Susanne Marie Knight

by A Noble Dilemma

  “Bethany! Bethany, are you all right?”

  “I-I think so.” She fluttered her eyelids open, but the light seemed to increase the pounding.

  Closing her eyes, she then lost unconsciousness.

  Dear God, I must get control of myself.

  David gathered his unmoving darling back up in his arms. He’d had to leave her unattended for a few minutes whilst he took charge of the pandemonium out on the street. A coach, driven by a most incompetent whip, had swerved right into the path of David’s barouche.

  Stalling the stuttering apologies from the bungling driver, David pressed a young street lad into service. The lad ran over to Harley Street to fetch an available physician.

  Bethany remained limp and quiet. Her slow breathing stirred the French lace peeking out from her pelisse, and her eyelashes occasionally fluttered, as if in the throes of a vivid dream.

  He untied the ribbon strings on her silk-covered bonnet, then carefully smoothed stray hair off her injured forehead. The dear girl must have sustained a concussion. God be merciful that her injuries were only minor.

  By the time the barouche reached Grosvenor Square, he was consumed with worry. Fifteen minutes had passed since the collision. Bethany still hadn’t awakened.

  Carrying her in his arms, he made his way into the townhouse. He briefly advised Stevens to be on the lookout for the doctor, then he continued up the staircase, heading for the next floor. David stopped at the entrance to her bedchamber. Should he enter and place Bethany on the bed?

  Petunia, naturally, was at her own residence. Or out. And who knew where his mother could be found? Stevens sent for the maid, but as yet, Elsie was unaccounted for.

  Indecision stayed his movements.

  Don’t be a half-wit, Greyle. Bethany’s reputation will not be compromised. Besides, you are going to marry her.

  He looked down at her adorable face, still captivating even though she wasn’t awake.

  If she will have me.

  He banished that disturbing thought and walked into the bedchamber, carrying his precious burden. Laying her down on the gold-motifed bedspread, he stood back a moment, thunderstruck by his passion for her. Sitting beside her on the bed, he lifted her right hand to his lips.

  A ruckus beyond the door startled him. Disconcerted, he returned Bethany’s hand to her side.

  “Oh, your lordship!” Elsie entered the bedchamber in a rush. She stopped mid-step and strained her neck to peer over by the bed. “I didn’t expect to see you. Stevens let it slip that the young miss had a terrible accident. Is it true? Is she…is she…”

  “Miss Branford hit her head.”

  The maid’s chin quivered. “I’ll take over, your lordship. I’ll make her comfortable, honest I will. Mayhap I can get her to come to.”

  David refused to budge. “A doctor will be attending to Miss Branford shortly. Some of her belongings are still in the barouche. If you would, Elsie, could you fetch them?”

  “Oooh, how pale she looks.”

  “Elsie?” he prompted.

  “Of course, your lordship.” She curtsied. “Right away, sir. I won’t be lon’.”

  Sighing, David turned back to continue his vigil. He could be assured of only a few more minutes before the Harley Street doctor arrived.

  “Please wake up, dear one. I could not bear it if you…”

  He could not finish his thought. Placing her hand over his heart, he pressed it tenderly against him.

  Bethany frowned. Why does my head hurt? With her eyes closed, she struggled to gather fragments of memory. Why am I in bed, in the middle of the afternoon? Or is it afternoon?

  For the life of her, she couldn’t place just where she was. On a settee? In her bed? Was it Monday? Tuesday? She lightly massaged her temple. What on earth happened?

  “Oooh, you finally be awake, miss.” Elsie’s cheery voice filtered through Bethany’s foggy mind. “The doctor, he said you’d pull through, but I pined and fretted so.”

  Bethany opened her eyes. The maid’s good-natured face loomed over her. “What happened, Elsie?”

  That was the wrong question. Elsie’s lower lip trembled and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Gorblimey! You haven’t become dicked in the nob, have you, miss?”

  “No, no, I am quite well. I just cannot remember why my head aches.”

  Elsie nodded her understanding. “There now. It’s all right.” She fluffed up the pillows. “You had a carriage accident comin’ back from Carlton House. Thrown clear across the squabs, you were. Hit your head on a solid fixture, his lordship says.”

  A spark of pain reminded Bethany. “Yes, of course. How could I have forgotten?”

  Another item jogged her memory. She needed to let David know the ruse she and Prince Augustus were perpetrating. She didn’t want to give up her writing, of course. But if she explained, surely he would understand her situation.

  But could he understand? Would he understand?

  Bethany darted her gaze around her stylish bedchamber. When she spotted her leather portfolio leaning against the cheval looking glass, she froze. The portfolio contained her manuscript pages.

  Her guilty secret was out in the open, waiting for someone to find it. She couldn’t let that happen. Not before she told David, at any rate.

  She cleared her throat. “Elsie, would you be a dear and fetch me a nice hot cup of tea?”

  “Certainly, miss. A nice cuppa is sure to calm you.” The maid bobbed a curtsey. “I will be back in a trice.”

  Bethany waited until Elsie closed the door, then pulled the bedcovers back. When she sat up, her head started spinning, but she couldn’t pay it any mind. She had to retrieve those papers and hide them in the writing desk’s cubbyhole — safely out of sight.

  The bedroom door opened.

  “Whatever are you doing, Bethany?” Petunia charged inside, took control of the blankets, then firmly guided Bethany back down on the mattress. “You dear girl, if my brother were to see you out of the bed, he would have a fit.”

  Bethany eyed the portfolio and sighed. Stashing her manuscript would have to wait until she was alone.

  “Please, have a seat, Petunia. Elsie will be right back with tea.” Bethany scooted up against the pillows, then folded her hands in her lap. Someone had removed her muslin gown, replacing it with a short-sleeved chemise. She turned her attention back to her guest. “It is so kind of you to visit me, Petunia.”

  Petunia scraped the legs of a creamy white armchair over to the bed. “I hurried here as soon as I heard about your dreadful accident. David is beside himself. He and I had a little chat downstairs before I came up. Let me take a look at your poor head. It must be aching so!”

  “I am fine. Truly. But how are you? Do you have any news about…Lord Weatherhaven?”

  Petunia shook her head so furiously her golden locks lit up the darkened room. Then she made an inelegant noise. “Tosh! I am so incensed. You have no idea, Bethany. The man claims I am too needy. That I require more attention than a child. He actually said I was behaving like a spoiled schoolgirl.”

  I wonder what gives him that idea?

  “Weatherhaven saw me with Henry. He did not like having a rival, and I’m glad. Glad, I say. Only…”Petunia turned a watery blue-eyed gaze on Bethany. “Only I’m not certain if…if he still wants to be married to me. We were to go to Paris together, but now he says he will leave for France without me.”

  Tears sprang from her eyes, and she hastened over to the window. She drew aside the sheer curtains, then stared out at the cobblestone street below.

  Bethany shifted in the bed. Newlywed spat aside, this was a serious development. Besides, she felt partially responsible for this bumblebroth. After all, she had suggested Petunia flaunt Henry Penning in front of her husband.

  Bethany held open her arms. “My poor dear!”

  Like a child running to her mother, Petunia scampered over to the bed and threw herself into Bethany’s arms. After a moment, she pulled away
. “You see? I-I am such a silly widget. I have come to minister to you, yet here you are reassuring me.”

  Bethany patted the distraught woman’s hand. “When is Lord Weatherhaven planning to leave for Paris?”

  “In a week.” Petunia sniffed. “Next Monday.”

  A week. Bethany tapped her chin. She’d tasked David with finding a solution but there wasn’t much time to arrange a reconciliation. Perhaps…with his mother as hostess, perhaps David could sponsor a ball.

  Magical things could happen at an elegant ball.

  “I will think of something that will help, Petunia. I promise. But for now…” Bethany closed her eyes for a moment. “For now, I think I need to rest.”

  “Gracious me, of course!” Petunia leaned over and kissed Bethany’s cheek. “I’ll leave you to sleep now. Don’t worry about anything. Everything will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She tiptoed to the door, and with a half-hearted smile, left the bedchamber.

  Once Petunia had closed the door, Bethany threw back the covers again. She stood, swayed a fraction of an inch, then slowly walked barefoot to the cheval looking glass. The distance was about ten feet.

  By the time she reached the mirror, her head wanted to explode. She bent over…ouch!…then removed the thick pile of papers. Discarding the portfolio, she straightened, which caused the internal throbbing to intensify. She massaged her temples.

  The Chippendale writing desk was stationed by the window, a distance of about seven feet. Each step towards it was excruciating. She glanced back at the looking glass to see her features — ashen, pale, and in pain.

  Fie! She stumbled, but continued on until she reached the desktop. A yank on the cubbyhole’s trigger revealed more papers inside. Just as she was about to thrust the new pages of her manuscript into the waiting drawer, she heard knocking on the bedchamber door.

  Now her heart pounded harder than her head. Dizziness flooded her body. Without a shadow of a doubt, she was going to swoon.

  No! She couldn’t lose consciousness. Not yet.

  Before her knees could buckle, she stuffed those papers inside, slammed shut the drawer, then pressed the secret knob to lock it.

  Her mission accomplished, she fought her immediate collapse no more. She fell to the floor just as the door opened. The last thing she heard was her name. But it wasn’t Elsie who called out to her.

  It was David.

  Chapter Ten

  “Bethany!” David dismissed his hesitancy in entering the privacy of her bedchamber, and hastened to her side.

  He had glimpsed her in the act of falling, and now she was spread out on the carpeted floor. “Bethany, are you all right?” Kneeling, he slipped his hand around her back and partially lifted her off the floor.

  Her dark lashes fluttered, then briefly opened. “Oh, David. I-I do apologize for…for worrying you so.”

  “Never mind that, my dear. But tell me, what is so urgent that you left your bed?”

  The blush of embarrassment diffused rapidly on her pale complexion. “I only wanted to…I mean, I felt the need of a little walk.”

  She is hiding something. But what? And why?

  David glanced over at the desk and noted one of the drawers was askew, but kept his observation to himself. “I will get you back to bed.” He picked her up, and relished the warm feel of her against him. For a moment, he stood tongue-tied. He cleared his throat. “Er, shall I call for the doctor’s return, Bethany?”

  “No, there is no need.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “All I require is a bit of rest. I am certain I will be quite well by dinner.”

  “I look forward to dinner, then.” He lay down his precious bundle, then tucked the bedcovers up under her chin. Ever so slightly, he grazed his fingertips against her skin. “And to ensure you do get your rest, I will stand guard.”

  As improper as it was for him to be in her bedchamber, he stood fast. He could not chance her taking another stroll from her bed.

  “No, I — ”

  “It is done.” He sat in the white armchair near the bed with his arms crossed. His mind was set. He would not be swayed from his purpose.

  She was uncomfortable — her rapid breathing as evinced by the undulation of the bedcovers told him so.

  A gentle rapping at the door then revealed Elsie with a tea service.

  He waved the maid away. Bethany had to sleep. She did not need any distractions. It did not take long for her to succumb to the welcoming arms of Morpheus. David waited a while longer, to make certain she did not awaken.

  How very good she was. So uncomplicated, unlike the other two ladies in his life. His mother desperately needed to have the reins pulled in on her. To admit such a blackguard into her life — blast, into the Greyle family’s lives — was opening them all up to public ridicule.

  How could he tear his mother away from that scoundrel Randolph Fenwick?

  And Petunia? What the devil was he to do with her headstrong ways? Only a few moments ago, she had paid him a visit with unwelcome news. Weatherhaven intended to journey to Paris by himself, leaving his new bride in London.

  David drummed his fingers on his nankeen-clad thigh. Petunia, left on her own, would most assuredly engage in rash behavior of some kind or other.

  And Weatherhaven, alone and in Paris, well, it just did not bear thinking about.

  Bethany shifted position in the bed, murmured something indistinguishable, then settled back into slumber. He could trust her implicitly.

  But what about the writing desk? His inner demons egged him on. What is so important that she leaves her bed when she clearly is unwell?

  He looked over at the desk. Yes, one drawer — a cubbyhole, actually — bulged out a bit, instead of being closed flush. David silently made his way over to the desk. He tugged on the drawer, but either it was stuck…or locked. He hesitated. Perhaps the drawer contained Bethany’s work with the Duke of Sussex. As she so aptly phrased it, she was not at liberty to divulge the duke’s confidences.

  Should David respect…?

  He shook his head. Confidences or ramblings, it made no difference to him. He had to find out what Bethany took great care to hide. Removing his ivory-handled pen knife, he used the blade to force open the lock. As quietly as possible, he removed a roll of manuscript papers.

  His gaze caught a particular paragraph.

  Their father, on the other hand, was another matter. He was a man of mystery. Very tall with dark hair hanging down his forehead in windswept curls, Lord Innis seemed to hold her in contempt. His stormy, dark brown eyes silently disapproved of everything she did.

  David froze. A novel? Bethany wrote…was writing a Gothic novel?

  Just to make certain, he flipped through more pages and read:

  She turned the knob and the door creaked open.

  “Looking for something, Miss Hasbrouck?”

  Goodness! She nearly jumped out of her skin. Swallowing her mortification, Miss Hasbrouck turned around to face the imposing figure of Lord Innis.

  Another paper protruded from the cubbyhole. With trepidation, he removed it. Listed neatly on the page were the names of London book publishers.

  Good God! David sank down on the edge of the writing desk as if he could no longer support his weight. One of his household — the woman he wanted to marry — was engaged in an activity beneath her station.

  His head nearly spun with the implications. The infamy, the ostracism that awaited the Greyle family…

  He glanced around the bedchamber at everything except Bethany. Just this past May, a travesty of a novel had been released — Glenarvon, by that scandalous Lady Caroline Lamb. Although the book had been published anonymously, everyone knew it was a thinly disguised account of the love affair between her and the equally improper Lord Byron.

  Readers could not fail to recognize the many caricatures Caro Lamb had included of Beau Monde personalities. And because the inclusion of gossip ensured the book being widely read, Glenarvon was deemed a success by its publishe
r.

  David eyed the crackling flames in the bedchamber’s fireplace. The slow, sensuous fire beckoned to him. He should burn this blasted manuscript.

  He looked one more time at Bethany, still sleeping soundly. Then he glanced down at his hands, holding the papers.

  What a devil of a coil.

  He took a deep breath, then released it. No. He could not destroy her work. Instead, he jammed the manuscript roll back into the cubbyhole. It did not fit exactly and it was inelegantly stuffed, but at least he had not succumbed to his baser instinct to burn the papers to a crisp. He turned away, heading for the door. He had to get away. Away from London. Away from the women in his life who had turned out to be so unreliable.

  He had to clear his head.

  Stepping out into the corridor, David set a brisk pace for outside the city — any place he could find peace to collect his thoughts.

  Bethany woke up refreshed. Her head’s throbbing had subsided to only a dull roar. Definitely manageable.

  Yawning, she sat up in bed. A glance at the ormolu clock revealed the time to be almost six. It was past time to dress for dinner.

  Someone knocked on the door. Lady Ingraham poked her ostrich feather-toqued head inside. “Oh my child, you must tell me how you feel. Are you still suffering the ill effects from the carriage accident? I rushed here as soon as I heard the news.”

  “Lady Ingraham, it is so good to see you. I am fine. Truly.” Bethany swung her legs off the mattress, preparing to rise. Here was an excellent opportunity to bring up the plan to host a reconciliation ball for Petunia and Lord Weatherhaven.

  “No, no, no.” The small woman fluttered to the bedside and prevented Bethany from getting up. “What do you think you are doing, Bethany?”

  “I must dress for dinner.”

  “Absolutely not. You must rest. I shall have your meal sent up to you.” Lady Ingraham’s blue feather twitched from the vehemence of its mistress’ words. “Now, won’t that be nice?”

  Not hardly.

  Why would Bethany wish to stay in bed when David specifically said he was looking forward to spending the mealtime with her?