The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square: A Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

  She took him in, seeing a crumpled, disheveled figure sitting in an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room. The tables around him, which she presumed had held all manner of trinkets, were now devoid of anything at all. He was not at all distinguished and had an ugly air about him, as though everything were set against him.

  “Lord Abernathy,” she said, dropping her head for a moment. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” So saying, she turned around and hauled at the last drapes, before pushing the final window open. Turning back around, she glanced towards the door and saw how Mr. Morris was staring at her with wide eyes whilst Mrs. Denton appeared to be on the verge of fainting. She was swaying slightly, and Mr. Morris was forced to put one hand around her waist to help her remain standing.

  “Get out.”

  Her eyes traveled back to the hunched figure of Lord Abernathy. She could not tell whether he was tall or short, broad-shouldered or thin, for the way he seemed to sink into his seat hid his true stature. Bandages were wrapped around his head, covering his left eye completely. They appeared rather dirty, she noted, a rising concern in her chest. Looking down at his left hand, she saw that the same was true of those bandages. Lord Abernathy needed a good deal of care and attention but she strongly suspected that he had refused all aid regardless of whether he needed it or not.

  “Your bandages will need to be changed and the wounds cleaned,” she said, as firmly as she could in spite of his obvious anger. “The air in this room is stale and needs to be aired. In addition, it is much too hot. You will need to bathe and change your clothes, in order to assist the healing of your wounds.” Speaking with authority, she saw the dark scowl cross what she could see of Lord Abernathy’s face, aware that he did not want her to be here and certainly did not want to listen to a word she had to say.

  “I have no need for a nursemaid,” he bit out, one hand thumping the top of an empty table, hard. “As I have said, Miss Harper, or whatever your name is, take yourself from my house and do not return.”

  “Miss Harland,” she replied, quickly, ignoring him. “Your sister, Lady Markham, arrives tomorrow, does she not?” Seeing the way he looked at her, she allowed herself a small smile. “Yes, Lord Abernathy, it was she who wrote to seek assistance for you. I have been asked to stay for a month initially, and therefore that is what I shall do.”

  Lord Abernathy slammed his fist on the table again, making Deborah jump with surprise.

  “This is my estate,” he roared, his face flaring red. “You have no right to disobey me.”

  Spreading her hands, Deborah shook her head. “You are injured and unwell,” she stated plainly, with a small shrug. “Therefore, Your Grace, I cannot accept your authority for fear that it is being given from a less than sound mind. A mind dulled by pain and suffering cannot always know what is best. Therefore, I shall wait for your sister and will return tomorrow to change your bandages.” She began to walk towards the door, which Mr. Morris opened for her at once. “I do hope you will be able to bathe and change your clothes by then, Lord Abernathy,” she finished, throwing the words over her shoulder without too great a consideration for his reaction. “For, as I said, the air in here is quite foul.”

  Something crashed to the floor, startling her, and one glance told her that, in his desperation, Lord Abernathy had picked up a small wooden table and thrown it as best he could with his one good hand. Breathing hard, Deborah went out of the room and allowed Mrs. Denton to close it tight behind her.

  For a few minutes, the three of them stood in silence, hearing Lord Abernathy’s frustrated shouts coming from within the room until, eventually, they slowly began to diminish.

  “I did not think that you had such fire in you, Miss Harland,” Mrs. Denton breathed, one hand clasped across her stomach as she leaned against the wall. “Good gracious, when you threw back those drapes, I thought for certain that Lord Abernathy would rise from his chair and attempt to throw you bodily from the room.”

  Deborah mustered a small smile. “He does not rise often?”

  Mr. Morris shook his head, his face now recovering some of its color. “Very rarely,” he stated, quietly, gesturing for the three of them to begin to walk back down the hall. “He sleeps in that chair, I believe, for his bedchamber is unused. We have not known what to do with him since he refuses our help and does not want to so much as eat some days.” He patted Deborah on the shoulder, shaking his head and blowing out his breath. “That was quite extraordinary. For a nun – or someone who is soon to be a nun – you have an exceptionally strong character, Miss Harland.”

  “Thank you,” Deborah replied, not wanting to betray just how weak she was feeling after what she had done. “Although I think, if it is possible, I would very much appreciate a strong cup of tea before retiring to my room.”

  Mrs. Denton smiled, a look of relief on her face. “But of course. I’ll take you down to the kitchens and introduce you to the rest of the staff. We’ll need to take good care of you, Miss Harland, especially if you intend to keep speaking to Lord Abernathy in that way!”

  Deborah laughed softly, feeling a good deal better as they descended the stairs. “I intend to do a good deal more than just speak, Mrs. Denton,” she replied, with a slow-growing certainty within her chest. “I intend to help him recover, to restore him to the gentleman he once was.”

  “That, Miss Harland,” Mr. Morris replied, with a broad smile, “would be something of a miracle. I suppose all we can do is hope that you succeed.”

  “And pray,” Deborah replied, with a twinkle in her eye. “For I think that I will need all the help I can get when it comes to dealing with Lord Abernathy!”

  Chapter Four

  The following day, Deborah found herself rising early, as she had always done, to spend some time in prayer. She found, however, that her thoughts were entirely dominated by Lord Abernathy, whom she could not seem to forget. The way he had spoken to her, the way he had looked at her with his one good eye, his face covered in bandages, had not left her memory ever since they had first met.

  She felt a good deal of compassion in her heart for what Lord Abernathy had endured, for the injuries did look severe indeed. If he did not allow her to change his bandages, then she was certain that they might become worse. Was that what he wished? Did he not care about his appearance, for his very life here on earth?

  Her mind went back to the men she had tended in the abbey. Some of them had been much more severely injured than Lord Abernathy and, indeed, some had died of their wounds. Those who had recovered were more than grateful for the second chance at life they had been given, even though some might have pain and trouble from their wounds for the rest of their days. Lord Abernathy, however, did not seem to care about whether he lived or died. He did not show any sort of consideration for himself, losing himself in the darkness of his thoughts.

  Little wonder, then, that Lady Markham had written to Mother Superior with such desperation over the state of her brother. It was not his wounds that concerned Lady Markham the most, Deborah was quite certain. It was his demeanor, the blackness that he kept close to himself. The man was sinking into despondency, losing himself in his suffering so that nothing brought light back to him anymore. That was, mayhap, why he wished to live in the darkness, why he wanted the drapes closed and, even with the fire lit, to sit in the corner of the room where he could barely see the light of the flames.

  Mrs. Denton had, over their cup of tea, spoken of Lord Abernathy as he had been before. Deborah had learned that the Duke had been the apple of everyone’s eye. He was held up as a gentleman of note in society. Apparently, he had been quite the rogue, although Mrs. Denton had blushed at this particular comment. Rich young widows had frequented his company very often, and the debutantes had always sought to catch his eye. He was still as tall and as strong as before, Mrs. Denton was quite sure, but the handsome face was gone forever. That, perhaps, was the reason for Lord Abernathy’s depression. He no longer had even the slightest hope of
returning to his former life. The society that had once welcomed him would now stare at him in horror, shocked by what they saw and whispering rumors all about him throughout London.

  He would no longer have the opportunity to flirt with the many young ladies who were eager for his company. They would turn away from him, shocked and appalled at what they saw. Silently, Deborah considered this for a few minutes, looking at her own reflection in the small mirror that hung on the wall of her rooms. Was the outward appearance truly of such importance to the nobility? She was not overly beautiful, of course, and had never taken great pains with either her hair nor her skin. With an oval face and blue eyes that seemed a little too large for her features, thick dark hair that she always pinned into a bun and curves that she did her very best to hide, Deborah had never once thought about attempting to capture a gentleman’s attentions. It did not matter what one looked like, she had always thought, for a handsome face could hide a dark character within. Lord Abernathy, on the other hand, appeared not to want to hide the truth of his feelings from anyone. He was cruel, intolerant and vicious, but did not even attempt to pretend otherwise. Was it because he felt as though he had lost so much with the loss of his handsome features?

  “Miss Harland?”

  Deborah turned away from the mirror at once and walked towards the door, a flush in her cheeks as she realized that she had been lost in thought about her own appearance.

  “Yes?”

  She opened the door to find a maid smiling up at her, having met her the day before. “Mary, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Mary replied, with another smile. “Mr. Morris wanted me to tell you that Lord Abernathy has requested a bath be drawn for him.” She saw Deborah’s astonished look and her grin widened. “It’s the first time that’s happened since he came back from the war a few weeks ago,” she continued, her eyes bright. “oh, and Lady Markham has just arrived.”

  “Oh.” Deborah nodded, suddenly feeling a swell of anxiety in her chest. Would Lady Markham think that Deborah had overstepped by speaking to Lord Abernathy in such a harsh manner? Was his reason for bathing due to what she had said or was it simply because his sister was arriving and he did not want to appear in such a terrible state as before.

  “She is most eager to meet with you,” Mary said, quickly. “Can you come to the drawing room? Lady Markham has sent for a tea tray so that you can share refreshments with her.”

  Deborah looked down at her dark grey, high collared gown and hoped that she looked presentable. “Of course,” she stammered, putting one hand over her hair to smooth it down. “I will go at once.”

  Mary grinned, nodded and turned around, leaving Deborah to follow after her. The house was large and Deborah, having only had the morning to rest and get her bearings, had still not quite worked out where certain rooms were within the manor house. Mary, on the other hand, knew precisely where she was going and led Deborah down one small flight of stairs, walked down a large hallway, turned to the left and walked a little more. Then she stopped and gestured to a room with a partially open door. Nothing was said, but Deborah nodded her thanks and watched Mary hurry away.

  Her stomach was knotting with tension, afraid that Lady Markham would not think her suitable for the position or that she would have heard from her brother all that Deborah had done and had decided, therefore, that she was entirely improper and would be let go at once. The doubts and fears had come from a night of less than restful sleep, where she had tossed and turned and felt herself go over and over in her mind what had occurred with Lord Abernathy all over again.

  Sending up a silent prayer for strength and wishing she could muster some of the courage she had felt only the day before when she had thrown back the drapes in Lord Abernathy’s room, she walked to the door, pushed it open and took a step inside.

  An elegant young woman was standing at the window, her hands held tightly together in front of her and her light brown hair piled neatly on the top of her head, with curls spiraling from it. Her gown seemed to glow with color and Deborah marveled at the beauty of it. The young lady had not heard her enter, it seemed, and Deborah was forced to cough lightly in order to capture her attention.

  “Oh!” The lady turned around at once, her light green eyes resting on Deborah for a moment before understanding rippled across her expression. “You must be Miss Harland?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh, thank goodness you are here,” Lady Markham exclaimed, rushing towards Deborah and, much to her shock, grasping her hands tightly. “When I wrote to the abbey, I was quite at my wits end! To hear that, not only have they found someone to send me but that it is someone who has experience in such a thing is more of a relief that I can articulate!”

  Deborah, still a little astonished by just how wretched Lady Markham appeared, as well as the fervency in the lady’s eyes, managed a small smile. “I am glad to be here, Lady Markham.”

  Lady Markham sighed, smiled and closed her eyes tightly. “How good of you to say, Miss Harland. I have quite overcome you with my enthusiasm, I am sure.” She opened her eyes, her hands still gripping Deborah’s tightly. “Lady Judith Markham. I am sorry I did not greet you properly.”

  Deborah allowed her smile to spread, wanting to reassure the lady. “That is of no concern, Lady Markham. I can tell that you are grievously distressed.”

  Lady Markham’s expression clouded again. “I have been lost ever since my brother returned from the war. I have not known what to do, for he is so lost in grief and pain that he has rejected everyone and everything – myself included.” Her fingers held onto Deborah’s as though she might never let her go, her eyes searching Deborah’s face. “One of my friends mentioned that the nuns did a wonderful work in aiding injured soldiers and I could not think of anything better than asking someone to join us at this house in order to help my brother heal from his wounds.”

  Deborah nodded slowly, seeing the desperation in Lady Markham’s eyes and feeling her doubts and worries drain away. This young lady was quite alone, it seemed, other than Lord Abernathy, and was truly grateful to have some assistance.

  “Come, sit down, please,” Lady Markham said, letting go of Deborah’s hands and walking to the chairs by the fire. “I am sorry I have gone on so. I am truly grateful for your arrival.”

  “I quite understand,” Deborah replied, quietly. “Do you have no other family? I was certain I heard mention of a younger brother?”

  Lady Markham’s face twisted. “Yes, there is Charles,” she replied, a trifle stiffly. “He has married and already has a child, although the baby arrived a little early and so he is caught up in caring for both the boy and his wife. I have not wanted to burden him further with the trials I am presented with.”

  Deborah nodded, truly feeling sorry for all that this young lady had been forced to endure alone.

  “My brother, Lord Abernathy, is lost in darkness,” Lady Markham continued, her voice soft as though she had forgotten Deborah was there. “I do not know what to do in order to pull him from it. He will not eat, he will not sleep. He sends his servants away.” Her eyes, sparkling with tears, turned back towards Deborah. “The doctor was sent for, of course, and he bandaged my brother’s wounds and prepared all manner of poultices and the like, but my brother would not have it. In the end, he treated the doctor with such contempt that I could not encourage him to return.”

  Deborah, who well recalled having had objects thrown at her, could easily understand this. “He does not want to get well?” she asked, softly, as a maid crept into the room to set a tea tray in front of Lady Markham. “He does not want to recover?”

  “He wants to die!” Lady Markham exclaimed, tears falling down her cheeks as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. “There is such a loss within him that he feels as though there is nothing good remaining for him here. He thinks that, with his injuries, he can never be the man he was before.”

  “And that means everything to him, does it not?”

>   Lady Markham nodded, wiping her tears away. “My brother was a charming, elegant, genteel gentleman, who had all of society at his feet,” she said, looking away. “I found him to be a trifle arrogant, I confess, but he reveled in the company of the many ladies who sought him out.” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Now, he has nothing. To go back to society would be to feel them turn their back upon him. No-one will wish to see him now. The many ladies who were desperate for his company will not want to be so any longer.”

  “And would that truly be such a terrible ordeal?” Deborah asked, gently. “After all, it may reveal a lady of true character who would then come forth and seek to further her acquaintance with your brother. Someone who cares nothing for outward appearances but instead considers what is within one’s heart.” Silently, Deborah wondered if such a thing would ever actually occur, if Lord Abernathy continued to behave in the way he had done only yesterday, although she did not permit herself to state such an idea aloud.

  Lady Markham sighed heavily. “I do not think that such a suggestion would please my brother, Miss Harland.”

  “Deborah,” Deborah said quickly. “Please, you must call me ‘Deborah’.”

  A slight smile caught Lady Markham’s expression. “Then I shall be Judith – and no, I shall not hear a single word of protest from you. Already, I feel my heart a little lifted from the doldrums it has been buried in and if we are to aid my brother together, then we must have a shared camaraderie, must we not?” Her smile grew for a moment before it began to fade away again. “My brother will not find such an idea to be any comfort. He has lost the joy that was once in his heart. The war, I believe, has quite removed it from him. That, as well as the injuries he has sustained.”

  Deborah nodded but remained quiet, feeling as though Lady Markham had something more to say. Inwardly, she thought that Lady Markham appeared to be quite a kind young lady, determined to do the very best she could do for her brother, even if that meant befriending a soon-to-be nun with very little knowledge of the world!