The Gentleman's Deception

by Tuft, Karen

  He looked over the notes again, adding a column of numbers here, subtracting there. Labor, seed, drainage, pumps. Times acreage. What crops yielded the best return when sold. What crops had the fastest growing seasons. Acreage set apart for raising livestock, particularly sheep. The amount of land sheep required.

  Information Finch had shared and Lucas was trying to digest.

  If one were to ask Lucas how to dig a trench or walk twenty miles in torrential rain—or take the life of a Frenchman intent on taking his own—that information Lucas could recite in his sleep. How to clean a rifle. How to treat a wound.

  He went over the notes and numbers until they began to blur before his eyes. There was no way to decide on the right solution for the farm without all the knowledge, and he didn’t have the knowledge that was key here: the amount of available capital.

  Lucas knew how much money he himself had. He’d been one of the fortunate ones during his years in the army, and he had saved as much of that income as he’d been able. On its own, it was almost enough to fund the first plan regarding Primrose Farm, the conservative one that would take years to implement.

  If he and Lavinia were to combine assets . . .

  The idea knitted well with the other thoughts that had been constantly in his mind the past few days, namely, getting Lavinia to agree to a betrothal in truth. He knew she trusted him more than any other man. But did she trust him—or, more to the point, did she care for him—enough to give up her independence to him in marriage? A wife’s property became her husband’s upon marriage, and that would make Primrose Farm his. He had two days to find out the answers to those particular questions.

  He felt restless. Perhaps he’d take Hector out for a nice run.

  When Lucas arrived at the stables, he was surprised to see Simon there preparing to mount one of their father’s horses.

  “Simon, have you had enough of the family already that you must leave before you’ve even been here a day?” he said, somewhat amused.

  Simon settled himself easily atop the horse; he’d always been a natural horseman, even as a boy. “Not at all, Lucas,” he said, grinning. He looked much better now than he had when he’d arrived early this morning. “I am merely riding to the village to post a letter. Thought I’d tell a friend where I’d gotten to so he doesn’t have the authorities dredging the Thames looking for my body.”

  “Your little joke isn’t that funny, Simon,” Lucas said.

  “I suppose not. Blame it on the hammer pounding on the anvil in my head, although it’s much improved since this morning, thanks to you.”

  “Would you care for company on your ride?” It wasn’t what Lucas had originally had in mind when he’d left his room, but spending time with his rebellious younger brother seemed a good way to fill what was left of the afternoon.

  “Thank you, but not this time,” Simon said. “Don’t worry—I shan’t get lost; I still remember the way to the village. I’ll be back in time for supper.”

  “Away with you, then, and post that important letter of yours. I wouldn’t want people frantically searching the Thames for you when you’re safe in the bosom of your family.”

  “Indeed.” He nudged his horse down the lane and then turned back. “That’s quite a bride you’ve got, Lucas. I daresay her looks are one of a kind—that hair, that figure. That face of hers.”

  “Her heart is just as beautiful, Simon. More so.” Simon’s words annoyed Lucas. “I am the most fortunate of men,” he added, even though that fortune depended on how persuasive he could be over the next two days.

  “You are certainly that. I imagine there are many gentlemen of my acquaintance who would agree with you.” He gave the horse a flick with his crop, and then they were gone.

  Lucas briefly wondered at Simon’s cryptic words, and then they were forgotten as he gave Hector free rein and let the fresh air clear his mind for the next few hours.

  * * *

  It was the day Lavinia and Lucas were to speak to his parents. Lord Thurlby had spent the previous day in Peterborough, and Lavinia had exhausted herself acting as though all was well, keeping a keen eye on Artie and Delia and helping Lady Thurlby with wedding plans. Lucas and his brothers had ridden to Primrose Farm once again, reporting back at supper on the progress of the farmhouse and fields.

  This morning, Lavinia took her time eating breakfast—if one could call the few bites she’d managed to swallow “eating”—so she could be alone in the breakfast room with Delia and Artie when they arrived later, as had been their routine. She needed to warn them to pack their bags. She’d decided during what had been a sleepless night that if Primrose Farm was indeed ready for them by next week, she could afford for them to stay at the inn in Sleaford for the few remaining days until then. She and Lucas were to speak to Lord and Lady Thurlby this afternoon, at which time Lavinia would make her apologies, take dinner in her room, and leave with her friends first thing tomorrow morning.

  Her heart was heavy.

  By the time Delia and Artie arrived for breakfast, the room was essentially empty, every family members’ whereabouts accounted for as they all went about their routines as usual. Soon the entire family would learn that Lucas’s betrothal to Lavinia was a lie.

  “I’m telling you, Delia, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” Artie’s voice preceded him into the breakfast room. “When I said you were like an egg, I meant it as a compliment. There’s no reason for you to be upset over such a little thing.”

  “Do you hear a magpie squawking, Lavinia?” Delia said as she entered the room, flicking a disdainful hand in Artie’s direction. “Such noisy creatures, magpies, don’t you think? They squawk and squawk, making a ruckus that drowns out the songbirds and giving people headaches with their noise.”

  Oh dear. Whatever it was that had these two longtime friends pecking at each other in such a way had apparently not resolved itself yet.

  Artie pulled out the chair next to Lavinia for Delia to sit in. “Let me fetch you some tea, Delia,” Artie said, being as solicitous as he could possibly be. “And then I shall fill a plate for you. A bit of toast and some eggs—”

  “Not eggs, Arthur, unless they are coddled eggs. For you know we eggs are best when treated delicately. We like to be coddled.”

  Lavinia looked at Delia in surprise at such an ill-natured comment; she wasn’t acting like herself at all.

  “Here’s a nice cup of tea, Delia, just the way you like it, with milk and sugar,” Artie said, setting the teacup in front of her. “Piping hot too.” He didn’t wait for a reply but went back to the side table to fix a plate of food for her.

  “I’m tired,” Delia murmured to herself.

  Lavinia wasn’t sure now if she should tell them they’d be leaving tomorrow. “I don’t understand this talk of eggs. What is going on?”

  “Here you go,” Artie said too cheerily, setting a filled plate in front of Delia. “Toast and some nice grilled kidneys—no eggs of any kind, you’ll be happy to observe, and some herrings. Just the thing, eh?”

  “The magpie told me I reminded him of an egg. I’m an egg, Lavinia,” Delia said, ignoring the plate in front of her.

  “Now, Delia,” Artie said.

  “Why an egg, Artie? Of all the things to call someone, it seems an unlikely choice,” Lavinia said, trying to understand what was going on.

  “But I like eggs, you see? Coddled eggs are very fine, you know, but they need proper care. Boil an egg, you can take it with you anywhere. It’s handy food that way. Small—doesn’t take up much space. Very convenient. Add a pinch of salt—you’ve got yourself a nice enough meal. But then you must boil them, see, if you’re to take them along with you. Can’t otherwise, else the shell will crack open, and then it’s a mess you’ve got.”

  “Like coddled eggs, because they aren’t all hard inside,” Delia said. “Too much of a bother, coddled eggs are. Like me. I need coddling, apparently, or else I am a bother.”

  “Now you’re putting words in
my mouth, Delia. You’re not a bother. I said no such thing. You were the one who pointed out coddle and coddle, not I. An egg is a very fine thing.”

  “It’s always in the words, Arthur. It’s always in the words. The murderers in Macbeth called Lady MacDuff’s son an egg, and then they killed the poor lad.”

  “Delia, eggs can be good as well, you know, if one would only take a moment to understand the intent—”

  “‘Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps,’” Delia said, ignoring Artie’s plea.

  A manservant discreetly cleared his throat, and a still confused Lavinia turned her head to acknowledge him. “I was instructed to give this to you.” He handed her a folded note.

  “Thank you.” She unfolded the note and read it. It was from Lucas, informing her that the meeting with his parents had been arranged and apologizing that he was unable to deliver the message in person. “The meeting is set for this afternoon. It is done, then,” she said quietly.

  “Meeting?” Delia asked, turning sharply to look at Lavinia, as did Artie.

  “Yes. Lucas and I decided to tell his parents the truth before it goes any further. I think it best that we pack our things, the four of us, and return to Sleaford tomorrow until Primrose Farm is ready for us next week.”

  How two people could wilt in the space of an instant, Lavinia didn’t know, but Delia and Artie managed it.

  “I see,” Delia said so softly Lavinia could barely hear her. She’d gone alarmingly pale at Lavinia’s words.

  “We are on the move again, eh? Well, that’s what we old thespians are used to doing,” Artie said, mustering a shred of fortitude. “Delia, you must eat more than one bite of kidney, you know. We have a farm to run starting next week. Eat up; there’s a good girl.”

  Delia took another small nibble and set her fork down. “Arthur, I—” she managed to say. And then she collapsed, sliding off her chair and crumpling to the floor.

  Chapter 20

  “Delia!” Lavinia cried as Artie rushed over from the other side of the table. She knelt over her elderly friend, caressing her face. “Delia, can you hear me? Speak to me if you can.”

  Delia was unresponsive.

  Lavinia patted her hands and then patted her cheeks and then patted them more vigorously. She peeked under one of Delia’s eyelids—what she expected to find she wasn’t sure, but all she saw was a rheumy eyeball staring at nothing.

  “Smelling salts,” she muttered. “Why I’ve never thought to carry smelling salts, I’ll never know.”

  “Delia,” Artie cried, kneeling by her and taking one of her hands in his. “She’s only fainted, right, Lavinia? She’s only fainted. I told you to eat more kidneys, Delia. Oh, what to do, what to do!”

  “Artie, go get help. Quickly! She still isn’t responding.”

  He dashed from the room, and once he was gone, Lavinia put her mouth next to Delia’s ear. “Come on, Delia. It’s time to end this.”

  No response.

  “If I find out you are up to something, I will be extremely upset. It isn’t fair to put Artie through this. Or me and Hannah either.”

  One of Delia’s hands lifted slightly, her eyelids fluttered, and . . . that was it. Nothing more.

  Lavinia’s insides felt leaden. Delia could not be ill. She couldn’t. But what if she was? And what if Lavinia’s own skepticism had kept Delia from getting the help she needed in time? She kept caressing her friend’s dear, familiar face; they had gone through so much together. She should not have told them they’d be leaving Alderwood when it had been obvious that Delia was not her usual self this morning; it had placed too great a strain on her.

  Lavinia would never forgive herself if Delia did not pull through.

  “What has happened?” Lady Thurlby exclaimed as she rushed into the room, followed quickly by Lord Thurlby, Lucas, and Artie.

  Artie dashed back to Delia’s side, dropping to his knees again. “Wake up, Delia,” he said, patting her hand frantically. “Come on now; there’s a good girl. Wake up. Please wake up.”

  Delia didn’t move.

  “John, fetch Doctor Ellis,” Lord Thurlby told the manservant who’d delivered Lucas’s message to Lavinia earlier. “Tell him it’s urgent.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Lucas placed a hand on Artie’s shoulder. “Let’s take her up to her room,” he said gently. “She’ll be more comfortable there.”

  “Yes. Right.” Artie reluctantly moved out of the way, and then strong, sure Lucas crouched down, took Delia carefully into his arms, and rose to his feet. Delia hung limply, like a rag doll. Lady Thurlby gave swift orders to a maid to have Delia’s bed prepared for her. Lucas carried her from the breakfast room and up the main stairway, with Artie and Lavinia trailing behind, creating a somber procession to Delia’s room.

  Hannah came out of her room as they passed by. “What’s going on?” she asked, and then she blanched when she noticed Lucas carrying Delia. “What has happened?”

  “We were in the breakfast room, and she fainted,” Artie explained, his voice cracking. “But she won’t come around. We tried and tried to wake her, Livvy and I did, but she won’t come round!”

  “Oh, Hannah!” Lavinia threw her arms around Hannah in a desperate hug. “What are we to do?”

  “There, there, luv,” Hannah said, patting Lavinia’s back. “Let’s go be sure our Delia’s settled in proper-like, shall we?”

  When Lavinia and Hannah got to Delia’s room, Artie was pacing back and forth outside the door, tearing at his hair, while Lucas stood nearby with his hands clasped behind his back. Delia was visible through the doorway, lying as still as a corpse on the bed.

  How quickly the day had changed, Lavinia thought. One moment she’d been concerned only with having her friends ready to leave Alderwood; now she was frantic that one of them might be dying.

  When Lavinia’s father had died, she hadn’t felt like this. The lessons she’d learned from her father had been bitter ones, and his passing, as unfortunate as it had been, had been more of a relief to her than a sorrow.

  But losing Delia, despite her advanced years . . . Delia was clever and delightful and had brightened their lives during the time she and Artie had been with them.

  She would be greatly missed.

  Oh, she mustn’t think this way, Lavinia chided herself, clutching her waist and fighting back the tears that threatened to fall—she mustn’t presume the worst. The doctor would arrive soon, and he would explain everything and assure them all would be well. And all would be well. It must be.

  She and Hannah quietly entered Delia’s room. The maid had carefully tucked a coverlet around her and was now adjusting the curtains at the window to dim the light. “Anything else I can get, miss?” the maid quietly asked Lavinia. “It’s right sad to see Miss Weston like this. Such a sweet one with the children, her and Mr. Drake, and kind to the rest of us too.”

  “Thank you,” Lavinia said. “I think you’ve done everything you can for now.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and left.

  Hannah placed a small wooden chair next to the bed. “Sit, Lavinia. You look about as pale as poor Delia here.”

  Lavinia sat. The maid had set Delia’s hands on the coverlet, one atop the other. She looked like she’d been laid out for a funeral.

  “It’s my fault, Hannah,” Lavinia murmured. “I told her and Artie about leaving Alderwood, and then this happened. I should have known better. Delia hasn’t been herself the past few days. I should have realized it and said something different or waited or—oh, I don’t know—but something.”

  “Don’t go blaming yourself, luv.” Hannah laid a comforting hand on Lavinia’s shoulder. “Delia knew we was going to Primrose Farm sooner or later. She’s small, is our Delia, but she’s a fighter. Actors have to be. You know that as well as anyone.”

  Lavinia gazed sorrowfully upon Delia’s still form. “I hope you’re right, Hannah. Oh, I hope you’re right.”

  * * *

&nbs
p; “What in blazes is it taking the doctor so long to get here?” Lucas muttered. “He should have arrived by now. Sit, Drake; you’re going to wear out the carpets with all that pacing.”

  The old man sat. He began wringing his hands. His breathing escalated. It was driving Lucas mad, sitting here, doing nothing, watching Artie when what he wanted to do was go to Lavinia’s side. Unfortunately, he couldn’t—he and Artie had to keep vigil outside Delia’s room.

  Lucas’s frustrations, however, were nothing compared to the agony Artie was going through. The poor man was beside himself with worry. If Lucas hadn’t already figured out how much Artie loved Delia, it would have been obvious to him now. Lucas sighed. “Never mind. Pace if it makes you feel better,” he said.

  Artie immediately popped up out of the chair and proceeded to pace again.

  Lucas dropped his head into his hands and shut his eyes—at least this way he could block out the back and forth, back and forth of Artie’s movements.

  “Right this way, Doctor Ellis,” Lucas’s mother said from farther down the corridor.

  He and Artie both heaved an audible sigh of relief. Lucas rose to his feet.

  Dr. Ellis, whom Lucas had never met, was a relatively young man with a kind face. Lucas wanted to trust that he could actually do something to restore Delia to her prior good health, but he’d seen enough sawbones and quacks in Spain that he held little faith in doctors of any kind. It had frequently seemed to Lucas that more of his friends had died from complications after being seen by a surgeon than had died in actual combat.

  “My son Lucas and Mr. Drake,” Lady Thurlby said, presenting them to the doctor. “Lucas, Dr. Ellis was a godsend when he set up practice here after old Dr. Vickers passed.”

  “Delia’s in here,” Artie blurted out. “Can you help her?”