A Regrettable Proposal

by Jennie Goutet

  “I will,” said Lady Ingram. She signaled for the footman to leave.

  “It will be too much of a trial for one person alone. I suggest at least one other with whom you might share the vigil.” The doctor looked at the earl. “You’re close to the family, I presume?”

  “Yes, I will make myself available as often as I can,” Stratford assured the doctor. He watched him return his tools to his bag, then turned to Lady Ingram. “Might I also suggest Miss Daventry as someone who can assist. She behaved with great presence of mind this morning.”

  Lady Ingram, distracted, only nodded. She waited for the doctor to put his coat back on and said, “I’ll require specific instructions regarding medicine and anything that needs to be done.”

  Stratford took his leave, inclining his head to the surgeon. “I must see that my sisters are brought home. I will receive my directives from Lady Ingram.”

  When he went downstairs, Sir Delacroix and Major Fitzwilliam were gone, and Miss Daventry looked slightly less pale. The tea service had been brought, and she was sitting with Anna and Phoebe, each with a cup of hot tea in her hands. Miss Daventry gestured to an empty chair. “Won’t you please sit, my lord?”

  Stratford was anxious to seek out the major and gain his thoughts on what might have happened to Frederick, and see if he’d had any luck from having Delacroix and Conolly followed. Perhaps Delacroix’s presence this morning was not quite so innocent, although it would not do to rush judgment. He was about to decline the offer to stay when he saw his sisters had barely begun their tea. It would be unfair to rush them off like that. “Thank you,” he said, and sat opposite Miss Daventry.

  “Would you like a cup of tea? Or … something stronger?” Miss Daventry seemed uncertain of herself, playing hostess in a home that was not her own. Lady Ingram would be occupied for as long as Ingram was incapacitated, and who knew when Lydia would rouse herself from her fit of vapors. I should be more charitable, Stratford thought. Lydia’s father had died from a fall while horseback riding.

  “Tea suits me fine, thank you.” Stratford sat, taking the cup of tea from Miss Daventry’s hands that betrayed only the slightest tremor. Good girl, he thought. Lydia cannot appear to advantage beside Miss Daventry’s calm competence. After sipping the tea, he said, “I told Lady Ingram you’d be the best person to share the vigil during Ingram’s convalescence.”

  “I was hoping I might be able to share the burden. I will do so most willingly.” Miss Daventry set her cup on the side table and folded her hands on her lap.

  Anna turned to her brother. “Did the doctor say when Lord Ingram will wake?”

  “Before I left, he showed some signs of consciousness,” Stratford said. “Well, enough to elicit a moan when the doctor handled him. I imagine he’ll be in a great deal of pain, but the doctor left a heavy sedative for when he’s awake enough to drink it. In the meantime, the surgeon is not so worried about his head wound. He thinks it’s superficial and that the shock of pain is what’s keeping him from waking up.”

  “Whatever came of Ingram’s horse?” Phoebe asked.

  “Major Fitzwilliam promised to look into it and see if he can find more clues as to what happened,” Stratford replied.

  Miss Daventry sighed. “That’s a relief. I can’t think why he would have been out at such an hour. It’s rare for him to leave the house before breakfast. I would ask Lydia, but I’m afraid of causing her more pain by having her relive the incident.”

  “Ingram will recover from his fall. As soon as Lydia sees it’s not the same situation as her father, her frame of mind will be restored,” Stratford replied.

  Phoebe shuddered. “I remember the funeral. It was the first time any of our friends suffered such a loss, although who knew at the time that Mama would go that very year. I don’t envy Lydia for suffering the grief of the same accident twice.”

  Stratford swallowed his tea. “Lydia was gay enough when she came home from school the following Christmas. She does not have a long memory for troubles, I assure you.” This was met with indignant protests on all three sides.

  Miss Daventry was the first to defend her friend. “She may seem to move on quickly, but the same forgetfulness applies to remembering her friends’ faults, my lord.” She pressed her lips together, adding, “I knew her those months at school, and I assure you, her grief was deeply felt. I would not have her suffer this for the world.”

  Chastised, Stratford shook his head. “Nor I.” He remembered the charge laid on Ingram to fill his father’s shoes, a task he was only now beginning to understand. Any support Ingram might have gained at his young age, to assist him in stepping into the role, had been stolen by Lydia’s rather dramatic outpouring of grief that had seemed to disappear as soon as it came. Stratford took a breath and spoke. “Perhaps I am severe with her as an older brother might be. I’ve known Lydia her whole life. But I’ve a great deal of affection for her and wish her no misery.” This disclosure was met with silence.

  Stratford, sensing that his impatience with Lydia’s weakness had put him on shaky ground with Miss Daventry, desisted. “Please inform Lady Ingram I will return after supper to learn how I can be of use.”

  The three women stood, and as Phoebe and Anna collected their affairs, Stratford bowed over Miss Daventry’s hand. He had better done to have kept quiet, but he admired the way she leapt to her friend’s defense. When he lifted his head, he met her steady gaze. It would be something to have such loyalty turned toward him.

  R

  Eleanor remained in the drawing room after everyone left. She poured herself a fresh cup of tea and leaned back on the settee. Looking down at her shoes, she realized with a start that she had neither changed her muddy shoes for clean ones, nor had she exchanged her riding habit, now minus a slip, for something more decent. She had given no thought to the fact that she’d paraded around in a dress that was practically see-through.

  It gave a different shade of meaning to Sir Delacroix’s constant regard on their ride home. He had looked her over like a filly at the market every time he thought her head was turned. She set her teacup down, and it clattered on the saucer. Here was someone she aimed never to cross paths with again, and he had come into the house where she was staying. She hoped he would not consider it his introduction to their society.

  Lord Worthing, on the other hand, was more likely to seek out her gaze. She remembered his eyes lifted to hers when he took his leave, apologetic, she thought, for having been impatient with Lydia. He did not always begin by grace, she noticed, and had been hard on Lydia as one he’d known nearly all his life.

  But then he is most sincere in his apologies. This brought an unexpected smile to her face.

  Lord Worthing had surprised her on their walk to town the other day, all but admitting the words he’d doused her with after their waltz at Almack’s had been fickle and indifferent. Another man would have thought it too insignificant to mention. The truth was, he had been in her black books, and she’d been ready to put all thoughts of him from her mind forever. Clearly she’d been mistaken in thinking his growing feelings matched her own. But then …

  I admire you, Miss Daventry … the rich timbre of his voice, the warmth of his arm next to hers.

  She set her teacup on the table and stood, too jumpy to remain idle. Despite all her worries for Lord Ingram and Lydia, her heart felt like air. She must see what Lady Ingram needed. And for heaven’s sake, she must change this dress.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Frederick Ingram woke at his usual time the next morning and, as predicted, with his full mental faculties. He was startled to see Miss Daventry standing at the window of his room and looking out. When he tried to move, he swore under his breath. “Miss Daventry,” he said, then cleared his throat and attempted it again. “Miss Daventry, whatever are you doing in my room unchaperoned, and what in the devil—Sorry. That is to say, what has happened to me?”

  “You had a nasty fall, my lord. Do you remember riding in Hyde
Park yesterday morning?” She hurried to his nightstand to pour a glass of water.

  “Yes, of course, I … I wanted to take Melody for a run. She had not been out. We were about to clear the wooded area and return to the pathway, and that’s the last thing I remember.” He frowned, then groaned as a fresh wave of pain hit him.

  “Here, sir. You must drink this. The doctor has left it behind, and you will feel much more comfortable.” Miss Daventry brought the paregoric draught to him, along with the glass of water, and he drank obediently.

  “How did I come to fall? Who saw it?” Ingram felt his limbs with his free hand and gave a sharp intake of breath. My leg. It appears to be broken.”

  “Yes, my lord. The doctor said Major Fitzwilliam set it beautifully, and it will mend in a trice.” She sat at the side of the bed.

  “Fitzwilliam. So he was there, was he? A good fellow …” Lord Ingram fell silent, lost in rumination.

  Miss Daventry ventured, “Would you like me to fetch Lady Ingram for you?”

  “No, stay a moment. How came you to be nursing me? Has my family used you shockingly?” He looked at her with amusement, but his brows were furrowed with pain. “And was it Major Fitzwilliam who found me in the park?”

  “I’m here because I volunteered.” Miss Daventry’s gaze fell. “Well, Lord Worthing volunteered my services, but it was the very thing I wished to do.”

  “Stratford!” Ingram lifted his eyebrows a fraction, then groaned. “I have the devil of a headache. So Stratford is involved too? The mystery deepens.”

  “Yes, I was with Lord Worthing.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I mean, we were all together. I was with Lydia and Major Fitzwilliam—oh, and Sir Braxsen. And we met, quite by accident, Lord Worthing and his sisters in the park.”

  “Sir Braxsen …” Ingram said. “Go on.”

  “The major galloped ahead of everyone with Lydia—”

  “Major Fitzwilliam matching strides with Lydia? That must have been a merry chase.” Ingram’s lips quivered.

  “Lord Ingram, will you please stop funning. I begin to believe your head injury is worse than the doctor feared.”

  Ingram folded his free arm over the other. “I promise to be a perfect listener.”

  “The major and Lydia galloped ahead,” Miss Daventry repeated, “with Lord Worthing’s sisters not far behind. I … I did not care to gallop just yet, and Lord Worthing was content to remain at my side.” Here Ingram swallowed a laugh, and she glared at him until he stopped. “Finally, we reached the end of the row, and when we turned, something caught my eye—the legs of a man, partly concealed in the bushes. I didn’t know who it was, but I rode around the fence with Lord Worthing to find out.”

  “And it was me,” Ingram concluded. “And my horse? What became of her?”

  “She hadn’t returned to the stables, so after you were brought in, your groom went out to look for her and found her with her reins tangled in a tree branch further in the wooded area. She had no injury, my lord.” Miss Daventry studied him, and he suddenly felt weary, all traces of humor gone. “Shall I tell your mother you’re awake? She has been most anxious.”

  “Stay.” Ingram took her arm in a weak grasp. “I’m feeling tired. You can fetch my mother, but tell me first. Was there anyone else in the park when this happened?”

  “No one, sir. Only … Sir Delacroix came down the path moments later.” Miss Daventry seemed to struggle within herself. “He was most helpful. He had a knife in his saddlebag that we were able to use to create strips of linen to tie your leg—Major Fitzwilliam did that—and Sir Delacroix offered to procure the bolt of fabric with which to carry you. He even remembered the ropes.” She did not meet his gaze.

  “And Stratford was there for all this? For Delacroix’s arrival?”

  “Yes,” said Miss Daventry. “Both Lord Worthing and Sir Delacroix assisted in carrying you. Sir Delacroix offered to take charge if Stratford should wish to ride ahead to ready your household, but Lord Worthing said he would on no account leave you, and he sent Sir Braxsen and your sister to do it.”

  Ingram nodded. Trust Stratford to see to everything. He will follow up if there’s a lead where Delacroix is concerned. His appearance was too smoky by half. “My thanks. Tell my mother to come. Although—” he yawned. “I don’t promise to be awake when she arrives.”

  As he had warned Eleanor, Lord Ingram was sound asleep when his mother came into the room. “Asleep,” she exclaimed, turning to Eleanor. “Why did you not fetch me the moment he awoke?”

  Eleanor responded quietly. “I would have. He did not permit it. He wanted to know exactly what happened to him first so I gave him all the details in my possession.”

  Lady Ingram’s gaze returned to her son, who emitted a small snore, which seemed to reassure her. “Thank you, Eleanor. That will be all.”

  Eleanor left the room and paused with her hand on the bannister, wondering if it were too early to wake Lydia. Before she turned to go, Hartsmith, Lord Ingram’s butler, called to her from the end of the corridor and started forward. He said, “My lady has informed me that Lord Ingram was awake. Might I ask you to pass a message to him from me?”

  Eleanor’s brow creased. “Lord Ingram has taken a sedative and is asleep again. Why could you not have spoken to Lady Ingram if you wished to see him?”

  Hartsmith ignored the question. “Miss Daventry, I ask that you inform me when he awakens again. If possible, before he has taken his sedative and without Lady Ingram’s knowledge.”

  He saw her confusion and added, “I assure you it’s nothing of a dubious nature, but only what he would wish me to do himself. Something has occurred that Lord Ingram foresaw as a possibility, and he expressed his desire for the household to remain unconcerned with the details. As you and Lady Ingram have taken over his nursing, and Lord Ingram was very specific about Lady Ingram remaining in total ignorance on the matter, I ask that you notify me as soon as he is awake again. I believe if you mention I wish to see him on the private matter we discussed, you will find he is eager to receive me.”

  Eleanor could not find fault with his request if Lord Ingram were indeed willing, although she could not like doing anything without Lady Ingram’s knowledge. But surely, if Lord Ingram approved there could be no cause to worry. “I will let you know once he is awake,” she promised.

  She went into Lydia’s room and found her with swollen eyes, lying in near darkness. “I told you to get out,” Lydia yelled. Then, with a sniff, she added, “Please.”

  “Lydia, it is I. You must get up and stop torturing your well-meaning servants.” Eleanor strode across the room and opened the curtains. “Your brother is fine. He woke up this morning.” She turned and offered her friend a tired smile.

  Lydia threw off the covers and sat up. “He woke up? Let me go see him.” She scrambled to put on her slippers before Eleanor stopped her.

  “No, he awoke, but the draught the doctor had him take has put him out again. There’s no sense in rushing to his side. Your mother is there. What I think you need is a good cup of tea and something in your stomach.” Eleanor walked over to the bed. “I’m going to call your maid to assist you. Unless you’ve sent them all packing.”

  “I couldn’t bear to have people talk to me,” Lydia said with a sniff. “I was so worried.”

  Eleanor gave her friend a hug. “I understand. And now you see you have no further cause to be. Come, let us eat something.” She reached for the bell.

  When Lydia had seen for herself that her brother was sleeping and didn’t look so pale as he had yesterday, she was ready to partake of a late breakfast and made a good appetite of it. Ingram had even mumbled in protest when she got too loud to “stop her yammering and let a body sleep.” Thus reassured, and at the urging of her mother, she and Eleanor left for the modiste to collect the latest gowns she had ordered. “A return to your routine will do you good, and it will quell any rumors,” her mother had said.

  They exited the shop into th
e noonday sun with Lydia carrying three bandboxes. The footman took them from her and stowed them in the waiting carriage. He opened the door, but their departure was stayed by someone calling their names.

  “Miss Daventry, Miss Ingram. Just the ones I wished to see. May I inquire how your brother is faring?” Lord Carlton was breathless, having rushed out of Brooke’s, where he must have spied them from within.

  “So you know about that, do you?” Lydia pressed her lips together.

  “I’m afraid it cannot be helped. His … he was carried up Park Lane, and it’s impossible to dampen people’s curiosity—”

  “Vulgar!” interjected Lydia with a stamp of her foot. “People only care about the latest on-dit.”

  “I don’t deny it,” protested Lord Carlton. “However, Lord Ingram is very well liked, and people in the club want to know how he goes on.”

  After a pause, Lydia softened. “He was awake this morning. I thank you for your concern.”

  “Will he make a full recovery, then?” Lord Carlton beamed at them both. “That would be good news indeed.”

  Eleanor answered on Lydia’s behalf. “He seemed to be in good spirits when I spoke with him earlier.”

  “I don’t dare ask if you will attend Mrs. Drewmont’s assembly.” This was directed at Eleanor. Lydia could barely contain her impatience to be off and took a step toward the waiting conveyance.

  “I’m afraid we’re not entering society at present,” returned Eleanor, with a gentle nod to Lord Carlton. Eleanor followed Lydia into the carriage and watched through the window as Lord Carlton continued down the street with a frown.

  R

  Stratford sat at the table at White’s that always seemed to be waiting for him when he arrived. He was tired, having volunteered—no, insisted—on taking the night shift with Ingram until Miss Daventry had relieved him at dawn, fresh and welcome in the morning sunlight. The long night had left him alone with his thoughts as he tried to piece the clues together. Yes, Delacroix continued to have a run of bad luck, and though he was mistrusted by some, there were others who took him up. According to Fitz, following Delacroix and Conolly so far had come up with nothing.