His lids lowered. “That is because it is from such as he that they protect her.”
“Depending on who he is, that could be sad too.”
He cocked his head. “Do you seek to be relieved of my company so you can visit a man? Perhaps an old beau from when you lived here?”
“Of course not.”
“Then indulge my old-fashioned notions of my duties as a gentleman.”
“If we are going to be particular about my protection, shouldn’t there be someone else here? A chaperone?”
He just looked at her.
“Another woman,” she continued, managing not to falter under that intense gaze. “To protect me from you. Not that I need protection from you, of course, but then, I do not need any protection to speak of from anyone. It has just been your sense of obligation and duty. However, it is a fine line, isn’t it?” She kept talking, trying to backstep from the implications of what she was saying but discovering she only walked in deeper. “I am just speaking about where strict propriety lands one in such situations, that is all, not that I in any way am in any danger from you, goodness no, but if one follows your way of thinking, one finds oneself admitting that this is not exactly acceptable, even if I am no child. Not that I would say that you do unacceptable things . . .” Her last words drifted out into the silence across from her.
“Your point, which was in there somewhere, is well taken. I cannot disagree with anything you said except one small part.”
“Which part is that?”
“The part where you said you do not need protection from me.” He looked out the window. “It appears we are here.”
* * *
Miss MacCallum almost jumped out of the carriage. Flush-faced, she did not look at him. He had flustered her, finally, with that last comment.
Her gaze swept the farmhouse and garden. “I expect she is much changed. I am. It has been some years.”
“Have you written?”
“I have. After a few letters, however, she stopped writing back. Perhaps once she married she was too busy.”
He sensed she debated whether to make this call at all. He let her take her time to decide.
The farmhouse looked to be a fair-size cottage with a well-tended garden in front. Past it, in the back, one could see another garden, probably for the kitchen, and outbuildings. Past those, the fields began. In the first one, a horse grazed. Her friend’s husband must be a yeoman farmer and not a tenant if he owned a horse.
The door opened and a tall, sandy-haired man stepped out. He eyed the carriage, then turned a curious expression on them.
Miss MacCallum marched forward. “You must be Mr. Bowman. I am Davina MacCallum. I grew up in these parts and knew Louisa when we were girls. I came hoping to see her for a short while.”
He met her halfway up the path. “That is good of you, but you’ll not be able to do that. You should not enter the house either. She caught that fever and is in bed.”
Miss MacCallum frowned. She looked at the house. “Who is tending to her?”
“I am, such as she will allow. She won’t let me in, and told me to keep our son away, so he is sleeping in the sitting room. I bring her food and such, but then she sends me away. She fears for the boy.”
“And for you, but that will never do.” Miss MacCallum sidestepped Mr. Bowman and walked to the house.
Mr. Bowman watched her, then turned back to Brentworth. “What is she doing?”
“Going to see your wife, I assume.”
Mr. Bowman looked at the coach. “We don’t see such as that around here. Who are you?”
“Brentworth.”
Mr. Bowman did not seem to know just which lord that was, but he did know from the coach and the title that it was some lord or other. “The lady may get sick if she goes in there. You may want to stop her.”
“I may want to, but I doubt I can.” All the same, he followed Miss MacCallum into the house, with Mr. Bowman in his wake, wishing that on hearing an illness lay within he had picked Miss MacCallum up and dumped her back in the carriage.
The son sat in the sitting room, tapping a stick against the floor. Blond like his father, he looked to be about eight or so. “That woman asked where mum was, then went upstairs,” he reported.
Eric decided he wanted very much to keep Miss MacCallum from spending time with her sick friend. He began mounting the stairs after her.
“Do not come up.”
He looked up to see her head sticking out an ajar door.
“If you were to take ill, I would probably be exiled from the realm,” she added.
“And if you take ill, I will not forgive myself.”
She made a shooing gesture. “I rarely take ill.”
“Your hair says differently.”
She felt the hair dangling next to her cheek. “Well, that once I did. I am saying there is no reason for more than one to risk it, and I already have. You can help, however. I can tell she needs water. Quite a bit of it. She has not been drinking enough. It can make all the difference. Ask her husband to draw some fresh water and bring up a jug to me. Then I could use more of it, warmed by the fire, not too hot, and some rags.”
Her head disappeared. Having issued her commands, she returned to her charge.
He retraced his steps and told Mr. Bowman what she wanted. After bringing up the jug, he set more water on the hearthstone and built up the fire a bit.
He looked up the stairs while they waited. “Does she know what she is doing?”
“I am told she does.”
“Don’t you know?”
His response had sounded disloyal. He corrected it. “I believe she does.”
“I’m thinking, what with you here, I should get my horse saddled and ride to Kenton. It is only five miles away and there is a surgeon there. I’ll pay him whatever it takes to come back with me.”
“I would ask Miss MacCallum if she thinks that is necessary. If she does, we will stay here with your wife and son until you return.”
Mr. Bowman took a few steps toward the stairs, then stopped. He looked back over his shoulder sheepishly. “She doesn’t seem to be a woman one would like to cross. She may be insulted if I suggest I should get a surgeon.”
“I will ask her if you want.”
He stood aside.
Miss MacCallum opened it on his knock. Through the crack, he could see a woman lying on a bed half naked.
“He wants to take advantage of our presence to ride for a surgeon.”
“Good heavens no. A surgeon is sure to bleed her, and nothing good will come of that. In her state, it might kill her.”
“Is it as bad as that?”
“She has had a fever for some time. Days. I can tell from her eyes and her skin that she is sorely lacking water, and that has made it worse. I am spooning it in her, and washing her down to cool her. Bleeding is the last thing she needs. Tell him no surgeons.”
“What about a physician?”
“You heard Mr. Portman. There are none for many miles around.”
“I will send the carriage to Newcastle and tell Napier to come back with one.”
She hesitated. “He won’t know where to go.”
“He’ll find one. I’ll make sure it is worth the man’s while to come.”
She looked back into the room. “Yes, please do. I think . . .” Her voice broke, and she blinked at tears forming. “I think it may be too late, but I’ll keep at what I am doing and hope that a physician can do more.”
His gut twisted at her sadness. He wanted to comfort her. He turned away, to do the only thing that might help her.
* * *
Davina sat beside the bed and wrung out another cloth. She used it to wipe down Louisa’s arms and chest. The skin felt hot beneath her touch.
She set the rag back in the pail, took the cup of water and sat beside her friend. She lifted her up with one arm and used the other to hold the cup to her lips. “You must drink, even if it is just a sip. Yes, like that. A lit
tle more now.”
Louisa obeyed until about two ounces went in, then sank back onto the pillow. She blinked and looked at Davina, then frowned. “I know you.”
They were the first words Louisa had said. Davina had not been sure there had even been an awareness of her presence before. “It is I, Davina. We were friends as girls. I was traveling by and decided to call on you.”
“My son—”
“He is below with your husband, and quite healthy.” She laid her palm against Louisa’s cheek. Still hot. Too hot. Dangerously so. “It was wise to separate him from yourself, but I fear that you did not eat or drink enough while alone.”
“I mostly slept, I think.” She looked ready to do so again. Davina took the opportunity to get more water into her, then put down the cup.
“You are well, Davina? Happy in Edinburgh?”
“Very happy. Do not try to speak. I do not need a social visit today. Another time we will sit in the garden and tell each other about the years that have passed.”
“I married Mr. Bowman. He is good to me and our son. Not like Papa.”
As a girl, Louisa had feared her father and tried to avoid him. Davina always suspected he beat her. “I am glad. You deserve a good man.”
Louisa nodded drowsily. “Good man.”
“He has a fine farm here. I suppose it was his family’s. I did not know them, but I remember the name.”
“Neil was in the army. Came home after the war, and I began walking out with him.” She twisted under the sheet. “I am so hot now. Hot, then cold, then hot, then . . .” Her words drifted and slurred.
“Sleep. I will be here when you awaken. Do you want to see your husband?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want them to get ill too. Promise you will not let them come in here.”
“I promise.”
She waited for Louisa to fall asleep, then went below to the sitting room. The boy held vigil with his father there. Brentworth was nowhere to be seen.
She found the kitchen, and the remains of the food Louisa’s husband had tried to cook the last few days. A chicken was his most recent effort. She found a big pot, threw the carcass in it, then called for the boy and asked him to bring water from the well and some roots from the kitchen garden.
“I can do it,” Mr. Bowman said from the door. “I’m better if I keep busy.”
“Perhaps you should do that by tending to your farm. If you don’t go too far, I think it would help you. Your son can get me what I need, and it will give him something to do.”
Mr. Bowman shifted from one foot to the other. “Is she any better?”
“She spoke to me, so I think so. She still needs to drink more. I’ll make a broth to give her. If you have beer or ale, set it out and I’ll use that too.”
“That carriage has been gone several hours.”
“Only three. Have faith, sir. If the duke said a physician would come, one will arrive soon.”
“I will pay the fee, of course, if you tell me what it is.”
She stopped her preparations and gave him her full attention. “I do not think the duke will allow that. Nor do I think you can afford it. The physician who comes will probably have very high fees. I will offer for you, however, so there is no risk that you will insult His Grace without intending to.”
He nodded, and realized that his son stood right beside him. He stepped aside so the boy could enter the kitchen. “I’ll be in the barn for a spell, then.”
Davina told the boy what she needed. She had only her thoughts to keep her company while she waited for him to return.
Louisa, despite her malady, appeared much as she remembered her. Her brown hair and plump face were the same as the girl who had laughed with her so often. She regretted sorely not returning before this, so they could laugh again.
She faced squarely what might happen in the next few hours. Sometime soon, perhaps very soon, either the fever would break or Louisa would. She doubted the physician would make much difference.
At least it had not been cholera. She had seen its effects. Indeed she had experienced them herself. On first entering that sick room she had died inside because her friend’s sunken eyes and wrinkled hands suggested just that. But there had been none of the severe purges caused by cholera, from the evidence in the chamber. The lack of fluids to her system had only mimicked the symptoms.
Louisa had wanted to spare her family and locked herself in, but she may have doomed herself. Davina had seen ill people die before. When she accompanied her father, the results were not always good ones in those cottages. She had nursed her father herself, and not been able to save him. It was always very hard when the person was a friend, and she would have to steel herself for this.
She wiped her eyes and found a bit of solace in knowing that her visit may have made a difference in Louisa’s comfort, if nothing else.
The boy came in with the water and a handful of carrots and parsnips. Davina used some of the water to clean the roots, then chopped them and added them to her pot. She hanged the pot on the hook in the hearth, then called for the boy again.
“What do you normally do at this time?” she asked him.
“Lessons.” He pointed to the worktable. “While Mum cooks.”
“Have you a slate? Go and get it, and do the same lesson you last did with her. Don’t look at me like that. You must do something besides worry.”
She waited until he returned with his slate and got busy, then let herself out the garden door. The evening had cooled substantially.
She strolled toward the kitchen garden. Lush now, as the last of summer’s growth went wild to cast off seeds, it boasted fat cabbages and even some greens. She allowed herself a few minutes surrounded by autumn’s abundance. She permitted memories of playing with Louisa into her mind. She turned so no one in the barn or house could see her, and tears of sorrow and frustration flowed.
Chapter Thirteen
He did not often feel worthless, but he did now. He paced in the gathering dusk, looking to the road too often, hoping Napier returned soon. Had anyone else but Davina said a sick woman might die soon, he might have been skeptical. One look in her eyes, however, and he believed she knew what she was talking about.
It did no good to tell himself that people died of fevers all the time, that like everyone he accepted that. He did not know them most of the time, of course. But he did not know this Louisa either. All he knew was that Davina cared a great deal about saving her. They had loved each other once, and perhaps still did, despite the years and distance.
He began another circle of the house but stopped when he neared the back garden. Davina stood there amid the plants, taking some air, which she sorely needed by now. She looked to the sky, then her head bowed, and a curtain of short locks obscured her face. She turned away, facing a fence across from the barn.
He would leave her in peace. A subtle shift in her posture stopped him. Her shoulders and back sagged just enough to reveal her composure had broken. One small, quiet sob reached his ears.
He strode toward her on impulse. She heard him and looked over her shoulder. The soft light made the tears in her eyes glisten. She rushed to wipe them.
He took her hands in his so she would not work so hard at being brave. “Weep if you need to. No one will think the less of you.”
She looked up in astonishment. Her lips parted, as if she meant to respond, but instead her face fell into an expression of such sorrow that it broke his heart. She broke then. Large, loud sobs shook her until her chest heaved with them. He pulled her into his arms and held her while they racked her body.
“I should not—I don’t know why—” She gasped out the words when she could catch a breath.
“You should. As for why, you are tired and worried and no one can be strong all the time.”
She let him support her while she gave in and the tears flowed. He patted her head, the short locks giving way to her nape and shoulders under his fingers.
It was s
ympathy that led him to press a soft kiss to her crown, but more than that stirred in him when he did it. She did not seem to notice.
The tears tapered off, but she remained against him, sighing out their remnants. He should release her now, set her away. He didn’t, but instead submitted to the reckless impulse to hold her longer.
She stirred, as if wakening from a dream or a daze. She looked up at him. Her eyes still glistened and her face appeared luminous in the dusk. Not thinking or caring about consequences, he did what he should not do. He kissed her.
* * *
Warm lips pressed hers gently. The kiss expressed kindness and care, just as his embrace had, but—She could not deny it was more than that. For her, at least. It affected her deeply. It banished the worry and blotted out sorrow. Its warmth and sensuality seeped through her like water does dry sand.
It lasted too long to be a kiss of comfort, or so it seemed to her. Perhaps not. Maybe it was very brief, but she so totally experienced it that time slowed in her awareness.
Only when the kiss subtly changed, only when she sensed a rising passion in him and herself, did the truth press on her. The Duke of Brentworth is kissing me. Surely that was not a good idea. She should not have permitted it. The moment had made them both people other than they were.
He stopped the kiss. She looked up at him. He looked different. Harder and softer at the same time. His gaze arrested hers, and she did not resist the way his demanded a kind of submission to him seeing inside her. She realized she had been wrong about those eyes. Yes, they absorbed one, but one did not seek a way out. She didn’t, at least. She explored, much as she guessed he did. Not all was darkness in him, but more was than she expected.
A sound, distant but distinct, entered her awareness. Not in the house or barn, but on the road. He looked in that direction. “Napier has returned.”
They released each other and strode toward the front of the house, walking back into their true selves even as they left the garden. Within five steps, that kiss might never have happened.
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