by Pearl Wolf
When they reached Ship Inn, Amy said, “I’ll thank you to make yourself scarce while I’m visitin’ me kin.”
“Don’t be forgettin’ we need a doctor for the marchioness, lass. I’ll wait in the taproom.” Casper sauntered away, rendering Amy speechless, a rare event.
“Amy!” her mother shrieked as she emerged from the kitchen with a full plate in her hand. “Let me serve the gentleman over there and then give us a hug.”
“Welcome home, Amy me darlin’.” Her uncle Tom’s beefy arms wrapped themselves around her.
“Hullo, Uncle Tom.” She kissed his cheek just as her mother returned and snatched her from him.
“I need your help right quick, Mum. The old marchioness is real sick. I’ve come with milady’s driver Casper. We’ve been sent to fetch a doctor and bring him back as soon as may be. Can you help?”
“Don’t you worry, lass. I’ll rouse Doctor Fenwick and bring him right back here.” Her mother removed her apron.
“Ask if he knows of a nurse willin’ to come back with us tonight to take care of the poor old woman.”
“Right. Mrs. Hubley lives a few doors away from the doctor. I’ll fetch her as well.”
Helena lounged in her hot bath and surveyed her chamber with appreciation. In her absence, Amy had performed a miracle, though the furnishings remained threadbare. She had scrubbed the room and made the bed with her mistress’ clean linens.
Her thoughts turned to the marquis. She tried to examine the feelings he evoked whenever he touched her as he had done that first disastrous night when she’d mistaken him for Darlington. More to the point, why did her knees threaten to give way whenever he was near? Why did she melt at the sight of him? Why had no man come close to causing her heart to bump against her ribs as he did? Chris had never set her on fire. Not the way Waverley did. Was he indeed a rake? A rake would have seduced her by now. Wasn’t that what rakes did to the women who succumbed to their charms?
The tantalizing thought made her breath hitch. She wondered if there was something wrong with her. Did other women ponder such illicit thoughts? She found no answers, but the questions swam around in her head like a school of fish.
Odd. There were so many sides to the marquis. Rake though he may be, he was also a loving grandson. He yearned to right the wrongs wrought by those odious Traskers. He had his work cut out for him. Of that, she had no doubt.
When exhaustion overcame her, she stepped out of the tub, dried herself, and donned her nightgown. One of Cook’s nieces had lit the fire, which made the room comfortable. She climbed into bed, pleased to feel the heat of a hot brick at her feet. She fell asleep hugging her pillow as though she held the marquis in her arms.
Chapter 8
Monday, the Thirteenth of April, 1818
“A letter for you, my lord.”
“My Lord” looked up from his desk and took the letter from the silver tray. He read the few sentences and frowned. “Pack my bags and order my carriage. I leave for the coast in one hour.”
“Mornin’, milady. Sleep well?” Amy drew the curtains aside to let sunlight into the room.
Helena stretched, feeling well rested indeed. “What time is it, dear?”
“It’s past ten, milady. I’ve brought you your chocolate and a fresh scone.” She plumped up the pillows behind Helena’s head.
“Did you locate a doctor?” Helena asked anxiously, recalling the events of the previous night.
“Doctor Fenwick’s been and gone, milady. He’ll be back to look in on the marchioness later today. We’ve a fine nurse for her ladyship, too. Mrs. Hubley’s her name.”
Helena took a sip of chocolate. “What did the doctor say is wrong with the poor dear?”
“I don’t know, milady, but his lordship knows. He spoke to him for a long time after the examination. His lordship has asked that you join him in the library. Wants to tell you what the doctor said.”
“Then help me dress.” She handed Amy her cup, threw off her covers and stepped off the bed. Twenty minutes later, she went down to the first floor, knocked on the door to the library and entered. She glanced around her at the book-lined walls, a long library table in the middle of the room and a decent fire lit in the enormous fireplace. The only dour note were the threadbare velvet curtains drawn open at the doors to the terrace.
The marquis looked up from his desk and smiled. “Morning, Helena. Not in the best of condition, is it? It will have to do for the time being. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you. What did the doctor have to report?”
“Shall we take a stroll in the garden?”
“Yes,” she said, understanding at once the need for privacy.
“Those bloody fools have been making my grandmother ill. She has influenza, a serious condition in a woman her age,” he said as soon as they had walked far enough away from the castle to speak without being heard.
“Good God!”
“Her fever’s so high, she’s become delirious. Doctor Fenwick says it is often the case with a high fever. He left instructions and medication with Nurse Hubley. Amy did well, ma’am. The doctor and the nurse are fine country practitioners.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Send the Traskers packing, Desmond. They’re up to no good.”
“I agree, but I won’t send them off just yet. There’s something smoky about them and the people they hired on. I mean to find out what their game is first.” He stopped at a stone bench and brushed the dead leaves from it. “I’m in a quandary, I don’t mind admitting. There’s so much to do, I can’t think how I may accomplish it all. I don’t even know where to begin. I dare not leave the management of the castle in the hands of Mrs. Trasker. Nor can I allow her idiotish son to continue as bailiff. According to Cook, my tenants are at their wit’s end.” He leaned forward, one elbow resting on each thigh, his head held in his hands.
Helena’s heart constricted, for she couldn’t bear to see him suffer. “You’re not alone in this, Desmond. You have a friend in me. Allow me to help.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Leave the management of the castle to me. I had the greatest teacher in the world, you know. I’ve been learning her methods since I was a schoolroom miss. I’m speaking of my mother, the kind martinet of Fairchild House in London, the gracious admiral of Heatham House in Brighton and the even-tempered doyenne of Bodmin Castle in Cornwall. She directs all three with such easy competence, one would never guess that the Duchess of Heatham has a master plan. I hasten to add that every one of the servants in her employ deems it a privilege to serve her.”
Waverley let out a bark of laughter. “Ought we to go to the source and engage your mother to accomplish this impossible task?”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did, for I miss her terribly. But first, you would have to duel my father to the death. He would never agree to part with his precious treasure.”
“Ugh! A horrid thought.”
“While I lack the years of experience my mother possesses, I believe I can accomplish the task for you. Will you allow me to try?”
“What role must I play to help you in this daunting task?”
“Merely inform Mrs. Trasker that she is to take her orders from me from this day forward. I warn you it will be costly, for I mean to hire an army of willing servants. Do you have sufficient funds?”
“More than ample. Spend what you like to achieve your purpose.”
“Good! Then it’s settled. You shall deal with estate matters while I deal with the staff.” They rose as one. “Here’s my hand on it.”
A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “If we’re to be partners in this endeavor, let us begin on an equal footing.” He took her in his arms. “We shall seal our agreement with a kiss.” His lips found hers, and when he deepened the kiss, she did nothing to stop him.
London
The duke looked up when his wife entered the library. “Afternoon, my dear.” The look of concern in her eyes was enough to alarm him. “Something amiss?
”
“It’s Mary, dearest. Mrs. Trumball came to see me again this morning. She informs me our daughter plagues her with musical questions she is not capable of answering. She’s taught her everything she can. She hasn’t the talent that’s needed for a student with Mary’s extraordinary abilities, you see.”
“Are you suggesting we need a new governess? Mrs. Trumball has been with us since Livy was an infant.”
“No such thing, Tony. Mrs. Trumball is devoted to us. Our children adore her and she loves them as if they were her own. It’s precisely why she urges us to find a better piano tutor for Mary. She says that Mary is too gifted musically, well beyond what she herself is able to provide in the way of instruction. You promised to seek a solution. Have you found one yet?”
The duke rose from his desk and led his wife to a window seat. He put his arm around her. “I haven’t forgotten, love. It has merely taken me longer than I supposed. My man of business has made inquiries at the Royal Philharmonic Society on Bond Street. They have assured him that they can provide excellent candidates for hire. I’ve given him leave to select someone appropriate for our musical genius and present him to Mary, but first you must approve his choice. He is planning to bring a prospective teacher for you to meet this afternoon.”
Chapter 9
Tuesday, the Fourteenth of April, 1818
Helena woke to face the wretched task of repairing Waverley Castle with considerable trepidation. The Traskers would sabotage her, she knew, if they could manage it. Much needed to be done to set things right within the castle’s walls, not to mention the gardens lying in ruin. She almost regretted having promised Waverley she could do so with such assuredness. She might have told him she would merely try, to save herself embarrassment later if she failed.
The thought stiffened her resolve. Fail? No. Fairchilds did not fail. The only question was how and where to begin. Could she do it? She wasn’t sure, but she was determined to find a way.
She rose from her dressing table as soon as Amy had finished fussing over her hair. The marchioness had asked to meet with her this morning. She crossed the hallway and entered the dowager’s bedchamber. The door stood open in invitation.
The marquis sat at his grandmother’s bedside, her hand clasped in his. “There you are, ma’am. I was just telling Grandmother about you. Come over here where she can see you, Helena. She’s impatient to meet her goddaughter’s child.”
Helena noted that the bedridden marchioness’ rheumy eyes were lit with joy. Her thin hand held tight to Waverley’s as she spoke. “How glad I am to meet you at last, my dear. My grandson informs me you have agreed to oversee the management of the castle and set things right again. What a mull I’ve made of it, eh?”
“Don’t fret, Grandmother. You couldn’t have known the Traskers would take such advantage of your generosity. I’ll send them packing soon enough and you’ll never have to deal with them again.”
“Oh, no. You mustn’t do that, Desmond. Jennie and her son are Banningtons. It wouldn’t do to disown your own family,” said the dowager.
Waverley frowned. “How has this come about? Refresh my memory, dearest. In what way are they related to us?”
“Jennie is the daughter of Lord Robert Bannington. He was the only child of Marcus Bannington, the youngest son of the First Marquis of Waverley, Lord Thomas. Robert died when he was two and twenty, poor boy.”
“You took Mrs. Trasker’s word for this?”
“I’m not such a goose as all that, my dear. I found Jennie’s marriage and Harry’s birth recorded in the Bannington family Bible. You may satisfy yourself, if you wish. It rests in Waverley Chapel.”
He smiled at her. “No need for that, dearest. Your word suffices.”
“There is something else I must confess to you. You won’t find it written in our Bible, Desmond.”
“What is it?”
His grandmother hesitated. “Jennie was born on the other side of the blanket, as they say.”
“Her father never married her mother and she has the audacity to call herself a Bannington?”
“Be charitable, dearest. The sins of the father shall not be visited upon the child. Lord Robert might well have married Jennie’s mother had he lived long enough. Besides, Jennie has overcome her unfortunate birth. She married in church and her son Harry is legitimate.”
Waverley was unwilling to upset her further, for she was becoming agitated. “Be easy, Grandmother. Of course Banningtons are welcome here. I shan’t turn them away if it pleases you.”
“Thank you.” The dowager closed her eyes.
Desmond rose and placed his grandmother’s hand at her side. He bent his head to kiss her on the forehead and tucked the quilt around her. “Rest, love. I promise to visit again tomorrow.”
“That’s a good lad, my dear.”
He waited by her side until her breathing deepened to indicate she was asleep, then backed away and nodded to Nurse Hubley. That good lady sat by the window occupied with her needlework. He offered Helena his arm and led her out of the room.
When he closed the door behind them, she said, “I have a lot of questions. Where can we talk?”
“Your chamber is just across the hall. It’s as good a place as any.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Or are you afraid I’ll ravage you?” He looked down the hall in mock fear. “Is Amy nearby with her water pitcher, by any chance?”
She bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling. “I don’t need Amy to chaperone me. I can take care of myself, but the servants…” He lifted an eyebrow. “Very well. We’ll use the small sitting room next to my chamber. It’s through that door.”
His eyes fell on her four-poster, but she tugged his arm and led him past it to the sitting room, restored to cleanliness and some sense of order in spite of its threadbare appearance.
“Question,” she began when they were seated. “What made you run away from home?”
“You want my life story?”
“That would be a good start.”
“Merely a good start? Do you have plans for a suitable finish, then?”
“Be serious, Desmond. It would be a good idea to know something about you before I set about my work on your behalf. What if the Traskers question me? I don’t want them to suspect we’re perfect strangers. I’d much rather be prepared with answers.”
“Oh? So it isn’t mere curiosity, is it?” He raised his eyebrows to feign innocence.
She pursed her lips. “Don’t be cheeky. If you prefer your past to remain a deep, dark secret, that’s your own affair.”
He looked mournful. “Now I have ruffled your feathers, haven’t I?”
“How s…silly.” She burst out laughing. “You are incorrigible.”
“That’s better! You have a charming laugh. Do it more often. You’re far too serious much of the time.” He sat back, buried his hands in his trouser pockets, stretched his legs out and crossed them.
“You want to know about my past? I was fourteen when my mother died. I suppose I added to my father’s grief by running wild.”
“What do you mean?”
“I bedded a willing country lass from Sennen Cove, the daughter of a farmer. She accused me of impregnating her. I wasn’t the only one she bedded, mind you. I didn’t deny it, for I foolishly expected the real culprit to step forward. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the gumption. Instead, the coward allowed me to take the blame. Cost my father a fortune to buy the family off to avoid scandal. He was furious with me and wouldn’t believe me when I confessed the truth. Took me to London until things at home cooled off. But there, I got into even more mischief. I had an affair with a married woman—the wife of an earl. Mistaking a boy’s natural lust for true love, I begged her to leave her husband and run away with me. The lady laughed in my face and recommended that I take myself off to the devil for all she cared. She had no intention of sacrificing her elegant life for a randy schoolboy, you see.”
“How humiliating,” she said, fresh from t
he sting of her own rejection.
“I know you felt that way when Darlington cried off, but you’re wrong. Do you want an impartial observer’s opinion?”
“What is that?”
“In the long run, you’ll come to see that Darlington did you a kindness. He saves all his passion for his diplomatic career. Did it never occur to you that marriage to the daughter of a prominent duke was all he cared for?”
She hung her head. “That may be, but it hurts just the same.”
“I felt the same when my paramour rejected me, but I can no longer recall her face. I thought my life was over then. I know now how fortunate I was she chose to spurn my suit. My father did not agree. He packed me off to India on the first merchant ship that would have me.”
“Why did you never return to England?”
Grief creased his brow. “I had no reason to return. I wrote to him begging his forgiveness, but he never answered any of my letters. He wanted nothing more to do with me, so I stayed and stumbled onto my fortune instead. After a time, boredom with the life I was leading in Calcutta overcame me. I left for the continent and wandered from country to country. The life of an expatriate is not a pleasant one. I felt like a fish out of water.”
“You needn’t go on if it pains you,” Helena said.
“There’s not much more to tell. I was living in Paris when Darlington found me. He escorted me back to England to take up my duties as Marquis of Waverley. I was reluctant to return, for I had many friends and lived a life I enjoyed. It was the news that my beloved grandmother was still alive that changed my mind.”
The candle guttered, casting the small sitting room into shadows. After a brief silence, Helena said softly, “How terrible for you not to be given the opportunity to make your peace with your father before he died.”
A look of anguish crossed his face. “I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life, a bitter legacy indeed.”
She reached out and soothed the creases on his brow. She allowed a moment to pass. Her eyes never wavering from his, she began to unbutton her bodice.