“I can do more….”
“You’ll have your share, but you’ve those children to care for, and I don’t doubt Miss Sarah is all but beside herself by now.”
Anne’s shoulders slumped. “You are right, of course, but I will take part in caring for him.”
“Sure and you will,” he agreed readily, easing Anne’s mind.
After a long study of the sleeping viscount, she trudged to the door. The children first, then she meant to find St. Clair, who may have something to report by now. How could this happen, a man shot on his own land? Was it an accident, a mischance? Perhaps, but the ill feeling in her belly said not.
~* * *~
St. Clair was with the children. Anne checked at the threshold and took a quick survey of the room’s occupants. Mrs. Timmons was hard at her knitting—what did the woman do with all those socks—and Miss Caxton was playing checkers with Guy. Sarah and Danielle flanked the earl, Sarah in her chair and Danielle on the arm of the well-worn sofa.
He will be a good father. Juliette is fortunate. Westcott, too, was a prime example of responsible fatherhood, and she felt a pang of loss that she would never have a child of her own to experience such care.
“You are a brave soul to sit on that sofa, St. Clair,” Anne said, walking over to join them. “People have been known to disappear forever in it.”
“Ah, that’s where Mr. Sutton went! I wondered when he was not in church on Sunday,” St. Clair said with a grin.
“He is on holiday, Uncle Devlin!” Sarah cried out and giggled.
“Oh, a holiday, is it? Vicars don’t go on holiday. You are very sure?” He made a pretense of searching under the cushions.
“A person could not fit in there,” Sarah declared with mock indignation, but she sobered immediately when Anne stooped down beside her.
“Your father is resting now, Sarah. The doctor has been and said,” Anne dropped her voice to mimic the surgeon’s growl, ‘“his lordship will do’ and you know Mr. Jameson always speaks the truth.” Indeed, Sarah knew him well, as the man came often to visit her and do what he could to help her leg. If only he had been in practice here when the accident occurred! Anne was convinced that if Sarah’s ankle and foot had been set properly, she would be walking about like any other child.
“May I go to see him?” Sarah clung to Anne, not crying, no, but tears were close.
Unsure whether the child should see her father incapacitated, Anne looked up at St. Clair, who was quick to realize her unspoken question.
“A few minutes will do neither of them harm, and Sarah will sleep much better once she knows her father is not badly hurt.”
“So she will.” Anne turned her head toward Danielle. “Might you like to come with Sarah?”
Danielle nodded, her face set in the stolid expression she had not seen on the girl for weeks. She is scared all to pieces, poor child.
“Will Blackwell really get better?” Guy jumped up from the table, ran to Anne, and wrapped his arms around her neck. “I was afraid, Mother Anne.”
“I was, too. You were very brave, Guy, and we are all proud of you.” She released Sarah, and pried open the boy’s hands to hold him at arm’s length. “Yes, Westcott is going to be fine.” She looked at his face and sighed. “You want to come as well, I see.”
Unsurprised by his “Yes, please,” she took St. Clair’s hand and rose, glad of his help. Exhaustion threatened to undermine her will and she remembered it was past time for the evening meal. No wonder she felt light-headed.
“I suppose you want to look in on Westcott, too, my lord?”
“I do, of course,” St. Clair said promptly, with a lift of his brows that indicated his surprise she even asked.
“Of course,” Anne agreed with a resigned smile. “You all go on whilst I have a word with Nurse.”
St. Clair grasped the handles of Sarah’s chair and started it forward. “I need to speak to you before I return home, Anne,” he said in a low voice.
“And I you!”
Anne stayed behind long enough to give Nurse Timmons a personal assurance that her ‘lad’ was going to be fine; ask Miss Caxton if she would sleep on a trundle in Sarah’s room in case she had nightmares, and then hurried to catch up to St. Clair and his entourage.
“Mind you, just a few minutes and no noise,” she warned them as she knocked lightly on the door before opening it cautiously. Bill was settled in a chair by the bed. Westcott’s man was busy attending to something or other, but came over to them immediately.
“How does he, Harman? Awake enough to see Miss Sarah?”
“Awake and asking for her, my lady. If you’ll just give me a moment?” He went to the viscount, said something in a low voice, and then he and Bill placed some pillows behind Westcott so he could sit up. All evidence of his bandage was hidden by a loose shirt, Anne was relieved to see, and St. Clair pushed Sarah’s chair to the bed.
“Hello, muffin. Come to see the patient, have you?” Westcott took her hand.
“Papa.” A little sob escaped her and she held his hand to her cheek. “I was afraid.”
“I am sorry you were frightened, child, but it’s all over now and before you know it, I’ll be up and about, ready to take you into the garden.” He looked at Guy and Danielle, lingering hesitantly by the door. “Come take a look, children, see that I am hardly ill at all, and then you can go off to bed.” He raised his brows. “Sarah? That includes you. You can visit longer tomorrow. Mr. Jameson insists I stay in bed for a few days, so I will need you to keep me company.”
Sarah brightened. “I can read to you, Papa.” She released him and patted his arm. “You must get better very soon, because we have a surprise for you.”
“A good surprise, I hope.” He narrowed his eyes. “You children are not planning to put a toad in my bed, or something else unpleasant?”
“Oh, no!” Danielle’s protest and Sarah’s “Of course not,” clashed and Sarah laughed. “Danielle thinks you are serious. She does not know you very well as yet,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice that made Anne smile.
“Your father is a sad tease, and I would say if he is well enough to be doing so, you have no need to worry about him. Go on now and let him get some rest.”
Sarah placed a kiss on his hand. “Good night, Papa. I will visit you tomorrow.”
“Good night. I will look forward to it.”
He was white around the mouth. Anne stepped forward to screen him from Sarah’s view. “Harman will push you, Sarah, and I will say good night now, too. Lord Lynton wants a word with your father, and I’ve some things to attend to.” She leaned over, gave Sarah a kiss, hugged Guy and Danielle, and waited until the valet had maneuvered the chair through the doorway before rejoining the men.
St. Clair would not stay overlong. Anne was sure he was just as aware of Nicholas’ exhaustion and pain as she was. Indeed, in a very short time he made his farewell and Bill emerged from the adjoining room, obviously having waited for the room to clear.
“You see Lord Lynton out, my lady. I’ll tend to his lordship.”
Anne hesitated. She hated to leave him, but Nicholas’ eyes were closed and Bill beginning to check the bandages—she was not needed and probably unwanted.
“Let Fenton do his job, Anne.” St. Clair put a hand under her elbow.
Suddenly undone by the understanding in his voice, Anne blinked back tears, and gripped his arm, grateful for the support. He led her to Westcott’s study, urged her into a chair and poured a small amount of brandy into a glass.
“Drink it. It will do you good.”
Anne took a sip, wincing at the strong taste, but the fiery spirit warmed, and she felt some of the chill leave her. “However light Mr. Jameson and Westcott make of it, he is lucky to be alive. Another few inches….” She buried the dire thought deep in some corner of her heart. It did not bear thinking of, losing Nicholas. She waited until St. Clair had poured himself a brandy and sat in the chair opposite.
“Tell m
e what you found out, please. Did the men find the person who did this?” Anne said sharply. “I doubt accidental shootings are an ordinary occurrence.”
“Neither accidental, nor purposely.” Looking grim, St. Clair sipped at his brandy. “They found nothing, except a few broken branches and some trampled undergrowth, evidence no self-respecting poacher would leave behind. Nor is that piece of woodland a place to expect much game, since it is hardly more than a thin buffer between the two properties. A small stream runs through it. My grandfather, and Westcott’s, came up with the idea of creating a copse to protect it.” His voice dropped and he laid a hand on her arm. “Anne, it could not have been a poacher. Poachers don’t use rifles to shoot game. This was deliberate. I need to ask you if you know why anyone would try to kill Nick. He is not an easy man, but fair and honest in his dealings, and there is not a person in this county who would seek to harm him.”
“Kill?” Anne flinched, the word coiling icily in her chest. Of course the thought had entered her mind and had been immediately banished as too dreadful a possibility. “I do not know why anyone would wish to do him harm.”
St. Clair set his glass aside and leaned forward. “Is it possible Claude Meraux might be responsible? He might want revenge. Nick took the children and Danielle’s inheritance from him.”
Anne narrowed her eyes, trying to picture Meraux in the role of aggressor, and then shook her head. “There is not much I would put past the man, but having the initiative to travel here, where he does not know the language or customs, and have enough courage to shoot someone? I can’t see it. The man is a blustering bully. And for what purpose? Shooting Nicholas will not get him either Danielle or her inheritance.” She slumped in her seat and rested her forehead on her hand to hide her shock. Meraux was too much of a coward, but could the Major…? No! If she felt for a minute it was due to her that Nicholas was shot…. And what will you do if it is, Anne? “Did anyone mention seeing a stranger in the area lately?” she asked, in a voice devoid of the fear filling her insides until her heart labored under the weight of it. Impossible for a man like the Major to remain inconspicuous.
“No, and outsiders are always a matter of gossip.” St. Clair said. “We will continue to make inquiries, but it is easy enough to disappear in a city and Winchester is not that far away.” He stood and touched her shoulder. “Go to bed, Anne. There is nothing more you can do tonight. Westcott will need you tomorrow. If only to keep him from ignoring the surgeon’s orders to stay in bed a day or two,” St. Clair added, smiling, and offered his hand. “He will not take laudanum, you know.”
“I did not, but I suspect most men would decline, labeling it a “woman’s medicine”.”
“Camille was addicted to the stuff,” St. Clair said in a carefully even voice. “I thought perhaps you knew.”
Tempted to ask more about the former viscountess, Anne hesitated, but this was not the time to do so. She took his hand, realizing as she stood how fatigued she was. “I know very little about Camille. Thank you for the warning. I’ll tell Maggie, if she isn’t already aware of it, and ask her not to press him to take it. Insofar as keeping Westcott in bed for several days, I doubt he will listen to me, but Maggie is another matter.” She pressed the earl’s hand. “You are a good friend, St. Clair. Thank you for coming so quickly and…well for everything, really.” It was a comfort, knowing she had people to call upon in need.
“Devlin, please. I think we are beyond formalities by now.”
An understatement, that, and she had to smile. “Very well, then. Thank you, Devlin.”
“Get some rest. I will see myself out and return tomorrow.”
Anne waited until the door closed behind him before she sank into a chair and stared blindly at the smoldering embers glowing in the fireplace. She had to tell Westcott of the Major and his obsession with her. In truth, she felt the man was quite mad and capable of almost anything. You are becoming paranoid, Anne, seeing the man behind every bush and tree. Reynard had obligations, military obligations, and for all you know, never even got to Portugal. It was an accident, a lad out with his father’s weapon and now too frightened to come forward. A comforting story and one she prayed was true.
“All the same, you must tell Nicholas, and soon.” There was a distressing lack of conviction behind the muttered words. Anne huffed loudly and rose. She felt a hundred years old, her limbs stiff and cold. She needed to eat, and rest, no matter that the thought of food made her queasy, and the prospect of a sleepless night fraught with worry appalled. People depended upon her. Self-pity had no place in her life right now. Afterwards, Anne, when Nicholas is well and all is resolved, then you can have hysterics!
Chapter Twenty
The nightmare trapped her, as it always did—a quagmire Anne was unable to escape, even though she knew she slept. No matter how she fought against it, her mind called forth the infamous day in relentless detail. She felt the hot sun of Gibraltar; felt the perspiration rolling along her spine during the endless walk to the graveyard. Heard the snap of the chaplain’s robes flapping in the sere wind and watched the wilted flowers dropping onto the casket as it was lowered into the ground. Her beloved, caring, father in it, silenced now by the fever and not the enemy bullet he would have preferred.
And all the while, he was there, so smugly certain of her that she wanted to scream—at him, at the well-meaning mourners, telling her how fortunate she was to have such a fine man to depend upon.
Exhausted after weeks of nursing her father, Anne closed the door behind the chaplain and the last of the mourners, longing for solitude and the freedom to shed the tears dammed behind her polite façade. She turned, almost stepping against the Major, who stood so close she could smell sweat and horse under the cologne he wore. Was she never to be rid of him? His artfully styled blond hair and handsome face had long since lost any appeal. A girlish infatuation, one that embarrassed her to recall, but lingering guilt was not enough to keep the impatience from her voice.
“Your assistance with Father’s funeral is appreciated, Major Reynard, but I would like to be alone now.”
He scowled at her simple statement. “I suppose we can make plans for our wedding tomorrow just as well, although I had expected to settle the arrangements at once.”
“Wedding? What on earth are you talking about? I have no plans for marriage, sir, to you or anyone else.”
“There has never been any question in my mind about our marriage, and it must be at once. Everyone will understand we cannot wait through the normal period of mourning, leaving you alone, unprotected, for an entire year.”
“You are mistaken, Major. I never agreed to marry you. Indeed, the subject has never arisen and although I have enjoyed your escort several times, it was not an indication of any lasting affection for you.” Uneasy at the look in his eyes, Anne made an attempt to put some distance between them. “I want you to go now.”
“We will be married as soon as I can arrange for the license.” He gripped her shoulders tightly enough to make her wince. “Don’t be coy, Anne. It does not become you. I’ve been patient long enough, letting you see your father through this illness, but that is over.”
“I am not being coy!” Anne wrenched from his grasp and opened the door. “Please go.”
Reynard pulled the door from her hand, slammed it closed, and dragged her into his arms. “I see you need some discipline. I won’t be defied, Anne, something you will learn after we are married.”
“Release me now! Are you mad?”
“Mad for you.” Reynard carried her, kicking and screaming, into the parlour. He threw her onto a sofa and came down on top of her with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. “I want you and intend to have you.”
His lips were hard and wet, his tongue thrusting deeply into her mouth. His hands tightened around her breasts until tears started from her eyes and she sobbed, choking.
“It doesn’t have to be this way. I can be gentle,” he said when he lifted his head.
The look in his eyes was dispassionate, appraising her, enjoying her fear. He liked causing pain, Anne realized with a shock and struggled harder. “Get off!”
“No.” He slapped her, then pushed his hand into her hair, ripping out the pins, and wound it around his fist with a jerk that forced her head back. “You are mine. Admit it, and we can be comfortable again.”
Her breath coming in quick gasps, Anne stared him in the eye. “Never.” She spat full in his face. She had a moment of satisfaction, seeing his incredulous expression, before he raised a fist high above her.
“You bitch!”
Eyes closed, body rigid with expectation, Anne braced for the blow. Instead, she felt his body being dragged away, and she was free. Bill was there, his hands around Reynard’s neck.
“Bastard! Assaulting a woman. You are nothing but a dog,” Bill bellowed, throwing the Major to the floor.
“I’ll see you flogged for this, Fenton! Or better yet, hung. Attacking an officer is a hanging offense.” Reynard lunged from the floor and delivered a punch to Bill’s jaw that sent him reeling back, knocking over a table and shattering the lamp.
“Rape is a hanging offense, you cur.” Bill struggled to his feet and raised his fists. “Get out of here, Anne. I’ll take care of this.”
But Anne was frozen with horror. Bill was no match for the younger man, trained to fight and kill, and there was murder in the Major’s eyes as he stalked forward.
“No, I’ll be doing that.” Maggie, unnoticed until she spoke, raised the poker in her hand and brought it down on Reynard’s head with a sickening thud.
Shivering, Anne stared at the man sprawled on the floor, a thin, red stream trickling from under his hair. “Is he dead?” Her voice, a thin whisper in the tense silence, echoed through the room.
Maggie dropped the poker with a clatter and with obvious reluctance, bent over to examine him. “No, mores’ the pity, but he’ll be hurting for a time.” She went to Bill and wiped the blood from his mouth with her apron. “Give us a minute, Mr. Fenton, and I’ll help you get him out of here.” She moved then to Anne and held her, just held her, close and warm, until the shaking stopped and Anne felt her heartbeat slow.
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