by Grace Elliot
They limped along. The supper room was located at the far end of the corridor, and as the pain grew worse, the distance felt like the ends of the earth. Then, without warning, his leg buckled. Hope held onto his arm and stopped him from falling but with each step, the pain grew more intense. Biting his tongue, they continued. He stumbled again, this time an occasional table broke his fall.
"Lean on me." Hope looped his arm around her shoulders, threading her other arm around his waist.
"Thank you."
"Quick. In here while no one's looking." Hope pushed opened a door. It was utter relief to tumble into what was a dimly-lit room. They both leant, panting, with the closed door to their backs. Huntley glanced around at was appeared to be a small library or study; book-lined walls and a globe beside an armchair. The light came from the full moon, spilling in through the open curtains.
"How are you feeling now?" Hope asked.
"Ashamed. Foolish. Useless."
Her gaze slid over him, her eyes large and luminous.
"You are none of those things—but brave, courageous and honorable."
He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. A new pain assaulted him, centred on his heart, and every bit as excruciating as physical pain. With regret, he released her hand.
"George?" She spoke his name with such tenderness, he was momentarily undone. The dome of her breasts strained against the low-cut bodice and did peculiar things to his sanity. She was sheer temptation—but one he would not yield to. With unintended gruffness he turned aside.
"We should go. To enter a private room together…. your reputation."
But Hope didn’t move, instead he recognised the stubborn tilt of her chin which meant she was going nowhere.
"Not until you tell me what I've done wrong."
She continued to stare with wide, dark eyes which seared into his soul.
"Was it because I danced with Oswald?"
Huntley’s heart twisted. "Well, it wasn’t so much a dance, as a seduction."
Her brow shot upward. "I beg your pardon?"
"The way he looked at you was positively indecent."
With a glare Miss Tyler replied. “It wasn’t my fault Mr. Oswald was attentive. In no way did I encourage him."
"But you danced with him all the same." He knew he was being childish but couldn’t help it.
"But Lady Ryevale insisted! And, I refused a second dance!"
A slow look dawned across her face. "You aren’t jealous, are you?"
George wanted so much to laugh, but instead the fight drained away. Denial was useless, his face told Hope everything she needed to know.
"Oh my!" Her hand covered her mouth.
"We should leave," he whispered, she nodded weakly but neither moved. Stillness settled around them. The world contracted to the space between them, each conscious of the other's labored breathing. A wash of heat flooded Huntley’s body and he tugged at his collar.
“By gads it’s hot.”
“Is it?” All innocence, Hope smiled. “Actually, it's a little chilly.”
How could he not have noticed? She was shivering, goosebumps raised on her skin. He shook off his jacket, and with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed, placed it around her shoulders. Close enough now to smell her salty skin, he stood in front of her, pulling the coat closed. More than anything his lips craved the waiting warmness of hers, and he saw in her eyes she knew it.
"You would tempt a saint."
"And is that such a bad thing?"
"No," he sucked in a breath. "But I accuse you of loose morals, and then do the very thing I condemned you for."
"I know you didn’t mean it."
“I have no right to expect you to trust me, but the truth is…” His throat constricted.
“Yes?” There in the window, her skin caressed by moonlight, and sadness filled her face. When she spoke, her words broke across him like ice water. “But you fear soiling your reputation because I am a bastard?”
His world spun. “No! It’s not that at all!”
“Then what?”
“My dearest Hope. What I see is your honesty and integrity —the qualities I live my life by. I was a tongue-tied idiot, who could not admit to feeling …jealous. There! I’ve said it. I saw you with Oswald and couldn’t bear it, that’s why I dragged you away and that’s why I so badly want to kiss you.”
“Darling man, I would like nothing better.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I can think of nothing I want more than to be kissed by you.”
A swooping, darting, sense of euphoria lit his face and yet still he made no move.
She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her lips, snuggling it against her cheek.
"Kiss me. Please."
Drawn to the tender plumpness of her lips, the air sang between them. Gentle as a dove he claimed her mouth, brushing and teasing until her lips parted. Trusting, she followed his lead, she mirrored the brush of tongue against delicate lip and his body started to melt.
Huntley was intoxicated, never before had a woman aroused this fearsome urge to possess and cherish. He needed Hope to be his. Until now his life had meant doing his best by King and country, but in that moment his focus shifted. The realisation was sobering.
“Until you, I hadn't met a real woman.”
“What do you mean?”
"You are resourceful, intelligent and kind.”
“Hmmm, you forgot beautiful and witty.”
Huntley shook with laughter, “Neither did I mention modest.”
As their laughter died, Hope smiled sheepishly. “When we leave this room, I won’t hold you to anything.”
“Do you regret our kiss?” A pulse hammered in his throat?
She took a shuddering breath, “If all I am to you is a dalliance, then forget everything. I will not make the same mistake as my mother.”
Slowly Huntleys heart found a more regular rhythm. “Miss Tyler, if you permit…” A shout in the corridor disturbed him. Huntley cocked his head.
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
Some way down the corridor came another muffled shout.
"Someone is calling a name…and it sounds like 'Huntley.'"
The voice grew louder. A look of comprehension dawned on George’s face.
“What the..?”
Huntley recognised the voice—deep and rich male tones. The door opened and a man with a long nose set above a sullen mouth, glanced in.
"Oswald!"
His first instinct was to shield Hope, so he stood in front of her, but Oswald missed nothing. But then Huntley registered the distress on Oswald's face and his blood chilled.
"What is it? Has something happened?"
Out of breath, Oswald gabbled.
“Captain Huntley, thank goodness I've found you! Come at once, your mother has collapsed.”
*****
Hope's concern for Lady Ryevale was matched only by anguish for Captain Huntley. She knew that to be discovered in a compromising position would mean, as an honorable man, he would feel bound to offer for her—a proposal she would refuse. She wanted to marry for love, rather than be trapped by gossip.
"Come." Oswald urged Huntley, "Your mother is asking for you."
With a curt nod, George accepted Oswald's supportive hand on his elbow, while Hope followed close behind. Moving as swiftly as the Captain's leg allowed, they headed back along the corridor.
"How did you know where to look?" Huntley asked.
Oswald peered down his long nose. "I asked a footman. They see everything while saying nothing."
"Oh."
"Don’t worry. I gave the man an inducement, to make sure he doesn’t talk."
"That's very good of you. Thank you."
Hope reappraised her dislike of Oswald and offered up silent thanks.
"Where is Her Ladyship?"
"I had her moved to a side room." He indicated the
next door on the left. "Here we are."
"Tell me what happened?" Huntley's voice caught.
"After you…err…went for refreshment, I was chatting to Her Ladyship when she started to complain of feeling unwell."
"Unwell? In what way?"
"Stomach cramps, and then a few minutes later, all but passed out." He reached for the door knob. "Now, shall we go in?"
Hope didn’t think she could have felt any more wretched, that was, until they entered the small parlor and she saw Lady Ryevale.
Lying on a chaise longue, covered with a blanket, Her Ladyship was almost unrecognisable. In the past half hour she had aged twenty years; her complexion which had been soft and dewy, was now ashen and beaded with sweat. Her eyes were closed, sunken and hollow in her skull, her lips so pale as to be transparent. She lay unmoving, and except for the occasional groan, seemed unconscious.
George stood stock-still, too shocked to move. Hope pushed past him and ran to Her Ladyship’s side.
"Lady Ryevale? Can you hear me?" Hope touched the older woman's hand, which felt clammy and cold. Fear gripped Hope. Her Ladyship looked so very ill…and so suddenly. She turned to George for reassurance, only to see the same horror reflected on his face. Their eyes met and Hope willed him to react. Slowly, he seemed to rouse himself.
Captain Huntley cleared his throat. "We must take her home immediately. And send for Doctor Joseph."
A footman, who had been hovering in the shadows, stepped forward. "Captain?"
"With all haste have the Huntley couch brought around."
Oswald held up his hand. "Captain, I took the liberty of ordering my carriage. It is already waiting. Take it, and I will use yours."
"Thank you. Once more I'm in your debt."
"Think nothing of it."
Huntley stepped forward, leaning over his mother and made as if to lift her.
"Damn, this bad leg."
"Would you allow me to help?"
His face unreadable, George stepped back. "By all means."
In one swift motion, Oswald lifted Her Ladyship into his arms. The footman returned.
"This way, sirs. I've had the carriage brought to the closest entrance."
"Thank you, my man."
Hope followed the sombre party in despair. It was because of her George hadn’t been with his mother when she collapsed. Sadness touched Hope's heart. From the beginning, she had brought nothing but trouble on the Huntley's.
*****
Doctor Joseph arrived, with the wide-eyed look of a man unexpectedly roused from sleep. He was shown straight up to Her Ladyship’s chamber. Hope sat outside in the dressing room with Captain Huntley, waiting. Both too shocked to speak, all they could do was stare at the bedchamber door and pray.
Twenty minutes later Doctor Joseph emerged, rubbing his head.
"The swiftness of her illness…and the severity." He looked troubled. "Most unusual."
Captain Huntley stood. "Do you know what's wrong with her, doctor?"
Joseph pulled a face, and Hope noticed how he avoided Huntley's eye. "Hard to say."
"But you have your suspicions?"
Joseph fidgeted, pursing his lips and looking increasingly ill at ease. "Captain Huntley…George…are you aware of anyone who would wish your mother harm?"
Huntley stared. "No, of course not. What a strange thing to say." He turned to Hope, as if seeking confirmation.
A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. Hope went to Huntley and squeezed his arm.
"Doctor, why do you ask that?"
"Because," he looked greatly troubled. "Because her symptoms could…and I only say could…be consistent with poisoning."
"Nonsense. Don’t be ridiculous." Huntley guffawed.
"That's why I'm hesitant." Joseph straightened. "I suppose from the acuteness of the onset is not incompatible with food poisoning." His face grew a little brighter. "Perhaps that's it, food poisoning."
Hope watched the doctor closely, and wondered if only she saw the doubt in his eye.
"Will she recover?" Huntley asked.
"That, I'm afraid, is in God's hands. But with time, and a good nurse…we can but pray so."
Hope took it upon herself to nurse Lady Ryevale. That night she sat in vigil by Her Ladyship’s side, sponging her brow and touching a damp flannel to her parched lips. When Lady Ryevale was racked by tremors, Hope was there to comfort her; as she moaned and writhed with stomach cramps, Hope held her hand and prayed. The hours ticked by, marked by Her Ladyship’s labored breathing and the chimes of the hall clock. That night seemed the longest of Hope's life and to her immense relief, as shards of dawn broke across the darkness, Her Ladyship still clung to life.
Morning came and Lady Ryevale opened her eyes, and as weak as a kitten, her hand squeezed Hope's. She awoke with a powerful thirst, a thirst with Doctor Joseph insisted was not assuaged, for fear of vomiting, and so with dutiful patience, Hope sponged Her Ladyship’s lips. But her patient grew neither better nor worse, shivering and weak.
That day, the following night, and the next day, Hope refused to leave her charge's side. Shadowy figures came and went. Captain Huntley came often to sit by the bedside and urged Hope to rest, but each time she refused.
On the third night, weary to her very bones, she had a cot put at the end of the bed. But sleep evaded Hope. She lay awake, alert to Her Ladyship’s slightest movement, in case she needed attention.
As Her Ladyship’s illness entered its third day, Hope was so tired, when she blinked, her eyelids scratched across her corneas like sandpaper. Bleary-eyed, Hope looked up as a figure entered the room.
"Hallo."
Her vision swam as she made out George Huntley—despite her fatigue his presence still made her heart leap. His expression sombre, he leant heavily on a walking cane and made his way to the bedside.
"How is she?"
"The same."
"You should rest."
Hope shook her head. "I can’t, not until I know she's alright."
"This isn’t your fault." He said softly.
"If I hadn’t danced with Oswald then I might have been there when she first felt ill." If anyone understood, Huntley would.
"You don’t know that—and besides, it was me who took you away, it's just as much my fault as yours."
They stared at each other, comforted by the companionship of guilt.
“Dare we hope the worst is past?”
“Let us hope so.”
Huntley moved to his mother’s side and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Lady Ryevale smiled softly in her sleep.
It was such a small sign, but after all the days of worry, tears welled in Hope’s eyes.
“Here.” George pushed a handkerchief into her hand. Hope blew her nose, hiding in the voluminous folds, for she no longer had the strength to deny her feelings for Captain Huntley.
“You look exhausted.”
“Thank you, that makes me feel so much better.”
“I meant no insult—you always look beautiful.” He bit his lip. “But you are tired, take a break, I shall sit with Mother.”
“No, if it’s all the same to you I'd rather stay.”
Huntley regarded her archly. “Mother will be fine. Go, get some rest.”
“I promised to stay, even while she slept.”
“I can do that just as well.”
“But…”
“Unless I am so irresistible you are cannot tear yourself away.”
Hope stared at him in horror. Were her feelings for him so obvious?
“Your face is a picture.” He joked. “I was teasing. Go. Thanks to you, she's going to be alright.”
*****
That morning was a turning point, and over the following days Lady Ryevale's health started to improve. The wracking pain ceased and although weak, she could sit up and asked for broth. It was only then Hope allowed herself to give way to exhaustion and slept for a whole day. Even so, she insisted on staying within earshot in case Her Ladys
hip called out and rarely went further than the next room. And so it was, that one afternoon Hope sat in the adjoining dressing room, staring out at the dismal weather. She sank into a welcoming armchair, and through the blur of fatigue, could think no further than a nice cup of tea.
Hope fingered the bone china cup as it burnt her fingers. The tea too hot to drink, she replaced the cup in the saucer and rested her head back against the wing-back chair. With her eyelids so heavy and limbs like lead, there seemed no harm in resting her eyes while the tea cooled.
She had no idea how long she had been asleep. She woke with a start, disorientated by the long shadows. She reached for her tea, to find it disappointingly cold. Something had woken her, some sound. Hope listened. Lady Ryevale still slept, her soft snores drifting from the adjoining room. Then she heard voices in the corridor, growing more distinct as they drew closer. Male voices. In an instant she recognised George, his deep tone struck a chord in her belly—and the other; a melodius baritone she recognised as Mr. Oswald.
As the footsteps paused outside the dressing room, Hope barely had time to straighten her hair as the door opened. Two men entered but all she saw was George's piercing blue eyes focused on her. She ignored the fluttering in her chest and made to stand. George smiled softly, an intimate smile which made her light-headed.
"Miss Tyler, pray do not rise. We have no wish to disturb you."
"Please, come in." Hope squeaked, for George had that effect on her.
"Mr. Oswald came to inquire after Mother." George turned to Oswald. "Miss Tyler has been devoted to Her Ladyship, and quite possibly saved her life."
Hope stared at the floor.
"In fact, the happy outcome would have been very different without her dedicated nursing."
Hope fingered the teacup, unsettled by Oswald's intense way of staring.
“Miss Tyler, a pleasure to meet again.” Oswald held out his hand. "How is Lady Ryevale today?"
Self-consciously, Hope shook hands.
"It is kind of you to call. Lady Ryevale is much improved, although fearsomely bored, being confined to bed."