Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 2 of 2
Page 28
‘You needn’t be brave, dear,’ the Countess said. ‘I will send for the physician immediately.’
‘No. No. I’m fine. I’m fine. Really.’ Rachael heard her sniffle and tried to turn it into a cough. ‘It’s just been a trying day, without resting well last night. That’s all it is. I didn’t sleep much and that’s what’s bothering me.’
‘Rachael Marie, are you sure?’ her mother asked.
She tried to clear her head. The medicine had obviously affected her. It had caused some cruel mire in her brain that flared up at odd times. When she read the letter again, she would find her error. The words in the middle would match the rest of them as they should.
‘I’m well on the way to recovery, Mother. Once I can sleep well, I’ll be as good as new.’
Her mother and the Countess shared a glance and her mother scrutinised Rachael. ‘I suppose. But you must promise to let me know if your burns aren’t healing as they should.’ Both of the older women frowned, studying her.
‘I promise.’ She put as much reinforcement into the words as she could.
‘Well,’ the Countess said, rushing her mother out, ‘we’ll send for the physician again. Just to be sure.’
Before Rachael could protest, they’d both left the room.
She walked to the gloves. Her teeth hurt from clenching them. She relaxed her jaw and reopened the letter.
The words were still brutal.
It had to be a mistake. A misunderstanding. Lack of sleep. Confusion in her caused by the lingering effects of the laudanum she’d taken last night. Something.
She stared at the page, seeing her dreams evaporate into tiny little wisps that disappeared long before the light of day, never to be viewed again.
Either Tenney had become addled or she had, and neither option was a happy one.
* * *
Mornings were only to be endured, Devlin believed, and if one woke late enough their duration was lessened greatly. But he’d awoken early, concerned about Rachael.
He stretched, shook himself awake and wondered if Rachael had left. His rooms were so removed from the main quarters that it was unlikely he would have heard her depart. Somehow, he knew she was still there and he attributed it to the fact that he didn’t think she’d leave without telling him goodbye.
Yesterday, Miss Albright had kept to her room. That evening, he’d even spent some time with her mother, discussing foliage. Or rather, letting her discuss it. His mother had joined the conversation and she’d known he was no Capability Brown and wouldn’t be designing any estate grounds, but Mrs Albright hadn’t seemed to notice. He’d wager his last strand of hair that the Countess had noted and mentally commented on his presence.
Devlin had asked his cousin to linger one more day before leaving for the trip to the hunting box. His two younger brothers, Eldon and Oliver, were likely already there, and it would be a grand time for them to test outwitting each other with their banter.
He really should leave with Payton. Another long discussion of foliage and he’d likely sprout thorns. He already felt that he’d been planted at the house the last few days, yet he didn’t want to uproot and leave. The imagined scent of roses lingered.
* * *
After he was confident breakfast was safely over, he stepped from his room and found his mother, stitching flowers on a blue ribbon and Mrs Albright sewing two pieces of cloth together, while they sat in front of the two windows. Gone was the camaraderie of the previous day.
Miss Albright? Something must be wrong. His words couldn’t come fast enough. ‘How is Miss Albright today?’
Her mother’s shoulders lifted in a defeated shrug. ‘Better, she says.’
His mother’s lips thinned and then she added, ‘You could tell last night that she was fretting. I sent for the physician and he spoke with her briefly, but he didn’t think she was as co-operative as she could have been and he feared she isn’t being honest about her injury. She claims she isn’t in much pain, but her mother and I could both recognise it in her face. The physician said she will recover just fine, perhaps some scarring... But then he said my father would be fine and he died the next day.’
Devlin’s equanimity shifted. ‘The physician was called again?’
‘Last night.’ His mother studied her sewing, but the part of the ribbon she perused had no stitching on it. ‘I insisted.’
Mrs Albright pushed the needle into the cloth and pulled the thread taut before speaking. ‘She will recover. I am sure of it.’
‘Perhaps she is well enough to take a small stroll?’ he asked.
His mother and Mrs Albright took stock of each other before answering.
‘I don’t think so,’ her mother said. ‘This morning, we both asked her if she would like to join us and she told us she is fine, but says she is not suitable company today. We have been debating over whether I should send for her father to speak with her.’
‘She wishes to return home,’ the Countess said. ‘I could not countenance it as she would be further from the physician.’
Devlin walked to the bell and summoned a maid. ‘I’ll find out if she’s hiding symptoms.’ Then he strode out of the room.
He met the maid in the hallway. ‘Ask Miss Albright if she might like to join me in the library.’
As he waited in the library, the maid returned. ‘She feels she would not be good company today and gives her regrets.’
‘Is she in pain?’ he asked.
‘She’s composing a letter, but she can’t do it sitting,’ the maid whispered. ‘She sent me for paper, pen and ink earlier.’
‘Could you please bring some sweet wine to the library and return to Miss Albright and tell her that I cannot accept any regrets from her? She can either speak with me or I will summon two mothers and a physician to her room to enquire about her health.’
The maid nodded, dashed out, returned with a decanter of wine and two glasses for the library, then she darted out again.
* * *
Rachael swept into the library, arms crossed, dress wrinkled and eyes dark. ‘You seemed to wish to talk with me.’
Devlin stopped himself mid-stride. He’d been about to grasp the pull and send for the physician. But he forced himself to remain immobile and appear relaxed. Rachael needed comfort and the physician wasn’t doing enough. Or the mothers weren’t doing enough. He must find out what kind of assistance she needed. He’d get her to tell him what the problem was.
What good was an ability to soothe people if he didn’t use it.
He poured wine for her.
‘I was concerned about your burns. This might ease some of the pain. Yes?’ He reached out, holding the drink.
‘That remains to be seen.’ She took the glass, thanked him and swallowed the contents. ‘Delicious. Thank you for your consideration. I appreciate it.’ She put it on the tray beside the other glass, watching the bottle’s contents as if it might roil up like a wave. ‘I have an important letter to compose today. That is all.’
He noticed the way her tongue formed around the word letter.
‘I’m sure it’s important.’
‘Very.’ Another precisely bitten-out word.
He just raised his brows, letting the silence prod her to speak.
She released the glass and put fingertips to her cheek. ‘I have been up half the night, two nights in a row now.’ She twirled around, facing the opposite direction, her upper body tense, her shoulders high, the knot of hair on her head coming loose from her pins. ‘The first night because of the burn and the second night because I have been thinking of what I must do next.’
Again, he waited, letting his silence ask the question.
‘Something has happened.’ She took out a few hair pins and jabbed them back into place. ‘My curiosity is engaged, to put it mildly. I must compose a letter to Mr Tenney and it�
�s a difficult one.’
She looked over her shoulder at him. The distress in her face caused him to step closer.
‘Pardon?’ he asked, surprised at the elation he felt that she might no longer be entranced with Tenney, making sure to keep it from his voice. She wasn’t ill. In fact, he would say she was doing a sensible thing. No man should postpone a wedding to her.
She returned to her former stance, but this time, challenging him with her stare. ‘We have had some sort of disagreement and I need to determine what caused it.’
She seemed to expect him to argue with her and he saw no reason to accommodate. ‘This is a different perspective than you had earlier.’
‘Two years we courted to establish we were suited. Four years more we have been betrothed. Six years.’ She held her chin high. ‘And now, for the first time, it seems we are not in agreement. I may break our betrothal.’ She dusted her hands as if removing the slightest touch of him. ‘I would not marry that toad if he were a prince, a king or an emperor. I am not sure that he doesn’t have two sides to him.’ She made a fist, holding it over her stomach. ‘Both detestable.’
‘Then you missed getting a bad husband. But...’ His lips formed a straight line and he shook his head. ‘Don’t let it upset you. I’m afraid you will have many more chances for a bad husband.’
She growled, the same type of grumble he’d heard when she’d entered the library and he’d been discussing her. He wondered if she did that because she was fighting an internal war to keep herself quiet and not entirely winning.
It wasn’t a fierce or ferocious grumble, but rather like a trapped kitten that attempted to be challenging, yet it made one want to rescue it.
‘In that case, I will never marry. If all men are like him then it will be no great hardship to be a spinster. It will be a boon.’
‘Do you think I am like Tenney?’
She stared him up and down. ‘No. I believe you are honest about your inconstancy. Which is a good thing, in a bad form—or vice versa, but still preferable.’
‘I believe you insulted me and I instigated it, but I’m not sure I really deserved it.’ He furrowed his brow.
‘My father is a good husband to my mother and I expect my marriage to Tenney to be similar.’ She looked to the ceiling, and harrumphed, again reminding him of a small, lovable animal that needed rescuing.
She still expected to wed Tenney. Devlin’s teeth ground together. Well, it was what it was. He would wish her the best.
‘Apparently, a good husband is rare.’ Her eyes fluttered. ‘I ignored what could be deemed boring qualities in Tenney and considered them a sign of his ability to stay constant.’
Ah, he understood. Tenney had said or done something which ruffled her, but chances were it would blow over soon and result in a rash of forgiveness requests, pleading and after a plethora of promises would result in all things being right again—for a time.
The image irritated him. Soon she’d forgive Tenney and tumble into her imagined, happy love fog. Tenney had probably flirted with another and she’d discovered it.
‘My father is a good husband to my mother also. My father once relocated to a different residence when I was younger which reduced the broken glass here, yet he returned within a few years. Faithful? Hardly.’ One side of his lips rose in a grimace.
‘That is a terrible thing to say about your own father.’
‘It’s the truth and everyone knows it.’
‘Even your mother?’
‘I would assume so, as I’ve heard her whisper it at an extremely high volume so the servants wouldn’t hear. And then she’s said a few dozen times that she wished Father’s mistress would make him happy enough to keep him out of the house. She said the woman is abysmal in that regard.’
‘Your mother is a gracious woman, but I’m not of that level of graciousness.’ Her lip curled. ‘Not even close.’
He widened his stance. ‘I’m going to ask you a question and I would like you not to answer it aloud. Consider if you and Tenney married and then, a few years later, you found that those delayed trips he took included a visit to another woman’s residence and you had two children, and he said, on bended knee, that he had erred and begged—begged—with tears in his eyes for you to forgive him...how could you not?’
She didn’t answer.
‘You would have a family to save by forgiving him. Peace in the household. A life that the two children wanted. So much and for little risk at that point. That horse had already left the stables. The husband is well and truly contrite and means the words, at least when he says them. Why not forgive and pretend to yourself that all is well?’
‘So that is how men think?’ She shook her head. ‘That is pathetic.’ She lowered her chin on the last word. ‘Men are hideous creatures if that is true and Tenney...’
‘After a while you either just pretend all is well, or just accept that all is not. Those are your only choices. Or you take a lover in return. You both keep the façade of a family and all is happy, but you go along your separate ways. The household is not destroyed. The world goes on. You meet on holidays and special occasions and perhaps you keep each other as friends. Good friends. Friends you can count on to be at funerals and weddings. Friends who are there at your roughest times. A marriage.’
‘What a load of manure. Do you usually deliver it by the wagonload, or is this just one of those special occasions?’
Perhaps he was better off letting her growl.
‘This time you are the one being immature and I’m the one with the maturity. You believe in little rainbows and happy magic.’ He fluttered his fingers about as if spreading enchanted dust for all to view. ‘I comprehend the world as it is.’
‘I hope you never subject a poor woman to a proposal of marriage. You are assuredly taking my mind off the pain.’ She pointed to her backside. ‘It feels much better to hate someone in front of you, than being irritated at someone from a distance because you know they are hiding something in their letter.’
‘I’m sorry that you’re in pain.’ Empathy laced his words. He lifted the wine and held it over her glass, waiting for her to give him the signal to pour.
She put her hand over the top. ‘No. I want my head clear. I have not been able to form a satisfying written response to Mr Tenney.’ She glared at the liquid.
He stood there, the container tipped to the side and the stopper in his left hand, and poured himself a drink. ‘A clear head in a betrothal? Is that possible?’ He’d expected his jest to bring lightness to her face, not increase the scowl.
The gaudy stone she’d worn on her left hand was missing. Ah, this must be a serious disagreement.
He closed the bottle and stared at the empty finger. ‘That was a sizeable ring you wore. Almost bigger than your hand.’ He spoke lightly, but her bad humour remained.
‘It had once belonged to his favourite grandmother.’
‘If it did, I’m sure she was glad to get rid of it.’ He lifted the glass. ‘It would have been unfair to have buried it with her.’
She touched the empty spot. ‘It wasn’t my favourite.’
‘Are you planning to end the betrothal?’
‘I’m not sure. Sometimes I wonder if there is someone better out there waiting for me.’
He studied her, gently shaking his head. ‘In London?’ He frowned. ‘Sometimes, there isn’t anyone better to pick from. Just other humans and I’m afraid that is the best choice we have.’
‘Don’t judge everyone by your standards.’
‘It doesn’t matter whose standards I use, if it all washes out the same.’
‘Devlin, I think you have raised immaturity to a new height—or dropped it to a new low. Or both. You’re filling up a chamber pot with it.’
He took a wide step, put the glass on the table, and gave her a bow. ‘At your service.’
‘Yes, I do. I just left them quiet as I expected you wanted that,’ he said. ‘I envisioned you could accept the truth.’
‘You’re twisting the argument around to make me feel bad. Do you not appreciate how rough these past two days have been for me?’
‘Do you?’ He stepped closer, moving near her like smoke held to the earth by the winds from above. ‘Do you really? I view one of the most fortunate women in the world in front of me.’
She chose her words slowly. ‘I suppose the fire...it could have been so much worse.’
‘Thin silk, cotton and you packed into a corset so tight that you wouldn’t have easily wriggled out of it. A room full of people, mostly filled to the gills with wine, brandy and powerful punch. All waiting for someone else to do something. No water at hand.’
She deflated, her shoulders and chin dropping, her voice lowering. ‘It still hurts. All of it.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He touched her chin, raising it until her eyes met his. His voice softened. His gaze was full of empathy. ‘What did that boor Tenney do to you that is so bad that it will take him crawling to you on bended knees and begging? Has he added another year to the length of the betrothal? Or sent you a letter intended for another?’
‘Neither,’ she said. ‘I have no reason to discuss it. There has been a mistake and I don’t know what to do.’
‘Are you sure? Six years of your life is a long time to toss out, but to ruin the rest of it to make those six years seem like a good decision could be much worse.’
She tensed her muscles. ‘I don’t know what to do. What to think. I don’t know if I should be searching him out for an apology or vengeance.’
‘If you decide on vengeance, marriage would be the perfect vehicle for that.’
‘I would not throw myself under someone’s carriage in order to cause it to turn over on them.’ She put her hands on her hips.