A knock came at the door, and James went to answer it. Martin came back with him, and bowed. “My Lord of Gillinghamshire wishes to see Your Grace.”
Sampson nodded, and eyed Charles sidelong as he at last brought out the much needed laudanum. Martin returned with George, and bowed himself out. George whistled at the sight of Sampson lying on the bed wearing his trousers and linen wrapped around his chest.
“How are you?” he asked, frowning. “Are you going to be all right, Sampson?”
Sampson offered him a small smile. “In time, George. I am sorry we did not get to the stud farm.”
“That is quite all right, all things considered. At least you will recover in a few days.”
“Yes, thank God.”
George grinned down at him. “Ah, you and Oliver both, recovering in your beds like a pair of swooning maidens.”
Sampson tried not to laugh – it hurt too much. “Just wait until it happens to you.”
“Hopefully, that will not happen anytime soon. Say, might I borrow your steward? Perhaps he and I can visit the farm tomorrow.”
“Of course. You are welcome to stay here the night, though I fear I shall be a very poor host.”
“Thank you, but I will return home. I just wanted to see for myself that you are all right.”
“I will be fine. Thank you for looking in on me.”
George sketched a quick bow, then Martin escorted him out. Sampson gazed longingly at the bottle in Charles’ hand until the physician finally poured a small amount on the spoon he held. As he held the spoon to Sampson’s mouth, Sampson swallowed the concoction down, then grimaced at its horrid taste.
“Water,” he gasped, trying not to spew the stuff all over, shuddering.
James gave him a cup filled to the brim, and Sampson washed most of the taste from his mouth.
“Why does that always taste so nasty?” he asked.
“Discourages the casual drinking of it for purposes other than what it is intended for.”
“I do not know why anyone would drink that unless absolutely necessary.”
“People do,” Charles said, his tone mildly pedantic. “They crave the opium for its effects. Which is why I limit the amount I give my patients. It can be addictive if one imbibes too often.”
As Sampson’s head spun and the laudanum’s euphoric effects struck him, he could almost believe people drank it for its non-medicinal effects. The fire in his ribs died to a whisper, and he saw two Charleses and two Jameses. He relaxed, drifting on the tide of laudanum, wondering what an extra nip might do. He thought to ask, but his tongue refused to work properly.
“Get some sleep, Your Grace,” the twin Charles said in a voice that seemed to ring loud in his ears.
He tried to nod, but he thought if he did, he would go on nodding until his head fell off. The four of them stood facing one another, murmuring words he could not understand, but that seemed to rebound off the walls of his bedchamber. Then the twin James bent over him, gazing into his face.
“I received word, Your Grace,” they both said at the same time, voices booming. “John Kelley has news and I am to meet him before dawn tomorrow.”
Chapter 14
Lucretia sat beside the Duke’s bed, a basin of cold water beside her, a wet cloth in her hand. The hour had grown late, and she fought her yawns, needing to seek her own chamber and bed this night. When Mr. Kirkwood sent for her and asked her to tend His Grace, she agreed immediately. Though he slept under the effects of the laudanum, Mr. Kirkwood thought he might wake up soon. If so, Lucretia was to give him a small spoonful of the pain remedy.
As His Grace had grown feverish, Lucretia bathed his head and face in cold water, monitoring his condition. If his fever grew, Lucretia was to send for Mr. Kirkwood immediately. She glanced up as Henrietta stirred from the other side of the bed, indulging in her own yawns, which made Lucretia imitate her. She wiped the resulting tears from her cheeks, and spoke softly.
“You should go to bed, sweetling.”
“I want to stay with you both.” Henrietta rubbed her eyes, trying to drive away her own weariness. “I want to talk to Sampson.”
“He may not wake up for some time. Come, let me summon Rosemary to help you into your bed.”
As Lucretia rose, the Duke stirred, groaning. Sitting back down, she touched his brow with the back of her fingers. His flesh remained uncomfortably warm, but not so badly that Mr. Kirkwood should be disturbed. Dipping the cloth into the cold water, she wrung it out, then placed it on his forehead.
His eyes opened. At first, they stared into nothing, unfocused, unseeing. Then he blinked, and shifted his head slightly on the pillow to gaze at her. Lucretia stood long enough to curtsey, wondering if he recognized her at all. Then he smiled slightly.
“Miss Brent,” he whispered.
“Sampson.”
Henrietta ran around the end of the bed, her blonde hair flying, her small face eager. Yet, she knew enough to not jump on his bed as she clearly wanted to do. She reached out her small arm and snagged his hand. “I have been ever so worried, Sampson,” she said, leaning toward him. “Luce is going to look after you.”
“Little sister.” The Duke smile widened a fraction, though Lucretia knew he was weak and still under the effects of the laudanum. “You should be in bed.”
“I will go to bed now,” she replied, her small face beaming. “Now that I have seen you, I will not worry so much.”
“I will be fine,” he murmured, removing his hand from hers and brushing a tendril of hair from her face. “Miss Brent will look after me quite well.”
“Come, My Lady.”
Lucretia stood up, and took Henrietta’s hand. As the girl waved her free hand over her shoulder at her brother, Lucretia took her through the Duke’s bedchamber to his anteroom, where Rosemary sat with her knitting, her needles clicking sharply in the quiet. “My Lady should be going to bed, Rosemary,” Lucretia said softly.
“But of course she should.” Rosemary gathered her belongings, and took Henrietta’s hand. “Come, My Lady. Your brother will be much better come the morning.”
“I hope so.” Henrietta’s voice broke upon another huge yawn, and she went with her abigail willingly.
Turning, Lucretia returned to the Duke’s side, a little startled to find him watching her in the near dark. “You are one of the few I can trust,” he said, his voice slightly slurred.
Surely he does not mean that. Why, he is a Duke and I am a commoner. It must be the laudanum talking. “Mr. Kirkwood instructed me to give you a small amount of laudanum, Your Grace,” she said, sitting down beside his bed again. “You are running a low fever, but that may also be from the laudanum, and not from your injury.”
“Will you stay with me?”
Once again, she gazed at him sharply, her lips parted to question him, but his lifted hand forestalled her. “I am not out of my mind, Miss Brent.” He smiled. “Not completely, anyway. I asked Charles to have you care for me as I recover, as I can trust so few right now.”
Lucretia closed her lips firmly. “I will be proud to, Your Grace. Though I am certain that this was a simple accident, and you will discover for yourself all here are loyal to you.”
“It was no accident.”
As he spoke in a low voice, Lucretia strained to hear, horror dawning over her heart. Someone cut his saddle in an attempt to kill him? The attack that injured both His Grace and the Earl of Egerton may also have been an attempt to slay, and the others were caught in the middle.
“And someone tried to kill Lady Henrietta,” Lucretia whispered.
“She is fine, thanks to you,” the Duke said. His eyes, deeply shadowed, fastened on her, and his lips once more creased into a faint smile. “Now you see why I asked for you? You I can trust with my life, and that of my sister.”
“But who would want you dead so badly, Your Grace?” she asked. “I wish I could say this was all nonsense –”
“But you cannot,” he answered for her
, “can you?”
“No, Your Grace. I cannot.”
“Have I sufficiently frightened you that you wish to leave my employ?”
Lucretia stiffened. “Obviously, your fall knocked a few things loose inside your head, Your Grace.” She wrung the cloth out in the basin and put it back on his brow. “That you should ask such a thing.”
“Fearless, as well as beautiful.” His teeth gleamed in the faint light as he grinned. “To be perfectly frank, had you agreed to leave, then it would be the first time I truly misjudged a person.”
Lucretia snorted, taking the brown bottle and pouring half a spoonful of the thick liquid, then offering the potion to His Grace. Once he swallowed, his face a mask of anguish, she immediately held a brimming cup of water to his lips. “Perhaps there are others you misjudged, Your Grace. Unless you are perfect.”
After gulping the water, the Duke rested his head against his pillow, watching her. “I am not perfect, Miss Brent. But I am no fool, either. I can see the hearts of men. And women. And judge accordingly.”
“Of course,” she replied, her tone soothing, as though she spoke to a child.
For a moment, he scowled, then found his humor. “I see you have your doubts, Miss Brent. That is fine, you are entitled to your private thoughts. But – I – um.”
His voice ended on a huge yawn, then his head sank back into the pillow, his eyes closed. Long moments passed, and Lucretia thought he slept – until his hand clasped hers. Shocked, she almost yanked her hand from his grip. Until she realized how nice it was to feel his hand in hers, to know he reached out to her even as he drifted into slumber. She kept it there, awkwardly cooling his fever with one hand while still holding his. Settling herself more comfortably in the chair, she prepared to watch over him all night.
* * *
Startled awake by the sound of voices, Lucretia sat up. As she did so, she discovered her hand was still clasped with that of the Duke. He still slept, and when her fingers brushed his brow she found it cool to her touch. The voices drew closer, and she snatched her hand back before they entered the room and witnessed its placement. Standing, she straightened her bodice and gown just as Mr. Kirkwood and the steward, James, entered the bedchamber.
Raising her finger to her lips, she silenced them quickly. “My good sirs,” she murmured. “His Grace still sleeps.”
Mr. Kirkwood walked past her to the foot of the bed, taking a close look at the sleeping Duke. “His fever?”
“Gone, sir.”
“How much laudanum has he had?”
“A small amount when he woke, Mr. Kirkwood. Just as you ordered.”
The physician nodded. “Very good, Miss Brent. You must be exhausted. James, will you escort Miss Brent to her rooms? I may have need of you later, Miss Brent, if you are still willing.”
“Of course, Mr. Kirkwood.”
Lucretia offered him a small curtsey as James ushered her from the Duke’s bedchamber and out through the anteroom. Her stomach rumbled alarmingly, bringing a swift smile to James’ craggy face.
“A long night, eh, Miss Brent?”
“Yes indeed, sir.”
“I will see to it a servant brings you some breakfast before you sleep.”
“What of Lady Henrietta? I should be teaching her geography today.”
James smiled down at her. “I do believe her geography lesson might wait a day or so, do you not agree? His Grace needs you as much as Her Ladyship does. It would not do to have you fall ill because you stretched yourself too thin, now would it?”
Lucretia shook her head. “I suppose not, sir.”
She had never spoken at length to James before, and found him more humorous than his stern features gave him credit for being, a strong man with powerful convictions who seemed to like her, despite her lowly upbringing. She felt comfortable walking with him, though most of the staff held him in nearly as much awe as they did His Grace.
“You are good for Her Ladyship,” he said as they stopped at her chamber door. “She is quite fond of you, my dear.”
“As I am fond of her, sir,” Lucretia said, somewhat puzzled by his words. “I think of her as my sister.”
“That, I think, is exactly what she needed. I will leave you to your rest now.”
Lucretia gave him a curtsey as he dipped his head in a small bow to her. Watching his tall form vanish down the hallway, she mused at his speech, but realized she was too tired and too hungry to ponder it for very long. After she donned her dressing gown, a servant arrived with a tray. Bacon, eggs, fried kippers, a wedge of cheese, hot bread and a tall mug of milk. She ate hungrily, as she had missed her evening meal while she watched over His Grace.
Because it was daylight, and not her time for sleeping, Lucretia slept for only a few hours. But she woke feeling refreshed, and ready for the rest of the day. After washing and dressing herself in her gown of the softest lavender trimmed in gold lace at throat and wrists, she brushed her hair and let it hang down her back, free and unbound. The house cook nodded at her request for some food, and brought her slices of cold roast beef, a potato, warm bread and a sweet tart. Taking that and a mug of water to the solar, she found Henrietta already there. Rosemary, who sat in a corner with her stitchery, raised a smile as Lucretia entered.
“Hello,” her charge greeted her, looking up from a book she was reading. “You did not sleep very long.”
“I am rested, though,” Lucretia said, setting her meal down on a table. “Have you had your luncheon?”
“Yes. Sampson is awake and feeling better,” Henrietta said. “I went to see him.”
“That is good news.”
As she ate, Henrietta filled her in on the Duke’s condition, and some of the gossip currently flying around the house. Namely, how the housekeeper was seen entering one of the footmen’s chamber late at night, while she a married woman and the footman not. Rosemary, her round face scandalized, dropped her needlework and hurried over to her charge.
“Now you do not go repeating the rumors the cook spreads, My Lady,” she scolded. “That man speaks more untruths and half-truths than Lucifer himself. It is not ladylike to repeat such things.”
While Lucretia giggled quietly into her mug of water, she wondered how rumors of a late night tryst got into the ears of the Duke’s sister. Henrietta half-shrugged, pouting, and returned to her reading.
“I do not understand why it is a secret, anyway,” she said. “If the housekeeper wants to visit her friend, why is that a terrible thing? What do they do behind the door, anyway?”
“Now, that is not for you to know, My Lady,” Rosemary said sternly. “Of course, one day you will understand.”
A sudden idea hit Lucretia. “Did the cook tell you of this, My Lady?” she asked.
Henrietta kicked her chair with her heels in annoyance. “No. I saw her go into his room myself.”
“And just what were you doing roaming about at that time of night?” Rosemary demanded.
The girl shrugged, looking at her book. “I could not sleep. I wanted to go to the stable, but I am afraid to go there by myself now.”
Lucretia and Rosemary exchanged a glance. “But you should not be roaming the house at night, My Lady,” Lucretia chided, her tone gentle. “If we went looking for you and could not find you, why, your brother would be so worried. As will I be.”
“I just knew I should not have had that brandy before bed,” Rosemary remarked, adjusting her white cap on her curls. “Then I sleep so sound and My Lady can just sneak by me –”
“I did not want to wake you, Rosemary,” Henrietta said. “You are so tired at night.”
“Will you promise not to do that again?” Lucretia asked. “Please?”
“Then what do I do when I cannot sleep?” Henrietta protested. “I hate lying in my bed staring at the ceiling.”
“Light a lamp and read a book,” Lucretia suggested. “Practice your needlework, or play a game of chess with yourself.”
Henrietta tried to wither h
er with a flat stare. “How can I play chess with myself?”
“How about I teach you? I will do so, if I have your promise.”
She sighed, as though picking up a terrible burden. “I promise, Luce.”
Thus, Lucretia spent the afternoon teaching Henrietta chess, and how to turn the board around and look at the game from her opponent’s point of view. Henrietta delighted in the game, and learned more quickly than Lucretia anticipated. By the time the servants came to summon Her Ladyship to supper, Henrietta could not get enough of chess.
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