The Enigmatic Lady in the Ivory Tower

by Hazel Linwood

“A stable hand? He is not worthy of touching my son’s noble person.”

  “My Lady, that stable hand and his father may be the only two men here that can save his life. I believe that makes them more than worthy,” the Earl pointed out, overcoming his shock now that he had a purpose that he was more familiar with. Angry ladies appeared to be well within his ability, as he removed her gently from the room to the hallway beyond.

  Once Gabriel had finished stitching the wound, he cleaned it again with hot water and another splash of spirits, then dried it and bound it with the strips of clean linen.

  “Now, all we can do is wait and pray,” his father announced to those gathered, patting Gabriel on the shoulder.

  “Well done, son. Go and clean yourself, Roberts can see to the remainder of what needs to be done. I will go and speak to your mother about preparing His Lordship some of her healing teas.”

  Gabriel nodded and arose from kneeling on the floor, careful not to jostle the Marquess as he pushed himself upward. He exited the library and found the Earl and Dowager Marchioness speaking quietly in the hall. Upon seeing him walk through the doors, they stopped talking and moved to speak with him.

  “How is he?” the Earl asked first, so as not to give the Dowager a chance to yell at Gabriel again.

  “I have sewed the wound closed, but he has yet to awaken. His body needs rest. Adam, the stable hand, has been sent for a surgeon in the village.”

  The Dowager Marchioness rushed forward without uttering a word of gratitude and knelt down beside her son’s prone form.

  “She will come to see your worth in this,” the Earl attempted to apologize for the Dowager Marchioness. “It is only the fear of a mother for her son that keeps her from doing so now.”

  “No,” Gabriel shook his head. “There is no need for gratitude. We do not yet know if his life is saved, only prolonged.”

  “Let us pray that he awakens soon then.”

  “Indeed.” Gabriel nodded in agreement, then turned to leave the manor house. His heart had not stopped racing since he had found the Marquess bleeding on the forest floor. He walked behind the stables to the pond beyond, removed his shoes, and waded in with his bloodied clothing still on. He scrubbed at the blood on his skin and the fabric, but it stubbornly refused to be removed from the latter.

  As he turned to exit the water, he found Diana standing at the water’s edge. “Is it the Marquess? Has something more happened?” he asked, moving quickly toward the shore.

  “No,” she shook her head. “He is still sleeping, if that is what one can name such a thing as what he is suffering. I am here to see that you are well. You were absolutely marvelous in what you did. You saved his life and yet I could see the strain of what you had to do in the pallor and lines of your face. It took great courage to do what you did.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “It is nothing but what was needed to be done.” He moved to walk away, unable to resist her in his current state. His racing and uncertain heart had left him feeling much more vulnerable than he would have preferred. The Earl’s hands had been the ones to shake during it all, but Gabriel’s heart had felt as if it were doing the same inside of his chest.

  Now as Diana stood looking so beautiful, her long wet brown hair hanging down her back, her gown disheveled and clinging to her every curve as if it had been molded to her like a sculpture formed of the smoothest alabaster, he could not keep his hands from her. Without even realizing that he was doing it, he turned back toward her and took her into is arms, his eyes holding hers.

  “It is so much more than that,” she whispered, held by his gaze as much as he was held by hers. “Just as our kiss was more than you were willing to speak about.”

  Gabriel’s heart nearly stopped at her words and their underlying accusation. “There is nothing to speak about on the matter. It never should have happened, and it will never happen again. I overstepped my place and station in life. You are meant for far greater men than I.”

  “And what if I say that there are no greater men than you?”

  Gabriel’s mouth went dry and any answers he might have had—were he less shaken in spirit—abandoned him entirely.

  What is a man supposed to say to such high, undeserved praise? It does not aid me in refusing her that I feel the same for her. She is a paragon among women in beauty and character. I have never met her like before and I will never meet her like again.

  Instead of saying what he truly thought, he turned away from her.

  “It matters not.” Gabriel’s heart constricted in pain as he walked away, leaving her to stand at the pond side alone.

  Chapter 16

  Diana stood and watched Gabriel walk away, his wet, blood-streaked clothing clinging to his every muscle. She did not know what had possessed her to speak to him, but after seeing him save the Marquess’ life, and then to emerge from the pond with his clothing showing every contour of his muscled form, she had not been able to stop herself from speaking so rashly.

  I cannot believe that I was so inappropriate! How could I have acted so? It is as if all good sense has left me. I have gone mad under the tutelage of the Dowager Marchioness and left all good sense behind.

  “He is so much more than a simple stable hand,” she murmured as he disappeared from sight.

  Gabriel walked away from Diana for the second time in a single day. With every step he cursed himself and for the first time in his life, he cursed his place in the world. He had never once been ashamed of his chosen occupation or his station in life, not until he had laid eyes upon Lady Diana Bexley. From that moment forward, he had wished for things that were not only improbable but impossible. He would have better luck plucking the stars from the black firmament of the night sky than he would have in making her his bride.

  As he turned the corner of the stables, the sounds of sobbing floated across the water to pierce his ears as swords of accusation and despair.

  I should never have done it. I should never had kissed her. I would gladly kill any other man who might hurt her as I have done and yet here I stand causing her more pain with every step.

  Diana’s sobs deepened and Gabriel clenched his teeth together so hard that he tasted blood.

  “God in heaven, help us both,” he whispered into the heavy summer’s air, then turned around, racing back to her side as quickly as his feet would carry him.

  “Do not weep, my love,” he murmured into the wet curls of her hair. She smelled of rose petals and sunshine. It was intoxicating in every way.

  “I beg of you, please do not weep.”

  Gabriel’s willpower had completely abandoned him, and he knelt on the ground, completely at her mercy.

  “You came back,” she whispered into his chest, her tears warming the already cooled dampness of his shirt.

  “I did. I should not have, but I did. I am but a man, my darling, weak in every way when it comes to resisting you, but I will not be your ruin. I refuse to be the thing that causes you such pain and yet I have pained you in the effort to save you. Now, we are both truly lost.”

  “I would rather be lost with you than safe with anyone else,” she answered, turning her amber eyes up to his.

  “I am drowning in my love for you, but I cannot, I will not pull you under with me. You must accept that the only way that I can protect you is to leave you behind. Once you have completed your lessons with the Dowager Marchioness, you will return to Kilgrave, and then wed the Earl of Appley as your parents have commanded. I will still be here at Westwallow and nothing will have changed for either of us except for the pain that we have caused ourselves.”

  “Can we not simply wish it otherwise, if only for a moment?” she whispered, her eyes holding his in a silent struggle for hope.

  “One moment would never be enough, my darling. One moment would never ever come close to being enough, but if that is what your heart truly desires, then I will give it to you, and we will both be damned by it.”

  “It is what I want.”

&nbs
p; “Then damned we are,” he breathed, lowering his head to claim her lips as his own once more.

  Diana’s heart raced in her chest as Gabriel pulled her close and kissed her for the second time that day. She could not believe that he had come back, but he had. It still did not quite feel real to her, even as she clung to the front of his shirt and returned his kiss with ardent passion. She was afraid that if she let go, he would evaporate into the air as if he had never been.

  Diana was not at all certain how long they held each other there between the earth and the sky, but she would have gladly remained there forever had the village surgeon not come barreling down the drive. Breaking apart at the sound of approaching riders, Gabriel and Diana scrambled to their feet. Gabriel ran past the stables and house, then rushed forward to take the horse’s reins as the surgeon leapt from the saddle. Without pausing for a moment, he scurried up the stairs and disappeared through the front doors.

  Gabriel looked back over his shoulder at Diana, his eyes filled with equal parts longing and farewell in their depths. Diana held his gaze for as long as she dared, then nodding silently in broken acceptance, turned to follow the surgeon into the manor house. Their moment of wishing had come and gone, leaving the taste of his kiss upon her lips and an ache in her heart that she knew would never go away.

  At the last moment before she stepped through the door, she heard the faintest of voices calling after her.

  “I would gladly be damned to a thousand hells for you, my darling, for in your arms I have found heaven’s grace. Farewell, my love, my heart, my soul. Farewell my light, my hope, my life. Farewell…”

  Chapter 17

  “I could not have done this better myself,” the surgeon stated, after examining the Marquess’ stitched wound. “Is this horsehair?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Who tended the wound?”

  “Gabriel, a stable hand here at Westwallow, tended the wound,” the Earl of Appley answered, as the Dowager Marchioness was still too upset to be able to speak. “And it is indeed horsehair.”

  “Where did a stable hand learn to do such fine suturing?”

  “His grandfather,” Diana answered.

  “Yes, he was a soldier in the battles in France,” the Earl nodded, smiling at hearing Diana’s voice.

  “Excellent work. I have seen far worse from some of my London colleagues. I would be very much interested in meeting this Gabriel. It is quite possible that he is meant for something more than being a stable hand. Might I have your permission, My Lady?”

  “I do not wish to hear another word about that boy. I care not what you wish to do with your time after you have left my house. What I care about in this moment is whether my son will live,” the Dowager Marchioness snapped. Her face was so pale with fear and rage that even her lips had turned white as they clenched together.

  “Your son will live, My Lady, and it would appear that you owe his life to that boy, as you call him.”

  Diana’s jaw nearly fell open at the surgeon’s chastising words to the Dowager Marchioness. The man was far braver than most people would have ever thought about being. The Earl had to stop himself from smiling. The Dowager looked so livid that Diana feared that her anger would get the best of her and that she might stab the surgeon with the letter opener from the desk near the older woman’s trembling white hand.

  Diana moved forward and silently slipped the letter opener away from the sphere of temptation. The Dowager Marchioness clenched her fist around the empty air so hard that Diana could have sworn that she saw blood gathering around her fingernails.

  “Leave my house. Leave my house and do not return.”

  The surgeon gave the Dowager a curt bow, then turned and gave a more respectful, genuine one to the Earl, before leaving the room. The butler followed behind, making certain that the surgeon left the house as instructed.

  “Was that wise, My Lady? Your son needs a surgeon’s care.”

  “I will not have such an incompetent man tending to my son. To say that he could not do better than a stable hand is to admit his own fault. I have done nothing more than protect my son from further harm. I will send away to London for someone better.”

  Upon saying this she immediately sat down behind the desk and began writing missives to summon half of the doctors in London to Westwallow.

  Diana and the Earl met concerned eyes across the library. The Earl motioned for Diana to follow him out into the hallway. Diana obeyed, being certain not to disturb the Dowager.

  “This is not good. Ernest needs medical care. It will take days, if not weeks, for a London surgeon to arrive. Gabriel saved his life, but he needs more than sutures to survive this. He has lost too much blood and it could easily turn septic if it does not receive proper care.”

  “But what can be done with the Dowager Marchioness as she is? This is her house and with the Marquess unable to determine his own care, I do not know what else we can do, but care for him as best we can ourselves.”

  The Earl looked through the open door of the library and frowned in observation of the Marquess’ state. “If only the surgeon had kept his thoughts to himself.”

  “I do not understand why the Dowager Marchioness reacted as she did. Is she truly so uncharitable as to deny her servants any praise at all?”

  “I would not have thought so before today, but…” he shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal gesture as if afraid to finish the thought. “There is certainly something amiss. I will go and speak with the surgeon before he returns to the village to see if there is anything else that should be done. I do not believe that he was given proper time to complete his work.”

  Diana nodded in agreement. “I will sit with the Marquess and keep care of him until we know what else can be done or someone arrives.”

  “Perhaps you can convince the Dowager Marchioness to change her mind on the matter?”

  “I very much doubt it, but I will try.” Diana reentered the library and sat down beside the Marquess’ still form upon the chaise lounge, while the Earl went outside to catch the surgeon before he departed.

  Diana watched the Dowager Marchioness out of the corner of her eye, while bathing the Marquess’ face with a cool wet cloth in hopes of awakening him with the gesture. Someone had changed him out of his dirty clothes and replaced them with a clean white linen nightshirt. His lower half was covered with a blanket to hide the nakedness of his legs. Diana lifted the blanket to check the bandage around his wound and make certain it had not returned to bleeding.

  “What do you think that you are doing?” the Dowager Marchioness demanded to know from behind her. Diana had only taken her eyes off of her for a moment, but it had been enough to be caught off guard. She had not heard the Dowager approaching and she nearly jumped up in surprise but stopped herself at the last moment.

  “I am looking to ensure that his wound is not still bleeding.”

  “And?” The Dowager’s face changed quite quickly from accusation and censure, to that of sincere motherly concern.

  “And it appears not to have reopened.”

  The Dowager visibly relaxed for the briefest of moments at hearing Diana’s reassurance, but quickly regained her composure and censorious gaze, unwilling to show any possibly perceived weakness. Returning to the desk, she resumed her writing, calling for the butler to come in and retrieve her letters. “Have these sent out immediately, Roberts.”

  “Right away, My Lady.” The butler left the room with the stack of letters, leaving the ladies alone together once more.

  The Dowager Marchioness closed her eyes for a moment and the smallest of tears slipped out from beneath her lashes to nestle in a sparkling droplet of silvery dew among the wrinkles of her face. Diana had never seen the Dowager Marchioness show any other emotion than disapproval and ardent matchmaking.

  “My Lady,” she arose and poured the Dowager a small glass of sherry to calm her obviously tortured heart.

  “Ah, thank you, my dear,” the Dowager accepted the gla
ss of spirits with a gratitude that Diana did not expect. Diana quickly covered her surprise by turning to fill herself a glass as well. She returned to sitting beside the Marquess and resumed her cooling cloth efforts on his behalf. The Dowager sat down on the settee beside the fireplace and stared into the empty grate.

  “Would you like a fire lit, My Lady,” the butler asked, reentering the library, followed by a footman carrying a heavily laden tea tray.

  “Yes, thank you,” the Dowager nodded absently, not looking up but simply continued to stare into the grate.

  Diana frowned in concern. The footman laid the tea tray out on the table in front of the settee, but the Dowager ignored him. The butler gave instructions for a fire to be laid in the grate and yet the Dowager Marchioness still did not stir as the room temporarily filled with the activity of her servants. Diana assumed that the Dowager’s mind was occupied by worries for her son and yet she had gone out of her way not to look at her son other than when she had been chastising Diana for looking at his leg.