A shiver curled up his spine. She’d almost died! He pushed to his feet and moved to the window, but the hazy afternoon light over yellowing trees refused to offer solace. And she still seemed to have no clue about how her actions had affected his household—let alone himself.
His resolve to appear unmoved and hide the turbulent feelings she produced had merely resulted in a harshness she did not deserve. But allowing his real feelings to be displayed simply would not do. Tender as those feelings might be, she was not for him. They were too different. Held different social ranks. Nothing could change that.
There was a knock on the door, and he turned to see Martins. “The doctor, m’lord.”
“Send him in.”
He rubbed a hand over his aching face as the doctor ambled in. “Hanbury, I’m extremely thankful for all you’ve done.”
Dr. Hanbury nodded, the grizzled jaw and shadowed eyes testifying to the long hours he’d put in over the past weeks. “I think your staff will be right as rain in two days.”
“And Miss Ellison?”
“She should keep to her bedchamber for at least this week. Then we’ll see how she fares.” The doctor studied him gravely. “She didn’t know the Thatchers were infected, you recall.”
Nicholas crossed his arms.
“If she had not assisted when the Thatchers became sick, many others would have died.”
“I know. I spoke rashly.”
The doctor lifted graying eyebrows. “She was very upset at the thought she might be responsible for making others ill. Your housekeeper and I tried to assure her, but …”
“I will make amends.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” The doctor heaved out a sigh. “I do not want her worrying, not when she needs to concentrate on getting better.”
He nodded, proffered a hand. “Again, I thank you. Please send all the bills to me.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.” The doctor’s eyes twinkled.
After he exited, Nicholas moved again to the windows, the tranquil scene doing little to restore his equilibrium. Hanbury was right. Apportioning blame to Lavinia for any of this farrago was most unfair—she’d been innocent throughout. In fact, if anything, he was to be held responsible for putting his household staff at risk. Guilt tore through him, and he leaned his forehead against the cool glass. “God, forgive me.” He groaned. “Again.”
HE MADE HIS way upstairs circumspectly, relieved no servants were around to carry gossip downstairs. He entered the room. The curtains were drawn, the lamps low. He moved closer to the bed. Lavinia was asleep, her hair tumbling round her shoulders, the sheets pulled up, revealing nothing save for her creamy throat with its beautiful lines. He studied her features, looking past the sores marking her forehead to see if he could find a trace of the confidence that had long ago fascinated him. How had she stolen past his defenses?
One red-marred hand rested above the coverlet. A sudden, senseless longing rose to hold her hand again. His fingers twitched, craving the touch. Desire begged to slip the reins of self-control.
He dropped his hand. Drew back. Exhaled. Shook his head. Fool. He was such a fool.
A slight creak came from the door. He turned.
Lily held a bundle of clothing. “She’s sleeping, me lord.”
He nodded, and resumed his focus on Lavinia. When Lily disappeared into the chamber next door, he leaned closer to the figure on the bed. “I’m sorry, Lavinia.”
Her lashes fluttered slightly.
“Me lord?”
He rose, schooling his features to ambivalence. “Take good care of her, Lily.”
She bobbed a quick curtsey and resumed her ministrations as he exited the room.
He drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. And shook his head at himself. Again.
THE ARRIVAL OF Miss West brought a sense of relief to the Hall. Although somewhat gaunt after her illness, she declared herself fit for the challenge of nursing her niece. Lavinia’s face and forearms still held a number of marks, but only a couple of scabs near her hairline bore witness of the pus-filled lesions Dr. Hanbury had feared. She took one look at Lavinia, another at Mrs. Florrick and Lily, and immediately banished them to rest and recuperate. Their remonstrations proved to no avail as she quickly assumed control, scaring the staff into such levels of efficiency Nicholas wondered if he’d ever have his household back to normalcy again.
After a week in which she cared for Lavinia—and refused him admittance to the room—she cornered him in his study. “Hawkesbury?”
He lowered his London solicitor’s latest report. “Yes, Miss West? How is the patient?”
“She’s spent most of the time asleep. Her cough has improved, it must be said.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’m hopeful we need not trespass on your hospitality for too much longer.”
“She must stay until better. I hope you will treat this as your home.”
She eyed him, the relentless blue stare penetrating as if she attempted to read his heart.
“Was there something else, ma’am?”
She frowned. “My niece has always been too kindhearted for her own good.”
“A matter on which we both agree.”
A smile flitted across her face. “Lavinia is too unworldly at times and doesn’t see things as perhaps we both do, which brings me to a matter of some delicacy.”
His skin prickled. “Yes?”
“Whilst Mr. Ellison and I, and indeed most of the villagers and your staff here, are generously minded, there are some who will query the propriety of a young woman staying in the home of a young, single man.”
He frowned. “I did not believe Miss Ellison to be so missish about the opinions of others.”
“And that is the problem. Because she is not, she will not see this as others may. Now I know you can have no interest in my niece”—the hard gaze sharpened—“but there will be some who may ask questions. So in order to allay some of those concerns I propose to employ Lily as a kind of lady’s maid for Lavinia, at least for the next few weeks, until she is safely at home and free from speculation.”
“Lily is but a parlor maid.”
“No matter. She appears a good, pliable girl. With a little training, she will suffice.”
He studied her thoughtfully. “Thus alleviating the lack of chaperone in those first few days. Yes, it has some merit.”
“A great deal of merit I would say.”
Her Lavinia-like remark made him smile.
She appeared nonplussed for a moment before recollecting herself. “It is not just my niece whose reputation is on the line. Yours will be, too, unless something is done.”
“By all means, something must be done. Heaven forbid Lady Milton suspect me of evil intentions.”
“I do not believe Lady Milton would ever consider your intentions untoward.”
“You flatter me, Miss West.”
Another thin smile escaped. “So you’ll permit Lily to enter my employ?”
“I was rather under the impression you already believed she was.”
She had the grace to blush. “I apologize if I have overstepped.”
“Careful, Miss West, lest we find ourselves in agreement again.”
She snorted, amusement flashing in her eyes before her face softened. “Such cursed timing for illness.”
“Illness is never convenient, ma’am.”
“Indeed it is not.”
A knock prefaced Giles’s entry. “The doctor is here, m’lord, Miss West.”
“Thank you, Giles.” Miss West turned, her eyes widening. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Far be it from me to disagree with a lady.”
She shot him a wry smile and moved to the door, leaving him to wonder: was allowing Lavinia’s aunt such free rein mere hospitality, or would it result in turning his life upside down—and be the biggest mistake of his life?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHADOWS POOLED ACROSS the bedroom floor. She glanced at th
e windows, fringed with ivy, the golden leaves a promise of cool nights, apples, the fall harvest. Views of the parkland were made impossible by the bed position so she shifted her attention to the other side of the room. Every gold-etched panel, every piece of handsome mahogany furniture, every silken fold draped from the canopy above, right down to the ornate lotus blossoms carved in the bed frame, she could sketch in her sleep. Such a beautiful room. Such a lovely prison.
She coughed quietly, unwilling to disturb Lily, asleep on a cot in the adjoining chamber.
Lying in bed, her mind vacillated between former rational assurance and a dizzying kind of fog that refused the most basic thought. She longed to scratch at her scabs but every time she tried, Lily would say, “Miss, I beg ye wouldn’t do so!” And she’d refrain—until her protectress left the room and she was free to scratch again.
Sometimes when she slept, the earl visited her dreams—surely a sign she was still unwell. For the things he said and did were nothing like his cold lordship’s self. She could almost see him holding her hand, murmuring sweet words in her ear, looking upon her with soft kindness—such ridiculous things, she would die a thousand deaths before admitting to anyone! But still her mind played tricks, conjuring fantastical things, which could only mean more rest was necessary. Her nose wrinkled. More rest? Her spirit might protest, yet her flesh remained so weak.
Lavinia studied the fireplace, alive with crackling flames that suddenly blurred. Every so often the sadness would slip in, deep and unutterable, surprising her with its intensity. She’d lose her place in conversation or need to hide her face as she remembered the desperation in Bessie’s eyes, the rasping breath of her little babe, the fears of her children whose cup of sorrow had filled years ago. She would try to combat it with the long-ago lessons of choosing to think on good things, to remember the Thatchers were God-fearing people, that Bessie Thatcher would be in heaven now, her hard life behind, an eternity of worship before her. Reading her Bible helped, too, although her eyes grew easily tired and she couldn’t read for long.
But for all her weariness and inability to hold a coherent thought, the hours of enforced rest had made some things clear. Pride had led her here. She who had always justified her actions as her Christian duty had known she was unwell. The earl had correctly challenged her pretensions, but she had ignored him—as usual. But his words of condemnation had wormed a hole in her heart. If he had not found her, she would have blithely gone home, most likely infecting her entire household, and with their recent illnesses, Papa and Aunt Patience might have easily died! Her heedless actions could have led to more deaths. No wonder the earl despised her. Tears burned her eyes.
His dislike had grown more pronounced of late. He’d not visited since Aunt Patience had arrived. Not that she blamed him. Why would he, when all he received from her were sanctimonious sermons about helping others, and constant reminders about his shortcomings. Hadn’t he once decried her earnestness? How self-righteous had she appeared? No wonder the tension between them seemed thicker than the trunk of a three-hundred-year oak tree. What a bore she must seem! She groaned.
“Miss?” Lily’s nutmeg hair shone in the candlelight. “Are you in pain?’
She forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. “No, thank you, Lily.”
The pain she experienced wasn’t physical. It could only be healed by an apology.
Hers.
TWO AFTERNOONS LATER she was reading when Aunt Patience appeared, along with the doctor, and, strangely, the earl. He remained glowering by the door as the doctor approached.
“And how are you feeling today?”
“Much better, Doctor, thank you, although my head still aches, and I feel as if my bones are made of water.”
“It will take some time to recover your strength.” He checked the last remaining spots on her palms and face. “It’s good to see you have escaped the worst of the pox.”
“Thank God.”
He nodded gravely. “Thank God, indeed. Now, your cough? Does it still hurt?”
“Like fire in my chest.”
He frowned. “I really would prefer to see more improvement before you go home.”
“Oh.” Disappointment speared her upper body. “When do you think I can go home?”
“A week? Two? It’s hard to say.”
She bit her lip. Aunt Patience wore a sympathetic smile; the earl’s frown had deepened.
Of course. He would want her gone as soon as possible. He’d be disappointed she was forced to stay another week.
The doctor patted her shoulder. “I know you’re anxious to go home, but if you wish to get better, you must rest.” He turned to the earl. “I’m afraid I need to insist she stay awhile longer.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
“The good news is”—Dr. Hanbury smiled at her—“you’re not infectious anymore, so if you feel strong enough, you have my permission to leave the room the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, but this room and I have become firm friends.”
She glimpsed a wisp of a smile from the earl before it was swiftly replaced by his usual bored expression. Then he and Aunt Patience escorted the doctor away.
She picked up her Bible, flicking it open to where she had been reading this morning her mother’s favorite verse from Second Timothy: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”
She bit her lip. Disappointment might exist, but God’s spirit enabled self-control to push past the negatives to experience peace and love. She meditated on this and was feeling almost reconciled to her prolonged stay when her aunt returned. “I know you’re disappointed.”
“I long to see Papa. His letters are just not the same.”
“Now that you both feel better perhaps he can come visit soon.”
“I’m sure Lord Hawkesbury would love further interruptions.” She sighed. “It feels like years since I was home.”
“I’ll see if another letter has arrived from your papa.” Her aunt departed, replaced by Lily who settled into a chair by the fire with some mending. Lavinia offered her a watery smile and resumed her reading, but could only stare at the page blindly. She willed the tears away—such stupid tears that appeared unbidden so easily these days.
Floorboards creaked. She glanced at the doorway, framing the earl. Something leapt within. Her stupid imagination! She hid conflicting emotions with a smile.
“Come to frighten me, my lord?”
His eyes were cool. “Do you really see me that way, or is that just another of your aggravating remarks?”
Her cheeks heated. She lowered her gaze to her Bible, wishing she could hide under the bedcovers as she had as a child. What kind of Christian example was she? “I’m sorry.”
“Miss Ellison?”
She glanced at Lily, still studiously mending, then looked up at the earl again.
His brow furrowed. “Are you in pain?”
“No, my lord.”
He seemed to hesitate. “May I come in?”
“Yes.”
He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his focus on the coverlet. “I’m sorry you find your stay here so distasteful.”
She swallowed, steadied her voice. “I apologize if I gave that impression. I’m only impatient to see Papa. And I do not wish to be an encumbrance upon you and your household.” She met his somber expression. “I do appreciate all you have done. Everyone has been very kind.”
“Present company excluded.”
“No! I mean yes. Oh, I’m not sure quite what you mean.” She rubbed her forehead. When would she think clearly again?
His eyes softened. “You are unwell. I will leave—”
“Was there something you wanted, sir?”
“Only to assure you that your presence here is not inconvenient, and my staff are desirous of making your stay as comfortable as possible.”
Tears pricked again at his kindness. She blinked them away.
He
stepped closer. “Miss Ellison, have I upset you?”
“No, sir.” She studied her Bible, the words blurry.
Awkward silence filled the room as she waited for him to speak. Her nerves tingled, her heart felt raw and exposed.
“You are Lily’s sole responsibility while you remain here. If you have any particular needs, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced out the window, his gaze restless, not alighting anywhere, much less on her.
Her chest cramped. Her self-righteous behavior had caused this unpleasantness. She should make amends. But how to apologize for a lifetime of principle? She licked her bottom lip. He still refused to look her way. “My lord—”
“Miss Ellison”—his attention returned to her face—“I must apologize for how I spoke to you on that last occasion. I was wrong, and spoke hastily—”
Emotions clashed within, pushing out a hysteria-laden giggle.
His frown deepened. “I suppose you will now say I am often wrong.”
“No!” The laughter died. “I’m sorry you would think that of me.”
“I did not mean—”
“You have had every reason to believe that. I’ve always been your most severe critic.”
He murmured, “Hardly my most severe.”
“You are kind, my lord, when I have often been anything but, and for that”—she waited until the hazel eyes met hers—“I am truly sorry.”
He swallowed. Shook his head.
He didn’t believe her?
“Hawkesbury?” Aunt Patience appeared behind him, frowning. “What are you doing?”
He shot Lavinia a quick glance, turned to her aunt, and bowed. “Leaving.” And with a nod to Lavinia, he departed.
Leaving her feeling emotionally depleted, feeling even worse than before.
And increasingly determined to show him she condemned him no more.
The next morning, having changed from mud-spattered riding dress, Nicholas strode into the hall. Lily stood, wringing her hands.
The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 14
