Jack awoke one morning to the sound of a bird just outside the window, and he cracked open his eyes, cautiously wondering if he was thinking clearly or still stuck in the baffling fog. The curtains were mostly drawn, but a beam of light filtered through and lit the room enough to afford him a good look at it.
Defining it as “large” would have been an understatement. As far as he could tell, the room was decorated in shades of blue and conspicuously missing a large rectangular object that must once have hung above the fireplace on the opposite wall. The blue-papered walls around the rectangle were lighter than the shape itself, and he wondered what had been removed.
The fireplace boasted a cozy fire that flickered and cast dancing shadows across the floor and walls, and as he slowly propped himself up on one elbow, he noted the opulence of the rest of the room’s décor. It had probably once been his grandfather’s room, but where?
He eased himself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain that shot through his head. Every muscle in his body felt bruised and battered, and he wondered what on earth had happened. And why was he not at the town house? He searched his mind for the most coherent memory, and the best he could do was the morning after the soiree he had attended with Ivy and his family.
In a flash, he saw himself riding the stallion as though the hounds of hell were at his heels, the rain, the horse rearing . . . and then nothing. How long had he been asleep? Two days? Three?
He was considering the best way to maneuver his screaming muscles from the bed when the door opened softly and Ivy entered. She wore a light dress with an apron, and her hair was pulled into a simple arrangement at her crown; he thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
Her eyes widened as she looked at him, and she dropped a stack of towels she was carrying. She rushed to his side, her face a myriad of emotions, and scrambled up onto the footstool at the side of the bed.
“Jack?” she whispered, and she lifted shaking hands to hold his face gently between her palms. “I can hardly believe it . . . do you recognize me, do you remember anything at all?”
He watched in amazement as her eyes filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks and she blinked, dislodging more. She laughed then, softly, and dropped her hands to his shoulders before gently gathering him in her arms and pulling him into a soft embrace. Stunned, he raised his arms to encircle her, wincing at the movement.
He placed his hands on her back and she trembled slightly, tightening her grip on him and sniffling a bit. “I would imagine this is highly improper,” he said, hearing the gravel in his voice and realizing that even his throat felt sore.
She pulled back and again put her hands on his face and shoulders, laughing through her tears. “Oh, it is, but as I’ve been one of your nursemaids for the last two weeks, I believe I am allowed a small degree of familiarity.”
He blinked. Two weeks? “Where are we?”
“At your country estate on the coast. We thought it best that we get you out of London for a while, and we decided the sea air might be just the thing to speed your recovery.” She drew her brows together and bit her lip, her eyes clouding again. “I was beginning to wonder if you ever would. Recover, that is.”
“Two weeks?”
She nodded. “Your mother and Sophia are here, of course. And we also brought with us a very competent maid, Josephine, as well as a new young doctor from London who is privy to all of medicine’s newest discoveries. Anthony Blake has visited several times and arranged for a retinue of guards to patrol the estate day and night.”
He blinked again. “Two weeks?” he repeated.
“Fuddleston is in London for the moment, ensuring the continued operation of your affairs and looking for new leads, and will return tomorrow. And Pug sleeps in the adjoining room. He was most distraught after the accident. He hid in the stable loft for a good sixteen hours before Millie finally found him buried in a pile of scratchy hay.”
She smiled. “I must go find the others; they will be so relieved.” She paused. “I am so relieved. We aren’t anywhere near finished with our lessons yet.”
He chuckled then, and his head pounded. Wincing, he put his hand to the side of his head and ran it around the back, feeling a ridge of what he assumed were stitches.
“Two large gashes,” she said when he moved his hand to his face and felt the bump of stitches along his eyebrow. “One at the back of your head, and this one, which crosses down over your eye and onto your nose.” She ran a fingertip along the bridge of his nose, and as his brain continued to clear, he decided a few scars and gashes might not be such a bad thing.
She winced. “There was so much blood. And you were bruised from head to toe. No broken bones that the doctor could ascertain, but as battered as you were, it was probably almost a kindness that you slept through the bulk of the aftermath. Do you remember at all what happened?”
“I was thrown from my horse while riding in the park.” The image returned, more forcefully this time, and he remembered a moment of panic as he fell to the ground.
“Yes.” She took his hand in both of hers and clasped it. “It wasn’t an accident, Jack. Someone had placed a nail under the saddle.”
His heart thumped, but didn’t find himself at all surprised. “Percival.”
“We suspect as much, but Mr. Fuddleston is still searching for information that will link him to the crimes. We do know that the cook’s assistant was the one who slipped the poison into your drink, but he has disappeared, and we are unable to trace him to gain more information, even if he had more to give us.”
He waited for a surge of anger, but perhaps his body was simply too weary to allow for it. “Given that Blake has positioned an army outside, one might assume we’ll be safe here for a while.” He smiled, or tried to, anyway. It felt odd and pulled at all of the scratches and stitches on his face.
“Jack, before I summon the others, I owe you an apology. I’m afraid this may be all my fault.”
He lifted a brow in question, marveling at the fact that simple expressions required so many facial muscles to produce.
“The day you found my notes in the library, Millie had just told me about overhearing a conversation between Cook’s assistant and someone in the dark she couldn’t see. I was so angry with you over discovering my secret that it slipped my mind. I ought to have followed you out of the house to tell you. And then we attended the soiree that night and I was so irritated that you spoke well and had deceived me about your abilities, and I should have—”
He placed his forefinger across her lips and smiled. “That would be the day I kissed you in the library.”
She flushed and nodded.
“Well then, I shouldn’t be surprised at all that important information slipped your mind. It happens all the time.”
Her lips quirked into a half smile, and she closed her eyes briefly with a little shake of the head. “All the time, does it? You kiss ladies senseless on a regular basis, then?”
“Senseless. I like that. And yes, on a regular basis. Daily. Hourly, even.”
“Most inappropriate, my lord. I do not believe I approve.”
“And I think I like that you do not approve.”
Her gaze locked with his, and for a moment he had an insane urge to kiss her senseless again. She finally blinked and broke the spell.
“I must find the others,” she whispered, placing her palm one last time at his cheek. “It wouldn’t be well done of me at all to keep you to myself.”
“I find that I don’t mind in the least.”
She smiled and again encircled his neck for an embrace that he wished would last forever. He pulled her close, splaying his fingers across her back and tightening his grip when she moved to pull back.
“One more moment, just one,” he whispered in her ear and was gratified to hear her sigh.
“I . . . we . . .”
“Shhh.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, ignoring the pain in his ribs in favor of appreciati
ng the subtle smell of the lilac soap he had come to associate with her. He felt a little foolish to be sitting in bed, wounded and as helpless as a child, but the reward of such exquisite pleasure as holding Ivy Carlisle in his arms for a few moments outweighed any masculine embarrassment.
“I am so very glad you are well, my lord,” she whispered, and his heart tripped.
“As am I, my lady.” He turned his lips toward her neck and inhaled her scent one last time before she pulled away.
She held him firmly at arm’s length. “Most improper of me to have been so forward,” she murmured.
“You could close the door, and everyone will assume I am still unconscious,” he said with a wink, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. He fought a chuckle when she jumped down from the stool and made her way to the door, picking up the towels she’d dropped upon entry.
“Absolutely incorrigible,” she said over her shoulder to him. “I can see we still have loads of work ahead of us.” She smiled as she looked back at him before leaving, shaking her head. “Most improper of me,” he heard her mutter as she left the room.
Chapter 25
Convalescence for the wounded or ill should be a gentle
period of calm reflection and mild behavior, on the
part of both the affected and his associates.
Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette
Jack moved around slowly, following his mother’s sage advice to recuperate at a sedate pace. The first two days were difficult; he found himself exhausted with the effort it took to climb stairs and would have been frustrated in the extreme were it not for the constant relief and joy on his loved ones’ faces.
He familiarized himself with the country estate, which was large and beautiful. A skeleton staff resided year-round, and historically, when the family had been in residence, other help was hired as needed from the village. The doctor Ivy had brought with them from London, Doctor Miller, was an amiable sort, reminding Jack of an eager puppy. He was slight of build and cheery of disposition, but his demeanor changed and he was a consummate professional when conducting his duties as the earl’s physician. Jack found grudging admiration for the intelligent young man, despite the fact that he seemed annoyingly happy day in, day out.
When he had awakened, his mother and Sophia had been overjoyed, of course, and tearful. Mary explained that upon their arrival, she had removed the large portrait of Jack’s grandfather that hung over the mantelpiece in his bedchambers. In her first official act as the mother of the earl, she had ordered it and all other likenesses of the man relegated to the attic, and Sophia, to her delight, had found a few portraits of their father that had been painted when he was a child. Those now hung in positions of prominence in the home, and Sophia and Ivy were altering and tweaking things subtly, creating a haven that reflected the new earl and his family rather than the old one. The staff seemed to be breathing a collective sigh of relief—they were enamored of Jack’s mother, and for that, he was thrilled.
He was as happy as he’d been before the radical turn his life had taken, and he felt strangely at peace. They were situated on the coast, perhaps that was the difference, and the fresh, clear sea air was familiar and welcoming. He thought even his mother looked a bit healthier—she was still thin, but her cheeks had filled out some and had taken on a healthy glow that he couldn’t remember ever seeing on her before. He determined to be sure she remained at the estate as long as possible, spending only a limited amount of time in London. The city air was undoubtedly bad for her, and here in the country, she didn’t have to worry about impressing the right person or insulting the wrong one. She had taken up residence during the days in one of the upper rooms, setting up paints and easels, finally able to pursue her talents without worrying about how she was going to put food on the table for herself and her daughter.
Clarence Fuddleston kept him updated on affairs from London, and Jack was gladder than ever that he had offered the little man the position. He trusted him implicitly, and Fuddleston seemed to recognize it. There was an air of quiet confidence about his man of affairs that put Jack’s mind at ease. The weight of responsibility for the earldom was settling on Jack’s shoulders, but it was oddly comfortable, and he finally acknowledged the fact that it wasn’t going to go away. If he hadn’t had Fuddleston at his side, though, he readily admitted he would have been completely lost.
He was taking a walk on the grounds outside the home a week after his “awakening,” as the others were calling it, deep in thought about Ivy. She had retreated to a comfortable, appropriate distance and seemed to be taking great pains to avoid being alone with him. He smiled in spite of himself as he looked out over the land that was his as far as the eye could see. She was reverting to that which was safe for her, and she’d even begun hinting at the fact that when they returned and he launched himself into Society in earnest she was planning to redouble her efforts at finding him a wonderful bride.
He wasn’t offended that she had taken herself out of the running. In truth, she had never included herself there at all. He was amused. Lady Ivy Carlisle’s well-ordered life did not involve the prospect of marriage to a sea-dog-turned-nobleman. His only fear was that she herself would jump at marriage to someone else—her blond paragon, Lord Hovley, for instance—rather than admit her feelings for him. The attraction was undeniable, and until most recently, their time together had become a thing of laughter and genuine joy.
And what of his future plans? He had become less consumed with finding a loophole in the contract his grandfather had concocted, had actually been happy to conveniently shift those former thoughts to the side for the time being. He still felt at a loss, however, as he attempted to fit his large, active personality into its new role of relative leisure and meaningless pursuit. It didn’t sit well with him, and he feared he would go mad if he had nothing constructive or meaningful to occupy his time.
Sophia and Ivy still had hopes for their girls’ school, and they planned daily together, sketching pictures and sharing ideas. He would be a part of it, but it wasn’t his project.
He drew his brows together as he paused and continued to search the horizon, looking for something elusive he couldn’t name. The stitches in his eyebrow pulled and his head still maintained a dull ache, but he felt his strength returning slowly. He honestly admitted to himself that the thought of someone sincerely wanting him dead weighed on him more than he would have imagined.
“Strolling again?” Ivy said as she approached him from the house, wrapped in a lacy green shawl that matched her eyes. That he even made note of such a detail would have had him snorting in disgust weeks earlier.
“I find myself restless if I’m indoors for long periods of time,” he told her and shifted slightly so that his back was to the sun and shielded her eyes by placing her in his large shadow.
She smiled. “A true sailor. You would certainly be missed here if you returned to the sea.”
“Would you miss me?”
“Of course! I have come to appreciate our association very much.”
“You deliberately mistake my meaning, Ivy.”
“Not at all.” She sobered a bit and met his gaze with a frank one of her own. “You intend to leave, Jack. And it is a matter of self-preservation that I rein in any special regard I may have for you.”
“The idea of leaving is losing much of its appeal,” he admitted to her quietly.
Her eyes widened, and she looked away from him, thoughtfully chewing on her lip. “Have a care with my heart, Jack Elliot,” she finally murmured, still looking away. “I was fully content to form an alliance like my parents’. If I become accustomed to . . . to . . . the thought that there might be something more, and then have it snatched away, I believe I will become a most unhappy woman.”
He shifted again, moving fractionally closer to shield her from a gust of wind that came in over the water.
“I’ve taught you everything you need to know.” She finally met his eyes. “And
truthfully, I doubt you ever really needed me.”
His heart picked up its pace, and he felt something akin to panic that she might be attempting to end their arrangement. “I’ve always needed you, Ivy; you cannot just leave. And what of my mother and Sophia?”
She knit her brows and winced. “I can continue to help them if they require it, and Sophia and I are the best of friends by now, of course, so I will see them regularly.”
“But not me.”
She shrugged, and he thought for a moment she might cry.
“What are you running from?” he murmured and put a finger beneath her chin.
He tipped her head back, and she met his eyes, and there was no mistaking the sheen of moisture in hers. “You. My feelings are engaged to a dangerous degree, Jack. You will eventually tire of your ridiculous life in London and find a way to set sail, leaving this far behind for months at a time. And it would leave me with a broken heart, because I very much like being with you.”
He thumbed a tear that rolled down her cheek. “Why don’t you let me decide what I do and do not want?”
She shook her head, and her breath hitched. “I cannot afford to.” She took a step back from him and he followed, clasping her arm.
“You are not finished yet,” he said. “You will make a liar of your grandmother, who gave my grandfather her word on his deathbed that you would see this thing through.”
“Very well.” She lifted her chin. “But we will return to decorum and propriety. I will fulfil my obligation and find you a suitable young lady who won’t mind so much staying behind while her husband leaves. There are a dozen who would love to snag an earl and couldn’t care one whit over whether or not it is a love match.”
My Fair Gentleman Page 17