by Tessa Candle
Mr. Norwood swallowed. “We should thank your lordship for indulging our irregular visit.” They all stood and made their adieus, and he added, “We wish your brother a speedy recovery. Please give him our best wishes. And I hope we shall see you at Nesterling ere long.”
“Indeed,” added Lydia, desperate to make herself feel less like a deplorable fraud, “it would be a great honour, my lord. And beyond that, we should be most happy for the visit.” It was awkward, but the most sincere thing she had said the entire call.
When they walked to their carriage, they saw that Lord Aldley had not yet left. He was attempting, with the aid of another man, to lift a third, struggling man into the carriage.
From the state of his clothing, he had been on the ground. So this was the earl's brother-in-law. Lydia averted her eyes, for she thought it must be quite embarrassing for the man to have others witness his inability. They all seemed to have the same instinct, and moved to their carriage without comment.
But as she was handed in, the disabled man turned and yelled, “There's a fine tail. Where have you been hiding this little bit of muslin, Aldley? Why don't you lovelies join me at Essington Hall. Always room for fetching wenches.” Lydia actually gasped, and her father's mouth hung open.
Lord Aldley stuffed the man rather roughly into the carriage and slammed the door.
He then turned with a pained look to Lydia and her father, and called, “I beg your forgiveness for my brother-in-law's conduct. He is truly unwell, on laudanum for his legs, and has quite taken leave of his senses. I am afraid it is better if we leave quickly. But it was my great pleasure to see you and your daughter again, Mr. Norwood. And to meet you, Miss Ravelsham. Good day.” Despite his stoic politesse, there was colour high in his cheeks.
Her father only bowed.
When they had settled into the carriage, he said, “Good lord, do you know that man is a viscount—Lord Aldley's brother-in-law, I mean—Lord Essington. We've not been introduced, but I know of him. I had not thought I should ever have to protect you from the insufferable affronts of so many upper class bounders.”
“I do not blame Lord Aldley, but I must admit that it was shocking. Having recently experienced the effects of laudanum, I cannot believe Lord Essington's incivility to be entirely the result of the drug.”
“Indeed,” added Tilly, her lips twitching slightly. “And all this incivility comes at the end of a rather bizarre visit. I think I shall find normal social calls utterly dull after today.”
Lydia shook her head. “For my part, I think I should greatly prefer a nice dull chat about Miss Delacroix's latest bonnet.”
“Well a closer acquaintance may be inescapable now that you have had tea with her brother, the viscount. There may be many such chats in your future, so you will be happy.” Tilly chuckled at Lydia's pained facial expression. “But I believe I may have to hire someone in London to hurl obscene insults at me as I step into my carriage, else I may expire from the relative tedium of polite morning visits.”
Mr. Norwood, unusually inattentive to the diversion of Tilly's wit, remarked solemnly, “At least we know Delacroix has not said anything to contradict our version of things.”
“Nor is he likely to, for the time being. These fevers are not to be taken lightly.” Tilly was glib.
“No, I recall that Doctor Gant said as much.” It was a relief to Lydia.
“We might still have some hope that we shall finally be done with him, then, say it as I shouldn't.” Mr. Norwood smiled a little.
“I cannot help but feel sorry for the viscount, though. Is it possible that he could be unaware of his brother's character?” Lydia still felt guilt for deceiving the troubled man.
“I think not. At least not entirely. I believe he is just a kind man and a good brother.” Tilly's face looked suddenly serious. “He may be hoping that the experience will make a better man out of Delacroix.”
Mr. Norwood huffed. “I should as soon expect a dog's hind leg to turn into a walking stick.”
“And we had best pray that they do not ever find that driver.” Lydia's stomach turned at the thought. It was unjust that she should have to go to such lengths to hide the crime committed against her.
And what would Lord Aldley think when he found out the truth? Mr. Rutherford was one of his closest friends. He would not wish to withhold the real story from Lord Aldley. Was there any point at all in concealing this blight on her reputation, if it were not concealed from the earl?
Chapter 25
Lydia walked into the library at Nesterling. She loved the treated leather smell of the bindings and the insulated quiet created by the stacks of books. It was as though she were among a jumble of various friends, some prim, some unruly, but each silently greeting her as she passed.
She made her way to the south corner to bask in a sun-drenched seat by the window and perhaps nap or enjoy a little light reading. Then she saw Mr. Rutherford reaching up for a book in one of the stacks.
“Mr. Rutherford! What are you doing in the library? The doctor has directed you to stay in bed.”
“I thought if I were to be condemned to bed rest, I might at least have something to read.”
“Why did you not have Smythe assist you?” Lydia knew she sounded like a governess, but she could not help being worried.
“I have sent Smythe back to London to run things there, and to send me some clothes—in truth, just to be rid of his clucking about like a hen with one chick.” Rutherford laughed. “So I am on my own, now. But you shan't cry rope on me to the doctor, now, shall you?”
Lydia smiled conspiratorially. “I suppose we are already bound together by our secrets. What is one more little concealment? But could you not have asked someone else to fetch books for you?”
“I know you love books, so I should not have to explain the importance of browsing for oneself to find just the thing.” He was still a little pale, but even when sickly, his smile retained its rakish charm.
Lydia smiled back warmly. “I cannot deny that I know precisely what you mean. However, I can see from your face that you are in pain.”
He winced. “Well, a bit. One does not realize how much one uses the shoulder in the simple act of walking, for example, or looking up at a shelf full of books.” She could see blood seeping through his bandage.
“Oh no. You are bleeding again. Please, you must return to bed. Come, I shall walk with you. I can bring you a selection of my favourites. Would you not like that?”
“Indeed I should.” He looked ready to swoon.
They had almost reached his bedside, when Rutherford collapsed suddenly. Lydia caught him under his good shoulder and tipped him to slide onto the bed, but was encumbered by his great weight. She found herself trapped awkwardly under his limp body.
She was struggling to free herself and her skirts from this entanglement, without hurting the patient, when she heard a voice from the doorway.
“Oh, I beg your pardon! Excuse me.” It was Aldley. She recognized the voice, the beautiful voice, though she could not quite see him from her current position.
Her face burned with shame as she struggled yet harder to free herself. But her thrusting and pulling had the unfortunate effect of turning and jostling the unconscious form of Mr. Rutherford, so that he appeared to be roiling about on top of her.
This made the situation look so much worse. What an utter catastrophe of humiliation! And Rutherford showed no sign of awakening. She tried to shake him awake gently, but to no avail. Then she realized with fresh mortification that, under the circumstances, the gesture might look like a passionate caress.
She winced. All the blood in her body rushed to her cheeks and ears. Aldley must be shocked beyond speech by such a scene of infamy. Why was he always popping up at the worst possible moments?
She waved her free hand in the direction of the doorway.
“My lord, could you please be so kind as to lend us your assistance?” she called out in a voice muffled by the collectio
n of manly bulk and fabric that pinned her to the bed. “Mr. Rutherford has fainted on me.”
“My lord?”
But no answer came. The earl had already gone away.
When Lydia finally managed to disentangle herself, she called for a servant to fetch the doctor. She then rushed to enquire after Lord Aldley's whereabouts.
“He didn't stay, Miss. He said that Mr. Rutherford was sleeping, and that he would come again another time. He left straight away.”
Her heart sank, and she covered her mortified face with her hands. What he must be thinking. But irritation soon roused her from this swoon of ruined dignity.
She could not waste time worrying about the earl's feelings, at the moment. If he had helped her instead of running off in a fit of pique, they might have got assistance for his friend that much more quickly.
She returned to Mr. Rutherford's bedside, checking his breathing and looking with worry at the spreading bloom of red at his shoulder. He groaned in pain. She brought him another dose of laudanum.
“Well, Mr. Rutherford, at least you have one sensible friend to watch over you.” It was Tilly returned from her walk with Mr. DeGroen.
Rutherford smiled briefly and closed his eyes, as Tilly drew Lydia across the room.
“I saw Lord Aldley bolting for his carriage, just as I reached the house. He did not look pleased. Let me guess, his lordship grossly misinterpreted your attending to Mr. Rutherford?” Tilly smirked and shook her head.
“I am not entirely sure what interpretation he gave events, but he witnessed my trying to prevent his friend from falling in a dead faint onto the floor. I ending up entangled under Rutherford on the bed. And by the way Lord Aldley tore out of here...”
To Lydia's horror, Tilly began shaking with laughter.
“How can you laugh at such a catastrophe?” Lydia glared at her. “I thought I should die of humiliation.”
“Do not worry, my dear friend. All will be explained, and he will realize he has been a colossal fool. In the meantime it is a good sign that he is not indifferent to you.” Tilly's face glowed happily.
“I sometimes find your perspective on events alarmingly mercenary. I suppose I should be reassured by that, but the whole situation is mortifying. And I find, at present, I am far too worried that Mr. Rutherford has taken a turn for the worse to contemplate how the fractious Lord Aldley's feelings might be soothed.” Lydia scowled and walked back to the bed to cover Rutherford properly with the blanket.
“To be honest, if I were you, Mr. Rutherford would probably put all thoughts of the earl out of my mind entirely.” Tilly smacked her lips.
“I know what you are implying. And after our most recent encounters—or let us say social brushes, I am not sure what exactly Lord Aldley is thinking. But I am not throwing myself at Mr. Rutherford.”
Lydia sighed and added, “I deeply respect him for his bravery. He saved me and I shall forever be in debt to him. In fact, I hope we shall become very good friends, for I find I enjoy his company. But even to think of anything more seems indecent. And nor should you be speaking this way, for you are betrothed.”
“Betrothed, not dead.” Tilly was laughing again, shamelessly. “However, as you are so very serious and prudent, I shall not tease you anymore.”
It was nearly dinner before the doctor arrived. Mr. Rutherford had awoken once, taken some broth and more laudanum, then gone back to sleep.
Rutherford's mind was foggy, but he was conscious enough to receive a lecture from the doctor, who frowned as he changed the dressing and said, “I do not just give you instructions for my own amusement, you know. You must remain still and rest.”
“I am sorry. It is hard to stay in bed. When can I return home?” Rutherford's face was still pale.
“Travelling?” Dr. Gant was aghast. “I must strenuously recommend against any removal for some time. I shall be guided by the rate of healing, of course. We shall know more in a few days. But if you keep reopening your wound, you will not get out of this bed for a very long time.”
“I apologize.” Rutherford looked sheepish. “I shall try to be a model patient from now on. I only hate imposing on Mr. and Mrs. Norwood.”
“You should not think on it.” Mr. Norwood spoke firmly. “I will not hear of your removal until you are quite sound. We are all most anxious to do anything to aid your comfort and recovery.”
“Yes, most certainly, Mr. Rutherford.” Tilly smiled sweetly at the patient. “You should know how very eager we all are to attend to your every comfort.”
Chapter 26
“For the love of God, go!” Tilly threw up her hands in exasperation and paced across the sickroom to adjust the drapes. Sunshine lit up her curls and travelled on to land on the shoulder wound of the sleeping Mr. Rutherford.
“Are you sure?” Lydia bit her lip.
“Honestly, Lydia, you have become almost morbid, hanging about in this room, drooping over Mr. Rutherford like an apprehensive pall. Ari knows you are here. Go ride him, or you will break his heart.”
“And you will watch over Mr. Rutherford and send for me if there is any change?” Lydia implored. “I shall be riding along the north path.”
“Indeed I shall, but you know there is no servant that can catch up to you and Ari.” Tilly shook her head. “And anyway, there will not be any change. He has only slept, sipped soup and taken medicine this whole morning. He is doing precisely as the doctor instructed. Now go take some fresh air, I beg of you.”
“But you are sure that you do not mind?”
“Mind getting this luscious specimen of manhood all to myself?” Tilly laughed. “Yes, it will be a great imposition, but I shall bear it as best I can.”
Lydia looked scandalized. “You mustn't talk like that! What if someone hears you?”
Tilly wiggled her eyebrows and waved her hand at the door. “Be off with you! You have your own stallion waiting.”
When her friend finally left, Tilly reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a small book. “And now I shall read to you as you sleep, Mr. Rutherford. I understand it aids the healing process. And even if you do not find this amusing, I certainly shall.”
After Tilly had regaled him with humorous and often utterly filthy poems for a good half an hour, Rutherford stirred suddenly.
“Are you awake, sir?” She tucked the book back into her pocket.
“I am not certain. Either I am awake and hearing a litany of amusing verses which are alarmingly inappropriate reading material for a young lady, or I am having a rather pleasant dream. It is hard to say, the medicine makes one so groggy.” His grin was dreamy.
“Indeed. It must be the medicine, for I was reading to you from Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women, just now. What sort of naughty dreams were you having?”
“I shall never tell.” He winked. “But I am not to be blamed when such a beautiful creature sits beside my bed.”
“You are frank. I suppose that is the medicine, too.”
“Perhaps. It might be better if you do not get too close, for who knows what other effects the medicine might have? What did you call me? A luscious specimen of manhood?” Rutherford cocked one brow. “If I am frank, you are overtly inviting. Who could resist such an allurement?”
“I had no idea you were listening, sir.” She did not even pretend to blush, and her tongue ran a little over her top lip. “Is it not unfair to use words gleaned from spying against the victim of your espionage?”
“You can hardly call lying in my own sickbed intentionally spying.”
“You could have made your presence—or shall we say your presence of mind—known. It is as good as skulking about in a closet.” She ran her fingers lightly over her collarbone. “But I shall forgive you, if you overlook my girlish indiscretions.”
“I should never call them girlish—or you, for that matter. But promise me you will dance with me at the next available opportunity, and I shall almost forget to have heard you.”
“Almost. So that
is how you bargain. Very well, if you recover, and we are ever invited to the same ball I shall dance with you. I suppose I might invite you to my wedding celebration.”
He screwed up his face. “Surely you cannot say such things about me and yet still be considering marrying that stupid fellow.”
“He is not stupid, and yes, we are still betrothed. That does not mean I do not have eyes in my head.” She smiled and took in his form again, which was stellar, even in its current pathetic state.
“Where is he then? If I were your fiancé, I should not give you a moment's peace.” His tone was humorous, but there was heat in his voice.
“I believe the steward is giving him and my brother a tour of some of the farming operations.”
“That sounds rather tedious. What a fool. But his loss is my gain.” He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
“He is not a fool, I assure you. I should never marry a fool. But I am sorry to have thrown you into confusion. I am not a coquette, you know. Truly I am not. You just caught me in a private moment with my friend. Girls' silly talk. However, I do hope we shall be friends, now, Mr. Rutherford—now that we have shared in this whole conspiracy to protect Lydia's honour.”
“I shall always think of you in friendly terms, I believe, Miss Ravelsham. That will not be a problem. Speaking of Miss Norwood—where is she?”
“She is off riding Aristophanes, while she still may, as he now belongs to your friend.”
“Yes, but I think Aldley will be more than happy to leave the horse at Nesterling for the foreseeable future.” Rutherford rolled his eyes.
“I hope you are right. He was here, you know. To visit you.”
“Was he? You should have wakened me.”
“I mean, he was here yesterday. Right before your turn for the worse—or should I say, at the precise moment of your turn for the worse.” Tilly gave him a meaningful look.
“Really? So it was while I was insensible. That laudanum knocks me out.”
