by Kelly Boyce
Shame burned across her chest and up her neck.
“You’re turnin’ bright as an apple, m’lady. Are you well?”
Caelie cleared her throat. “Yes. I’m fine. Just a little warm. Have you heard how Mr. Bowen fares this morning?”
She did not bother to explain to Elsie who Mr. Bowen was. Staff below stairs talked amongst themselves and likely knew more about the household than the people who paid their salaries. Even in the short time they had been there, Elsie would have heard all about Mr. Bowen.
Her new maid fixed a pin into the thick folds of Caelie’s hair. “Much the same, ma’am. Though Mrs. Faraday, the housekeeper, thought ’e might ’ave a bit more color today. She thinks it’s on account of Lord Huntsleigh havin’ returned.”
“I do hope she is right.”
“She also said when you are up and about you could find Lady Ellesmere in Mr. Bowen’s rooms. Mrs. Faraday said she watches over ’im like he was ’er own son. Said she’s wearin’ ’erself down doin’ it, but she won’t be told no different.”
Caelie had seen the strain on the woman yesterday. Fear and worry were etched in the lines around her eyes and mouth. Caelie understood such things having watched her own father descend into despondency over his mistress’s rejection and the worry of where that would end. She would ease Lady Ellesmere’s burden if she could in return for the warmth and hospitality she’d already been shown.
Caelie hurried through the breakfast Elsie had brought up, took one last look at her reflection in the mirror and hurried down the hallway, wondering if she would find the marchioness alone, or if Spencer would be with her.
And if so, how should she respond? As if nothing had occurred between them last night? Her head buzzed from the stress of it, but when she tapped on Mr. Bowen’s bedroom door and Lady Ellesmere bid her enter, she found the older woman alone with her patient.
“Ah, Lady Caelie.” Lady Ellesmere rose from her chair and crossed the room, taking Caelie’s hand and drawing her toward the bed. “I think he has more color this morning. I’m sure of it. He took some broth last night. I had to massage his throat to get it down, but perhaps it helped.”
Caelie glanced down at Mr. Bowen. He appeared thinner than she remembered, but given the circumstances, that was to be expected. The grey pallor she had expected, however, was not in evidence. A fact that gave her untold relief for Spencer’s sake if nothing else.
“I’m sure your attentions have been most helpful, Lady Ellesmere, but please do not make yourself sick in the process. I am more than willing to assist and allow you time to rest. I am sure when Mr. Bowen awakens he will be most grieved if he finds you ill on his account.”
“You are right, of course. But I cannot seem to help myself.”
“Has the doctor given his prognosis for Mr. Bowen?”
Lady Ellesmere gave a small shake of his head. “Oh, they try to protect me from it, Dr. Bledsoe and Lord Ellesmere, but I’m not so blind. I sit with him every day. I pour broth into his mouth and massage his neck so he might swallow it and I wait for him to show some sign that he will reawaken. It has only been a few days since the fever caused him to fall silent, but I know the longer it goes on the less chance there is. I cannot bear to think of it. Marcus has always been such a strong boy. Brave, really, though I think some people miss that for all his quiet ways. If he can fight his way back to us, he will. I have to believe that.”
Caelie smiled. The love Lady Ellesmere bore for Mr. Bowen emanated from her like a warm light. He may have been brought in as a ward, but they clearly thought of him as family.
“Sometimes hope is all we have to hold onto until time gives us something more.”
Lady Ellesmere smiled up at her. “My dear, are you trying to placate an old woman?”
“You are not old, m’lady,” Mrs. Faraday said as she bustled into the room with an energy Caelie began to realize was her natural state. “You’re vibrant as a summer’s day.”
Lady Ellesmere smiled and went to the table where the housekeeper set a tray of tea and biscuits. “I feel more like a dark winter’s night, but you’re kind to say, Mrs. Faraday. I can always count on you to feed my vanity.”
“Pish. Ye’ve not an ounce of it, m’lady. Not an ounce.”
“Off with you,” the marchioness waved and Mrs. Faraday’s gregarious laughter followed her out of the room. “That woman is such a blessing. I know she’s not as refined as most people like to see in their upper servants, but she’s worth her weight in gold. Come have some tea, my dear. We’ll discuss this plan my grandson has concocted and see what we need to do about it.”
Caelie did as instructed and accepted the cup of tea Lady Ellesmere offered. “Should we wait for Lord Huntsleigh?”
“Oh, I suspect he’s quite tired after his visit last night.”
Caelie started, nearly spilling her tea. “His visit?”
Lady Ellesmere waved a hand. “With Marcus. Are you quite alright, my dear?”
“Oh yes. Yes, of course. Just anxious to get underway, I suppose.” She took another sip of her tea and avoided the marchioness’s pointed gaze. Heat clawed its way over her jawline and burst onto her cheeks. Of course she had meant his visit with Mr. Bowen. “I’m sure he is quite worried.”
“As we all are. He will blame himself, of course. He always does when such things happen.” Her voice dipped as she said the last part.
“Do such things happen often?”
“Oh, no. Not truly. But his parents…” Her voice drifted off for a moment and the sadness from yesterday returned to her light blue eyes.
Caelie rested the tea cup in its saucer. “He told me what happened the night they died.”
Lady Ellesmere looked up in surprise. “He did?”
“Y-yes.” Perhaps she should have kept that to herself. “It must have been awful for him.”
“It was.” Lady Ellesmere released a sad sigh and took a sip of her tea before continuing. “It was a sad state of affairs, I’m afraid. We did our best to shield him from it, of course, but I don’t know that we were very successful. He blames himself. He thought it up to him to fix things, but I’m afraid they were beyond repair.”
“But he must see now that their happiness was not his responsibility?” How dreadful to carry such a burden.
“Who is to say?”
“Who is to say what?”
Caelie turned as Spencer entered the door left open by Mrs. Faraday. Her instant reaction to him had not lessened in the hours since she last saw him. He had dressed impeccably in a blue jacket and brocade waistcoat. Both enhanced the blue of his eyes and the gold tones of his thick hair. Buff breeches met Hessian boots and showed his lean muscular physique to its best advantage. The blush Caelie suffered back in her room threatened to bloom anew. If he’d suffered a sleepless night as she had, it did not show.
He crossed to where his grandmother sat and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Good morning, Grandmama. Lady Caelie. I hope the day finds you well.”
“It does, my lord.” She kept with the formal address as had he. The more familiar address would be saved for when they found themselves alone, something she knew she needed to avoid whenever possible. She did not trust herself and she didn’t want to give her heart any false hope that there was something worth hoping for. There wasn’t.
“Perfect timing,” Lady Ellesmere said as she poured him a cup of tea. “We were just about to explore our options with respect to Lady Caelie’s husband hunt.”
“Oh.” He looked from his grandmother to her.
“I told your grandparents of our plans after running into Lord Billingsworth at the inn.”
“Ah. Right. Of course. Well, let the planning commence,” he said, a smile fixed upon his handsome face as if he looked forward to the process. All the better, she supposed, to rid him of the encumbrance she presented.
But before they could start, Lord Ellesmere strode into the room, his ever present walking stick tapping against floor. Caelie
had seen less traffic at the marketplace.
“Good morning, all. How does young Marcus fare this morning?”
“I think he might have more color,” Lady Ellesmere offered.
“Hm.” Lord Ellesmere stopped at Mr. Bowen’s bedside and reached down to squeeze the man’s hand before straightening. He said nothing else, yet evident in that one small gesture was all of the worry and love this small family had for the man lying unmoving in the bed. She prayed he would recover, for their sakes as much as his own.
“Come have some tea and biscuits,” Lady Ellesmere instructed. Her husband stared at Mr. Bowen for another moment before joining them at the table and accepting a cup of tea from his wife. “We are discussing the matter of potential husbands for Lady Caelie. I have narrowed it down to a list of three gentlemen I think would be strong possibilities.”
Spencer swallowed a mouthful of tea and winced. “A list of three? Already?”
“Well, my dear, the Season is underway and given that Lord Billingsworth may have taken the wrong impression in seeing you and Lady Caelie travel together, we cannot waste time. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I suppose.”
Lord Ellesmere sat quietly but did not contribute his opinion to the conversation. Caelie suspected he would be more than happy to have her receive a proposal from anyone, so long as it wasn’t his grandson. He was simply too polite to say so in the company of others.
Lady Ellesmere held up a hand and ticked the names off on her fingers. “Lord Tunston, Lord Cranbrook, and Lord Shaftsbury.”
Caelie watched Spencer’s expression as his grandmother listed her choices. He did not look pleased. She, on the other hand, had met them all and could claim no aversion to any of them save for one. They were not Spencer.
Still, two earls and a viscount were more than respectable. Did they make her heart jump when they entered a room? No. Nor did her toes curl at the idea of sharing a kiss with them. But it did not matter. She did not have the luxury to hope for such things. Perhaps in time she could learn to love one of them and the feelings she currently experienced for Spencer would follow.
“Grandmama, honestly! You cannot seriously consider those three men as suitable for Lady Caelie.”
Lady Ellesmere turned to her grandson and looked affronted. “And why ever not? Each of them is financially solvent, each is required to produce an heir and therefore must marry, and none of them has done anything scandalous enough to be worth mentioning. They are amenable men, treat their families well and do their duty. I cannot think of any better recommendation. What possible objection can you have to any of them?”
Spencer pushed his tea aside. “For starters, Lord Tunston waddles like a duck—”
“I will grant you, he is a bit on the portly side, but that’s hardly a mark against him,” Lady Ellesmere said.
“Lord Cranbrook sounds like a donkey when he laughs, which he does at the most inappropriate of times—”
Lady Ellesmere shrugged. “To find a man of good humor can only be considered a bonus, I would think.”
“And Shaftsbury…Shaftsbury is…he’s…”
Caelie leaned forward waiting to hear whatever ghastly trait he perceived Lord Shaftsbury possessed. She had met him when she had been presented and thought him a pleasant enough fellow of moderate appearance.
“Yes?” Lady Ellesmere waited.
“He’s dull!”
Lady Ellesmere laughed and for the first time since their arrival, Caelie noted a light in the lady’s eyes. If nothing else, her falling ill on the ship had at least done some good. It had brought Spencer home at a time his family needed him most.
“My dear boy,” Lord Ellesmere said, speaking up on the subject for the first time. “Lord Shaftsbury is an intelligent and sensible man, not given to high spirits, gambling or raucous behavior. All points in his favor. We would hardly want Lady Caelie to marry a man who did not do his duty, preferred drinking and carousing and was never around when she needed him. Would we?”
Spencer swallowed. The movement made his Adam’s apple bob in his throat and his lips twitched. He looked as if he wanted to argue his grandfather’s point, but what argument was there? He’d made a valid one.
“I recall,” Caelie said, inserting herself into the conversation which seemed only appropriate given they were discussing her future. “That Lord Shaftsbury is quite fond of books.”
“Indeed.” Lord Ellesmere turned away from Spencer whose frustration had apparently rendered him temporarily mute. “He is in possession of an extensive library on a vast number of topics.”
“I do love books,” Caelie said. That was something, at least. “It would be nice to have a houseful of books.”
“Well, it is settled then.” Lady Ellesmere clapped her hands. “The Viscount of Shaftsbury moves to the head of the pack. We will concentrate our efforts on him while still cultivating an interest with Lords Tunston and Cranbrook.”
“Now wait just a minute.” Spencer waved his hands as if to ward off any further planning on his grandmother’s part. “Lady Caelie and I have decided I shall act as if I have fallen under her spell thereby giving the appearance that I am willing to give up my bachelorhood for the shackles of matrimony.”
“Hm.” Lady Ellesmere appeared to give Spencer’s idea serious consideration. “It could work. What do you think, my dear?”
“I think it is sheer poppycock and tomfoolery,” Lord Ellesmere said.
“I am not sure I agree,” she countered. “Heaven only knows everyone believes it would take a miracle to get Huntsleigh anywhere near an altar. If Lady Caelie is seen to be that miracle, it will create a sense of intrigue. They will want to see what the fuss is about, perhaps try to woo her away for themselves.”
“My thinking exactly.” Spencer nodded and crossed his arms across his chest.
Lord Ellesmere scowled at him. “If you think for one moment this scheme to appear enamored of Lady Caelie will in any way thwart my plans to see you married before Season’s end, you are mistaken.”
“My dear, now is not the time to discuss such matters. It is Lady Caelie we are focusing on at the moment.”
Caelie tried to catch Spencer’s eye, but he avoided her gaze, having turned his attention to the window next to him. Lord Ellesmere had made it clear to her he intended to see Spencer married, but she had the distinct impression the conversation he’d had with his grandson went far beyond what he had shared with her.
A sharp rap interrupted them once again. Mrs. Faraday stood in the doorway and worried her hands. “M’lady, you have a visitor.”
“Who is it, Mrs. Faraday?”
“The Duchess of Franklyn, m’lady. She says she wants to convey her appreciation for what Mr. Bowen done for ’er. I said ’e wasn’t able to receive visitors, but she seems adamant someone attend to her.”
Lady Ellesmere’s lips pursed and Lord Ellesmere glared at his grandson.
“Lady Caelie,” the marchioness said, rising from her chair. The men stood with her and Caelie quickly joined them. “Perhaps you should retire to your room while I dispense of Lady Franklyn. We will reveal your presence in our home soon, but it will be when we are more prepared. The woman is unconscionable, coming to our door when she knows we are not currently receiving visitors.”
“Yes, of course, my lady.”
Just as well she take herself to her room. She did not relish coming face to face with Spencer’s rumored former mistress. Lady Franklyn’s beauty was rivaled only her vindictiveness. What would the woman think of her when she discovered Caelie now lived under the same roof as her former lover? Likely nothing good. And even less than that when they initiated their plan and Spencer’s pretend infatuation became known.
She was more than happy to put that particular duel off until another day.
She could not put it off forever, though. Eventually, she must face Lady Franklyn and all of the others who thought less of her due to her father’s scandal. There would be no avoiding it.
She had the sudden sense of jumping off a steep cliff with nothing to break her fall.
Chapter Fifteen
“Your snoring will be the death of me.”
Spence jerked and sat upright in the chair he had pulled over to Bowen’s bedside. Shadows flooded the room, chased to the edges of the bed by the dim glow from the lamp a few feet away. For a fleeting moment, Spence thought the words had come from his dream, but it wasn’t Bowen who had drifted through his slumber. It had been a certain red-headed lady.
It took several pounding heartbeats before it sunk in the words had come from elsewhere. His gaze flew to the bed.
“Are you…? You’re—”
“Awake? Yes.” Bowen’s voice rasped over his throat in a whisper. “Have been for a little while.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Spence got out of his chair and went to the bedside table where a pot of now cold tea sat next to the lamp. He turned the wick up and pushed the shadows into the corners of the room before he poured a cup. Bowen winced at the light and reached for the tea.
Spence waved away his shaking hand and held the cup to Bowen’s lips. The man drank greedily.
“How long have you been awake?”
“I’m not certain. I drift in and out. It always seems to be the middle of the night.” He took another drink of tea and made a face as he swallowed the cold liquid. “I didn’t want to wake Lord or Lady Ellesmere.”
“But you were fine waking me from my peaceful slumber?”
Bowen let his head fall back against the pillow. His paleness rivaled the linens he laid upon. “I owed you one for leaving me stranded on the dock.”
Spence sat down again. “Grandfather thinks it my fault you were stabbed.”
A grin spread across Bowen’s face, much to Spence’s irritation. “Did he say so?”
