In the silence, Ernest hurriedly ripped his jacket from his shoulders and bundled it up. He lifted Diana’s head from the grass and tucked the jacket beneath it, making it into a kind of pillow.
“Why did she go back in, Renata?” the father asked, his voice low and harsh. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
“You know how difficult it is to stop her from doing anything!” Renata, the aunt—and, assuredly, the sister of the man—returned. “She has a mind of her own.”
“But it could have killed her. Perhaps it did,” the man hissed.
Ernest couldn’t tear his eyes from the young woman’s unconscious form. With each blink, he imagined a near-impossible reality, one in which she awoke and found him equally handsome, equally heroic, equally interesting. For reasons he couldn’t fully divulge, even to himself, he felt he already knew what her voice sounded like. Yes, she was a complete and total mystery to him. And yet, he also knew something staggeringly beautiful about her: she’d risked her own life to save the maid’s.
Suddenly, Ernest whipped his head toward the father, feeling an overzealous wave of energy. “It’s imperative that a doctor is sent for. There. That servant. He looks sprightly enough. And the horses, they’ve been saved?”
The old man nodded and cranked round to look at the servant, who had been staring at them anyway. “You heard him, boy,” he croaked. “Go retrieve the doctor. My daughter’s life is at stake.”
Ernest returned his eyes to Diana, swiping his handkerchief across her cheeks and forehead. The aunt drew her own handkerchief from her pocket and drew it along Diana’s hands and feet and ankles. A light rain pattered over them, sizzling against the fire.
“We really can’t thank you enough for going back in, sir,” Renata said, her voice sounding as though it was caught in her throat. “I couldn’t have imagined going in myself. I was overcome with fear. And Diana’s father—here, Lord Chester Haddington, of the landed gentry—he’s far too ill for any such heroism.”
At this, Lord Harrington dropped his chin to his chest, seemingly aghast at his own shortcomings.
“It’s quite all right. It was the least I could do,” Ernest affirmed. He’d never felt anything more genuinely in his life. For this strange moment, he’d forgotten that Rose and Grace awaited him in the carriage. They could have been a million miles away.
“How did the fire begin?” he asked, stitching his brows together.
Lord Harrington turned toward his mansion, gripping the cane with both hands. “It’s difficult to say. And I daren’t pass judgment,” he said, his voice heavy with a sigh. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I was born upstairs. And my father, he, too, was born in the same room that I was. The estate has been passed down, first son to first son, for four generations. And now, it’s gone. Although I suppose I didn’t have a proper heir to lend to it…”
“Brother, this isn’t your fault,” Renata chirped. She drew a sharp line with her eyes toward the servants, seemingly preparing to cast blame.
But Lord Harrington spoke over her, his voice far louder than his frail body should have allowed. “I didn’t imagine anything like this. Ever, in my life. After the death of my wife, I thought, surely, the devastation was over. But only more was coming. And perhaps more will still come.”
Ernest felt these words across his shoulders, a weight. He pressed his lips together for a moment, pondering, before saying, “I know precisely what you mean, my lord. I’ve just lost my father, after losing my mother thirteen years before, during the birth of my sister. I’ll be praying only for more goodwill to come to your family.”
Diana’s father’s face was stoic, difficult to read, almost stony. He gazed at Ernest, almost incredulous, before saying, “Those are kind words, son. But I don’t believe they’ll allow for us to have a home in the near future, will they? My god, I’ll have to send the servants away. Some of them have been with me all of their lives. This has been their home as much as mine…”
Ernest burned with a level of confidence that he could hardly recognize in himself. He thought about his massive, echoing estate, all the more empty in the wake of his father’s death. As his father—and now he—was an earl, the rooms were mighty and many, the dining hall was grand and suited many.
“There simply isn’t a reason that the lot of you couldn’t come reside with me until you figure out what to do next,” Ernest offered. He felt he should have stood during these words, yet nothing could have ripped him up from his stance beside Diana, the beautiful.
Lord Harrington and his sister exchanged nonplussed glances. Ernest cleared his throat, sensing he needed to clear the air with a bit more information.
“I’m terribly sorry, but my name is Lord Ernest Bannerman. I’ve been named the new earl of the region,” he continued. “My estate is quite grand, as you can imagine. Perhaps it hasn’t the nostalgia of this, your burning home. But it’s a warm place to rest your head for the time being, and I would be grateful to host.”
This time, the look exchanged between Renata and Lord Harrington was a bit clearer.
“The earl!” Renata marvelled, blinking back toward Ernest. “I can hardly imagine such a thing. How did you come to find us? How did you come to—to our burning home, of all places…”
Ernest’s lips parted as he prepared to explain everything—the carriage passing by, the fire in the distance. But as he did, his eyes focused just beyond Lord Harrington, where the wretched, scrunched face of his fiancée appeared just beyond the tree. She gripped her skirts, lifting them high as she marched through the grass. She’d never been particularly keen on the outdoors, and now was no different.
But a second later, Rose burst ahead of Grace, her face determined. She swept toward Ernest, dropping immediately to her knees, regardless of the muddy grass, and gazing down at the unconscious woman before them. Her lips formed a round O before she spoke, “My goodness, Ernest. What did you do?”
“He went in after her,” Renata called, before falling into a sort of guttural, horrific cough.
Rose returned to her feet, glancing to and fro. She stared down at Ernest, eyebrows low, and demanded, “Have you ensured these people have water? They surely need it. All that smoke.”
This was very much in line with what Ernest knew about his little sister. Even now, she shed her gloves and hat, tossing them to the ground as though they were worth nothing at all. Rose strode toward Lord Harrington and Renata, placing a firm hand across the older woman’s back.
“Are you feeling quite all right, my lady?” she asked. “It seems to me you should sit.” She turned around once more, staring at the staff members nearby. “Has anyone a clue where the well is? Why hasn’t water been fetched? A lady of the house is on the ground, requiring assistance—and no one is working! Please! Let us all pitch in.”
One of the staff members rushed toward the far edge of the estate, seemingly heading toward the well. Ernest gave Rose a soft smile, hoping to translate just how much he appreciated her. She was a girl—very near woman—cut from the same cloth as he. She was willing and eager to shed all propriety in favour of real human connection, regardless of the situation.
Beside her, Grace drew her arms across her chest and scowled at Ernest. His eyes immediately moved away from her, knowing that lingering too long would fill him with a unique bit of rage. After tearing through a burning building and rescuing this woman, he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of damage he was willing to do to his and Grace’s relationship. An entirely separate fire had started in his belly.
“Please, sit down,” Rose suggested again, both to Renata and Lord Harrington. “See, they’re coming with the water now.”
Before them, the very centre of the mansion crumbled, making one of the halves of the house quake and tilt toward the ground. The noise felt monumental, like a chord played too loud on the pianoforte. All the staff members and family members gaped at it, lost in the chaos. Everything they’d ever known was now destroyed, gone. It was up to Ernest to de
cide how they all move forward. He knew it.
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The Wild Passion of an Eccentric Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 32
