Ruined

by Ann Barker

  ‘I am the Reverend Percival Goode,’ he said. ‘You are Lord Ashbourne, I believe.’

  ‘I am. I’m good neither by name nor by nature, but I’m dying and I need you to marry me to this lady.’

  ‘Certainly; if the lady is willing.’

  ‘I’m willing,’ Jessie agreed, stepping forward.

  It was a wedding ceremony unlike any Jessie had ever attended, or indeed any in which she had ever imagined herself taking part. Raff spoke his responses clearly, but in a weak thread of a voice, while Jessie spoke hers with a calmness which differed wildly from the turmoil which she felt within. The very thing that she had always dreaded concerning her wedding, namely, the need to state her real name, passed by without anyone even giving a sign of having noticed. Mr Hinder and Pointer were the witnesses and the only other people present. To Jessie’s great surprise, Hinder brought out a ring of just the right size at the appropriate moment, then helped Raff to slide it on to her finger.

  After the short ceremony was over, Raff sighed and closed his eyes. Jessie stood with Hinder and Pointer by the bedroom door after the clergyman had gone, and swore them to secrecy. ‘I should so much dislike any word to get out before Lady Agatha and Lord Ilam can be told in person,’ she said. Inwardly, she had already resolved that she would never profit from this hasty marriage. She had refused to marry him in life. She would not lay claim to his property once he was dead. Hinder and Pointer would, she was sure, keep her secret. As for the clergyman, she would never see him again.

  The night began quietly, but later, his lordship went into a high fever. ‘Perhaps we should have let the doctor blood him after all, miss,’ said Pointer. ‘My lady, I should say.’

  ‘Oh no, pray do not,’ Jessie begged. ‘Remember that I said we should keep it secret. No, Pointer, I’m glad we sent the doctor away. It cannot possibly be good for a man who has lost so much blood to lose more.’ Although she spoke so confidently, she still found herself a prey to doubt, especially when she was watching alone in the sickroom, Pointer having taken his turn to rest. Mr Hinder had gone back to Sloane Street in order to inform Mrs Machin of the current state of affairs. He had promised to return the next day to take a turn at Ashbourne’s bedside. Neither of them had voiced the thought that was uppermost in both their minds: if he lived that long.

  Shortly after Jessie had begun her watch, the earl started to become agitated, first of all simply turning his head restlessly from side to side, then pulling his arms from beneath the covers and tossing and turning with increasing violence until Jessie became afraid that he would dislodge his dressings. He talked in his delirium as well, sometimes muttering, sometimes shouting out loud. Occasionally, Jessie would catch odd words. He spoke his son’s name several times and sometimes her own, but nothing that he said made any sense. This was terrifying enough, but after a while, he suddenly became quite still and silent, and for a few dreadful moments, Jessie thought that he had died.

  She leaned forward to listen for his breathing, hardly daring to breathe herself, and placed a hand over his heart. Then somehow, inexplicably, the nature of the silence appeared to change, and Jessie turned her head to discover that his eyes were open and he was looking straight at her, but without recognizing her, his eyes hectic with fever. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said, and placing one hand behind her head, he pressed her closer and kissed her full on the mouth.

  Struggling was out of the question. For one thing, she did not want to do anything to dislodge the dressings on his wounds. More importantly, however, she heard a voice deep inside saying, this may be your last chance. Far from pulling away from him, therefore, or even simply staying passive in his embrace, she leaned into the kiss, giving all of herself into the caress, bracing herself with one hand beside him, whilst she cradled his cheek with the other. Then as they drew apart, and he lapsed once more into a fitful slumber, she allowed herself the luxury of lying beside him, her head on the same pillow. After all, he is my husband, she told herself, and the only husband that she would ever have. Whatever happened, she would not marry Henry Lusty now.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lord and Lady Ilam arrived the following evening, accompanied by Lady Agatha. Jessie and Eustacia embraced one another warmly, the latter enquiring tentatively about the health of Lord Ashbourne, for she remembered how Jessie had confessed her love for the dissolute nobleman.

  Lady Agatha greeted her companion sympathetically, but in a more restrained style, for she and Jessie had never been effusive in their relationship with one another. ‘I take it my fool of a brother is still alive,’ Lady Agatha said, her careless tone rather belied by the shadow of anxiety in her eyes. ‘What the deuce did he do to get himself into this mess, anyway?’

  ‘He was injured in a duel,’ Jessie replied.

  The earl’s sister gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Over a woman, I expect,’ she said. Jessie prudently remained silent concerning the cause of the duel. Involuntarily, her fingers touched her wedding ring, which she had slipped off her finger and wore on a chain about her neck.

  ‘Has the doctor been today?’ Ilam asked. ‘What does he say about my father’s condition?’

  ‘The doctor came this morning,’ answered Jessie. ‘He is surprised that Raff has held on for so long, but he still does not expect him to … to …’ She had been determined to be strong, but now that others had arrived who could share the burden, her voice gave way, and she burst into tears. At once she found herself gathered into Ilam’s powerful embrace.

  For a short time, the viscount let her have her cry out. Physically, he and his father were alike, although Ilam was a little more heavily built than Ashbourne. ‘You have had to bear this alone, but we’re here to help now,’ he said eventually. ‘How did you come to be called, by the way?’

  Jessie had had time to think about an answer to this question. ‘His second knew that I was a friend of the family,’ she said, drawing back from Ilam with a word of thanks, and taking out her handkerchief.

  ‘May we go to see him?’ Ilam asked. Lest the sickroom should be too crowded, Eustacia stayed downstairs, whilst Jessie conducted Lady Agatha and Ilam to Ashbourne’s room.

  ‘Pointer is watching him at the moment,’ said Jessie, as she quietly opened the door. The valet was sitting by the bed, but he stood up as the three of them came in. ‘How is he?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘Drifting in and out of consciousness, ma’am,’ answered the valet. He dropped his voice. ‘At one point, I thought that … that …’ He did not finish his sentence.

  Lady Agatha walked over to the bed and stared down at the still figure of Lord Ashbourne. He did indeed look as though he were barely alive. ‘He is my brother,’ she said decisively, ‘and if anyone is going to decide that he will die, I shall do it, and not some scoundrel of a doctor with nothing but sawdust in his cockloft.’

  From then on, life became much easier for Jessie. Logically, she knew that it was much better that more people should help with the nursing, but part of her resented the fact that she no longer spent so much time with him. He is my husband, after all, she told herself. Then she remembered that it was her own decision that no one should be informed about their marriage until Lady Agatha and Ilam knew, and she just could not think how to tell them. To do so whilst Ashbourne’s life hung in the balance seemed wrong. The more time elapsed since his injury, the more she began to hope that he might actually recover. If he does get better, we will tell them together, she told herself. She dared not think about what his reaction might be. After all, he had been on the point of getting engaged to Lady Gilchrist.

  As the days went by, the earl seemed set to give the lie to the doctor’s diagnosis. Lady Agatha, once she had met the physician and spoken with him, developed a greater degree of respect than she had had for him at first, and she took over the chief role in discussing the earl’s condition. Jessie tried not to feel resentful. Until Ashbourne’s sister and son had arrived he had been nearly all hers. At least no one had suggested that she shoul
d move back to Sloane Street. She was not sure how she could have borne it had she not been permitted to take an active share in the nursing.

  For this mercy, she had Eustacia to thank. Ilam had indeed suggested that Jessie should go back to Henrietta, but his wife had said that she should not be expected to leave. ‘It would be too cruel,’ she told him. ‘If your father dies, she should not be denied the chance of being with him until the last. Besides, I think that Aunt Agatha is glad to have her here.’

  Ilam grinned ruefully. ‘She and my father have never been close, but I think that his injury has made her realize how much she would miss him if he were not there.’

  ‘She would have no one to accuse of dragging the family name through the mud,’ Eustacia agreed.

  So Jessie was allowed to stay, and day by day, as the earl’s condition very slowly improved, she began to hope; but to hope for what? For his recovery, yes; but for anything more? She did not dare.

  Ashbourne opened his eyes, his head feeling curiously light. A moment or two’s inspection of his surroundings told him that he was in his bedroom at Berkeley Square. He could not remember how he came to be there, but it did not seem to matter very much. He tried to lift his head off the pillow, and found that he did not have the strength. That did not seem to matter much either. Cautiously, he turned his head to one side, and that seemed to be quite possible. A woman was sitting writing at a table in the window and, to his surprise, he recognized her as his sister.

  ‘That’s absurd,’ he said out loud. ‘She’d never cross my threshold.’

  Lady Agatha turned her head at the sound of his voice, and got up to come and stand by the bed. ‘So you’ve decided to rejoin the land of the living, have you?’ she said.

  ‘So it would seem,’ he agreed. ‘Disappointed?’

  She raised her brows, so like his both in shape and in colour. ‘Hardly. You would have no business to be dying without my permission.’

  He chuckled. ‘Are there any other members of my family in attendance?’

  ‘Ilam is here. He’s sat with you from time to time. I must go and tell him that you have woken up.’

  As she left the room, he frowned. He was sure that someone else had been sitting with him at times, someone who was very important to him. He was still puzzling over the matter when he dozed off again.

  The next time he woke up, two men were talking in low tones at the foot of the bed. One of them he recognized as being his son. ‘Good day, Ilam,’ he murmured. ‘At least, I assume it is day.’

  The two men broke off their conversation, and the one whom Ashbourne did not recognize approached the bed and took hold of his wrist. ‘Good day, my lord,’ he said. ‘I’m Dr Prentiss.’

  ‘Have you been attending me throughout?’ the earl asked.

  ‘I have, my lord.’

  ‘My thanks. Am I going to live, do you think?’

  ‘More than likely,’ the doctor replied. ‘You have been ill for some days, however, and need to give yourself time to recover.’ He turned to Ilam. ‘Your father will need great care for some time.’

  ‘It shall be done,’ said Ilam.

  ‘Will it? By you?’ said Ashbourne quizzically.

  ‘Only until I get the chance to smother you so that I can be Lord Ashbourne,’ answered his son in much the same vein.

  The earl chuckled. ‘May I have a drink?’ he asked. ‘I’m feeling devilish thirsty.’

  ‘I think Jessie is bringing some lemonade,’ said Ilam.

  ‘Jez!’ Ashbourne murmured his brow lightening. ‘That’s who it must have been.’

  As if she had been summoned up by the speaking of her name, Jessie came into the room, a tray in her hands. Her arrival seemed to be a signal for the doctor to announce his departure. ‘I’ll be back in the morning,’ he said, turning to Lord Ilam. ‘In the meantime, my lord, I will give you more detailed instructions concerning his lordship’s care.’

  ‘Of course, it’s nothing to do with me,’ murmured Ashbourne as they left. He watched Jessie as she crossed the room holding the tray. As she walked, she glanced at him, blushed and looked down. He eyed her curiously. She was dressed in a gown of dull gold, which seemed to bring out the lights in her soft brown hair, which was gathered loosely in a knot on top of her head. As he observed her, a shaft of sunlight caught a few tendrils of her hair, turning them to gold. To Ashbourne at that moment, she seemed to be very pretty; no, not pretty – winsome was the word. He was also conscious of finding her very desirable. It was almost as though he was seeing her for the first time. ‘Thank you,’ he said, as she put the tray down on a table close to the bed. ‘I’m not at all sure that I can sit up, though.’

  ‘I can’t lift you on my own,’ she said, smiling. She looked a little self-conscious.

  ‘Do you mean that you’ve tried? Jez, I have a feeling that you’ve been helping to nurse me, but I can’t for the life of me remember anything about it. How do you come to be here? Did someone send for you?’

  She had been standing quite close to him. Now, she turned away, busying herself with tidying the coverlet. When she looked back at him, it seemed that the rosy glow had gone from her face, leaving her looking suddenly much older.

  ‘Do you remember anything about how you come to be here?’ she asked.

  He wrinkled his brow. ‘I think I took part in a duel,’ he answered slowly. ‘I can’t for the life of me remember why.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it was important,’ she replied colourlessly.

  He reached out and caught hold of her hand. ‘Jez, have I hurt you, offended you by anything I’ve done or said? If I did anything to distress you whilst I was in my delirium, then I would be begging your pardon.’

  ‘There was nothing,’ she answered. ‘Please let go of me.’ At that moment, Ilam came back to help his father sit up. As Jez brought the glass to Raff and held it so that he could drink, he looked into her eyes, which now seemed so desolate, with tears not far away. For no reason that he could fathom, he suddenly felt guilty.

  Guilt was not something that he was accustomed to feeling with regard to women. Now however, perhaps because he was forced to be inactive and, despite the kindness of those caring for him, often on his own, he found that as time went by he was thinking about Jez’s feelings more than he had ever done before. Her withdrawal from him had been quite marked. Increasingly, he began to think that he must have done something to distress her whilst in his delirium; something that he needed to apologize for. Perhaps if he did so, that glowing smile would return to her face. To see it again was becoming an ambition with him.

  As the days went by, he began to recall, first hazily, then in more detail, the events that had taken place in London after Jez’s arrival. In particular, he remembered seeing her at the theatre, then accompanying her to Vauxhall. In his mind, he contrasted her elegant, restrained appearance with that of some of the other women he knew, who seemed determined to show off their charms or their jewellery, or more frequently as much as possible of both. How austere and incongruous, yet how arresting she had looked standing in the brothel.

  His mind gave a start of surprise. A brothel! What had she been doing in a brothel? Ah yes, she had been looking for her friend. What had happened then? It was no good. He could not remember, and he did not want to ask her for fear of hurting her. The need to protect Jez from hurt was becoming important to him. Slowly, he was remembering how his feelings for her had changed.

  It was not long afterwards that Jez came to his room with a tray containing some tea and biscuits, both of which he was now allowed. He had noticed that since the others had arrived she came to his room much less frequently, and never unless she had some sort of errand to perform. He was already half sitting up, since now that he was slowly recovering, he did not like to lie down all the time.

  Once inside the room, she hesitated, looking round. ‘I thought that Pointer was here,’ she said.

  ‘I sent him out for some fresh air,’ Ashbourne replied. ‘You don’t
need him, do you?’

  Jessie looked at him as he lay back against the pillows, his long black hair loose about him, his white night shirt with the top three buttons undone, so that a hint of chest hair was visible. He looked devastatingly attractive as always. He was her husband, yet he did not remember it, and he was as much out of her reach as he had ever been. In the circumstances, drawing closer to him was probably not the wisest thing; yet if he was to drink the tea that she had brought, she needed to put one more pillow behind him. She paused for a moment in indecision.

  While she was still standing there, he spoke. ‘If I’m to drink that tea, I’ll need another pillow. Can you manage, or shall I ring the bell?’

  ‘I think I can manage,’ she answered. She approached with the pillow in her hand, then laid it down on the table next to the bed. ‘Can you lean forward a little?’ she asked.

  He tested his strength for a moment, then said, ‘I regret to say, not without help.’

  She leaned towards him, resting one knee on the bed and, after a little hesitation, put her hand round and behind him, saying, ‘If you would but lean against me …’ She felt him put his arm around her shoulders, then for a moment too his full weight, which was considerable, even though it was only the upper part of his body, and he had lost some weight by virtue of his injury. She knew straight away that she could not manage to put the pillow behind him as well as lift him, but it was dangerously sweet to feel him pressed close to her in this way.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t …’ He leaned back, but her hand was still trapped behind him, and for a moment, their faces were very close. Her gaze fluttered down to his lips – lips that had bruised hers just a few nights before when he had seized her in his delirium, and then fluttered back until their eyes met.