by Rose Pearson
“Oh, Philip,” she whispered, referring to him by his Christian name which she very rarely did. “You have returned to us.”
“Just as I said,” the doctor replied with an air of satisfaction that Philip disliked intensely. “You may wish to sit up in a few minutes, my lord. It is better for you to try to rebuild your strength as quickly as you can, for to lie in bed can often bring more harm than good. I have seen too many ladies, in particular, take to their beds in a bout of weakness, only to spend the rest of their years there. I strongly discourage you from doing the same.”
Finding the doctor more and more irritating, Philip tried to push himself up to sitting, only to let out a groan of pain at the streak of agony that ran through his left side.
“Careful now,” the doctor said at once, finally showing a little concern. “As I said, Lord Galsworthy, you have been shot. Whilst I encourage you to rise from your bed as soon as you can, you must not be foolhardy.”
“I am not being foolhardy,” Philip whispered, his voice hoarse. Trying to sit up a good deal more carefully, he finally managed to do so, feeling almost worn out from the effort.
“Oh, Galsworthy,” his mother whispered, her face paper white and her hand grasping his tightly. “Whatever happened?”
Philip shook his head, the memory of what had occurred coming back to him with a startling swiftness. “A particular gentleman wanted me removed entirely from society’s presence for a time so that he might marry Miss Weston in my stead.”
His mother gasped, one hand at her mouth, her light hazel eyes wide with horror.
“I must go to her,” he said knowing that he had no strength with which to do so. “Or write to her, at least.”
“To Miss Weston?” his mother queried. “Oh, but of course, Galsworthy. I can fetch some paper for you at once.”
Philip made to thank her, only for the words to die on his lips. “Wait, Mama,” he said as the butler brought in a tray evidently meant for Lady Galsworthy. Philip watched as the butler, at the behest of Lady Galsworthy, brought it over to him at once, setting it down carefully with relief etched across his expression.
“May I say, my lord, just how glad I am to see you recovered,” the butler said with a small bow. “And may I apologize for not coming to your aid sooner.”
Philip shook his head, ignoring the pain that ran down his side as he did so. “It was not your fault in any way,” he assured him, grateful for such loyal staff. “Were it not for you, then I might very well have bled –”
He stopped dead, hearing his mother’s strangled sob.
“What I mean to say is,” he continued, “is to say thank you.”
The butler bowed again. “Of course, my lord.”
Lady Galsworthy handed Philip a cup of tea and he took a sip, watching her buttering a piece of toast for him and feeling a good deal more himself.
“Also,” he continued, directing his gaze back towards the butler. “I want you to do something for me at once,” Philip continued, feeling strength begin to flow into him as his determination grew. “Apparently a messenger boy managed to make his way into my home and stole something from my desk.”
The butler blanched and Philip immediately held up one hand.
“I do not blame you for this, so you need not look so afraid,” he said quickly. “I simply want to ensure that the lock to my study is changed at once and that each and every servant is asked whether or not they saw this boy entering my home and that they are on their guard should such a thing to occur again. Each of the doors and windows are to be locked up tightly, except for entering and exiting the house. I will not have Lord Henry attempt anything further.” He saw the butler nod and drew in a long breath. “Finally, the staff are to be told, in unequivocal terms, that none of them are to say a word about my injury nor my recovery, not to any other living soul outside this house,” he finished as the butler nodded again. “It is vital that they say nothing and, should I hear that news has somehow got out into society, the person responsible will be let go without warning and without reference.”
“I quite understand, my lord,” the butler replied firmly. “I shall do so at once – and I will bring you another tray, Lady Galsworthy.”
“Take it to the drawing room,” Philip stated as the doctor looked on approvingly. “I shall dress and join you there, Mama.”
“Are you quite sure?” she asked, one hand at her heart as she looked towards the doctor, who appeared to be quite pleased over Philip’s determination.
Philip nodded, biting into his toast. “I shall eat and then join you below,” he promised, knowing that he would have to find his strength if he was to make his way back towards Miss Weston before Lord Henry could convince her that Philip truly had gone back to his estate for good.
“Very well,” his mother replied doubtfully, letting go of his hand. “If you are sure, Galsworthy.”
“More than sure,” he replied, with as much fervour as he could. “I will be with you in a few minutes, Mama.”
It took Philip a good hour or so before he was quite able to make his way to the drawing room, disliking intensely the weakness of his limbs. Even with Gibbs’ assistance, he was not properly dressed, given that his arm was in a sling which he wore about his neck, but the loose shirt and waistcoat would have to do. He now found himself struggling to put one foot in front of the other as he walked into the drawing room.
His mother rose to her feet at once, coming to help him, but Philip shook his head. “Thank you, Mama, I am quite all right,” he stated through gritted teeth. “Might you ring for some sort of refreshment? I find that I am still quite hungry.”
Lady Galsworthy saw a maid passing and sent her away with instructions, before lowering herself back into her chair with her eyes fixed on Philip. Somehow, he managed to maneuver himself into his chair, only once knocking his elbow as he did so, which sent waves of pain all through him. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and waited for it to pass. The doctor, unfortunately, had found it necessary to cauterize the wound with a hot poker, after digging the ball out of his flesh, although Philip himself had not yet seen what the state of his shoulder was like for himself. It was painful indeed but, at least it was not bleeding any longer. The pain would pass in time and his shoulder would heal. Now if only his strength would return completely!
Two maids appeared with trays, setting more tea down in front of Lady Galsworthy, and a tray piled high with all kinds of delicacies in front of Philip. He thanked them and waited until they had left before gesturing to his mother to eat something.
“I thank you,” Lady Galsworthy said, her eyes fixed on him. “Tell me, Galsworthy, did I truly hear you say that it was Lord Henry Redmond who is responsible for all of this?”
“I did,” Philip replied grimly. “That is why I do not wish you to get the paper and ink so that I might write to Miss Weston, Mama. I think that, even should I try to write to Miss Weston, Lord Henry might attempt to prevent her from either reading or even seeing it. No, I have a better plan in mind.”
She nodded, her face still quite ashen. “I cannot quite comprehend this, Galsworthy,” she breathed, her hand still shaking just a little as she poured the tea. “You could have been killed.”
“Thankfully, I saw the pistol and dodged it as best I could,” Philip replied with a bleak smile. “I did not think that he would ever do something as terrible as this, simply to gain what he wants. That is the thing with Lord Henry, I think, Mama. He has always been filled with his own sense of self-importance, arrogant enough to believe he ought to be given anything and everything he deserves.”
“But what of Miss Weston?” his mother asked as the sound of raised voices began to tumble towards them from the hallway. “How is she to know of Lord Henry’s betrayal of both her and you, if you will not write to her?”
Philip paused for a moment, wondering at the commotion that was coming towards them. “I thought to go to Lord Henry’s Ball, Mama.”
She gasped and
made to speak, only for the door to the drawing room to fly open and none other than Miss Harriet Weston to appear in the doorway, her blue eyes filled with rage. She ignored Lady Galsworthy entirely but pointed one long finger at Philip whilst the butler began to apologize over and over for not managing to prevent the young lady from finding Philip.
“Why are you returning to your estate without so much as a word to my sister?” Miss Harriet Weston shouted, her hand shaking with rage. “How dare you leave her so heartbroken?”
Philip closed his eyes for a moment, then gestured for her to come in, sending the butler away.
“Miss Weston,” he said calmly. “If you will but listen, then I am quite sure that you will understand.”
“She loves you, Lord Galsworthy!” Miss Harriet continued as though she had not heard him at all. “How can you treat her so poorly? I have been with her almost the entire night as she has cried and…” She trailed off, her hand falling to her side as her eyes went to his arm that was still held tightly in the sling. “Has something occurred, Lord Galsworthy?”
“Please,” he said quietly. “Do sit down, Miss Weston. As you can see, I am not preparing to take my leave of London. That is, I am afraid, nothing more than a lie taken from the mouth of Lord Henry Redmond.”
“Although it is good of you to be so distraught on your sister’s behalf,” Lady Galsworthy said, making Miss Weston jump as if she had only just realized that Philip’s mother was also with him.
“I do not understand,” Miss Weston said, seating herself carefully and studying Philip with puzzlement. “From your letter to Marianne, I thought –”
“What letter?” Philip asked, interrupting her. “I wrote no letter to her.”
“A letter stating that you were leaving London for your estate and did not know when you would return,” Miss Weston said in a small voice. “Marianne believed it to be from you.”
Philip closed his eyes for a moment, battling the rage that threatened to overwhelm him. “No, indeed,” he replied slowly. “I wrote no such thing, Miss Weston. I have never thought to turn my back on your sister. My heart is full of her and her alone.”
Miss Weston seemed to accept this, nodding slowly as her eyes widened as understanding crept across her face. “Then it was Lord Henry who wrote the letter?” she queried. “My sister mumbled something about there not being any seal but she obviously did not think much of it.”
“I expect that it was Lord Henry, yes,” Philip agreed, gesturing to his shoulder. “As he is responsible for this also, I consider him to be a highly dangerous gentleman, determined to have whatever he has set his mind to.”
Miss Weston gasped, one hand flying to her mouth.
“Tea, Miss Weston?” Lady Galsworthy asked, reaching for the spare china cup and saucer that had been meant for Philip. “It is a shock, of course, but I believe Galsworthy has an idea as to how to set it all to rights again.”
“Do you, Lord Galsworthy?” Miss Weston asked at once, taking the cup from Lady Galsworthy with a slightly shaking hand. “My sister is broken hearted and I would not like her to remain in such a state if there is no truth in what she believes.”
Philip smiled sadly, feeling his heart clench with the grief of knowing his betrothed was distraught over what she believed to be his lack of commitment to her. “No, nor do I wish to keep her in her distress,” he replied slowly. “But Lord Henry cannot know of my recovery. His intention was to injure me so terribly as to keep me in my bed, away from his Ball and from Miss Marianne. Therefore, you may tell her that I am not away to my estate, as she has been told, and you may tell her that the letter was not from my hand, but she must not be told any more.” He saw Miss Weston frown but kept his resolve steady. “Lord Henry may notice her change in attitude and may question it if she is told any more,” he explained. “I believe he is at Miss Weston’s side at this very moment?”
It was his expectation that Lord Henry would do his best not to be separated from Marianne in the hope that he might convince her, in her grief, that he was the better gentleman for her. His expectation was met by Miss Weston’s nod of agreement.
“Then can you do as I have asked?” Philip queried, seeing the way Miss Weston frowned again. “It will be for the best, I assure you.”
“But when will you see her again, to convince her that all is not as she thinks?” Lady Galsworthy asked, adding more tea to her cup. “If Lord Henry is always by her side, then how can you hope to avoid him?”
Philip chuckled darkly. “I intend to put in an appearance at his Ball, Mama, where he will be caught up with his guests. I intend to confront him there, to show Miss Marianne that he is not a man who can be trusted.”
“I believe she knows that already,” Miss Weston murmured, rising from her chair. “I must go to her at once. I will do as you ask, Lord Galsworthy, and look forward to the Ball tomorrow evening so that all may be set right. I only want to see my sister happy again.”
“As do I,” Philip assured her with a smile. “Thank you, Miss Weston. Until tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow,” she replied before leaving the room to return to her sister.
Chapter Seventeen
Marianne tensed visibly as Lord Henry laughed loudly, the sound of his voice filling the drawing room where she sat. Her father had invited Lord Henry to dinner that evening, much to Marianne’s chagrin, and of course Lord Henry had agreed at once. She had been forced to suffer through his long conversations, although she had made no attempt to respond, or even smile for that matter. Harriet had done her best to fill in where Marianne could not, although, from what Marianne could see, there was something in Harriet’s expression that she could not quite make out. It was as if Harriet had something which she was desperate to reveal to her but could not, given their present company. There was a brightness to her eyes that Marianne could not quite understand, and an almost desperate countenance as though she was eager for the dinner to come to an end.
But, then again, mayhap Harriet was as unhappy with Lord Henry’s company as she was.
“I think the Ball will go wonderfully well,” Lord Henry said grandly, his eyes darkening as he looked towards Marianne. “I am sure that my many guests will enjoy the evening and all that comes with it. It will give them a good deal to gossip over, I am quite sure.”
Marianne’s breath caught, her stomach twisting horribly.
Lord Bridgestone chuckled. “I can see you are a gentleman who acts quickly when it comes to what he wants.”
“Indeed, I am,” Lord Henry murmured, his eyes still fixed on Marianne. “I always know what will bring me happiness.”
Marianne felt as though she might cast up her accounts right there in front of them all, feeling decidedly queasy.
“Come now,” Harriet interrupted, getting to her feet. “Enough conversation. Might I play for us all?” She made to move towards the pianoforte, only for Lord Henry to rise to his feet.
“Might I be so bold as to ask for a turn about the room with you, Miss Weston?” he asked, directing his question towards Marianne. “There are a few more things I wish to discuss with you and, as yet, we have not had the time.”
Marianne looked up at him but did not move from her chair. “I confess that I am rather tired, Lord Henry,” she said in a dull voice. “In fact, I thought to retire to bed.”
He pressed one hand to his heart in mock horror. “Surely not, my lady!” he exclaimed as she caught sight of her father’s deepening frown. “Might you not walk with me for a short time?”
“Do go with Lord Henry, Marianne,” her father interjected, getting to his feet and gesturing for her to go with the gentleman. “Why do you not take him to the library? I know that you will be greatly impressed with the number of books within, Lord Henry.”
“It may even exceed my own!” Lord Henry replied with a chuckle before offering Marianne his arm. “Come then, my dear lady. Let us go.”
Marianne cast a look towards Harriet who was standing helplessly
by the fire, her eyes ablaze with frustration and anger.
“I can attend you,” Harriet began, only for their father to cut her off with a loud, booming laugh.
“I think we can give them a few minutes, my dear,” he chuckled as though Harriet were being much too ridiculous. “We will join you there in a moment, Lord Henry, of course.”
“Of course,” the gentleman grinned, inclining his head before looking towards Marianne. She had no other recourse but to take his proffered arm, knowing that to refuse would be more than a little rude, and would certainly bring about the wrath of her father. Trying to convince herself that to speak to the gentleman alone was, perhaps, a blessing – for she could then tell him directly that, even should he wish to marry her with a desperation that could not be withstood, she would have no other choice but to refuse him. To be his wife was not something she could even contemplate, not when she still loved Lord Galsworthy with almost everything she had. She had realized her love for him in the midst of her grief, knowing that she would not feel as truly broken as she did, had she not a true, deep affection for the gentleman.
“Very well,” she murmured with a small sigh, accepting his arm and walking with him to the door. As they made their way towards the library, the silence grew thick about them both, making Marianne’s heart quicken with a deep, unsettling dread.
“You are very contemplative, my dear,” Lord Henry murmured with a good deal of tenderness in his voice. “I do hope you will not be so downhearted come the morrow.”
She lifted her chin. “I confess, Lord Henry, I am not certain I shall be able to attend tomorrow evening, given the state of my melancholy.”
He laughed harshly, the sound seeming to fill the house, and her very being along with it. Shuddering, she looked away from him and tugged her hand out from his arm, which made him laugh all the more.
“Please,” she said softly. “We need not put on this façade any longer, Lord Henry. I know full well that you are seeking my affections, but I tell you now that I cannot give them to you.”