“We couldn’t think of better weather in which to escape the house,” Michael retorted. “We had hoped for a good thunderstorm as well but have been sorely disappointed.”
“What happened to ‘safety in numbers,’ Remy? We were worried about you. Any one of us would have joined you for a gallop.” Phillip’s face was stern. He really had been worried.
Marcus was humbled. “I didn’t even think about that. I needed to escape my study. I am not used to having to find a partner for everything. As it was, my forehead met an invisible branch, which resulted in me taking a nap on the forest floor with a rock for a pillow. I’m a little dizzy but otherwise fine.”
“Might not be a bad idea to have Bruce come and take a gander at you.” Lord Hughes rode to his right.
“If you insist, I will submit myself to inspection, but can it wait until morning? I would hate to bring him out on a foggy night for nothing more than a mild concussion.”
Phillip grinned. “I think this was a ruse to keep you out of the way of our encroaching houseguests.”
Marcus chuckled. “The lengths I will go to avoid entrapment.” He sobered, and a tremor shook his body. “Something sinister is at work.”
Theo pulled up alongside. “Are you reacting to the fog or the nefarious nature of the branches in your woods?”
“Neither. The carriage. The strange behavior of the Widmores. The fact Mr. Storm has not written or come. Nothing is right about any of this.”
“And a young lady suffers as a result,” Phillip added. “When you put the pieces together, huge gaps exist in our understanding. Why Miss Storm? Why here? Why you?”
“I don’t know.” Marcus frowned, but without a doubt, the struggles he faced in his own head were nothing compared to the events unfolding around them. He recalled Jared’s haunting letter, along with the Scriptures about battles not being of flesh and blood. In the mist of this late spring evening, it was believable that evil was afoot, even in his peaceful corner of England.
A shiver traversed his body, and Cloud shook her head and skittered sideways in response.
“Easy girl.” Marcus patted her neck.
Phillip glanced over but said nothing.
They rode back in companionable silence, handed their horses off to the stable hands, and strode in the back door of Rose Hill.
Marcus gave a message for food to be set out in the dining room. They all went their separate ways to change, meeting again on the stairs and traveling to the dining room.
Lady Widmore came out of the drawing room and stood with her arms folded as the men descended. “Wherever have you been? It is the height of insolence to abandon your guests.”
Lord Remington stepped forward, extracted one of her hands, and lifted it to his lips as he bowed. He refrained from the customary kiss. His eyes met her glare as he released her hand, which she promptly snatched back. “I am sorry for the inconvenience. I rode out earlier to inspect some of my estate and met with an accident.”
Lady Widmore gasped as she took in the scratches and bruising on his forehead.
“My friends, concerned for my welfare, came in search of me. I beg your forgiveness for my lack of consideration.”
“While I am sorry you were injured, did you really need three men to rescue you?”
Lord Westcombe, checking his cravat in the hallway mirror, coolly responded, “We are as close as brothers, and our fear for the welfare of our friend overcame any sense of other responsibilities. We are famished now and will again abandon you to satisfy our hunger.” Phillip headed off toward the dining room with a slight bow that the other gentlemen mimicked as they took leave of the befuddled woman.
After dinner, the men chose to avoid the ladies and seek their rest.
Marcus decided to pay a visit to Josie’s room to observe how she fared. Cautiously entering the room, he found everything in shadow.
“Shhhhh.” Molly came forward and did not allow him entrance to the bedroom. “Miss Storm is sleeping with the help of the laudanum.”
“She was in considerable pain?” Marcus’s concern and guilt taunted him because he had not come earlier.
Molly frowned as she nodded.
“I’ll come back tomorrow. Good night, Molly.”
“Good night, Lord Remington.” The door closed behind him as he entered the hallway, and a hollowness enveloped him. He hoped Josie had not been disappointed when he had not stopped by earlier. He also hoped in some way she had missed him.
8
Josie awoke in a foul mood, groggy from the opiate. She was angry Marcus hadn’t visited her. She chastised herself for thinking she should be important to a man she had only met a few days ago. She apologized for her crossness with Molly but couldn’t seem to break through the darkness in her heart. She resumed her trial of lying in her bed, bored.
After hours of unrelenting silence, Molly stepped out of the room.
Josie decided she would try sitting up by herself since her legs itched to move.
Charlie whimpered at her displacement from her favorite spot. The dog sat on the floor, watching and growling as Josie struggled to bring her legs around to the edge of the bed and pushed herself into an upright sitting position.
The bed was higher than she expected, and her dangling feet did not touch the floor. She had thought to try to make it to the chair near the bed if it was where she expected it to be, but she experienced too much pain to try to stand. She sat, feet exposed and shivering in the cold air. Tears of frustration flowed down her cheeks.
Charlie barked at her and pawed at her legs, trying to get her attention.
Josie reached out one hand to stroke her soft fur. “Charlie, I’m such a fool to attempt this.”
The door opened from the sitting room and quickly closed.
“Josie! What are you doing?” Marcus asked.
Josie’s face flushed with heat at the realization that her lower limbs were exposed where her nightgown hiked up from the effort to move to this position.
He approached and grabbed her hands in his.
She wished she could watch his face. Was there concern written there? Or anger?
“What are you doing? Are you in pain?” His voice was tender.
Josie nodded her head. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and lowered her eyes even though she could not see him anyway. “I could not stand lying here anymore. I thought… Oh, it hurts.” She leaned toward him as he held her hands steady.
Marcus bent over and wrapped her in his arms. They were strong and warm.
She buried her head in his shoulder. She inhaled the scent of sandalwood she associated with him.
He maneuvered her back into a lying position in the bed.
Shame inflamed at his observing her this way. When he released her arms from around his neck, she sank into the mattress. A brief expanse of cool air preceded the blanket as it was pulled up, but it did not replace the warmth and comfort she had found from his embrace.
Charlie jumped back on the bed and snuggled next to her head on the pillow.
“I’m surprised you tried something like this with no one here. Has the doctor given you permission to be out of bed yet? Don’t you realize you might have further injured yourself? You are starting to make progress, and you would jeopardize that because you lacked entertainment?” Frustration and fear marked Marcus’s words. He did care.
“You didn’t come to visit. In addition, yes, I was bored and thought I could do this. I was wrong. Thank you for coming to my assistance. If you would send Molly in to me, I would appreciate it.”
“What do you mean I didn’t come? I did, although it was late and you were already asleep. You will fob me off now because I offended you by not coming earlier. I am well aware of the impropriety of even coming to visit you at all.” There was an edge to the tone of his voice.
She had offended him, and he had been nothing but gracious to her. “I appreciate the risk you take. Heaven forbid you end up married to a blind cripple only because y
ou attempted to be a good host.” She couldn’t keep the frustration from seeping into her voice. What was wrong with her today? Was this really all a result of taking laudanum last night? Or her pain? “I’m sorry. I am poor company today. I am not normally this irritable.” She closed her eyes and hoped that he would go away and leave her to her shame.
“Pain is not a comfortable friend by any means.” Marcus paused.
Josie held her breath, wondering what he might say next. Had she pushed him too far?
“I hope you are better and can rest. I don’t know what I can do to alleviate your boredom. I cannot stay and am not certain when I can return. I should have never come at all.”
Here it comes. He’s going to say he cannot return.
“I want to be able to stay and help you.” He whispered those words as he reached out to clasp her hand. “I think about you often and pray for you.” He gave her hand a squeeze before he released it. His footsteps moved across the room.
Josie wanted nothing more than to beg him to stay, but all that came out was a soft, “Thank you, Marcus.” She heard him pause, the door open and close. His departure sucked all the warmth out of the room. Shivering, she pulled the blankets up higher and maneuvered herself to her side. As her hand came up by her face to rest on the pillow, she thought maybe, just maybe, she detected the scent of sandalwood.
~*~
Marcus slowly descended the grand staircase into the foyer as the front doors opened. He again found himself preoccupied with thoughts of Miss Storm. Her delicate feet and ankles dangling off the bed. The tears had left a trail on her cheeks. Her glorious hair, unbound and teasing him around her shoulders. He didn’t know whether to admire her for trying to sit up or be afraid for her, that she would suffer further injury. He shook his head. This preoccupation with her disturbed his peace of mind.
He reached the last few steps to the foyer when Fenton opened the front door.
Dearest Aunt Dorothea, Lady Grey, younger sister to his deceased mother, sailed inside. She was dressed outrageously in various shades of orange from head to toe and a smile that appeared when she spied her nephew.
Marcus always viewed her as pleasingly plump and merry, and he was grateful she had arrived.
“My darling, Marcus! How delightful of you to invite me to visit.” Lady Grey’s gloved hands came forward.
He grabbed them both and leaned in to plant a loud kiss on her cheek.
Lady Grey laughed. “You naughty boy. How precious it is to be one of the few women on whom you bestow such favors.”
Her blue eyes twinkled up at Marcus, and he gave her a hug.
“I am relieved and grateful you have come. I desperately need you.”
“Well, my dear boy, we will sit down for a chat in a little while. First, I need to go to my room and change out of my traveling clothes. Come to my sitting room in three quarters of an hour and we shall have a coze.” She reached up, patted his cheek, and followed Mrs. Hughes up the staircase to her usual suite of rooms.
Marcus stood aside as commotion ensued with the unloading of luggage. He sought the sanctuary of his study. As he closed the door and turned, he pulled up short at the realization that another visitor awaited him and been forgotten in the chaos of Lady Grey’s arrival. He stepped further into the room. “I apologize if you’ve been kept waiting. I’m Lord Remington, and you are?”
“Nigel Neville, Bow Street at your service.” The man gave a bow.
Marcus pointed to some seats, and the men sat across from each other. “I have a puzzle for you to solve.” Marcus shared the events that had occurred with the carriage accident.
The runner left in time for Marcus to find his way to Lady Dorothea’s sitting room located in the family portion of the West Wing.
Marcus anticipated his tête-à-tête with Lady Dorothea. She was the youngest child in her family and the most notorious. Of medium height, with wavy brown hair distinguished by silver highlights, she often had a warm smile on her face and a twinkle in her brown eyes. Some had remarked at his similarity to her in that regard. She held her beauty even after losing all three of her children shortly after birth. She had lost her husband to a hunting accident three years past.
Maybe because of her losses and the closeness she had with her sister, she doted on Marcus. While no one could take the place of his mother, Marcus found comfort in her company. She stepped in to offer comfort and counsel when his mother had died suddenly of unknown causes. He had been one and twenty. She came again when his father passed away, some thought of a broken heart, a year later.
Marcus valued her approval as he took over the reins of the estate and made it prosper. She appreciated his faith, which she also shared. He knew she prayed he would find a young woman of quality, faith, and breeding as an acceptable bride.
Only recently had Marcus sensed a calling deep within to settle down. His sister recently married. His brother, Jared, served in France as an aid to Sir Arthur Wellesley, a respectable position but fraught with potential danger since England seemed continually at war with France.
When Marcus entered her sitting room, he could not contain his relief. “Aunt Doro, you are a godsend. Thank you for coming.” He gave her a bracing hug, lifted her off the ground, and spun her around while she squealed in delight. He laughed as he set her down and stepped back.
“Now, Marcus, I would do almost anything for you. Would you explain what is happening? From what Mrs. Hughes revealed, you host some interesting guests.” She motioned him to a chair and sat in the adjoining one.
“Interesting and frustrating. My prayer is that you will help me get rid of the two in the latter category.”
“This sounds intriguing. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
~*~
Lady Dorothea Grey entered the drawing room to find Marcus, Lord Harrow, and Lord Westcombe already present. They greeted her with affection.
“Well, my dear boys. Marcus told me you were guests, and I could not be more delighted to have the company of such charming and handsome young gentlemen.”
“We eagerly anticipated your arrival, my lady,” Lord Phillip said, “and you look to be in prime twig.”
Lady Dorothea twirled around in her gown of various shades of green. “You always were full of flattery, Phillip,” she teased.
Phillip winked at her. “You have always been ripe for a little harmless flirtation.”
Lady Grey chuckled.
“Ahem.”
Two female guests stood in the doorway.
The Lady Widmore sailed in as if she owned the place. “I am afraid we have not had the pleasure of being introduced. Gentlemen, would one of you please do the honors?”
Lady Dorothea Grey looked to Lord Harrow with one eyebrow raised.
Theodore stepped forward and in his most formal voice, fulfilled the request. “Lady Dorothea, Dowager Countess Grey, this is the estimable Lady Widmore and her daughter, Lady Heticia. They are here as the result of a carriage accident.”
Lady Widmore had inhaled quickly, and her eyes widened at the mention of Dorothea’s exalted title.
“What a pleasure,” purred Lady Grey. “My nephew had informed me of his unexpected guests. I’m sure you are eager to depart Rose Hill as soon as possible, to prepare this lovely young lady’s wardrobe for the whirl of the season.”
Lady Widmore stammered. “My lady, we would love to depart as soon as may be accomplished, but there is a member of our party who was injured. Surely I could not abandon her to a bachelor establishment or be easy while we enjoyed the gaiety of London as she recuperates.”
“Marcus did mention an injured young woman. As I am now in residence, I can provide chaperonage for your niece while she recovers. Her reputation would not suffer under my protection. I can also assure you these young men would never step beyond the pale with the young lady. How soon will your carriage be available?”
Sir Michael Tidley entered the room at this question.
All eyes turned t
oward Marcus as he stood by the fireplace watching events unfold. “My groom has informed me the carriage will be available for use as early as tomorrow morning if need be.”
Michael came up to give Dorothea an exaggerated bow and a kiss on her hand, which sent her into a whoop of laughter as she playfully slapped his arm. “You delightful rogue!”
Lady Widmore and her daughter stared wide-eyed at this display.
“How singularly strange,” Lady Widmore murmured.
Dinner was enjoyable. They petitioned Lady Widmore and Lady Heticia to join in the conversational gambits thrown out by the other diners, but they refrained.
Lady Dorothea invited the ladies to withdraw with her while the gentlemen enjoyed their port.
Lady Widmore smiled and nodded as she rose to leave the room.
~*~
The men entered the drawing room a short time later and joined the women in a game of charades. The men fared far better than the women did, and Lady Widmore’s color grew higher as the game progressed.
“Lord Remington, thank you for your kind hospitality. Would it be possible for my carriage to be ready by ten in the morning for our departure to London?” Lady Widmore had set down her teacup and saucer and rose to her feet.
The gentlemen did likewise.
“I will make sure everything is in order, Lady Widmore and Lady Heticia. May you have a safe journey.” Marcus gave a brief bow, and the Widmore women left the room.
Lady Heticia’s eyes had been darting from Marcus to Lady Grey to her mother.
Lady Widmore clasped her daughter’s elbow and led her out of the room.
The door closed behind them, and Marcus hugged his aunt. “I knew I could count on you.”
“But of course. And tomorrow you can count on me taking over the care of the other guest you have.” Dorothea’s eyes tried to search Marcus’s, but he looked away.
Wine was called for, and the merry party drank a toast to the redoubtable Lady Dorothea, Dowager Countess of Grey.
~*~
Sir Archibald Bastian arrived in London to keep an eye on his fiancée. Of course, she wasn’t his, yet, but he longed for the delights of town, and while he awaited invitations to events where he might dance with his intended, the rest of the time he spent gambling and visiting Madame DuBois’s establishment. He daily sought to visit the house the Widmores and Miss Storm had rented for the season and grew more concerned at their failure to appear. Josie had better not be crossing me in this matter. I will have her, and my money too, regardless of what the Black Diamond says.
The Virtuous Viscount Page 7
