Let it Snow

by Suzan Butler, Emily Ryan-Davis, Cari Quinn, Vivienne Westlake, Sadie Haller, Holley Trent

  What if he didn’t survive the night? She’d be responsible for his death. If she’d left before dusk or if they’d had a pistol, perhaps this whole mess might have been avoided.

  But then she wouldn’t have met him. Why that should matter, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was feeling particularly sensitive after her ordeal. It wasn’t every day that a woman was rescued from bandits by a handsome gentleman. Naturally, she would feel some affinity for her savior.

  They rounded a curve lined with birch trees. Almost there. In the distance, she could see the stone manor peeking above the copse. They were home—now the question was how quickly could they get help? She squeezed her companion’s arm, pressing firmly.

  “We are nearly at Welbury Park, sir. You will stay the night here while we assess your injuries and get help.”

  A soft grunt was the only response. At least he was awake.

  “Can you tell me your name?” she asked. “Should I send for your family?”

  His eyes widened for a moment and he shook his head as he muttered unintelligibly. There was plenty of time to find out his identity later. What mattered was keeping him alive.

  “We will worry about that tomorrow,” she said. “For now, you are safe and we will get you upstairs as quickly as possible.”

  The carriage came to a stop and two of the footman came out to assist her. “We need help. Get the others.”

  She’d barely checked the injured man’s forehead when four men rushed out to the carriage. “Adam, I need you to see to the gentleman’s horse while Hinkley goes to the village and fetch the doctor. The rest of you help us get into the house.”

  Her men took him by the arms and braced him as they walked into the house. He stumbled at the stairs, but managed to get inside. She wasn’t sure if they should carry him, but she preferred to spare him that indignity. When her husband had caught a terrible fever a few years ago, he’d hated to be coddled. It had been a battle most of the time to get him to stay in bed.

  “Take him to one of the guest rooms upstairs. Be careful not to press on his injuries.”

  While her footmen situated him, Violet went to find the man suitable clothes to wear. It had been three years since she’d touched any of the trunks with her husband’s things.

  It had pained her to see them, so she’d moved them to the nursery. She never went into that room as it was a reminder of what she might never have. But tonight, a man’s life teetered on a precipice and she could not afford the luxuries of nostalgia and regret.

  So she took a deep breath and opened the door, not sure of what she’d find. Everything was neat and tidy and the furniture looked polished. Mrs. Norris had ensured the room was well kept, despite Violet’s neglect.

  She saw the trunks, neatly arranged behind a dressing screen and one under the narrow bed. She opened one of the trunks on top, hoping to find a night shirt or tunic and dressing gown.

  The scent of pine mixed with leather and something else. She lifted a jacket and realized that it still smelled of him. Even after he’d been gone for three and a half years, the essence of John remained, here in this room.

  Looking at his things, Violet wanted to feel hurt; she wanted to feel angry. But those emotions were as dead as her husband. Only a hint of sadness remained. Not for herself, but for the life John would never complete.

  The first trunk was filled with jackets, waistcoats and trousers. She opened the next one and she was prepared when the scent of John again permeated the air. This time she found what she was looking for. She grabbed a tunic, dressing gown, stockings, and a few other necessaries.

  As she stepped over the threshold into the hall, Mrs. Norris spotted her. “My lady. Do you need Miriam or Sally to go gather anything for you? I am sorry that I did not realize you were here. We will take care of everything.”

  Violet smiled at her. Mrs. Norris and the butler knew everything about everything at Welbury Park. The housekeeper probably sought to spare her from the discomfort of going through her husband’s belongings.

  While she could have sent a chambermaid to the nursery, Violet hadn’t even thought about it. Her first instinct was to see to her guest’s needs. She had two able hands and she doubted the gentleman would want her watching as they laid him in bed and stripped his clothes.

  A blush crept up her cheek and she placed the back of her hand against her hot skin. When was the last time she’d blushed over a man? She could barely remember. But obviously she’d been so long without the company of a fine gentleman that she now resorted to thinking about the first handsome stranger to come to her rescue since John had died.

  “Are you well, Mrs. Laurens?” the housekeeper asked. “Were you injured? Do you need me to draw up a bath or turn down your bed?”

  That only served to inflame her cheeks even more. Lord help her, she was addled in the head. The word ‘bed’ sent her imagination galloping into dangerous territory.

  She cleared her throat and forced herself to look Mrs. Norris in the eye. “I suffered a fright, but I am well. It is the gentleman who needs assistance. The doctor should be coming, but in the meantime, we’ll need some fresh water, towels, and any clean cloths that can be used for bandages.”

  “Right away, my lady.”

  Violet carried the clothes down the hall toward several servants bustling in an out of the guest room.

  She stopped Sally, a blonde girl in her late teens, who was tall and gaunt, despite Mrs. Norris’ attempts to fatten her up.

  “Is the gentleman safely abed? May I enter?”

  “They took off his bloody things. The jacket and waistcoat are ruined, but I will try to wash the rest as best I can. Avery asked me to fetch some warm water. The gentleman is breathing and covered well enough for my lady to go in.”

  Charles Avery, the butler, was the most capable man Violet had ever met. They’d taken him on when they’d returned from the war and though he was deemed unfit for the service of His Majesty, he’d served her unfailingly, even after John had died. Especially after he had died.

  Violet peeked into the room and saw a maid adjusting the pillows and blankets while Avery cut strips of cloth, which she assumed were for bandages. The gentleman needed a bath, but hopefully a towel bath would do.

  “Does my lady wish to stand outside and observe or does she wish to enter?” Avery asked, not looking up, but continuing to cut bandages.

  Violet smiled as she walked inside. She wasn’t sure why she was trepidacious. They’d been in the same situation before, both with her husband’s illness and in the war. But something about this felt different for her.

  “How is he?” she asked. “Were you able to assess his injuries?”

  “The injury to his head is significant. His body is bruised, there is a small gash on his torso and the doctor will need to double check that his ribs aren’t cracked.”

  “Sally went to fetch the hot water and see to his clothes. Can I assist you with anything?” she asked.

  “If my lady wishes, she can cut this cloth into strips as I have done. We will need plenty of fresh bandages for his lordship.”

  Violet took the cloth and scissors and went to work. It felt good to have the sturdy cotton between her fingers. She cut a few inches then tore the fabric all the way to the end. She’d learned that ripping was faster than cutting when time was of the essence.

  They sat in silence for a moment as they both worked. If Violet closed her eyes, she would swear they were back in Portugal. If she listened hard enough, maybe she would hear Mrs. Santiago’s rasping voice as she yelled at Violet to return to the safety of the church, where the rest of the women waited for news of their loved ones. In her mind, she could hear the groans of the wounded soldiers in the infirmary.

  It sounded so real that she looked up. Avery had wrapped new bandages over her previous makeshift attempt. The gentleman groaned as the cloth tightened over his head.

  “Be glad for the pain, my lord,” Avery said. �
�It means you are alive. If all were numb, I’d fear for you.”

  It was the second time he’d referred to the man as lord rather than sir. Could he be an aristocrat as Avery assumed? She was certain he was wealthy, but beyond that, she could not tell for sure.

  The man’s eyes were glazed and she wasn’t certain if he could see her.

  “Can you speak?” she asked gently.

  He mumbled. “Aahh,” he cried as Avery tied the bandages off.

  “What happened to him?”

  Violet explained how she’d been accosted on the road and the gentleman came to her rescue. “The thief was crafty and underhanded. There was a scuffle, but as the gentleman went for his pistol, the thief smashed a rock into his head. At first, I couldn’t tell which of them had been shot. There was blood everywhere.”

  “We cannot know how long it will take for Dr. Littleton to arrive. We should clean him up and see to his pain.”

  “Shall I get a draught of laudanum?” She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it when she’d first gotten home. The poor man’s skull had been bashed within an inch of his life. “His pain must be immense.”

  Avery looked into her eyes. “I suspect it is far worse than that, my lady.”

  “I will return shortly.”

  Violet hurried from the room and got the key to the cupboard where she kept the medicine and a few aged bottles of Scotch. She took a bottle of the whiskey and the laudanum. She preferred wine, but if there was ever a night where she needed the neat burn of a good Scotch, this was it.

  As she entered the room, Sally and Avery were bathing the gentleman. He was naked and she could clearly see every inch of him from head to knee. Good heavens.

  His body was marked with bruises, some new and some with a greenish tint, which must have been from an older injury. There were nicks and scars on his chest and arms and a few on his face. Where had he gotten those?

  Her gaze traveled downward. She bit her lip and tried not to stare, despite the fact that he was as well made down there as he was everywhere else. He had more than enough to satisfy a woman, particularly considering he would only get bigger when aroused.

  Stop looking at his nakedness and concentrate. Violet closed her eyes to regain her composure. In any other circumstance, she would walk right out of the room and wait until he was decently covered. But war had taught her that modesty and necessity did not make good companions.

  Whatever missish notions she’d ever possessed had been wiped from her during the two years she’d spent with John in the fields of Portugal. Women were shielded from the atrocities as much as possible, but Violet had an iron stomach and sturdy hands, so she refused to be left with the weeping women holed up in safety.

  “My lady!” Sally cried.

  Avery ignored the exchange and kept working. It took a lot to ruffle him, though she could swear she saw the barest corner of his mouth move.

  “No need to protect my modesty, Sally.” Violet stepped into the room, laid the Scotch on a table then approached the bed, medicine in hand. She set it on the bedside table and pulled the covers back completely. “I am a widow and I attended His Majesty’s soldiers in the infirmary. I’ve seen far more than this. ‘Tis you who should be shielded from such impropriety. Go on and fetch more hot water.”

  Violet waved her hand to shoo the girl away.

  “Yes, milady.”

  Turning her attention back to the injured man, she brushed soap over the damp cloth then put it into the basin of warm water. She’d wrung out the towel when Avery interrupted her.

  “Laudanum first. It will hurt less.”

  She took a spoonful of liquid, pulled the man’s mouth open, and poured it inside. Since the teaspoon was small, she poured a little more and gave him a second dose.

  The man’s mouth made a sour face, but she closed his jaw and made him swallow it all.

  “I should’ve told Sally to fetch some tea. Laudanum tastes worse than a radish covered in dirt.”

  This time, Avery did manage a tiny smile.

  “Do not tell me it is my feminine sensibilities.” Violet crossed her arms and stared at the butler. He was teasing her without uttering a word, something he did often, though no one else seemed to notice it.

  The man coughed loudly. She rushed to pat him on the back.

  “Neber sheen.” Cough. “Woman like you.”

  Avery still wore his half-smile and Violet realized that both of the men were laughing at her.

  “Well, obviously you have not been acquainted with many women.”

  The man shook his head. “Plenty.” He groaned loudly and raised his hands to his face.

  She put her hands to his temple and pressed lightly, rubbing in the slowest circles she could manage. “See, you should not argue with a lady.” She continued ministering to him until she could hear his breathing become even.

  When she lifted up, he caught her hand and held it. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” She looked into his eyes and they seemed less cloudy and dark. “Do not talk too much. You should rest, but try to stay awake until the doctor comes.”

  “You should do the same, my lady,” Avery said to her.

  “But we haven’t finished. He needs to be bathed.” She went back to the basin and wrung out the towel. It was warm still, but most of the heat had gone.

  Tenderly, she wiped her patient’s face, but paused when she caught him staring at her. For the space of two breaths, she couldn’t move. The water trickled down from the edge of the towel, pooling over his chest.

  This man was not her husband, but here she was, leaning over his naked body, bathing and stroking his skin, wishing that he would press his lips to hers.

  “This might go faster if you would allow me,” Avery said, breaking their stare.

  She looked and realized he had bathed half of the man’s body in the time it had taken her to wipe his face.

  Violet’s cheeks burned. She was going to hell for this. Her duty was to bathe and nurse. Nothing else.

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  “Perhaps my lady should go and take a bath and get into clean clothes. He will be fine until you return.”

  Violet nodded, which caused her to look down and see that the gentleman wasn’t so limp as before. She turned her head away, ashamed for looking at him so intimately while he was nearly helpless.

  It was natural for a man to be stimulated while being stroked and bathed. And he was barely conscious as it was. There was no need to assume that it meant anything more than that.

  So why did she want it to?

  Violet glanced at the butler and nodded before hurrying from the room. She dared not look at the gentleman again.

  * * * *

  A hot, steaming bath did little to soothe Violet’s nerves. The water felt good, but the tightness in her limbs had less to do with weariness from her ordeal and more to do with the fact that she was still thinking about him.

  As if she could do aught else with her ladies’ maid quizzing her.

  “How gallant. Did he really take on both thieves on his own?” Miriam looked dreamy-eyed as she washed Violet’s arm. “Sally said that even with the bandages and blood, she could see that he was handsome. Is he handsome?”

  Violet nodded. To speak might give away more than she wanted. Miriam was a sweet and devoted girl, but she loved to gossip. She hadn’t the discretion of Sally or Mrs. Norris. But the girl was sharp as a tack.

  “A dashing gentleman, a lady in distress. It’s like a tale from Camelot.”

  “Hardly. In Camelot, the villains do not use pistols.”

  Violet sank deeper into the copper tub. She lifted her leg for Miriam to wash. The girl started with her feet, giving them a good scrub before she moved up her shin.

  “Will he stay with us?”

  “As we have yet to obtain his name or title and he is unfit for travel, yes, he will remain here for a few days.”

&
nbsp; Violet suspected he would not be ready for transport even at the end of the week, but kept that to herself. She didn’t want to think past the next three days. If she did, her mind would wander into dangerous thoughts.

  “You think him a nobleman, then? Oh, what if he is a duke or a prince!”

  A laugh was her reply. Her maid had an eager imagination. A prince. If he had been, surely Violet would recognize him. The English princes were far too old and portly to be chasing thieves and wrestling in the dirt and surely a foreign prince would have a retinue following him everywhere.

  “I doubt he is a prince. Would a prince be travelling alone on a country road at dusk?” Violet shook her head. “No, he would be dressing for some royal affair or sleeping off last night’s soiree with ten servants in attendance.”

  “Maybe an earl or a viscount then.” Miriam circled her knee and washed her thigh. “Imagine, you could be a countess before Easter. Then we could get new livery and everyone would have to call you my lady, not just us.” Miriam’s green eyes were bright and her freckles, softened under her happy glow.

  “The man may not survive the week and already you are planning his marriage and future.”

  “If he is not married yet, he ought to be.”

  The maid was besotted with him already and hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of him.

  “Let us focus on keeping him alive for now. We can worry about his marital affairs later.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Violet patted her cheek. She looked like her mother now, Violet’s distant cousin, who had died years ago from scarlet fever. She’d made a poor match and being the wife of a fisherman had never suited her.

  Looking at her now, there was no denying the family resemblance. Both Violet and Miriam had the same rich, dark hair and soft, full lips. But whereas Violet’s skin was clear, Miriam’s was dotted heavily with freckles, and Violet’s eyes were hazel while her cousin’s were a bright shade of jade.