“And you’ve been kept warm too and that’s good.” The earl looked over at Corrie, who looked quite lovely with her scrubbed face and shiny clean hair. If Mrs. Osbourne’s gown hung off her, it simply didn’t matter. She’d dropped flesh, he could see it in her face, just as James had.
Two hours later, the Sherbrooke carriage rolled away from the Osbourne farm, leaving the occupants fifty pounds richer and short one employee, a foundling Mrs. Osbourne said they’d taken in five years before. Aye, Freddie was a good lad, slept in the Osbourne barn, did his chores right and proper. But no longer. Now, Freddie rode tall and straight on the tiger’s perch, dressed in Sherbrooke livery from Willicombe’s store of uniforms. The uniform bagged on twelve-year-old Freddie, but Freddie had admired himself so much that Willicombe didn’t have the heart to have him change back into his old clothes. Douglas had told Willicombe to have a half dozen suits made up for him.
Tied securely to the roof of the carriage was a keg of old Janie’s sweet milk, a lovely gift from Mrs. Osbourne.
James slept most of the way, propped up between his father and Corrie, Jason on the seat opposite them, ready to catch James if he fell forward.
Douglas had wanted Corrie to tell them exactly what had happened, but he’d no sooner told her he’d informed her aunt and uncle that she was safe, than she gave him a sleepy smile and her head fell against James’s shoulder. He looked to see that Jason was staring fixedly at his brother and the young woman sleeping so naturally against him.
Douglas wondered if James had yet realized the consequences of this mad adventure.
AUNT MAYBELLA AND Uncle Simon were seated in the drawing room with the twins’ mama, all three of them drinking tea and worrying endlessly until Douglas and Jason helped James into the drawing room.
There was a good deal of pandemonium until James, deposited on the long sofa by his father and brother, two blankets tucked lovingly around him, said to Maybella and Simon, “I was so careful to keep Corrie covered as best I could because I was terrified she would become ill-and look what happened. I was the one. As Augie would say-tar and damnation.”
And Corrie, on her knees beside the sofa, said without hesitation, “I wish it had been me, James. I’ve never been more scared in my life than that second night.” She said to the room at large, “He was burning with fever, thrashing about so I couldn’t keep the blankets on him. Then he fell on his back so still I was certain he was dead.”
“I’m too mean to die,” he said.
“Yes, you are, and I’m very happy about that, although stubborn is more the truth of it.” She looked up then and said, “But he drank down all the water and lemonade I put to his mouth. And then buckets of tea.”
James took a sip of tea, laid his head back against the soft pillows his mother had placed beneath his head, and said, “You should have seen Corrie riding that horse through the cottage door, a pitchfork held like a lance under her arm. She was, naturally, wearing a white ball gown.” He began to laugh. “Good Lord, Corrie, it’s something I’ll never forget as long as I live.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Alexandra couldn’t help herself fluttering around her son, her relief was so great.
“Corrie sporting a lance?” Uncle Simon said, and turned to his niece. “Dearest, I remember when you were a little girl and going through your knight-in-Medieval-England phase. James taught you how to hold a long pole without impaling yourself. I remember he stood there laughing when you held that pole and ran full tilt toward a chicken. But you actually did it this time on horseback?”
“I’d forgotten that,” James said. “You missed the chicken, Corrie.”
“She was fast,” Corrie said, “really fast and then she had the nerve to run behind a tree.”
James said, “And you rammed the pole against the tree and the impact sent you flying back on your bu-well, on, you sat down, really hard.”
He cleared his throat even as his mother said, “James tries to be careful in his bodily descriptions. He knows it’s appreciated by his mother.”
“Ha,” Jason said.
James said, “Well, Corrie wasn’t running with a pole this time, sir, she was on horseback, a bridle, no saddle, a pitchfork under her arm, and she did it wearing her evening gown.”
“She ran at a tree?” Aunt Maybella asked.
It took another hour before everyone had digested the entire tale. Douglas saw that his son was exhausted. He rose. “The man who paid the three villains said he was Douglas Sherbrooke. This gives me great pause. I don’t suppose that this man, Augie, used my name to taunt you, James?”
James shook his head, very nearly asleep. “He’d never heard of you, sir. He wasn’t making it up.”
“You’re ready to fall off the sofa, James,” Alexandra said, lightly stroking her fingertips over his face. “Ah, look. Your hair is all shiny and clean.”
“Corrie washed me, hair included, this morning.”
“Oh,” said Aunt Maybella and shot a glance at Simon, who wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at the oak trees, their leaves beginning to sport their fall plumage. She heard him say under his breath, “That gold is very nice indeed. I have browns and wheats, but no gold that specific shade. I must get it for my collection.”
He was out of the drawing room before Corrie could blink. She smiled after him. She saw several governesses with their charges in the park, and knew that they would be admiring her uncle, never realizing that he had no interest in them at all, just in those gold oak leaves.
Maybella was tapping her toe and staring at the lovely ceiling molding. Douglas said, “Er, let me get Petrie, who’s doubtless waiting in the entrance hall with Willicombe and all the rest of the staff in this house, ready to fight over who gets to carry you on his back to your bedchamber.”
But it was Douglas and Jason who helped James up to his bedchamber, Petrie and Willicombe hovering three steps behind them, ready if needed, Freddie three steps behind them, arms out, ready. James smiled up at his father and brother. “Thank you for coming to fetch us.”
He fell asleep, hearing Petrie bragging how he could shave his lordship and not wake him up in the process.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WHEN JAMES AWOKE, it was nearly midnight, his bedchamber dark, embers burning low in the fireplace, and he was as warm as a lovely pudding just taken out of the oven. He realized he needed to relieve himself and managed to get himself out of bed and locate the chamber pot. He was damnably weak and it infuriated him. He’d no sooner gotten himself back into bed when he realized he was starving. He focused on the bellpull then drew back his hand. It was very late. He lay back, listening to his stomach growl, wondering if he could manage to walk to the kitchen. Forget the food, then. At least he was at home and in his own bed. He wasn’t going to starve, and best of all, he was alive.
Not three minutes later, the door to his bedchamber quietly opened.
His mother came into the room, wearing a lovely moss green dressing gown, carrying a small tray in her arms. James simply couldn’t believe it. “Have I died and gone to heaven? How did you-”
Alexandra set the tray down on the bedside table and said as she helped him sit up, “Petrie was sleeping in the dressing room, the door open. I had told him he was to awaken me the moment he heard you stirring. He did. Now, I have some delicious chicken broth for you and some warm bread with butter and honey. What do you think about that?”
“I would marry you if you weren’t my mother.”
Alexandra laughed and lit a branch of candles.
James said as he watched her, “I remember when I was a little boy, sick from something, I don’t remember what it was, but you were always there. I woke up in the middle of the night and there you were standing beside me, holding a candle, and your hair looked like spun flame in that light. I thought you were an angel.”
“I am,” Alexandra said, laughed, and kissed him. She studied him a moment. “You’re looking brighter, your eyes more focused.
Now, I’m going to stuff you.”
She pulled up a chair and sat watching her son while he ate every scrap on the tray. When he was finished, he sighed and leaned his head back against the pillows. He said, his eyes still closed, “When I awoke, my first thought was, where is Corrie?”
Alexandra made a low humming noise.
“She saved my life, Mother. I honestly don’t think my chances of escaping those three men were all that good.”
“She’s always been a resourceful girl,” said Alexandra. “And always completely loyal to you.”
“I never really appreciated that until this happened. Can you believe she saw me taken and jumped right up in the tiger’s perch, with no hesitation at all? Can you believe that? Wearing her damned ball gown.”
“Well, as a matter of fact,” his mother said, “I can believe it.”
He managed a grin. “Ah, you and Father, always there for each other. Yes, you would have leaped up in that tiger’s perch, wouldn’t you?”
“Mayhap I would have pulled out the derringer I wore strapped to my leg and shot the villains. I would have made the effort to save my ball gown.”
“You think to make me laugh? No, I can see you doing that, Mother.” James sighed and closed his eyes again. “I can also picture Corrie in my mind, all of three years old. It was the first time I ever saw her. You were holding her hand when you introduced her to us. I’ll never forget how she looked from Jason to me, back to Jason, and then she said, those big eyes of hers on my face, ‘James.’ ”
“I remember. Then she left me without a backward glance, walked up to you, her head back so she could see as high as your face, and she took your hand. You were ten years old, I believe.”
“She didn’t want to let my hand go. I remember how embarrassed I was. There was this little faerie, and she would sit at my feet and stroke my hand.”
“Remember when Jason tried to fool her into thinking he was you?”
“She kicked him in the shin. He started chasing her, all in good fun, then she saw me and tried to climb up my leg.”
Alex laughed. “Jason was so certain that he had all your mannerisms, but she wasn’t fooled.”
“Miss Juliette Lorimer can’t tell us apart.”
“Ah, yes, Juliette,” Alexandra said, studying her well-worn green slippers. “A lovely girl, don’t you think?”
James nodded. “She dances well, is light on her feet, and yes, really quite beautiful. But the thing is, I could be Jason and she wouldn’t know the difference.”
“She and her mother visited on three different occasions during the time you were missing. We weren’t here, but Jason was. He said that Juliette was very distraught when she realized he wasn’t you.”
James thought about that, but not too much. Weariness dragged at him. He managed a lopsided grin at his mother. “Thank you for keeping me from starving.” And he closed his eyes.
Alexandra leaned down and kissed her son. She straightened, stood there looking down at him for a very long time, thanking God and Corrie Tybourne-Barrett for her son’s life.
“WHO ARE YOU?”
“I’m Freddie, my lord, the new Sherbrooke tiger,” the boy said, puffing out his chest, an amazing feat since there wasn’t much chest to puff out. “No wonder you don’t remember me, real down in the chops ye were.”
What there was, however, was a good deal of pride standing here in his bedchamber. James smiled at the boy wearing the Sherbrooke livery who had traveled to London to tell his parents where he and Corrie were.
“I remember you now, Freddie. Why are you here?”
“I ’ad this gnawin’ in me brain, me lord. I jest wanted to make sure ye were still above ground like everyone were sayin’ downstairs. Everyone is mighty pleased ye survived. Best thing I ever did was to come to yer folks’ big ’ouse, tell ’em where ye was, even though I nearly got me liver sliced.
“And would ye look at what did transpire? Jest look at me, me lord. Ain’t I somethin’ to behold? ’Ere, me lord, ye want to feel this wool? Soft as a baby’s butt, it is.”
“Yes, it looks quite soft and you do look quite splendid, Freddie. Forgive me that I didn’t remember you, but I do know what you did for Corrie and me. Thank you.”
“No matter, my lord, ye was so sick I believed I’d be bringing yer folks back fer a burying, but no, ye managed to pull yerself out o’ the casket. It was Miss Corrie who saved ye. She’s a tough ’un, she is, and she didn’t leave yer side, no she din’t.”
“What did I hear about you nearly getting yourself killed trying to get to London?”
“Set upon, I was, set upon by a gang o’ young toughs what wanted to pound me, fer the fun o’ it. Not much fun fer me, I’ll tell ye. They took the groats Miss Corrie gave me, even though I’d poked ’em down under my foot, but they found ’em. But I gets away from them and got here, looking real bad, but Willicombe knew I ’ad somethin’ important to tell ’is lordship, so’s ’e brings me right in.”
“I appreciate your bravery, Freddie, and your tenacity.”
Freddie nodded, thinking of the five pounds he now carried in his pocket, not under his foot, given to him by the earl himself, and ah, didn’t it feel good lying against that soft wool of his suit, what Mr. Willicombe called his livery. Fine word, livery. Sounded like a dressed-up body part. Freddie rubbed his clean palms over the wool breeches. “Yer pa told me Mr. Willicombe ordered six suits fer me. Six! Can ye imagine that?”
“No,” James said slowly, “I can’t.” James thought about his Uncle Ryder who took in abused and mistreated children, raised them, educated them, and best of all, loved them. How would Freddie do with his Uncle Ryder?
When Jason came into his bedchamber not long after Freddie had slipped away, still stroking wool, James said, “What about sending Freddie to Uncle Ryder?”
“Our very pleased-with-himself new tiger with his six new suits of livery? I don’t think he’d want to go, James. He’s so excited about being in the big city, can’t stop talking about seeing the Tower of Lunnon where all the heads were lopped off. Don’t you see? He’s now worth something. He’s now important to himself. He doesn’t need Uncle Ryder.”
“We’ll at least get him educated.”
Jason smiled. “He’ll probably squawk at that, but I’ll see that Willicombe brings a tutor around and keeps our new tiger in the schoolroom for a good two hours a day. Now, I’m here to tell you that Miss Juliette Lorimer and her mother are here to see you.”
James was shaking his head even before Jason had finished speaking. “I haven’t even shaved yet this morning.”
“At least Lady Juliette would be able to tell us apart.”
“That’s the truth. No, tell the lady I will be up for a visit say, tomorrow afternoon.”
Jason turned to leave, when James said, “Where’s Corrie? You know, when I woke up, her name was nearly out of my mouth, and I couldn’t smell her-it’s a light scent, maybe jasmine. It feels strange not having her right here with me.”
“No wonder. I haven’t heard a thing. She left right after we helped you out of the drawing room. You don’t remember saying good-bye to her?”
James shook his head. “Jase, would you call on her, see how she’s doing? Oh, and what about Miss Judith McCrae? Have you seen her?”
Jason gave him a remarkably austere look, which made him look like a carved Greek statue. “There’s been no time, really. I did inform her once we had you home. I dare-say I will see her again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JAMES WAS SITTING up in bed, bathed and shaved by Petrie, who clucked over him until he was ready to hurl a book at him, when Corrie was ushered in by Willicombe, who was beaming, so pleased to be the escort to the Heroine of the Hour.
And James, eyeing her, said, all stiff as a vicar, “You really shouldn’t be coming to see me alone, Corrie. You’re a young lady; there are rules about this.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Now isn’t that ridiculous? I’v
e run tame in your home all my life. Now I’m supposed to have a chaperone when I come to see you? To make certain that you don’t do something improper, like ravish me in your parents’ home?”
“It’s more the principle of the thing, not really what could actually occur.”
“Looking at you now, I’d wager all my allowance that you couldn’t do a single improper thing. I bet I could arm wrestle you right now, James, and you’d be whimpering within a minute.”
“That’s the truth,” he said easily, feeling himself smile from the inside out. Everyone was being so very kind, so solicitous, so deferential, it set his teeth on edge. And now, finally, here was Corrie and within a minute she had her fist to his jaw. It felt good. He perked right up. “I’ll bet even Freddie could take me out.”
Corrie grinned, but said no more. She stood there at the bottom of his bed, just looking at him.
“I liked your whiskers,” she said at last. “It added complexity to that face of yours.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Beauty all by itself can get boring, don’t you think, James? You know, it just sits there being perfect and soon one wants to yawn.”
He said, without missing a beat, “And I miss your white ball gown, all ripped and filthy. That added needed complexity to your presentation as well. Look at you now-a nice clean green gown, nothing more, nothing less. No, it’s of very little interest at all.” He yawned, patted his hand to his mouth, and yawned again.
She struck a pose, one designed specifically to get his goat, but one that didn’t work since he’d seen her perfecting it in a mirror. She hadn’t seen him, thank the good Lord for that small favor. He waited, smiling, wondering what was going to come out of her mouth. She said, all the while tapping her fingertips to her chin, “You know, now that I think of it, I have to admit that since you were naked most of the time you were ill, lying helpless-you know, all sprawled out on your back-I don’t recall being bored for a moment looking at you. No, I didn’t yawn a single time.”
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