by Mary Balogh
And then it was Judith’s turn. And then tea was brought in, and everyone was merry, and everyone was speculating on where and when the wedding was to be and whether or not Arthur would help officiate at the wedding service and where the wedding trip was likely to take the newly married pair and what entertainments they should attend for the next few days in order to celebrate their betrothal and so on until Daisy felt like spreading her arms and yelling, “Stop!”
She was usually the one in the forefront of such discussions. She was usually the one to make plans, for unless she did so, other people became so hesitant and muddleheaded that nothing was accomplished at all. But now, while a theater party was planned, and an evening at Vauxhall, and a dinner and evening party at Lady Hetty’s, Daisy remained silent.
And smiled.
Lord Kincade bent closer to her in the end. “Are you not feeling well, Daisy?” he asked. “I thought you capable of being so quiet only in death.”
“My ankle is throbbing,” she said, giving in to quite uncharacteristic self-pity. And realizing as she said the words that they were quite true.
“Is it? Would you like to go to your room to rest for a while?” he asked.
Daisy needed to recoup her spirits. “Yes,” she said. Very unwisely, as she was soon to find.
“Daisy needs to rest,” Lord Kincade announced to the rest of the room. “Will you send her maid and some laudanum to her room, Hetty? I will help her there.”
But instead of taking her arm and helping her hop along to the stairs and up to her room, and allowing her to salvage some of her self-esteem, he bent over her, scooped her up into his arms, and strode from the room with her.
And Daisy, who had never needed to lean on anyone, who had never been indisposed in any way, and who had never felt the need of any medicine, found herself being carried past the footmen, up the stairs, and into her room, and deposited gently on her bed. And when she would have risen to remove her slippers and release her braids from their knot at the back of her head, she was told in no uncertain terms to lie back down again until her maid arrived. And when Penny did enter the room and Daisy told her she might take the laudanum away, Lord Kincade turned back from the door, which he had been about to exit, and told her quite courteously that she would take it.
And she did.
And meekly lay in her bed and allowed sleep to overtake her, even though she was convinced that there must be a thousand and one important things to be done, including making sure that Rose was ready in time for her drive with Sir Phillip Corbett.
Give her one more day, she thought as she slid into oblivion. In one more day she would be ruling him, and then life would return almost to normal until it did so completely at the end of the Season.
Fancy a gentleman being strong enough to carry her all the way upstairs and still have breath left at the end of it to bully her!
Chapter 10
Lord Kincade sat back in his chair after setting his quill pen down carefully beside the blotter. He regarded his head groom, who was standing quietly across the desk from him.
“Well, Chandler,” he said, “what did you find out?”
“Not me exactly, your lordship,” the groom said. “I would have been too easily recognized. I sent Baker. Baker is a good man and has had some dealings with, er, shady affairs.”
“Baker is presumably the one that the Reverend Arthur saved from a life of crime and probably from a hanging, is he?” Lord Kincade asked dryly. “An admirable choice, Chandler. What did he discover?”
“The individual you described is not one of Lord Powers’ servants,” Chandler said.
“Hm,” the viscount said. “So much for that guess.”
“However, your lordship,” Lord Kincade noticed not for the first time in their eight-year association the dramatic flair of his head groom. The man should be on the stage, not wasting his time in someone else’s stables.
“Yes?” the viscount prompted, as he knew he was meant to do.
“The man is known to deliver messages to Lord Powers,” the groom said. “Baker’s drinking companion thought he might be a servant of the Marquess of Chalcott.”
Lord Kincade’s eyebrows rose and he stared at his groom for a moment. “The reclusive marquess,” he said, “Powers’ father. Interesting, Chandler. Very interesting. Baker was satisfied he was the same man?”
“He described him very carefully to his drinking companion," Chandler said, “even down to the yellow teeth on one side of the mouth only, your lordship.”
Lord Kincade nodded slowly. “Good,” he said. “Thank you, Chandler. And convey my compliments to Baker. Would he be willing to do something else for me that would take him from the stables, do you suppose?”
“If you ask me, your lordship,” Chandler said confidentially, "he is willing to do anything in preference to working in the stables. Not that he is a bad worker, mind,” he added hastily. “But his heart is on the streets, if you understand my meaning, your lordship.”
“I know that Lord Powers is an impecunious gentleman,” the viscount said. “He has expensive tastes. I should like to know more about the circumstances of the marquess. It might be difficult to find out. No one of my acquaintance has ever even seen the man. Do you think Baker can do it?”
“There is no knowing, your lordship,” Chandler said. “But if anyone can do it, Baker can, I daresay.”
“Good,” Lord Kincade said, and nodded as an indication that the servant was dismissed.
So it had not been coincidence that Powers and the man who had tried to rearrange the features on his face were on the same street at almost the same time. And it seemed that there was possibly more to that attack on him than the desire for revenge of a rather uncouth innkeeper. Had Powers been that desperate to see that nothing came between him and his plans to marry a rich wife?
It was an intriguing question, Lord Kincade thought, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. And certainly one worth pursuing.
In the meantime, he thought, pulling a copy of the Morning Post toward him across the desk and glancing again at the announcement, hoping yet again that this time it would not be there and he would realize that it had all been a dream, he had a betrothal to get on with. A mock betrothal, thank the Lord, but still one with all the obligations of a real engagement for as long as it lasted.
He must take Daisy into the park that afternoon if the weather held and if her ankle was not too sore. But if his guess was correct, she would die rather than admit to a weakness as she had the afternoon before. And doubtless her spirits would have rebounded and she would have a whole arsenal of schemes designed for his embarrassment. Not that she was a scheming female. Far from it. Miss Daisy Morrison, he suspected, acted almost wholly from instinct. It was just a pity that instinct always seemed to hit at the most public and awkward moments.
He must be thankful for small mercies at least. He had not been present with her on Bond Street the day before. Pretty soon some entrepreneur was going to start charging admission to Bond Street and make a fortune at it. People would flock from miles around to view the latest indiscretion of Miss Daisy Morrison, affianced bride of the Viscount Kincade!
Cringe as he might, though, when he imagined her behavior of the morning before, Lord Kincade nevertheless felt great relief that she had escaped with an injury as slight as a sprained ankle. He could cheerfully throttle the woman himself, and had derived decided satisfaction the afternoon before at the prospect—which he knew, alas, he would never put into practice—of walloping her posterior until she was doomed to walk the earth for the ensuing week and more. But he would not want to see her the victim of a hired thug. He had had a mercifully brief taste of the kind of pain that particular thug was capable of inflicting.
The trouble with Daisy was that she rarely seemed to think. The more he thought about the way she had come to his rescue at the Golden Eagle Inn, the more he turned cold at the thought of what might have h
appened to her. It was a good thing—a very good thing—that he was not doomed to marry her, after all. He would spend half his days rescuing her from danger and the other half hiding his head from the embarrassment of her latest escapade.
What a treat it had been yesterday to see her incapacitated and confined to one spot, he thought, realizing full well the unkindness of his thought. He had been able almost to relax. And how pleasant to be able to carry her to her bed and order her to stay there, knowing that she did not have the ability or strength to disobey. It had been almost unfair, almost cowardly to gloat so much on his triumph.
But he might as well enjoy the memory of his moment of power, Lord Kincade thought ruefully. Doubtless he would have to load a ton of bricks on her head today if he wished to hold her down. Life had not been so challenging for many a year. Or so unsettling. Or so damnably mortifying.
“Oh, Arthur dear, you are an angel,” Lady Julia said. “Just a little lower, if you please. I am sure you could think of a dozen things you would rather be doing than sitting here rubbing my back.”
“Not a single one,” Arthur assured her. “Is that better? If I am bringing you some comfort, dear, then there is nothing I would prefer to be doing.”
“You will make a wonderful husband, Arthur, if you can ever find a wife worthy of you,” Julia said. “Poor Ambrose! He was excessively attentive at the beginning, you know, and even until a few weeks ago. But I believe he has taken fright and is consumed with feelings of guilt. He has even abandoned our bed to give me more room, he says. It alarms him to hear me moan and groan and huff and puff every time I wish to change position, and to know himself at least partly responsible. I am sorry, Arthur dear, am I embarrassing you?”
“Not at all,” he said.
“I very much fear that the doctor is right,” Julia said, “and this little monster will not put in an appearance for two more weeks. You see he is still high under my bosom, Arthur, so that I am forced into perfect posture whether I wish it or not. And how dreadfully self-centered we expectant mothers are. Let us change the subject. Tell me something about your charities.”
“Young Lizzie and her baby have gone into the country to live with her brother,” Arthur said. “And Tommy has been taken on by Mr. Menteith as a stable boy. He will do well, although he is so very undergrown. He has an eagerness to please. His years spent climbing chimneys have not brutalized him.”
“They are all going to miss you when you take up your post as curate,” Julia said.
“No, no,” Arthur said. “It is the Lord’s work, Julia. The Lord will provide. I am quite unimportant.”
Julia turned and looked at him fondly, clearly unconvinced. “Rest your arms, Arthur,” she said. “They must be tired. What about this betrothal of Giles’? Will it serve? Is Miss Morrison the right bride for him?”
Arthur hesitated. “Yes, I think she is,” he said. “She is splendidly courageous, you know, and full of high spirits. And she has taken a great burden of responsibility on herself in the last few years, I believe. It is she who has brought her younger sister here for a Season, though she is very young herself and their mother is still alive.”
“Why did you hesitate, then?” she asked.
“Giles has taken a dislike to her,” Arthur said. “It is unfortunate that her courage and generosity in rescuing him from that situation on the road to Bath made Giles feel foolish. And then, of course, the other night when he tried to protect her, he plunged her into scandal instead. It is not an auspicious beginning for a betrothal. But I am sure it will turn out well.”
“I suppose I will not even meet her until monster here is born,” Julia said with a sigh. “Ambrose said last night that we would not have any more children. And I feel so thankful, though I have always said that I would like four—two boys and two girls, like Mama. Will I change my mind, do you think, Arthur? Will I join the ranks of the women who are foolish enough to go through this more than once?”
But Arthur had no chance to reply. Voices were heard on the stairs, the door opened, and Judith, who had taken a maid with her in order to pay a morning call on her new friend, Rose Morrison, entered the room, followed by that young lady and Daisy leaning on her shoulder and hopping along beside her.
“Here I am, home again,” Judith said, undoing the strings of her bonnet and tossing it in the direction of a nearby chair.
“And I have brought Rose with me. And Miss Morrison insisted on coming too in order to meet you, Julia, though she is not supposed to be up on her foot at all. Oh, hello, Arthur.”
Arthur had risen and was bowing and smiling to the ladies. He kissed his younger sister on the cheek.
“Miss Morrison,” he said. “You should have sent word that you were in the carriage. I would have come down and carried you upstairs.”
“I know,” she said. “But you cannot know how mortifying it is to have to rely on other people to carry me from place to place. We brought my coachman with us. He carried me upstairs; he would have brought me all the way in here, but I thought what a dreadfully lowering way that would be to meet my future sister-in-law. How do you do, Lady Julia?” She hopped toward that lady, who had also hoisted herself to her feet. “Do sit down again. Do you mind if I sit here beside you?”
“But how delightful of you to come,” Julia said, taking both of Daisy’s hands as the latter sank into a chair. “I did not think you would, and have been wondering if I might ask Giles to bring you. Most people prefer to pretend that pregnant ladies do not exist, you know, especially when they get to look the way I look right now.”
“What nonsense,” Daisy said. “You look in perfectly good health. You have a while to go yet, though, do you not? The baby is still high.”
Julia looked a little disconcerted before laughing and lowering herself into her chair again. “I was just telling Arthur the same thing,” she said.
“You know,” Daisy said, “the very best thing for you would be exercise. Do you go out each day for a good long walk?”
“Heavens, no!” Julia said. “The beau monde would have a collective apoplexy. I am supposed not to exist until I can reappear as my more normal self after the baby is safely in the nursery.”
Daisy shook her head. “The beau monde is a very silly institution,” she said. “Each day I am more and more glad that I live in the country.”
Julia smiled. "You will get used to it,” she said. "Giles likes to live in town for much of the year. I am so pleased to meet you, Daisy. May I call you that? Giles told me that you are pretty. He did not also mention that you are slim and dainty. How envious I am!”
Arthur had carried over a pouf to support Daisy’s sprained ankle. “Is it any better today?” he asked. “You must be well enough to dance at Vauxhall in the next week or so, you know.”
“Vauxhall,” Julia groaned. “Is Giles organizing a party there, Arthur? And I cannot go. How provoking!”
“The sprain is nothing,” Daisy said briskly. “I daresay that I could walk on it now, but everyone around me squeals when I so much as suggest doing so. It is all nonsense. I have no intention of making myself an invalid, sir.”
Judith and Rose meanwhile had settled into a comer of the room and were whispering together, their heads almost touching.
“Do you like him?” Judith asked. “I do not favor auburn hair on men myself, but I must concede that he is a handsome man, and Annabella Bailey—do you remember her, the one with the hair so blond that it is almost white?—comes near to swooning every time he enters a room. Rich too and heir to a splendid property in Northumberland.”
“Yes, I like him,” Rose said. "He is charming. He drove me around the park for all of an hour, but we were stopped and conversing with other people more than we were moving.”
“That is what it is always like in the park at that hour, ’' Judith said. “Were you offended earlier when we met Lord Powers? I was hurt when Arthur said that I was merely using him and you, and ashamed too because there was some truth in wha
t he said. I do love Arthur, Rose, and I like you excessively too. But, you see, I must take every opportunity I have to meet Lord Powers, for Giles is so gothic about the whole matter.”
“Do you love him?” Rose asked.
Judith thought for a moment. “Well, I do not love him exactly,” she said. “But he is extremely handsome, and he loves me so desperately, and he thinks up the most romantic schemes, Rose. How can I resist him? It is so exciting to have some intrigue in one’s life.”
“But if one of his schemes was elopement,” Rose said, “is that not going just a little too far? Would you like to be married to him for the rest of your life?”
“But he loves me so much,” Judith said. “I could not bear to let him down and see the hurt in his eyes and know that he would waste quite away and probably die because of my cruelty.”
Rose nodded.
"Are you going to marry Sir Phillip, do you think?” Judith said. “Are you going to do all in your power to attach his interest?”
“Gracious, no,” Rose said. “I am in no hurry to make my choice.”
“But he is so rich and so splendid,” Judith said, “apart from the auburn hair. What do you think of Colonel Appleby? He loves me too, I think, but he is very unromantic. He does not tell me constantly how beautiful I am and how he cannot sleep at night for thinking of me and how one unkind glance from my eyes would slay him. If he did, I think I might like him exceedingly.”
“He is a sensible gentleman,” Rose said. “I admire his military bearing. It is so manly.”
“Yes, it is, is it not?” Judith said, pleased. “I am going to tell Lord Powers about going to Vauxhall. It is such a very romantic place, Rose. Just wait until you see it. The very best of places in which to get lost for a few minutes with a handsome gentleman of your choice.” She giggled.
“We must be going,” Daisy said, raising her voice. “It is almost luncheon time. Not at all the time to be paying calls, but I did want to meet you, Lady Julia, and I was close to screaming after having spent a whole morning indoors seated in the same chair. If the beau monde will not countenance your going out, I feel for you deeply. Can you not disguise yourself as a fat scullery maid and slip out through the kitchen door?”