orphans. He had been moved to sympathy by their plight, sight unseen. Meeting them had added admiration for the courage and independent spirit of the two eldest, and appreciation for the devotion of Miss Beckworth. His mother would certainly find much with which to occupy herself in trying to arrange a future for this volatile family if his brief acquaintance with the two eldest members was anything to judge by. They would need clever handling, and he congratulated himself that he had accomplished what he had set out to do in the face of determined opposition.

  The earl went around feeling inordinately pleased with himself until six o’clock on Saturday evening. That was the hour at which Moulton admitted a sober and scared Luc Castle to the study where Lord Creighton was enjoying a glass of Madeira and a chess game with Major Peters.

  “Luc! Is anything wrong?” The earl got slowly to his feet as the boy stood hesitating in the entran
ce.

  “I beg pardon for intruding, sir, but we … we won’t be able to take the packet on Monday. Becky said I should let you know.”

  “What’s amiss? Has your sister refused to budge?”

  “It’s Jean-Paul. He’s much worse, sir!” blurted the boy. “The doctor’s been twice and he thinks he’s got something called rheumatic fever.”

  “Is that serious? I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “I have, and it can be serious if not properly treated,” said Major Peters to his host.

  Luc swallowed with difficulty. “Becky says he’ll get better, but I know she’s worried. Adrienne too. She’s been crying after the doctor left. She denied it, but I can always tell when Adrienne cries because the tip of her nose gets red and she glares at me.”

  “Here, son, sit down for a minute.” The earl put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and eased him into a chair. A glance at his friend sent Major Peters to a side table, where he poured something into a glass. He passed it to the earl, who pressed the glass into the youth’s hand. “Drink this, Luc.”

  The boy took a gulp of the liquid and gasped. “Ugh!” He put the glass down hastily, but the earl picked it up and offered it again.

  “It’s only brandy, Luc. It will warm you a bit. When you’ve finished it, I’ll take you home.” When his cousin had reluctantly accepted the glass, the earl walked over to the fireplace and pulled the bell. He addressed his friend in low tones. “I hope you’ll forgive me, Ivor, but I think I’d best check up on the little boy myself. This lad’s fagged to death, though he doesn’t know it. I assume you’ve gathered by now that he is one of my newfound cousins whom I was about to pack off to England?”

  “Miss Castle’s brother?”

  “One of them. It’s the younger one who’s ill. I don’t know what this will mean for — Oh, there you are, Moulton,” as the butler entered the room. “Send round to the stables for the carriage right away, if you please. I shall be going out as soon as it arrives.” He glanced across to the other side of the fireplace where Luc was sipping at the brandy, his nose wrinkling in distaste, his eyes fixed on empty space. When the boy put down the glass a few minutes later and turned toward his host, the earl explained:

  “My carriage will be here directly, Luc. I am going to drive you home.”

  The boy jumped up in distress. “Oh no, sir, you must not put yourself out for me! I can walk home perfectly well. I’m only sorry to have interrupted your game.” He indicated the chessboard with a nod and sent a look of shy apology toward Major Peters, who was regarding him in a sympathetic fashion.

  “No apologies needed, lad. I was twisting and turning in a trap and was delighted to get off before the axe fell.”

  Luc mustered up a slight acknowledging smile as he edged toward the door, protesting that he could not drag his cousin out at dinnertime.

  “Whoa, Luc! I want to see Jean-Paul in any case, so we may as well go together. Another time will serve to give Major Peters his usual drubbing.” The earl made his cousin known to his friend. While the two were in the process of exchanging bows, Moulton returned with the news that the carriage was at the door.

  As the three exited the study together, Major Peters expressed the civil hope that the news of Luc’s young brother would shortly be better. A worried look descended on the boy’s brow again.

  Lord Creighton said bracingly, “I am persuaded Jean-Paul will quickly respond to the devoted care of his sister and Miss Beckworth. Children make amazing recoveries from feverish ailments, you know.”

  He was repaid for this unsupported assumption by a visible lessening of the tension that held Luc in its grip. The boy even managed a polite mumble of farewell as he and his new cousin took their leave of Major Peters outside the door and climbed into the waiting carriage.

  CHAPTER 5

  A scant half-hour later, Lord Creighton too would have welcomed an authoritative pronouncement on the remarkable ability of children to overcome feverish ailments. By then he had met his youngest cousin under the most unpropitious circumstances, and, to his admittedly untrained eye, the boy looked exceedingly ill.

  A listless Adrienne had opened the door to them. One glimpse of her pale, subdued countenance confirmed the seriousness of the situation. Lord Creighton would have given much at that moment to be greeted by the defiance and antagonism she had displayed at their previous meetings rather than the dull acceptance that characterized his reception this evening. To his queries about her brother’s condition she replied readily that although his temperature had not been so elevated as to cause immediate concern, his whole body was racked by pains, now more acute in one joint, now in another. He drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes seeming not to recognize his family. Her voice faltered at this point, and a film of tears clouded her vision momentarily. She didn’t even notice that the earl had taken her hand in his and was uttering awkward murmurs of sympathy while she fought for control. His request to be permitted to see Jean-Paul brought her back to the present. An expression of surprise crossed her features and lingered when her eyes dropped to their linked hands, but after a slight hesitation she drew hers out of his clasp and led the way to the sickroom.

  The chamber where Jean-Paul lay was small and cramped. The dim light admitted by a single window in one corner was augmented by a branch of candles on a stand near the double bed that dominated the room. A tall painted chest opposite the bed and a wooden chair occupied by Miss Beckworth completed the meagre furnishings. All this Lord Creighton assimilated in one swift impression before his eyes gravitated to the restless figure in the big bed. At fourteen, Luc Castle was half a head taller than his sister and solidly built, so the earl was unprepared for the small frame and childish appearance of the youngest member of the family. His heart went out to the flushed little boy thrashing about uncomfortably, his blue-black hair soaked with perspiration. He was aware that Miss Beckworth had glided over to join him. His eyes still on the child, he asked quietly, “Is there any improvement?”

  “No, but I do not believe he is any worse, either.” They had kept their voices to mere breaths of sounds, but Jean-Paul’s restless muttering intensified and he sat up suddenly.

  “I’m so thirsty, Becky. Becky, where are you?”

  Miss Beckworth was at the boy’s side, gentling him back down onto his pillows before his hoarse mumbling could be repeated. “I’m here, my dear, and Adrienne has prepared some lemonade for you to drink.”

  “Adrienne?” The child opened near-black eyes like his brother’s and focused on his sister filling a glass from a pitcher on the candle stand. “My throat hurts, Adrienne, and my knees ache like the devil.”

  “Drink this, my pet; it will help your throat. Soon it will be time for some medicine the doctor left that will make your legs feel better.”

  “No! It tastes bitter and it doesn’t help.” Jean-Paul shook his head fretfully and his eyes fell on the silent spectator standing at the foot of the bed. “Who’s that?”

  “This is our cousin Lord Creighton, whom I told you about,” Adrienne replied lightly. “You would not wish him to think you have not got good bottle, would you, refusing to take your medicine like a baby?”

  Lord Creighton intervened as the patient scowled and looked mutinous. “I am not partial to bitter-tasting medicines myself, Cousin Jean-Paul, but if one wishes to get well quickly, one must screw up one’s courage and obey the doctor.”

  “I don’t like him, he’s a quack,” replied the boy in querulous tones.

  “You don’t really believe that Miss Beckworth and your sister would entrust your care to a quack, do you? You will wound their feelings if you suggest such a thing.”

  “I … I didn’t mean that exactly,” muttered the child, discomfited.

  “Of course you did not, my dear. Here, drink your lemonade.” Becky put the glass into the boy’s hand and he drank it obediently, his feverish dark eyes surveying his visitor over the rim with a touch of resentment. “I ache all
over,” he complained.

  “You will soon feel more the thing. Try to sleep now, my pet. You will feel better when you wake up.”

  While Adrienne soothed the little boy and made him more comfortable in the bed, Miss Beckworth led Lord Creighton out of the room.

  “Are you satisfied with the medical advice you are receiving?” he inquired abruptly when they were beyond hearing distance. “Should you like me to call in another doctor?”

  “Well…” Miss Beckworth hesitated. “Dr. Martin was recommended by our landlady. He seems competent enough, but I confess I would welcome another opinion.”

  “I will send Dr. Hume around to look at him tomorrow morning.” Lord Creighton’s assurance brought a relaxation in the tense lines of Miss Beckworth’s pale countenance. She pushed a weary hand through her hair, smoothing back a strand that had come out of the simple knot at the nape of her neck.

  “You cannot stay here,” continued the earl, ignoring the woman’s instinctive protest. He glanced around the bare, cheerless room, his eyes coming to rest on several boxes testifying to the fact that a beginning had been made on their packing before Jean-Paul’s illness had brought that activity to a halt. “You can’t cater to his comfort in this place. I will make arrangements to have you all conveyed to my house immediately. Then we may —”

  “Lord Creighton, please! That is not necessary or advisable. Jean-Paul is too sick to be moved at present, and I assure you Adrienne and I will take the greatest care of him.”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am. My clumsy tongue does me a great disservice if you thought I meant to imply that he could receive better care than you and his sister will provide, but you have no facilities here, no space. You and Miss Castle will be completely done up before long. You look exhausted now. And where does Luc sleep?”