Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman

by Ginny Hartman

  “I know,” Charlotte mumbled, “I hope nothing has happened to him.”

  “Me either. Start searching the Manor. I'll start looking myself and see what we can find.”

  Charlotte nodded in agreement before quickly leaving in search of her master. Elenore sighed as she left. Though she didn't hold a deep affection for the man, she surely didn't want any harm to come upon him. She immediately knew the first place she would look. She waited for Charlotte to disappear from sight, before hurrying down the hall towards Lord Bridgerton's room.

  When her knocking was only answered with silence, she stepped softly into the still dark room, not surprised that the thick velvet curtains were still drawn. She raced towards the bed and found Lord Bridgerton fast asleep, soft snores escaping his slightly parted lips. Reaching down, she jostled his good arm, hoping to rouse him. When he came to, he looked up at her with wide eyes that weren't completely focused, clearly not fully awake yet.

  “I must be dreaming,” he slurred. “Surely having you standing above me in my bed can only be a figment of my wildest dreams.”

  Elenore would have laughed at his absurdity, if she wasn't so full of concern for the earl. “Oh, hush. I came to see if your father was here, but obviously he is not.”

  “My father? Why would my father be here? He doesn't even know I am home.”

  “We can't find him, my lord. He is not in his room, and I have yet to have occasion to see him anywhere but lying in his bed since I arrived here. Something must be wrong.”

  Lord Bridgerton surprised her by bolting straight up in his bed, all traces of sleep disappearing from his face. “What are you doing?” Elenore asked, reaching one hand out and placing it on his arm. He briefly glanced down at her touch before looking once more at her face.

  “I need to go, to find out where he is.”

  “You are in no condition to be going anywhere right now. I suggest you lie down and let Charlotte and myself continue the search for your father. I will come back and let you know what we find out.”

  “No,” he said forcefully, pulling away from her grip and heading towards the door. Elenore dashed in front of him, making it to the door before he did, spreading her body across it to block him from leaving.

  “You are not going anywhere. I would never have come here if I knew you'd behave so irrationally. I only wished to see, if perchance, your father had come seeking you out. I can see now that was a mistake.”

  “Sister Genevieve,” he ground out impatiently, “I'm a grown man perfectly capable of taking care of myself...”

  “You weren't capable last night, that's why you sought out my assistance.”

  He sighed. “That may be true, but I'm much better now, and I need to go after my father.”

  “But why? What's so important that you'd be willing to jeopardize your health? He's likely just stir crazy from the weeks he's spent in bed and merely enjoying a stroll on this lovely summer day.”

  “My father doesn't stroll.”

  Elenore wasn't going to argue with that, for it was likely the truth. “Well, allow me and Charlotte to locate his whereabouts, and I'll gladly return and let you know where he's been.”

  Devon laughed caustically. “I'd like to see you try. It's not as easy keeping an eye on him as you might presume.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that my father goes places and does things that you and the household staff are obviously not aware of. He's the reason I've taken on the identity of Black Lightening.”

  Elenore was confused. She had no idea to what he was referring. “He's the reason you became a highwayman?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes.” Devon sighed impatiently. “He has a penchant for gambling and is slowly draining his coffers. At the rate he is losing money, the estate will be bankrupt soon.”

  “You must be confused. Your father is a sickly man who is confined to his bed. He doesn't go anywhere. He never leaves his chambers.”

  “That's where you are wrong, sister. He showed up in London nearly a fortnight ago and managed to lose an exorbitant amount of money playing cards. I spent the whole evening helplessly watching him loose hand after hand, only to have to disguise myself as Black Lightening and follow the unsuspecting recipient of my father's winnings to try and retrieve the blunt. I've been doing this for months, trying hopelessly to save the accounts from dwindling to nothing.”

  “But why don't you just ask your father to stop?”

  Lord Bridgerton snorted, shaking his head back and forth in irritation. “Why didn't I think of that?” Lowering his head to look her directly in the eyes he said, “I've attempted to discuss matters with him multiple times, but he only gets angry and defensive, refusing to admit there is a problem. This is the only way I know how to save Westbrooke Hall, and if you don't let me go, I may not be able to catch up to him.”

  Elenore slowly removed herself from blocking the door. “At least you've managed to find a way to successfully restore his fortune. I hate to think of what would happen had you not been there to take care of things for him. You're a good son.” Though she may not agree completely with his methods, she agreed heartily with his intents and was impressed that he would take matters into his own hands, to risk his life to try and save the family's estates.

  “I haven't been successful. That's the problem. Every time I hold somebody up, I can't find a single shilling on them. It's as if the money disappears into thin air.”

  “Maybe you're holding up the wrong men? Is it possible you are mistaken?”

  “No, it's not possible. I spend hours watching him gamble and witness him handing the money over with my own eyes. It doesn't make sense.” After a brief pause he pleaded, “Please let me go.”

  Elenore didn't know what else she could do. As he had pointed out, he was a grown man, and she could now better understand his urgency to go after his father. She had no choice but to step aside and let him go, as if she had ever truly been able to stop him in the first place. “I placed your clothes in the cottage, like you asked.”

  “Thanks,” he called out over his shoulder, as he disappeared out of sight.

  Elenore slid from the dark room, hoping that Lord Bridgerton would be both successful in his attempts to find his father and keep from hurting his injured arm in the process. She worried about his arm more than she'd like to admit, not certain why she cared so much.

  Backing down the hall, she went to Lord Brattondale's room to see for herself that he indeed wasn't there. She peered in, his absence was noticeable. His bed coverings were pulled back and rumpled, and there were no candles lit or curtains drawn. The room was dark and silent and eerily devoid of life without the demanding earl barking commands to anyone who was unfortunate enough to wander across his path.

  Elenore left his room, shutting the door behind her and went in search of Charlotte. She hoped with everything in her that the girl had been successful in finding the earl so that Lord Bridgerton could return to resting in his room. She'd feel horrible if anything happened to him.

  Chapter 15

  Devon raced out to the stables, his arm throbbing and his head swimming. He didn't want to admit, even to himself, that his decision to look for his father was brash, but there's no way he could stay in bed knowing that his father could be gambling away more of his precious funds and not do anything about it.

  By the time he found Calvin in his stall, his arm was on fire, and all he wanted to do was lie down. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and he knew that the trip to London would be strenuous in his condition. He leaned up against the stall as Calvin nudged him gently with his head, seeking some affection. Devon obliged by lifting his hand and stroking his neck. Taking a deep breath, he made the decision not to go after his father, not that any of his attempts to retrieve the lost money had been successful anyway.

  He gathered his bearings before once more turning and heading back to the house. With any luck, Sister Genevieve would have found his father around the
manor somewhere and all of his worrying would be in vain. He went straight to his room and laid down, closing his eyes against the painful throbbing in his arm.

  ***

  Elenore was relieved to hear voices, as she approached the rarely used dining room. She quickly recognized the deep voice of Lord Brattondale and heaved a sigh of relief. She was grateful that he hadn't left the manor and hoped that she could inform Lord Bridgerton of the discovery before he gallivanted off to London in search of his father.

  Charlotte and Lord Bridgerton stopped talking as she entered the room, both pairs of eyes looking up at the intrusion. “Pardon, my lord, but I was worried when I didn't find you in your room earlier.” She noticed he was impeccably dressed as if he was ready to go out for the day, the first time she had seen him in anything other than his nightclothes. “Is everything well?”

  “My apologies. I should have informed you of my whereabouts. I woke up feeling unusually chipper and decided it was high time I got out for a change of scenery.”

  “I would hate to see you overdue it,” Elenore added cautiously.

  “Nonsense. Now, if you'll both just excuse me, I have matters to attend to.” He made to rise and Elenore hurried over and sat next to him at the long table.

  “Lord Brattondale, I cannot in good conscious allow you to overexert yourself. You have been terribly ill for so long, and I must caution you that overdoing it could only cause a dreadful relapse.” She reached out and placed a hand on his arm to reinforce her concern. Normally, she'd be glad for the respite his absence would give her in her nursing duties, but that was before she knew of his gambling problem.

  Lord Brattondale looked down at her hand on his arm, his face softening in a moment of tenderness. He glanced back up at Elenore and said, “I promise to take it easy, and I'll make sure to alert you if I need your assistance, but in the meantime, I've got things to do.”

  Without further argument, Lord Brattondale rose from his seat and began exiting the room. Elenore rose just as quickly and followed right behind him, regretting that she would have to wait to try and stop Lord Bridgerton from leaving, chances being that she'd miss him. Lord Brattondale glanced back at her curiously as she trailed behind him but didn't object to her presence. In fact, she spent the next several hours following him around, making idle conversation with him, as he flitted from room to room looking as if he wanted to do something but not sure what. Elenore figured he probably wanted some privacy, but she wasn't about to risk letting him out of her sight in case he took it as an opportunity to flee.

  Finally, after browsing the shelves in the library without much interest, he turned to her and said, “I think it's time for me to go lie down. Please have a tray brought up to me posthaste,” then he turned and walked out of the room.

  Elenore was relieved that he was finally returning to his chambers, so bored was she with following him around. She wanted to go check on Lord Bridgerton too see if he had returned to the manor. Then she could let him know that his father had been found and that he was still safely at home. But she hadn't dared leave Lord Brattondale unattended, for fear of what he would do. She hoped that dinner would be a quick affair so she could sneak back to Lord Bridgerton's room to see if he was there.

  Walking into Lord Brattondale's room, Elenore noted that he appeared tired but not ill. She took the tray of food over and set it on his bed, optimistic that his improved health would allow him to do his own feeding for once. Unfortunately, luck wasn't in her favor.

  “Feed me the soup first,” he demanded, looking over the contents of the tray.

  Elenore did as she was told, anxious to be on her way. In her haste, she was more careless than usual and Lord Brat did not appreciate her inattention one bit. He finally grabbed the spoon from her hand and insisted, to her great relief, that he'd finish the job himself.

  As soon as she left the earl's room, she practically fled to Lord Bridgerton's bedchamber, anxious to see that he was well. She knocked on his door and bounced from one foot to the other in her impatience. When there was no answer, she began to grow worried and took the liberty of opening the door and slipping into the dark confines.

  “Lord Bridgerton, are you here?” She asked in a loud whisper. When there was no answer, she stepped further into the room, her heart beating erratically.

  She walked towards the bed, both hands in front of her. When she got to the large mass, she felt the mattress below her and gasped when her hands came in contact with his person. She gently shook him, hoping to wake him, but the only response she got was a low moan. She went to shake him again, and her hand came in contact with his bare skin and she noticed it felt uncommonly warm. She frantically searched out his face and felt like her palms had been scorched, when they rested on his forehead. He was burning up with fever.

  Elenore panicked. She knew that his fever was a sign of infection, and she knew the results could be deadly. She attempted to rouse him once more but got no more of a response out of him than she had the first time. Though she was loathe to leave him in such a state, she knew she had to fetch some cool water and rags and attempt to cool his body, before the raging fever burned him up completely.

  Once she had gathered her supplies, she returned to Lord Bridgerton's room, this time taking a moment to light a candle, which she set on his nightstand. She set the small basin of water next to it and instantly began dipping her rag in the cool liquid so she could lay it on his forehead. He didn't even flinch at her touch or the presence of the cold rag that was dripping a watery path down the side of his head and neck, the drops disappearing into the pillow. As soon as the first rag was in place, she took another rag, dipped it, and began running it over his neck. She reached down and loosened the collar of his shirt to expose more of his chest so she could continue to minister to him.

  In the soft candlelight he looked so peaceful, so well. It was hard to tell in the semi-darkness that his body was ravaged with infection. She took a minute to stare at his face, sure that she had never seen a more handsome man in all of her days. And not only was he handsome, he was kind, and his concern for his father touched her deeply. The thought of him putting his own reputation, and even his life on the line, to try and protect his father and the estate from his own foolish choices was admirable to her.

  A soft groan brought her focus back to the task at hand. She re-wet the rag on his forehead and put it back in place, before deciding it was time to check his wound. She couldn't get his sleeve to push up his arm high enough to expose his injury, so she had to pull his shirt collar wide open and slide it to the side to reveal his bandaged shoulder.

  She gently removed the bandages to reveal the angry, red lesion. She was relieved that there was no puss, though it still didn't look good. She stroked the wound with a rag, wondering what would have caused an infection to set in so quickly. She wasn't sure if it was the strenuous ride back to Surrey in the middle of the night or if she hadn't cleaned it well enough. Moments later, the cause revealed itself when she leaned in closely and saw a few fragments of the ball still imbedded in his tender flesh. She instantly felt contrite. How had she missed the pieces of debris the previous night?

  Using the edge of her fingernail, she scraped the offending fragments out, two in all. At one point during her prodding, Lord Bridgerton cried out in pain, though his eyes remained closed the entire time, as he remained unconscious. Guilt consumed her at being the cause of his discomfort, but she knew, if she didn't remove the pieces now, the infection would only get worse.

  As soon as she was convinced that all of the shrapnel had been removed, she re-bandaged the wound and set about her task of applying the cool rags to his body. Her own body was tired and weary from the lack of sleep the previous night, but there was no way she, in good conscience, could leave Lord Bridgerton alone and unwell.

  Soon her head began to nod, as her eyes drifted close with exhaustion. She jerked her head up multiple times before finally relenting and giving into the sleep that was threate
ning to overcome her. Still sitting in the chair next to Lord Bridgerton's bed, she finally allowed herself to fall into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 16

  Tuesday, May 17, 1814

  A low moaning woke Elenore out of her sleep. She instantly became alert, her attention going immediately to Lord Bridgerton. His eyes remained closed, as he shook his head back and forth. The low moaning that had woken her was coming from him. She reached forth her hand to feel his head and was disappointed when it still felt hot to the touch. She retrieved the rag that had fallen from his head during the night that was now lying in the bed next to him, quickly dipping it into the water and placing it once more on his head. The shock of the cool rag caused him to open his eyes.

  It took a moment for his brown eyes to focus on her, and even though he was looking at her, she wasn't sure he comprehended that she was there with him. “Lord Bridgerton,” she spoke quietly but firmly. “can you understand me?”

  The only response he gave was a nearly imperceptible nod of his head.

  “I think I should send for the doctor. You are not well, and there's not much more I can do for you.”

  At the mention of the doctor, he seemed to become more alert. He struggled to speak, his voice dry and raspy. Elenore reached for a glass of water and urged him to take a drink before he continued. “You can't send for the doctor, nobody knows that I am here.”

  “They'll know soon enough.”

  “No,” he shook his head violently. “There's no way I can explain the wound without revealing my identity as Black Lightening.”

  “Lord Bridgerton...”

  “Call me Devon,” he interrupted her wearily.

  Elenore wasn't about to argue with him regarding the informal manner of address, when she had much more important things to worry about. “Devon,” she urged, “you don't understand that you are terribly ill. There is nothing more I can do for you, and I'm afraid, if you don't get help, your illness will only progress.”