by Brenda Joyce
And was her anxiety over whether or not to choose Sir Rex as a husband a part of that strain?
“Lady Harrington?”
She avoided his eyes, and as she stared at her clasped hands, she felt Sir Rex’s sudden attention, as if he knew she was not revealing what she should. “No, there is nothing else. Sir Rex is right. There has been a great strain these past months, and it has continued, and, in some ways, it is even greater, now.”
But he stared at her until she looked up. His gaze was searching, as if he wished to discover the answers she had refused to give. “I know you wish to examine Lady Harrington, but can I have a private word with her?” he asked the doctor, his regard unwavering upon Blanche.
“No, you may not. I have other patients, Sir Rex. Go and loiter in the hall.” Dr. Linney smiled at him and reached for Blanche’s wrist. “I am going to take your pulse,” he said.
Sir Rex strode out, his expression harsh. Blanche flinched as the door closed—he seemed angry. She then sat patiently as Dr. Linney took her pulse, listened to her heart, and asked about her urine. Dr. Linney closed his black doctor’s satchel. He smiled at Blanche. “I can find nothing wrong with you, Lady Harrington. Your health seems exemplary, in fact.”
Blanche smiled grimly at him.
“I am inclined to think that Sir Rex is partly right—the strain of these past few months has finally taken its toll on you. That strain, coupled with your delicate eating habits, has resulted in your fainting spells.”
Blanche nodded. How she hoped he was right. How she prayed she would never recall those monsters again.
Sir Rex knocked and thrust open the door.
“Come in, as you are hovering as anxiously as a husband over his wife.” Linney’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he glanced between them.
Sir Rex swung rapidly back to Blanche’s side.
“He says I am under a strain and that is why I fainted,” she said softly.
He made a harsh sound.
“You may be acquiring migraines,” he said. “Let us hope not. I am not going to worry about it, as the pain vanished as suddenly as it came. But I am prescribing a remedy to help you remain calm and restful. Sir Rex can send a servant to the apothecary.”
Sir Rex seemed furious now.
“Meanwhile, improve your regime, my dear, and get more rest. I’ll leave a dose or two of laudanum, in case the head pain returns. And try not to fret,” he said, patting her hand.
“That is your diagnosis?” Sir Rex exploded.
“Her health seems fine,” Dr. Linney said, his smile vanishing. “But send for me if she has another episode.”
Sir Rex went with him to the door, and then swiftly returned.
Blanche tensed.
“I will take you back to town. You can see a London doctor there. The pain you described is not a migraine.”
Blanche said carefully, “I do feel better. Dr. Linney is probably right. I have been under a strain and—”
“I have added to that strain.” He cut her off. “Do not deny it.”
She stared at him beseechingly. “Sir Rex, you have been a wonderful host.”
“Isn’t that what you neglected to tell Dr. Linney? That I have distressed you since the day of your arrival here?”
She cried out.
“I frightened you in the great room that night, and do not deny it!”
She shook her head. “Only a little,” she offered.
“And I pushed too hard this afternoon! I added to your strain today!” he cried.
Blanche hugged herself. “Do not even begin to say that the afternoon we shared caused me to faint, hours later. I so enjoyed this afternoon.”
“You are not well, Blanche. You are a tiny, delicate woman, too kind for your own good, who gives generously to everyone but yourself. You care for everyone else, do you not? You have even cared for me, when a servant could have done so. Who cared for you after Lord Harrington passed?” he demanded. “Who will care for you now?”
“I have a huge staff,” she tried.
He stared at her. “Your father died, you are deluged with rakes and rogues, and then you come here, and I must insist upon making advances. I am frankly not surprised that you fainted. I believe I am the very last straw, for you cannot tolerate any more pressure.”
Blanche felt her temples throb, but with a very normal headache, not that brutal, frightening pain of before. She was ready to tell him the truth. She was under a great strain, but not for the reasons he thought. It was the strain of so much emotion when she was so unused to it. It was the strain of making a decision that would change her entire life—if he did not reject her.
“Anne is preparing a supper tray.” He turned to go. Then he turned swiftly back. “You cared for me when I was injured, and now it is my turn. Do not deter me! You will rest for a few days and we will forget about this afternoon.”
Her eyes widened. She did not want to forget. “Sir Rex, this is not your fault,” she protested. “I am not so fragile that I will break if I am looked at the wrong way.”
He gave her a dark, long look. “I am sensing something in you that I have never sensed before. I have always sensed your vulnerability—I even remarked on it that night. But there is more. And it is fragility. I do not know if it is your person or your sensibilities, but you are very fragile beneath that facade of grace and perfection. Am I wrong?”
She could not speak. Because somehow, she knew he was right—that if her composure was stripped from her, contrary to her statement to Sir Rex, she might break. The monsters told her that.
“I thought so.” He nodded harshly and left.
Blanche had the urge to weep. This time, the ability to cry was a curse. She did not want it! It hurt! She flung the cashmere throw to the floor, when she wished to crash a glass instead.
The monster leered.
Blanche froze, terrified, his image vivid and clear in her mind. The knifelike pain began. “Sir Rex!” She screamed.
REX HEARD HER piercing scream and he whirled, losing his balance. He hit the wall and regained his stance, pushing the door open with his left hand. Then he tore into the room at great speed.
She held her head in her hands, her face almost in her knees. He sat beside her but she said, “Don’t!” Her tone told him she was on a terrible brink.
He clasped her shoulder, using all of his self-control not to hold her. She breathed harshly, trembled and looked up. Tears stained her face.
“You had another head pain?”
She nodded and said, as if she was afraid speaking might bring more pain, “It’s gone.”
He nodded, his heart now thundering in his chest. He did not know what to think, and damn it, terrible worst-case scenarios were flashing through his mind—he knew someone who’d had terrible head pains, and he’d become gaunt and thin and had finally died. “It only lasted an instant?”
She nodded, sighed and finally smiled. Her smile was so tremulous he had the urge to weep. “I’m fine.”
He did not refute her, but she was hardly fine. Her scream had been bloodcurdling—again. He knew he had uncovered the truth when he had accused her of hiding a vast fragility beneath her exterior airs and manners. He stared at Blanche. He wished he could decipher the cause for such delicacy. He wished he knew what made her so vulnerable, and by that, he did not mean inexperienced.
“Why don’t you take a dose of laudanum after you eat something?” He kept his tone carefully neutral.
She smiled again. “I think that might be a good idea.”
She knew he was afraid to leave her. Their gazes locked.
“It is a migraine,” she now said, softly. “I have no doubt.”
She had fainted, she had head pain, she was in tears, and she thought to reassure him. “Yes,” he lied smoothly. “I am sure it is just that.” He would send Fenwick to town to bring a doctor back. Tyrell was there, Tyrell could find the best physician, a specialist of some sort. But they didn’t even know what kind of
specialist she needed. Maybe, if there was any justice in the world, Linney was correct and she simply needed rest.
And he had to keep himself in check. She did not need his attentions now. Damn it.
He stood, aware of so much disappointment—and how selfish it was. “Let me have a tray sent up. Please humor me and eat something before you rest.”
She touched his hand. “Sir Rex.” Her smile wavered. “Do not worry so. I am fine.”
He would not argue that point now.
“I feel terrible putting you out,” she added. “Meg can prepare a tray—”
“You are not putting me out. You could not put me out, not under any circumstance. In spite of my behavior, in spite of everything, you nursed me through my accident, perhaps even saving my life.” He realized his tone was brutally harsh. He tried to soften his expression, too. “Blanche. I owe you a great debt. Let me return it.”
She stared at him.
“Please,” he added, incapable of summoning a smile. “Let me take care of you now.”
She finally nodded. “Thank you.”
“HOW DO I LOOK?” Blanche asked the next morning.
“A body would never know you were ill yesterday,” Meg said, standing behind her as they stared into a mirror. “You are so beautiful, my lady.”
Blanche trembled. She was going to ask Sir Rex to consider marrying her.
It was almost noon. The dose of laudanum had been exactly what she needed—she had slept through the entire night without even moving once. And the moment she had awoken, she had thought of her host.
He was not only the kind of man who could manage her considerable fortune, he was kind and considerate, a rock of towering strength, and after yesterday, she was certain they could make a go of it. She had spent the entire morning bathing, dressing and doing her hair while trembling with anxiety and excitement. She was wearing a lavender gown with a lower-cut bodice—it was an elegant dress, suitable for any supper party in town. She had adorned it with amethysts and diamonds. A diamond clip even decorated her hair. Sir Rex was fond of her, he desired her, and she desperately wished for him to accept her proposal.
“I am so nervous,” Blanche whispered, but she kept thinking about how Sir Rex wished to blame himself for her illness yesterday—and how concerned he had been. Meg had told her he had spent the night in a chair in her room. Blanche had been thrilled at the thought. On the other hand, she tried to hold that emotion in check. He had specifically said he owed her. She did not want his acceptance of her suit as payment for any personal debt.
As if reading her thoughts, Meg said, “He will be a good husband, my lady. He is so caring of you!”
“He is, isn’t he?” Blanche smiled, and as she did, her heart leaped for the hundredth time. She could not manage his rejection. She dared not think of it. She was so fond of him, all of him—in spite of his periodically dark humor. “I have decided to be blunt. In most matters, we suit. This will be a marriage of convenience and friendship, and what is wrong with that?” She thought about the two kisses they had shared. It might even be a marriage of passion, she thought, and she inhaled, as more moisture gathered in her eyes.
Blanche could barely believe she would suddenly cry at the drop of a hat. But she was wary now, as well, for her tears yesterday had brought that terrible head pain. And it had brought an image of that half beast, half man, and while she had no wish to recall it, unfortunately, the image was engraved on her mind.
Blanche hurried to the bed stand to take a sip of water, but no pain came. She breathed more deeply and when nothing foul occurred, she finally relaxed.
Meg patted her arm. “Be yourself, my lady. Tell him that you care.” She smiled.
Blanche had to smile back, her heart racing wildly again. “I will see how it goes. Wish me luck!” She hurried from the room and downstairs.
In the great room, she paused. The tower room door was open and she felt certain Sir Rex was there. She slowly approached, trying to marshal her arguments. He was a very rational man, so she intended to persuade him with logic. After all, such a union was meant to be beneficial to both parties.
He was seated at his desk, but he was staring at the open doorway as if aware of her approach. His gaze met hers when she paused on the threshold there. His eyes flickered and he looked at her hair, her entire gown, her bodice and then back at her face. He slowly rose to his foot and crutch. “Are you going back to town?” he asked.
She started. “No!”
Relief appeared on his face. “You are dressed for town.”
She flushed. “Am I? Meg insisted on the lilac, I cannot recall why.”
His gaze narrowed.
“Actually,” she swallowed, suddenly ill with nervous fear, “I was wondering if you had a few moments. There is a matter I was hoping to discuss with you.”
He straightened. “Of course. I take it you are feeling better?” His gaze roamed her face again slowly, feature by feature.
She closed the door and then came forward, aware that he had remarked the unusual action. His gaze appeared suspicious. “I had a very good night’s sleep and I feel wonderful today. I even had an omelet for breakfast.”
He nodded, watching her closely, as if he sensed an assault was about to be launched. Blanche reminded herself that he was very perceptive and he now knew her well. She sat down in the chair facing his desk, fussing with her skirts, her heart thundering far too loudly. Maybe she should delay such a proposal, she thought. She hadn’t expected to be so nervous.
He was staring oddly at her.
She realized she should have sat on the sofa.
But he sat down in his desk chair, the large desk between them. “You seem uneasy. I cannot imagine why. Is this a business matter?”
She smiled brightly. Marriage was usually a business arrangement. “Yes…for the most part.”
He leaned back.
She took a breath for courage.
“What is wrong?”
She smiled brightly again. “There is a matter I wish to discuss, but, I am not sure I can. I have never raised such a matter before.”
“I will help if I can,” he said swiftly. “You do wish to ask me for my help in a business matter?”
“Not quite,” she managed. “But in a way, yes.”
He seemed wary. “That clarifies matters.”
“Sir Rex.” She somehow smiled. “In a way, you were right about yesterday. There was some excessive strain, but it had nothing to do with our hack on the moors.”
He was entirely attentive now. His gaze did not flicker, once.
“And, really, I did not object to your advances—as you know.” She looked carefully at him.
“Then what possible strain arose yesterday after our ride?” he asked bluntly.
His eyes were as watchful as the lion’s in her dream, she thought uneasily. “I have been thinking about my future,” she said on a long breath. “I have been giving it a great amount of thought and even internal debate.”
He sat up sharply.
“I was thinking about it yesterday after we returned from our hack. My fears about my future did cause strain, Sir Rex. I believe that is why I fainted, or at least, that is partially why.”
He stared during a long pause. “Where are you leading?”
She wet her lips. His gaze moved there. “I am not going to consider any of my current suitors for my hand.”
He was silent.
He wasn’t making this easy, she thought. “I mean, that was your advice when I first came to Land’s End, and it had seemed correct to me, even then.”
“Are you hedging?” His tone remained blunt.
She inhaled and nodded. She was about to blurt out that she was so fearful of what she must ask! Instead, she trembled, sought composure, and said softly, “Sir Rex, it seems clear to me that we have developed an unusual friendship in the past week, even though we have known one another for years.”
Confusion flitted through his eyes. But he r
emained watchful. “Yes, I agree.”
“I am aware that you hold me in some esteem, and I also hold in you in the same regard, but I have said so already.”
He began shaking his head. “What are you trying to say?”
“We have gotten to know one another as never before,” she managed. “And there are wonderful qualities to your character…. You are clever, astute, industrious, honest and resourceful!” she cried.
His eyes widened.
“I have been impressed with your management of this estate.”
His surprised expression intensified.
She saw that he had no clue as to where she was leading. “I am aware of our differences, of course, but after carefully considering the subject, I was wondering…” She stopped. She wanted to marry Sir Rex. She had not a single doubt. She did not know if she could fashion a proper proposal. She was foundering when she should be persuasive and firm.
“What subject?” he demanded. “Because I am lost.”
“The subject of marriage.”
His eyes widened impossibly.
“I thought we might suit,” she gasped. “And I was wondering if you would consider a marriage proposal from me!”
His brows jerked upward. He was clearly shocked. He stood, incredulous.
Oh, God, she thought, ill to her stomach. Is he horrified, too, or just stunned?
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Blanche slowly stood. “I see you are somewhat surprised—”
“Are you suggesting a marriage between us?”
“Yes,” she whispered, aware of becoming crimson. He seemed to think it a terrible idea!
“You and me.” But his harsh tone was somehow a question.
“Yes.” She swallowed, dismayed by his reaction, aware she must either rush to save the day or flee. “You need a wife and I need a husband. You need a fortune and I need someone with the strength and integrity of character to manage my fortune. Clearly, such a marriage, one of convenience and economy, with the additional value of friendship, would be mutually beneficial!” she cried.
“A marriage of convenience and economy,” he echoed, in disbelief.