by Kelly Boyce
Spence needed to sit down but he couldn’t move. Next to him, Caelie drew closer and tightened her hold on his arm. He leaned against her as much as he dared. He didn’t want to, but his legs were doing funny things and he couldn’t think straight. Save for one thought that screamed above the roar.
This was his fault.
“Where is he? He’s not…tell me he isn’t—” He could not say the word. He could not even think it, afraid if he did it would make it true. And it couldn’t be true, because he could not live without his friend. Bowen was like a brother to him.
Grandmother sprang off the sofa and hurried toward him. “No! No.” She took Spence’s free hand in her own. They were cold as ice. Or was that him? “He is upstairs.”
Relief swept through Spence and he stumbled back a step. Caelie’s hold kept him in place though and he quickly regained his footing. Bowen lived. He was fine. Everything was fine.
Grandfather’s next words brought his relief crumbling down.
“He has not regained consciousness.”
The statement refused to register. Spence shook his head. “I don’t understand. Grandmother said he was fine.”
“No. She said he was upstairs. Where he has been since they brought him home. He had improved initially then fever struck and infection. He slipped into unconsciousness several days ago and has yet to awaken.”
Spence could not remember how to breathe. “But he will.”
His grandparents did not respond. Ice flooded his veins. He spun on his heel and reached the door without even being aware he had moved.
“Spencer!” Grandfather’s voice stopped him. “Perhaps you would like to introduce your guest?”
Spence looked to Caelie and saw a mix of sympathy and apprehension in her emerald eyes. How he wished he could crawl inside of them and hide from what he had done, but he could not. Bowen needed him. And he needed to see him.
“Forgive me.” He took a step back into the sitting room. “Grandfather, Grandmother, this is Lady Caelie Laytham. She is responsible for my return and I have offered to give her shelter until her cousin, the Earl of Glenmor, returns from up north.”
His grandparents stared at him. He did not have time to explain everything. He needed to see Bowen.
“Go,” Caelie whispered. He nodded and quickly raced up the staircase to Bowen’s rooms.
Once the door closed behind Spencer, Caelie turned to face her hosts. She had not expected to be welcomed with open arms, but given the current circumstances, she doubted her presence would be anything more than an intrusion. She couldn’t in good conscience stay and put more of a burden on this family.
“I am so sorry to hear of the recent tragedy. I do hope Mr. Bowen recovers soon. It must be a terrible strain on both of you, as well as Lord Huntsleigh. He is ever so fond of Mr. Bowen.”
While she recovered her strength at the inn, Spencer had regaled her with tales of their escapades growing up. Mr. Bowen’s arrival on a rather stormy night had been unexpected. He was the only child of an older couple who had managed one of Lord Ellesmere’s estates for years. Upon their deaths, Lord and Lady Ellesmere agreed to take him in as their ward and Spencer, in essence, inherited a brother, of sorts. Though he had not said so in so many words, the affection and admiration he held toward Mr. Bowen had been obvious in every story he told.
It was this affection and sense of brotherhood that had led Spencer to order Captain Moresley to leave port ahead of schedule so Mr. Bowen would not be forced to travel to the islands, a trip he did not want to make and only did so out of duty. Yes, there had been a benefit to Spencer in doing so, but Caelie suspected he would have done so either way to save Mr. Bowen from making the trip.
As much as Spencer tried to hide it beneath the image of the unrepentant rake, there was no denying he possessed a selfless side. Her being here gave evidence to that. He could have left her at the dock and sailed away. He could have left her back at the Laytham townhouse, alone. He could have left her to be ruined by Billingsworth’s gossip instead of insisting on helping her avoid such ruin.
At every turn, when he could have left her to her own devices, he had instead offered a helping hand, defended her and kept her safe. She owed him her life, and, if his plan to find her a husband came to fruition, her future as well.
Lord and Lady Ellesmere stared silently at her for a moment before the marchioness collected herself and held out her hands.
“My dear, you must be tired from your travels. Let me have Mrs. Faraday see you settled.”
Caelie shook her head as the older woman’s soft hands encompassed her own. As much as a comfortable bed and the thought of rest enticed her, she could not accept. “No, I cannot stay, my lady. It would be too much of an imposition. You have enough to worry about without having an extra guest added to your concerns. I can stay at my cousin’s townhouse. Benedict will return in a few weeks. I will be fine.”
“Nonsense.” Lady Ellesmere squeezed her hands and smiled, though it did not reach her pale blue eyes. “It would be no imposition at all.”
“Pray tell,” Lord Ellesmere said, drawing Caelie’s attention away from his wife. “How is it my grandson came to bring you here? My understanding was you and Lady Glenmor were on your way to Italy.”
“Yes, we were.” Caelie forced her tired mind to recall the story Spencer had concocted. They’d decided to stick closely to the truth with several pertinent details removed. “Unfortunately, I fell quite ill. As it turns out, sea travel does not agree with me. Captain Moresley and the ship’s doctor feared for my health should I continue the remainder of the journey onboard. The captain ordered the ship be docked at the nearest port.”
“And where might the nearest port have been?”
“Portsmouth, my lord.”
“I see.” There was a pause. “And your mother, Lady Glenmor? Where is she?”
Caelie took in a breath and stiffened her spine. Tension tightened her jaw. “She is still on the ship, my lord.”
A small gasp escaped Lady Ellesmere. “On the ship? Still? She did not disembark with you in Portsmouth, my dear?”
The tone of her voice told Caelie that Lady Ellesmere could not believe it. But the fact remained that she was here and her mother somewhere in the middle of the ocean. The truth could not be refuted.
“Yes, my lady. I’m afraid the past two years have been extremely difficult on her and she could not bring herself to return to London.”
“But…” Lady Ellesmere shook her head in an effort to process the information. “But you’re her daughter!” The grip on Caelie’s hands tightened.
“Yes, my lady.” She didn’t know what else to say. She could not defend her mother’s actions. She didn’t know how.
“Had it been my daughter, I would have moved heaven and earth to see her safe and healthy!” Unshed tears made Lady Ellesmere’s eyes glisten and Spencer’s mention of his aunt that had passed away while traveling with her mother filled Caelie with guilt. The marchioness did not need that memory compounding the worry she already felt over Mr. Bowen.
“My dear,” Lord Ellesmere said. He’d crossed the room and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “It goes without saying then that my grandson left the ship with you?”
“Yes, my lord.” Caelie chose her words carefully. She needed to tread lightly to ensure Spencer’s actions remained honorable and above board in the eyes of his grandfather. “He and Mr. Garron made arrangements to transport me to a nearby inn where I could convalesce and regain my strength. They procured rooms and Lord Huntsleigh then hired the innkeeper’s daughter as chaperone to safeguard my reputation and maintain propriety.”
“How thoughtful of him.” Suspicion colored Lord Ellesmere’s tone. “And did you encounter anyone you knew while at this inn? I understand Lord Iber has his country seat in the area. Was he not married this past week?”
Caelie swallowed. She had not been prepared for that question. Did she lie and hope Lord Ellesmere did not find out?
Or did she tell the truth and hope for the best? She chose the truth. She had never been a particularly adept liar. “Lord Huntsleigh encountered Lord Billingsworth in the common room of the inn.”
“Oh dear.” Lady Ellesmere pursed her lips and she drew in a long breath. “Did you encounter him as well?”
“He approached me as we were leaving, my lady.”
Lady Ellesmere’s hands released Caelie’s. “Did he suspect you and my grandson traveled together?”
“I am uncertain.” She left it at that. It would do neither she nor Spencer any good if she spoke the truth on that account.
“But you believe he may have,” Lord Ellesmere said. A statement, not a question. Spencer had warned her of the man’s astute nature. He had not misled her in that regard.
“It is possible.”
“And what, pray tell, is Huntsleigh’s plan for bringing you here? I assume, knowing my grandson, he has some scheme at the ready.”
Caelie cleared her voice. Her face flamed with heat. “He thought the best course of action, in the event Lord Billingsworth thought to spread any untruths, would be to assist me in finding a match. Lord Huntsleigh is concerned with my…plight—” She could think of no other word to describe it.
“He is concerned Billingsworth will have garnered the wrong idea about you traveling together and wishes to ward off any threat to his bachelorhood by seeing you married off to someone else so he does not have to.” Lord Ellesmere knew is grandson well, but not, in Caelie’s estimation, well enough.
“His intentions are honorable, my lord, as was his behavior during the entirety of our journey. He could have left me at the dock and been on his way, but he didn’t,” she reminded Lord Ellesmere. “Instead, he did the honorable thing and had me safely returned to London. He has been selfless and sweet and I know he has a reputation and that he wishes to avoid marriage at all costs, but I will not have you disparage his motives after all he has done for me.”
Silence laid heavy in the room as Lord and Lady Ellesmere stared at her, their features frozen in subdued shock. Perhaps she had stepped too far over the line with her outburst. She hadn’t meant to come at them with such vehemence, but she meant what she had said.
Lady Ellesmere broke the silence and took Caelie’s hands once again. “You will indeed stay. I’ll hear nothing more of it. You are weary and my grandson will enjoy seeing a friendly face in the morning after you’re both rested, I should think.”
“I really can’t impose.”
“You will stay,” Lord Ellesmere said, his tone brooking no argument. His decree surprised her. She could not shake the sense he would have preferred if Spencer had not involved himself in her life at all and having her here, in their home, did not sit well with him. But he had acquiesced to his wife’s wishes and for that Caelie was glad.
She had no desire to return to the townhouse, to wander the rooms like a ghost in a place that no longer felt like her home. Besides, perhaps she could be of some use and help Spencer’s family through this trying time. It was the least she could do to return their hospitality.
“Very well then. For a few days only.”
“Wonderful. You wait here, my dear. I will have some tea and biscuits sent and then I shall speak with Mrs. Faraday and we’ll see about getting you settled. Then in the morning we will discuss this husband hunt.”
“It is likely a fool’s errand, my lady.” Caelie had no illusions her chances were slim, despite Spencer’s belief he could make it happen.
The marchioness patted her hand then let it drop. “Most things that involve the heart are, my dear.” Lady Ellesmere walked to the door, then stopped to glance over her shoulder at her husband who remained standing in the middle of the room. “My dear, go to your grandson and wish him welcome home, and try not to bark at the poor lad. He is upset enough over Marcus.”
“As well he should be.”
Lady Ellesmere lifted one eyebrow in a manner so much like her grandson it was uncanny.
Lord Ellesmere sighed heavily and when he spoke again his stern tone had softened. “Very well. I shall speak with him.”
Despite his stoic and rather intimidating presence, warmth filled the older man’s eyes when he answered his wife. Perhaps he was not as hard on the inside as he appeared on the outside.
“Have a seat, Lady Caelie.” Lord Ellesmere waved to the sofa once his wife had left.
Caelie did as he bade. “I do apologize for the inconven—”
He waved her apology off then clasped his hands behind his back. His proud bearing reminded her of a general surveying his troops.
“Before we begin this…plan to find you a proper husband, I believe I should make something clear.”
Caelie swallowed. “Yes?”
“I will go along with this endeavor on one condition. That my grandson is not one of the gentlemen you set your cap for.”
“Oh, no. Of course. I had no intention—”
“Huntsleigh, whether he likes it or not, has a duty to perform. He must marry a lady of a certain…standing within society. A lady who—”
“Doesn’t bear the stain of scandal.”
“Then you agree?”
Caelie stood and faced Lord Ellesmere, keeping her shoulders straight despite the weariness in her bones. She had grown tired of bearing the mark of scandal; tired of always being judged by what her father had done, as if his last act on earth had washed away all the good he had done before his death. Why did no one ever remember that? Why did no one recall the kind and gentle man he had been before obsession turned him into someone they did not recognize?
“I agree that after everything Lord Huntsleigh has done for me, I have no wish to make his life any more difficult. Nor do I wish to attach myself where I am not wanted. I do not know if Lord Huntsleigh will be successful in his endeavor to find me a suitable husband, but I promise you I will not force him to the altar to compensate. Does that put your mind at ease, my lord?”
Lord Ellesmere did not move and his expression did not change, but Caelie had the sense of being judged. Whether the marquess’s assessment of her was improved or lessened by her decree, she could not say.
“I thank you for your understanding, Lady Caelie. Now, please, make yourself at home. Tea should be along shortly.” He inclined his head toward her then turned and strode from the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her worry and an unknown future.
Chapter Thirteen
“I never meant for this to happen,” Spence said. The words whispered across the expanse of the bed and tumbled over Bowen’s motionless body.
He lay there still as death.
Spence came closer and leaned over his friend. His chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm as if he only slept and would awake at any minute. But the longer Spence stood there, the less likely it seemed that would happen.
Finally, he gave up and sat on the edge of the bed. “I only meant to prevent you from having to make another journey to the islands. I know how much you hated sailing. I had no idea Lady Franklyn would follow me or that thieves…” He shook his head. What did it matter what his intentions had been when he stared at the result of his actions.
This entire trip had turned into a debacle of epic proportions.
What had he done? Or rather, how did he make things better? He had no answers. Bowen was always the voice of reason amongst the three of them. Without his sensible counsel, Spence was at a loss, his confidence in his own schemes shaken, given the outcome of the last one.
“I have brought home Nick’s new cousin, Lady Caelie. She’s quite beautiful, had you noticed that?” He searched Bowen’s features for any hint he’d heard. Nothing. “We were forced to disembark the Windswept when she took ill. Without a chaperone.”
He leaned closer. Normally that type of impropriety would have at the very least warranted a look of censure. Perhaps more, given the fact the lady in question was Nick’s cousin by marriage.
The steady rhythm of Bowen’s breath
ing continued uninterrupted.
“As well, the inn only had one room available.” Spence leaned closer. “Just one. Naturally, we were forced to share the room under the guise of being married.”
Bowen didn’t move. Not a flinch, twitch or furrowed brow to be seen.
“Did I mention the lack of chaperone?”
Nothing.
“I kissed her.” Still nothing. “And I may possibly—” He swallowed. “I may have developed feelings—”
The door opened and Spence jumped to his feet and spun around. Grandfather stood inside of the door, his expression unreadable.
“Grandfather.” How long had he been standing there?
His grandfather did not respond immediately. He walked into the room and took the empty seat on the opposite side of Bowen’s bed, resting his walking stick against the mahogany night table.
Spence waited. Tension hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken words. Accusations. Grandfather blamed him for Bowen’s injuries. If he succumbed to them—
But no. Spence would not entertain that possibility. Bowen must survive. He could not fathom any other outcome.
For the longest time, Grandfather made no attempt to speak. When he finally did, his voice sounded tired. Weary. “Your grandmother sent me up here to wish you welcome home.”
“Ah. And am I?”
Grandfather’s stern features relented a little, but anger and disappointment remained etched in the lines of his face. “Of course, you are. This is where you belong, whether you accept that fact or not.”
Spence stared down at the coverlet and traced his finger along the design sewn into it. “I know this is my home.” He had never questioned that. He just did not care for the dictates that came with it, a fact he had indicated on numerous occasions whenever Grandfather brought the subject of marriage up. He did not bother repeating them now.
