Ah, yes, the duchess might well do that. Another delaying tactic.
Tom wanted to leave them to it. He hated paperwork. But because the matter concerned his wife and because he wanted her as happy as he could make her, he reined in his impatience and discussed all the details, even to the percentages and yields. He became more interested in the portfolio, because, unexpectedly, Helena had a ship.
The news startled Helena too. “A small vessel,” Winterton explained. “But every member of the family has one in our enterprise. My cousin, the Marquess of Devereaux, is particularly interested in insuring ships, so we had to give him something to keep him busy.”
A way to help the marquess when he’d been struggling, Tom guessed. Devereaux’s father had been a wastrel, leaving his son very little in the way of inheritance. That the marquess was now a wealthy man was entirely due to his own efforts, plus a judicial marriage to a woman who, by all accounts, he adored. His relatives had kept his business afloat—pun intended—and Helena now had a ship.
“I have interests of my own in that direction,” he said. “We should discuss the best way to deploy them. But not now,” he said hastily, as Winterton showed every indication of doing so.
“Not many people are aware of the investment,” Winterton said. “We decided to set up a corporation to amalgamate the ships into a small fleet. It has worked well for us.”
They kept at it and in a remarkably short length of time, when the clock had just chimed mid-day, they had finished. Winterton had done a good job, better than his father, who was adept at financial settlements. But when he wanted to add the annuity he was setting up for Helena, Tom refused.
“I will provide the equivalent.” He met Winterton’s eyes, and the room fell silent. This was the test. For years, Winterton had cared for Helena’s needs, when her family had proved deficient. Now it was his turn. He would care for her as ruthlessly as she needed.
Eventually Winterton nodded. “Then I will put the annuity toward my unborn child. Caroline is already provided for. I will not have the females of my family put under an undue obligation.” That would be because of the way his parents had treated his sister and the way society had treated his first wife, provoking her to further excesses instead of helping her.
Instead of an enemy, a flat figure they could take aim at, Lord Winterton had become a fully rounded person. The transformation had happened so slowly that Tom was not aware where it had started. Perhaps in that fateful year when Winterton had married for the first time. The issue of the Old Pretender’s children had emerged at the same time.
They must move on or atrophy.
The meeting broke up shortly after, and Winterton confessed that he was anxious to get back to his wife. “She says my fussing annoys her and sends me away on errands,” he said in a rare moment of frankness.
The undercurrent remained unsaid. Caroline had died shortly after giving birth. The pregnancy had increased her volatility, affected her moods, and after the birth of her baby, she had plunged into a cycle of abject despair followed by frantic, joyless activity. Tom had seen it but at the time taken little notice of it.
Eve was entirely different, but perhaps her husband was having understandable concerns.
As Tom rose and helped Helena to stand, he had a moment of realization. Nothing would ever be the same now he had acknowledged the marriage. The families would be forced into closer contact, and he would have no windmills to tilt at any longer. His father, idealist and staunch supporter of the Stuarts, was wavering, slowly drawing away his more evident allegiance, driven to it by changing allegiances and the almost criminally stupid behavior of the Prince. He had even allowed that heretofore forbidden word “Pretender” to be voiced in his hearing.
At the moment, none of that mattered because he was with Helena, and they could love again.
A wave of blissful happiness swamped his misgivings.
While his father remained to discuss other business with the lawyer, Tom and Helena saw Winterton out. The butler opened the door and stood rigidly at attention as Winterton smoothed his gloves over his wrists and strapped his sword firmly into place. As a gesture of respect, or trust, he had removed it with his outer clothing, something that had gone unmentioned, but not unnoticed.
Helena laid her hand on her brother’s arm. “She will be fine,” she said.
Julius smiled wryly. “I know. Eve sends her best wishes. I will be taking her to Oxfordshire in a day or two, and then we will be calmer. I will be calmer. Perhaps she will regain her taste for tea, too, which she says is the only cloud in her sky.”
He turned to leave.
A loud retort from outside was followed by an object zinging past him, stinging as it went. A bee?
But bees did not sound like that.
Bullets did.
Chapter 18
Julius flung his body in front of Tom’s as Helena’s husband plummeted to the floor, blood pouring from his head.
Bewildered, confused, she followed him down, frantically lying over him, as Julius barked instructions and people erupted from the rooms on the first floor, shouting.
Until a cry of “Tom!” had her wondering who had such a high-toned voice.
That would be her. Helena pressed her handkerchief to Tom’s head, but it was almost immediately soaked with sickening gore.
His eyes were closed, and he was breathing in stentorian gasps. Panic tightened her throat. Just last night, just yesterday they had begun. She would not lose him so soon. Oh, God in heaven, no!
Julius rolled to the still open doorway while Lamaire rushed up from below stairs in his shirtsleeves.
Her vision blurred with tears, Helena looked up. “Help him!”
Lamaire dropped to the floor by the side of his master. Blood poured from Tom’s head, and Helena felt sick. Her shocked mind stilled, unable to process the events.
Unlike the valet, who immediately set to work. “Cloths!” he snapped. “And hot water. Now!”
A footman scurried away to do his bidding, his feet clattering on the stairs.
Helena moved back to allow Lamaire to do whatever he had to, her new position giving her a better view of the street outside. A few people stood and gaped, but Julius got to his feet and raced outside.
After five minutes he returned, disconsolate. “He’s gone.”
The duke was standing next to Helena, his hand on her shoulder. “Pray,” he said softly. Tears stood in his eyes.
Tom’s hand moved. Thank God, he was alive, but for how long she had no clue. Forcing her mind back into action, she watched and waited to help. Lamaire knew what he was about. He’d taken a knife and cut Tom’s coat away, baring his shoulder, and now held a cloth to his neck and ear.
Who would do such a thing?
Lamaire glanced up. “I want two footmen, if you please. Carry him to his bedroom and lay him there.”
“But the jolting…” The duke seemed as bemused as Helena.
“It matters not. Carry him up. He’ll be better in bed.”
Why? Was he about to die? Did the loss of blood not matter because she was about to become a widow?
Before the men took him upstairs, Lamaire bound a cloth around Tom’s throat. The seepage had lessened now, but a puddle of bright blood on the black-and-white tiled floor left the evidence of his injury. Lifting her skirts, Helena trailed after the cortege.
The duchess joined them on the first floor and gripped her hand tightly. The older lady’s face was stern, but not for Helena. Now Helena’s mind had begun to work again, it raced. She could be a pregnant widow. That would perpetuate the line that the duke would probably rather died with his son, since Tom was not his. William could become duke in his turn. Nice and tidy, eliminating the late duchess’s error. Unless she was pregnant. Perhaps she should go home, back to the Abbey, or ask Julius to give her the annuity and go to live quietly somewhere, where she could mourn in peace.
To live without T
om? To know he was not in the world anymore? Impossible.
As the footmen gently turned their burden, Tom’s chest moved in a convulsive gasp for breath. He wasn’t dead yet. She wouldn’t wear black until she absolutely had to.
She’d worn a lavender gown the first night they’d met, a small rebellion against her mother, since lavender was a color of half mourning. She might have to wear that color in earnest now. If he died, she would wear that color for the rest of her life. She swore it, made an oath that was as sacred as any she had ever committed to. She’d be that odd lady in lavender, the one sitting in the corner, waiting for death.
How could she do anything else?
Her mind would not accept what had just happened. It was as if she’d dreamed it all, and the next moment Tom would wake her, laughing at the fine joke.
The room she had shared with him last night was now neat and tidy, as if nobody had ever slept in the bed or scattered their clothes all over the floor. Her maid stood in one corner, hands folded demurely before her. She had several clean cloths draped over her arm. For laying out? How often did a man shot in the head survive?
Lamaire followed the footmen as they laid Tom on the bed. Without compunction, he climbed on to the covers and tucked a wadded cloth under his head.
Then a miracle happened. Tom opened his eyes.
* * * *
Helena rushed to the bed, and climbed up on the other side, leaning over him. Lamaire tutted, but she took no notice. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she forced a smile to her face. “My love, I’m here.”
He lifted his hand and gripped hers firmly. “So am I.”
“Tom?” He sounded lucid, even amused.
Lamaire glanced at her. “If you could bid him remain still for a moment, I will patch him up. My lord, you will have a magnificent scar, and I fear you may lose the extreme top part of your ear.” He had piled some fresh towels under Tom’s injury.
“Pray that I never need spectacles, then.”
God help her, he smiled.
“What, love, did a little blood disconcert you?”
Had he seen how much she was worried? Blood had always sent her into a spin of panic. Was that all?
“A lot of blood,” she managed to reply.
His smile faded, and he reached for her hand. “You’re not fond of blood,” he said.
“Not when it’s yours.”
“Who would have known that someone would try to shoot my ear off?”
“My lord, hold still,” the valet muttered.
Tom sucked in a breath as the valet applied something to the wound. “That will staunch the blood. Lie still for ten minutes and you may move. My lord, look at me.”
Lamaire straddled his master, sitting astride his thighs.
Blinking, Tom looked up. “I don’t allow many people to take that position.”
Lamaire gave an essentially Gallic shrug. “I am aware of that, my lord. But I need to test you. You fainted.”
“Was knocked sideways. Fainting is not something that I do.”
Another shrug. “As you will have it, my lord.”
The duchess’s voice rang around the room. “So he will recover?”
“Undoubtedly, your grace.” Lamaire did not look around. “He will be sore for a time. My lord, if you will keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes only.”
Lifting one finger, he trailed it to the right, up and swiftly down, before moving it to the left. Helena found herself watching, as if the valet were about to reveal a profound truth.
Lamaire put Tom through a series of interesting visual tests. By the time he’d done, Julius had come in, but he held up his hand, preventing speech until Lamaire had finished. “You doubtless have a sore head, my lord.” He climbed off Tom and then the bed.
When Helena tried to do the same, Tom gripped her hand, forcing her to remain where she was. Her head still spinning with the turn of events and her giddiness at the sight of so much blood, she straightened her skirts as best she could and sat back against the bed head.
Taking the soiled towels with him, Lamaire left the room, returning in a few moments with a great pile of pillows which he must have collected from the next room. He laid them at the top of the bed and helped Tom sit up.
Tom closed his eyes briefly. He was pale but composed, and Helena wanted nothing so much as to fling her arms around him and hold him tightly.
Julius gave her a perceptive look. “Are you feeling ill, Helena?”
“I’m fine, Julius. I will, I promise you, not faint.”
Julius spared Tom a grimace. “She always used to faint at the sight of blood. My sister is an intrepid woman, but for some reason gore sends her into a spin.”
“I was not aware.” Tom winced as he turned his head, but what pain he was feeling did not prevent him from touching the pulse in her neck and narrowing his eyes. “You should rest.”
“That is what you should be doing.”
“Then we both will.” Before his father, his grandmother, and her brother, he kissed her.
Although heat rose to her skin, Helena did not do him the disservice of rejecting him. Not when she had feared she would never feel his lips on hers again. Acknowledging that much of her terror had been engendered by the blood and her deepest fears, she let his warmth flow through her. She would not lose him just yet.
He studied her. “I should stay away, perhaps, since this will not heal for a while yet. The man creased me. I take it the perpetrator of this outrage was a man?” He turned his head to meet Julius’s gaze.
In the process of shaking his coat into some semblance of order, Julius nodded. Lamaire appeared with a clothes brush and began to attend to Julius’s magnificence.
“Four times your salary,” Julius murmured.
“Non, m’sieur.”
Julius gave a crack of laughter, although Helena had not the least idea why Lamaire’s reply would amuse him so much.
He spoke to the valet in French. “Since you are fluent in English, unlike the image you preferred to present to me when we first met, your price has gone up.”
“I am flattered, monseigneur,” Lamaire replied in the same language, “but I have sufficient where I am.”
Julius allowed Lamaire to continue to work his magic but spoke to the company. “I did not catch him, but the man who attacked Alconbury was undoubtedly the man known to us until recently as Lord Everslade. I saw him clearly.”
* * * *
Tom closed his eyes and groaned. Not only did his head hurt like the devil, now he had more problems to cope with. He could hardly laze his time away in bed while his wife was in danger. “Everslade wants Helena so badly he would kill me to get to her.” He tightened his grip on her hand when she flinched.
Winterton frowned. “I’m not sure about that. However, I did get a runner to follow the man.” He twitched his coat. “I could hardly chase him inconspicuously dressed like this, so I gave a boy half a guinea and told him if he could bring back the address of Everslade, I would give him double that amount.”
“The boy is likely to abscond, and you’ll be half a guinea worse off,” the duchess said. She crossed to the window and glanced out. “You’ve caused quite a stir, Alconbury.”
Julius nodded. “I saw that. We could turn that to our advantage, if we wished.”
His grace of Northwich grunted. “Now we know who, we have to discover his identity.”
Winterton studied the duke, as if trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. “I will not have my sister put in danger. If Everslade is mad enough to believe he loves her, and wishes to abduct her, he must be stopped.”
“I feel the same way about my wife,” Tom said calmly. Releasing Helena’s hand with reluctance, he swung his legs down so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Another wave of nausea overtook him, but he fought it down. He’d known worse. Resting his hands on the coverlet either side of him, he allowed himself a mome
nt to accustom himself to the new position. “I want this matter settled. Today, if possible.”
A maid carrying a full tray knocked and entered. “Downstairs,” the duchess said. “The drawing room. And if anyone should call, we are not at home. Do not give out my grandson’s condition to anyone who might ask.” When the maid left, she dusted her hands, as if getting down to work. “We will decide how to manage this situation. I detest vulgar gossip.”
“Sometimes it can work to our advantage.” Winterton touched his chin, his habit when working out a problem. “We could always put out that Alconbury is at death’s door. That would flush Everslade out. He’d come to collect his prize.”
“That will not happen today,” Tom said stubbornly. He was tired of the subtle subterfuges and elaborate games his father played. He would not start a long game now. “I said I wanted the matter cleared up today, and I meant it. If that boy comes back with an address, we will use it.”
A plan began to form in his mind. Simple, true, but he would carry it out properly. “I have a house, a private house I bought years ago.” The small intake of breath told him Helena knew which house he meant. “If we can capture Everslade, or whatever his name is, we may take him there. The house is maintained, but empty.”
Julius grunted. “I have one or two such places myself, but I rarely keep them empty. What if the boy does not return?”
“Then we’ll think of something else. Everslade has been preening around society. Somebody must know more than they think.”
“If you’re in any state to do so,” the duchess said, “come downstairs and drink some tea. I’ll have refreshments served.”
Only when she said that did Tom realize how thirsty he was.
* * * *
Helena protested, Winterton declared he could find out more if he was given the chance, but Tom remained firm, especially when the boy returned with an address. Tom added his fee to the one Winterton gave the lad, so he was four times better off when he left the house.
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