Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3)

by Kristina Cook

  “No, Madeline. It’s Miss Rosemoor. Jane. Do you remember me?” From the corner of her eye, Jane saw Mr. Allan stir in his chair by the fireplace.

  “I...it’s so hot, so very hot in here.” Her blond head tossed from side to side on the pillow, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

  “Shhh, dearest Madeline. You must rest.” She gently stroked the child’s cheek as Mr. Allan hurried to the bedside. He felt Madeline’s forehead and frowned, shaking his head sadly as he reached for her wrist and felt her pulse.

  Jane rose, turning to the table beside the bed where a blue-rimmed ceramic bowl sat beside a matching pitcher and a stack of thick, absorbent squares of cloth. With trembling hands, she poured water into the bowl and then took a cloth, which she dipped into the cool water. Gently, she wrung out the excess moisture. Not wanting her fear to show, she schooled her features into a cheerful expression. At last composed, she turned back to the child and laid the cloth across her brow. “There now, that should cool you down a bit.”

  Madeline’s eyes flew open, slowly focusing on the face that loomed above her. “Jane, is that you?”

  Jane smiled, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She’d forgotten how much Madeline’s mossy green eyes looked like Hayden’s. “Yes, it’s me. It is so good to see you again.”

  Madeline’s eyelids fluttered shut, her long lashes resting against her darkly shadowed, sallow skin. “You’ve come to dinner, then? Oh, Uncle Hayden will be so pleased.”

  Jane shook her head, her brow furrowed. “No, child. You’re here at Mrs. Tolland’s home.”

  “We’ll have a pudding for dessert. Uncle Hayden said...he said you would come to dinner again.” She turned her head so that one cheek rested against the damp pillow, tendrils of wet, golden hair clinging to her face. Her mouth curved into a frown, her bottom lip trembling. “Where is Uncle Hayden?”

  Jane took her hand and stroked it softly. “He’s not here, Madeline. Shhh, you must rest.”

  Mr. Allan shook his head. “She’s delirious, poor child. Her fever holds. Perhaps I should bleed her again.” He bustled off to retrieve his supplies.

  Jane stood silently, watching as Madeline at last eased into a fitful sleep, her chest rising and falling with each rasping breath.

  If only Hayden would come! Five full days had passed since she’d first sent news of Madeline’s condition, and two more letters had followed. They hadn’t yet received any reply. Was he so preoccupied with his upcoming nuptials that he couldn’t spare the time to write a few lines in inquiry of his niece? Was he so cold, so heartless, so self-absorbed?

  Jane shook her head as she released Madeline’s hand and laid it gently on the sheet. No, Hayden was not so cold, so cruel. She knew in her heart that he wasn’t. Even if he had immediately written a reply, they should only now be receiving it. Perhaps the afternoon post would bring his response.

  She scurried to the chair by the door as Mr. Allan returned and began the dreadful procedure of bleeding Madeline–first making a small incision in her forearm, then holding a bowl beneath it to catch the warm, metallic-scented blood. Despite this invasion, the child didn’t stir.

  Jane clutched her fingers to her temples, refusing to look as Madeline’s lifeblood spilled noiselessly into the bowl.

  Leaning back against the chair, she stifled a yawn. She was tired, so very tired. She stretched her legs, wincing at the ache that spread from her calves up to her shoulders. When Emily awoke, she’d ask her to sit with Madeline for a spell, and perhaps she could rest a bit.

  Her eyes drooped, and she reluctantly allowed them to close. I’ll rest now, she thought sleepily. Just for a moment, till the surgeon is done with his awful procedure.

  Voices in the hall forced her eyes open again. Groggy, she looked to the window and noted the bright midday rays streaming in through the drapes. Madeline lay just as she had before, her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm. The surgeon was nowhere to be seen. How long had she slept? Jane rubbed her eyes and licked her parched lips. Goodness, she felt positively drugged.

  She jumped in fright as the door rattled open, flung against the wall in haste.

  Her eyes widened in surprise as Hayden entered, followed closely by Mr. Allan and Emily. The earl had clearly sought his niece in haste–he still carried his hat in one hand and his camel-colored greatcoat billowed behind him, dusting his ankles as he strode purposefully across the room. His clothes appeared rumpled, as if they’d been slept in, and his face was lined with worry, his mouth pinched.

  “Madeline,” he called out, his voice edged with emotion, as he bent to place a kiss on the sleeping child’s forehead.

  Jane averted her gaze, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as Emily came to stand beside her.

  “Jane, dearest, you must go lie down. Please, I beg of you. You’re exhausted.”

  Jane nodded wearily in reply. Casting one last glance over her shoulder at Hayden, she allowed Emily to take her arm and lead her to her room. Hayden was here at last; all would be well. Without bothering to undress, Jane sank onto the down-filled mattress and slept peacefully for the first time in days.

  ***

  When Jane awoke at last, it was well past midday. She sat up, wincing at the aches and pains that seemed to be everywhere at once. Her stomach grumbled noisily. When had she last eaten? She shook her head, unable to recall her last meal. Summoning Bridgette, she changed her clothes and did her best to tidy herself up a bit. Bridgette arranged her hair in one simple plait, coiled and pinned neatly against her crown. It would have to do. She hurried down the hall, but paused before Madeline’s room. The door was slightly ajar and she pushed it open a fraction to peer inside, not wishing to disturb Hayden if he remained by his niece’s side.

  What she saw made her breath leave her lungs in a rush.

  Hayden sat in the chair by Madeline’s side, his bowed head resting in the crook of one arm on the bed beside Madeline’s small form, his other hand clasping the child’s hand in his. Emily stood beside him, her fingers lightly stroking his dark head as she whispered soft, soothing words.

  “Shhh, now, Lord Westfield. It’s not your fault. You arrived here as quickly as you could.”

  Jane froze, holding her breath. She knew she should leave at once, that she shouldn’t compromise their privacy. Yet she couldn’t make her limbs move–she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle.

  “No, you don’t understand, Emily,” came his muffled reply. “It is my fault, just as it was my fault with Isabel, with Katherine.”

  Emily shook her head. “No, and I won’t listen to these foolish words. Stop now. You cannot blame yourself.” She continued to stroke his head. “I won’t have it.”

  He raised his head at last. The anguish in his countenance took Jane’s breath away. He reached for Emily’s hand and clasped it tightly in his own. “You’ve always been so strong, Emily.”

  Emily laughed softly. “I am not as strong as you think, my lord. Haven’t you seen the proof of it?”

  He shook his head. “Do not underestimate yourself, little Emily. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the kindness you’ve bestowed upon Madeline.” He raised her hand to his lips and placed a soundless kiss on her knuckles. “You should not have this burden, especially with your husband away.”

  “It is Jane you should thank. I’ve done what I can to see to Madeline’s comfort, but it is Jane who followed Vlad out into the woods to find her, who has stayed by Madeline’s side day and night. I fear she’s exhausted herself with worry–not just worry over the child, but over you, as well. She cares for you far more than she’ll admit.”

  Jane found herself unable to breathe, awaiting his response.

  He only shook his head in reply. “I see where your words lead, Emily, and allow me to satisfy your curiosity. It will never come to be. I was a fool to think otherwise. I am betrothed to Miss Upshaw and I will uphold my end of the bargain struck with Lord Pemberton. My honor demands i
t. I know you will not understand, but trust me when I say that Miss Rosemoor is better off without me in her life. The sooner she returns to her home in Essex, the better.”

  Jane’s heart twisted painfully. At once a bitter jealousy sprang forth from her soul, surprising her with its rancor. She was envious of Emily, of the close camaraderie she so obviously shared with Lord Westfield. She was equally envious of Miss Upshaw. One woman he called friend; the other he would call wife. She was nothing to him. Nothing.

  No longer able to bear listening, she slunk away from the door, drowning in sorrow and shame.

  “Is that what you truly desire, Lord Westfield? For Jane to return home, cut from your life forever?” Emily looked up at him plaintively, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears.

  The pain inflicted by her words cut Hayden deeply, wounding him in ways he’d never imagined. He inhaled sharply. “It must be so.”

  “Then you are correct. I do not understand. I see the way your eyes light whenever you’re in her presence. I haven’t seen that light since Katherine. Can you deny that you love her?”

  A terror gripped him. He swallowed hard before he spoke, carefully measuring his words. “You’ve overstepped your bounds, Emily. This conversation has gone far enough. I do not love her, and that’s the last I will say on this matter.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily murmured, her eyes downcast as she fiddled with the coverlet.

  Bloody hell, he needn’t have spoken so sharply. Not to the one woman who understood him best, God bless her soul. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as he reached for her hand.

  “Forgive me. I don’t mean to be a brute, Emily, not to you. No one deserves it less.”

  “You’re exhausted, Lord Westfield, and worn with concern. I cannot hold your words against you.” Her forgiving gaze rose to meet his, and she smiled. “Come now, let me get you something to eat, and perhaps a brandy would do you well.”

  “No, I must stay here.” He shook his head and rested his palms wearily on the bed, leaning against it. “I cannot leave her.”

  “Of course you can, for a half hour, no more. Mr. Allan will return straightaway and remain by her side long enough for you to have a much needed drink and a bite to eat. Please?”

  He looked to Madeline, still sleeping fitfully, and back to Emily’s pleading gaze as he weighed his options. His empty stomach grumbled in reply, and his throat was dry. Finally, he nodded his assent.

  He followed Emily back down the narrow stairway to the entry hall, where he finally allowed his coat and hat to be taken from him. She led him into the cheery breakfast room, and he stopped in his tracks as Jane laid down her fork and looked up at him in surprise.

  “Jane, dearest,” Emily called out. “I’m so glad to see you take a meal at last. Did you sleep?”

  “I did, thank you. I feel much improved.” Her expression remained flat, unanimated. Her features spoke of her exhaustion. Dark circles marred the fair skin beneath her eyes, and all color had fled her usually rosy cheeks. Still, she looked lovely, and his eyes devoured the sight of her. He hadn’t thought he’d see her again–at least, not till he brought his bride home to Richmond Park. Only tragedy had swayed the fates. He knew he should take no joy in beholding her, not under the circumstances. Yet he couldn’t help his hungry gaze, even as he was riddled with guilt for the pleasure.

  Jane’s hair was dressed simply, knotted at the back of her head, but a few stray tendrils escaped, caressing her cheeks. She wore a pale yellow morning gown, simple of cut, yet elegant nonetheless. Her sapphire eyes retained their normal luster, the one spot of brilliant color in her pale face, even as they avoided his gaze.

  She pierced a lump of scrambled egg with her fork and brought it to her mouth with trembling hands, and he watched as she swallowed the bite with obvious difficulty. I should leave her in peace, he thought.

  “Perhaps you should send a tray to Madeline’s room for me,” he said to Emily. “I do not wish to disturb Miss Rosemoor’s solitude.”

  “Please do not leave on my account.” Jane gestured to the chair at the end of the table. “Sit, my lord. I’m finished here. I’ll return to Madeline at once.”

  “No,” Emily cried. “You’ve barely touched your meal. Sit, Lord Westfield,” she commanded. “I will have some food brought out at once. In the meantime, may I fetch you a bottle of Cecil’s brandy? Or would you prefer tea?”

  “Tea will suffice for now. Thank you, Mrs. Tolland. Don’t trouble yourself, I can pour.” He waved her away and reached for the teapot.

  “Very well. Let me find Mrs. Smythe and arrange for your meal. Miss Rosemoor will keep you company in my absence.”

  Jane looked up in surprise as Emily bustled out. After a pause, she cleared her throat. “What news has Mr. Allan of Madeline’s condition?”

  “Her condition remains grave at best. The fever is holding fast and weakening her considerably. I fear for the worst.” He took a sip of steaming tea, hoping to ease the ache in his throat.

  “She’s a strong girl–a fighter, else she’d long been taken. I’m sure your presence brings her great comfort, even if she cannot acknowledge it. I choose to hope for the best.” Jane stubbornly tipped her chin in the air.

  He set down his cup, his chest uncomfortably tight. “Thank you, Miss Rosemoor. Mr. Allan tells me that she would not be with us still if you had not found her when you did.”

  “No, the credit belongs entirely to that magnificent animal of yours. Vlad appeared suddenly on the edge of the wood and barked furiously for our attention. I knew somehow that he wanted me to follow him, and I’m glad I followed my instincts. Your steward had to come and forcibly remove him from Madeline’s room, else he’d still remain, lying patiently in the corner.” Jane’s mouth curved into a gentle smile.

  “I’ll reward him greatly when next I see him, you may count on that.” Yes, Jane had saved Madeline’s life, but Vlad had played an important role. “But I’m deeply indebted to you. How can I ever thank you?”

  “Madeline’s full recovery will be thanks enough, my lord. I know it sounds silly considering she’s been unconscious most of the time, but I’ve grown quite fond of her these past few days.”

  Inexplicably, his heart felt a measure lighter. The women in this house were remarkable, the finest in all of Derbyshire, he thought with a smile. Perhaps in all of England.

  ***

  Jane knocked tentatively on the door. “Lord Westfield?”

  “Come in,” he called out, and Jane pushed the door open and peered inside. Hayden sat slumped in the chair by the bed, his long legs stretched out before him. Mr. Allan remained in his usual corner, snoring softly.

  “It grows late, my lord,” she whispered. “Won’t you go to bed?”

  He looked up at her, his face drawn with exhaustion. She shivered, physically feeling the whisper of his gaze as it swept across her face and down her body, to her slippers, and back up again. She clutched the book she carried tightly to her breast, hoping he could not hear the furious pounding of her heart. Crossing to the window, she pulled aside the heavy drapes, revealing the hazy crescent moon that hung amidst the stars, casting a faint glow upon the lawn.

  He stood and joined her at the window, his arm barely brushing hers, yet she felt it with exquisite keenness. They stood side by side for several minutes, silently watching the clouds that drifted across the moon, deepening the night, cloaking the proud oaks and yew in eerie shadows.

  Jane turned to face him, closely studying his noble profile in the warm candlelight that bathed the room. His eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking under drawn brows. How she longed to smooth his creased brow with her lips, to press his shadowed face, deeply in wont of a shave, against her breast and stroke his hair as Emily had! Her traitorous hands itched at the very thought, and she clutched her book tightly in restraint, her nails digging viciously into the leather spine.

  As if drawn by her gaze, his head slowly swung toward hers, his mesmerizing eyes questioning
hers. She dared not speak. As if spellbound, their gazes searched wordlessly for answers, speaking phrases that must remain unspoken.

  He held out one hand to her, in invitation. She bit her lower lip in indecision, till she tasted the faint, salty tang of blood. Tremulously, she reached out her hand to meet his, and he clasped it firmly in his grasp, his hand warm and strong. She could think of nothing save the scent of him, warm and powerful beside her.

  A tremor ran through her and the book she grasped in one hand clattered to the ground.

  They both turned toward the surgeon, who snuffled loudly and then resumed his regular snoring. With a bitter reluctance, she pulled her hand from his grasp, unable to meet his eyes, and knelt to the ground to retrieve her book. At the same time, he fell to one knee beside her and his hands found the thin volume before she could.

  He stood and turned it over in his hands, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Mary Shelley?” he asked. “I’m astonished. You do not strike me as the type to enjoy horror stories.”

  Jane smiled wryly as she rose to face him. “Frankenstein is far more than a horror story, my lord. I find that Shelley does a fine job of exploring the duality of human nature. Besides, I find Victor Frankenstein a fascinating character.”

  “Indeed.” He held out the book to her, and she quickly snatched it from his grasp. “Do you have a great love of reading? You speak with such passion.”

  “I suppose one might say I’m a passionate reader. It is indeed my most beloved pastime, as it gives me much pleasure. What of you, Lord Westfield? Where lies your passion?”

  She moved to Madeline’s bedside and brushed one golden lock from the child’s forehead.

  “The people of Richmond Park are my passion. Heavy toil has made the estate what it is today, and I take great pride in it. I believe that the satisfaction and happiness of my tenants is vital to the estate’s well being. No one at Richmond goes without a soft bed to sleep upon, without adequate wood for fires or food for their cupboard. Any child who wishes for an education will get one. I do not credit the myth that education creates discontent; Richmond is proof otherwise. Lord Mandeville and I have worked stridently to change public opinion about education for all, but still, many refuse to listen to reason. The road ahead is long and hard, but I will not give up so easily. There, I suppose, is your answer.”