by Allison Lane
“Improving.” Jenkins had then confirmed most of Hope’s diagnosis, though the nose was, in fact, broken. “Not badly,” he’d added. “But she should remain abed for another week.”
“We will see to it.”
Jenkins had nodded, then stared pointedly at the barricade across the hallway before entering the office.
“She will come to no harm,” Max had promised, removing the chair he’d wedged against the other door – he’d not had time to arrange the bar. “But she is too anxious for her mother right now to consider her position.”
Jenkins had left to check on other patients, leaving Max to brood over the complications in his life. But at least the doctor had provided an excuse to terminate this party. Two of those other patients were suffering from cowpox contracted to protect them against smallpox.
He nodded as boots clattered on the stairs. With luck, it would be Dornbras. If he handled this right, he could be rid of the man within the hour.
Dornbras’s mother had died of smallpox shortly after his own mother had tumbled down the stairs – forming another bond between them at Eton and depriving Dornbras of his chief supporter. It had given the man a powerful aversion to illness. If he played his cards right, Dornbras would flee, insulting him enough to explain dropping the connection. If he was wrong, he would pitch them all into a scandal that would be discussed for years.
The first omen was good. Dornbras was alone in the dining room.
“Why the long face?” he demanded as Max entered. Perhaps he expected further comment on yesterday’s contretemps, for his eyes seemed deadlier than ever – at least deadlier than Max had seen.
“The doctor’s arrival did not awaken you?”
“Doctor?” He froze in horror.
Max shook his head. “Forgive me. It has been a troubling morning. I had forgotten that your room overlooked the rear gardens. One of the tenants has smallpox. Since his sister works here, the doctor is concerned about contagion.”
Dornbras choked, spitting bits of egg across the table. “Sm— Con— What?”
“The doctor insists on examining each of us as soon as he fetches his wife to help with the ladies. It is a formality, of course. The girls show no symptoms, so it cannot have spread this far, but I promised we would cooperate.”
“No.” His face was turning green. “I cannot risk— He might quarantine the house. My plans— I must leave.”
“I am sure you can go as soon as he verifies that you are free of disease. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
“I cannot wait. I should have left yesterday. Summon my carriage.” He was practically running by the time he reached the door.
Max had no time to wonder why Dornbras had grabbed a vase on the way out. The sounds of gagging and retching echoed along the hallway. The man’s fear was stronger than he’d thought.
He smiled, not the least sorry to have inflicted a little suffering on his erstwhile friend. Summoning Henry, he ordered Dornbras’s carriage, then settled in to enjoy a good breakfast.
By the time he finished, Dornbras was gone. Rob would follow him. Not only would the groom see where Dornbras went, but he could counter any rumors the man might start.
He was heading upstairs when Reggie appeared.
“It is time to terminate this gathering,” Max said without preamble. “One of the tenants is ill – a brother to most of my staff. The doctor claims it is only cowpox, but I prefer to take no chances.”
“Good thinking.” Reggie nodded. “I don’t trust country quacks. And this can only detract from our enjoyment. When do we leave?”
“Dornbras is already gone. I must remain until tomorrow. You can wait until then or go today. Your choice.”
“What are the others doing?”
“I will speak with them now.”
Max headed for Blake’s room.
“What now?” Blake was still half asleep when he answered the door. “Is her mother worse?”
“Not so loud.” He glanced along the hall before shutting the door. “As far as I know, she is fine. But I used the doctor’s visit to terminate the party. Dornbras is gone.”
“Already?”
“The maids’ young brother has cowpox – at least we hope that is the worst of it,” he said piously.
“You play rough. I take it he fled.”
“Leaving behind everything he’s eaten in at least three days. Reggie wishes to know everyone’s plans before deciding whether to leave now or tomorrow.”
“Encourage him to leave now, Max.” Blake wrapped his dressing gown around him. “And ask him to escort the girls – he should enjoy that. I cannot leave you here alone. Someone is bound to call once the party ends. I am not the most acceptable chaperon, but it would be better than nothing.”
“True, but Reggie thinks I am leaving tomorrow. How can you explain staying?”
“I have business in Exeter and will not return directly to London – which is true, by the way, though the business is hardly pressing.”
“So he needs to leave today. I will encourage him to do so, then. But it will be difficult to hide our presence if two of us remain. And Missy will also be here.”
“How is she?”
“Improving, but Jenkins ordered her to remain in bed for at least another week.”
“All the more reason for me to stay.”
“Very well.” He opened the door. “I will tell the girls to start packing.”
But a new problem awaited him. Jeanette sported a black eye.
“Dornbras?” he asked grimly.
She nodded.
“What happened?”
“He tried to use force,” she said.
“Tried?”
“She kicked him where it hurts the most,” said Flo.
“Good for you.” He nodded at Jeanette. “If I’d known, I’d have added to the injury before he left.”
“He’s gone?” asked Flo.
“Just now. He won’t be back.”
Jeanette’s eyes widened. “He’s a bad one,” she said hesitantly.
“So I’ve learned. Any other injuries?”
“A couple of bruises.”
“More than a couple,” said Francine darkly. “She’s lucky she escaped.”
“And equally lucky he didn’t come after her,” said Max.
“We know. We kept the door locked, but he did nothing. He may have thought you would investigate if he made a fuss.”
He noted that each of the girls had something at hand that could be used as a weapon – a vase, a penknife, a walking stick he’d left in the dressing room. “Forgive me. I did not know he was brutal when I invited him. Can you travel?” he asked, returning to Jeanette.
“If I must.”
“She shouldn’t for a few days,” said Flo. “I think she’s hurt more than she lets on.”
“And returning to work with that eye will invite worse,” added Francine.
“Then she must stay here until it heals.” No wonder Dornbras had fled so adroitly. He must have realized that he could never hide this latest attack. And his own earlier claim that Missy had sought out the local doctor must also have raised fears. “Are you two willing to share a carriage with Sir Reginald?” he asked.
Francine smiled. “He’s a nice one.”
“Clean and playful,” Flo agreed.
Two hours later, Max breathed a sigh of relief as Reggie’s coach disappeared down the drive. His guilt had grown steadily since he’d left the girls’ room. He should have recognized Dornbras’s nature long ago. Instead, he’d basked in the glow of insincere flattery, exposing society to the man’s cruelty.
His father had been right to condemn the friendship. And if he were honest, he had used the connection more to irritate his father than because he cared for Dornbras himself. Which did not reflect well on him.
This house party marked a crossroads in his life. It had stripped the scales from his eyes, forcing him to admit unpalatable truths. He had adopted his father’s arrogance and st
ubbornness. He’d allowed an evil man to manipulate him. And his father was sometimes right. Montcalm might be overbearing, but his edicts tried to keep his heir out of trouble.
This party would also mark another change, for he must offer for Hope.
When had he started thinking of her so informally? he wondered, realizing that he was using her given name. But he knew the answer. When she had snuggled into his lap last night, something had shifted. Which was just as well, he decided when the memory raised renewed interest. Now he had to convince her to accept him.
* * * *
Hope unlocked the office door and joined Merimont in the entrance hall. Relief had washed over her as she’d watched the departures. The first had been Dornbras, who’d looked positively green as he’d leaped into his carriage. The glimpse she’d caught of the man’s eyes as the coachman sprang the horses had revealed stark terror. What had Merimont said?
The next coach had carried the redheaded gentleman and two girls. Their behavior had not changed since their arrival, with the girls giggling and the man indulging in bold caresses.
Not that she cared, she reminded herself, suppressing memories of Merimont holding her in his lap.
“How is your mother?” he asked, bolting the front door.
“Quieter, though her breathing remains labored. How did you know that raising her head would help?”
He smiled. “There is nothing magical about it. I suffered an inflammation of the lungs in childhood. Propping myself up was the only way I could breathe. It was one of the few times my father took my part against a doctor.”
“I am grateful.”
“Is she still delirious?”
She nodded as Merimont steered her back to the office, one hand resting lightly on her back. “Usually her feverish ramblings make sense,” she said, half to herself. His touch did strange things to her spine. “But not this time. I believe she is trapped in some ancient argument and cannot escape.”
“With Dickie?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Who is he?”
She turned to face him. “I’ve no idea. Last night was the first time she mentioned the name.” Questions swirled through her head – the same ones she could see in his eyes. Not wanting to confide her mother’s secrets, especially to a man, she changed the subject. “What did you do to Dornbras? He fled as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.”
“I wish they were.” He ran his fingers through hair that already looked thoroughly disheveled. “I claimed Jenkins had warned us that one of the tenants had smallpox.”
“They’ve all been inoculated. It is a fearful disease.”
“His mother died of it, but I believe he jumped on the excuse to leave before his sins caught up with him.”
Her heart stalled as he turned away. “What happened?”
“He struck Jeanette last night, though she managed some revenge of her own.”
“Dear Lord!”
“It is my fault.” His voice revealed genuine pain. “I never should have brought him here.”
“Doing it a bit too brown, my lord,” she said, trying to lighten his mood. “You may have mistaken his character, but you hardly conspired with him.”
“I should have recognized his faults earlier.”
“So you’re not a saint.” She smiled. “Be grateful. Hair shirts and scourging sound quite uncomfortable.”
“You continue to amaze me,” he said, shaking his head as he turned back to face her. “I expected a tongue-lashing when you learned of Jeanette’s injuries.”
“Am I such a harridan – no, don’t answer that,” she begged before he could open his mouth, for he would hardly have made such a comment if she were not. “I have accepted that there is little you can do against him at the moment. How badly was she hurt?”
“A few bruises, but she cannot return to London until they are healed. She is asleep just now. I will move Missy into the west wing as well. Blake and I will see after them.”
“That is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard. What do you know about nursing?”
“It isn’t that difficult.”
“But it would be highly improper for you to care for a female.”
“Why?” His eyes gleamed. “Do you fear I’ll ravish her?”
“Of course not!” she sputtered, blushing.
“Then perhaps you think she’ll ravish me.”
“I’m sure you would relish the experience,” she said tartly, then blushed even harder when she realized what she’d said. “You are a very bad influence,” she snapped.
He laughed. “Most ladies think me quite good.”
“And conceited, as well.” She drew in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the look in his blue eyes. It was far too dangerous to continue such banter. Straightening the papers on her desk gave her an excuse to put its bulk between them. “Do not offend propriety worse than you must. You can entertain them – with cards and the like,” she added briskly. “But it would never do to see after their other needs.”
“Ah.” He pretended great enlightenment, though his eyes twinkled brighter than ever. “You do not think me capable of handling chamber pots and monthly courses.”
“Oh!” She wished the floor would open to swallow her.
“I should not tease you,” he said, running a finger down the side of her neck. When had he joined her behind the desk? “This will not be the first time I’ve cared for a female, though I beg you not to hold that against me.”
“Your mistresses, I suppose.”
“Others like Missy. I do not tolerate violence, no matter how lowly the victim.” He tipped her head so she had to look him in the eye. “I am not the monster you think me, my dear Miss Ashburton. Caring for your mother will keep you busy. Blake and I can see after the others.”
She stared into those blue eyes, seeing only sincerity. “Very well, but I will also keep an eye on them.”
“If you insist. We will remove the barricades, then bring Missy to the west wing. It will be easier for all of us once the house is united.”
What was he saying? she wondered, panicking when sparks flew down her arms from his caress. Why was she standing here while he seduced her?
“I must check on Mother,” she said, bolting without another word. She thought a shout of laughter erupted behind her, but her ears were buzzing too loudly to be sure.
Silly fool, she berated herself. Not only had she fled like the veriest ninny, but she’d revealed her nervousness. He must think her the pattern card for frustrated spinsters everywhere.
And she was. She must avoid him to guard against further silliness. This was a momentary aberration, brought on by finding herself in a man’s embrace for the first time in her life. If she’d had a father, last night would have meant nothing, for Merimont had offered only comfort.
But the uncomfortable sensations returned when she discovered that he was removing the barriers. They had kept her safe. Now she would never know when she might run into him.
Chapter Twelve
Hope stood at the kitchen table briskly kneading bread and glaring at a back door that had admitted no one this morning. What else could go wrong?
Even before Merimont had finished removing barricades yesterday, Daisy Price had raced into the library to report that her father had fallen from the barn roof. All the Prices had rushed home, leaving no staff beyond Mrs. Tweed, Rose, and Henry.
At least Mr. Price was alive, she reminded herself, lest this latest disaster drive her into a melancholy as bad as her mother’s. But he’d snapped his leg and would be unable to rise for weeks. Mrs. Price had to look after him and their sons – which must also require Daisy and Annie’s help. The girls had not reported for work today.
Frustrated beyond bearing, she pounded the dough. Imagination turned it into Dornbras, into the evil humor infesting her mother’s lungs, into Merimont – she distrusted his sudden affability and his penchant for sneaking close enough to touch her – into her uncle
for catapulting her into this imbroglio, and finally into Mr. Price’s broken leg, which deprived her of any usable staff.
Her stamina had already been stretched to the limit by nursing, cleaning, and cooking for four. Having to cook for ten more was the last straw. Her own efforts in recent days had dwindled to bread, porridge, and whichever boiled meat she used to make her mother’s broth. She’d been too exhausted even to add turnips, carrots, and onions to the joint to make a stew. Now she had to produce regular meals for two lords, herself, her mother, two courtesans, and eight servants, none of whom could help her.
Giving the dough one last whack, she shaped it into loaves and was covering them with a cloth when Merimont walked in.
“What are you doing down here?” she demanded sharply.
“Helping you cook breakfast.”
She stared.
“It has not escaped my notice that you do most of the work, Miss Ashburton,” he said matter-of-factly. “As you pointed out last week, Rose and Mrs. Tweed are too old to be effective. I’ve sent to London for a staff. In the meantime, we must all lend a hand.”
“But—”
“But what?” he asked when she stopped.
“But you’re a man.”
“You have excellent eyesight, Miss Ashburton.” His eyes danced with laughter.
“That is not what I meant.” Feeling the heat rise in her face made her blush even harder. “What do you expect to do? I doubt you’ve been in a kitchen longer than it takes to steal sweets.”
“True, but you can guide me. Learning will be fun.”
“You have a very odd notion of pleasure,” she snapped, flustered as he moved around the table to stand so close that she could feel his body heat despite the roaring fire only ten feet away.
“I have an excellent understanding of pleasure,” he murmured.
Ignoring the suggestive tone, she snatched up the pot of oats and barley that had been steeping overnight and hung it above the fire, adding a pinch of salt from the box fastened inside the fireplace. “You already offered to nurse Missy and Jeanette. Why have you abandoned them?”
“I haven’t. Unlike your mother, neither needs constant attending. Now that the Prices are gone, I will be more useful elsewhere.”
