“You know it’s true,” Lady Penninghurst had told her daughter in a scolding tone. “No wonder she is partial to that bland, unexciting blunderbuss.”
Watching his niece now, the earl believed his wife and daughter were correct in their assessment of the situation.
After they reseated themselves, Bella looked again at Robert with a serene smile gracing her lovely features. She had not seen him for several weeks and had missed his good-natured visits.
He was dressed in a very tightfitting coat of blue wool and dark brown trousers. Bella admired the shine of his boots as he accepted a cup of tea from her.
Casting a harried glance at her uncle, Bella hoped he would not be sandoffish to Robert. She was very aware that Uncle David seemed to have the same erroneous opinion of Robert as her papa did.
Even though she fully intended to marry Robert Fortiscue, Bella had to own to herself that she did not find him perfect. Indeed, the way he held his pinky finger up in the air while he sipped his tea was rather irritating. Feeling rather petty for her observation, Bella dismissed from her mind this critique of her intended. After all, no one was perfect.
But still, it was very strange to Bella that her family could not see Robert’s finer qualities. Could they not see how convenient and practical it would be for her to reside at Oakdale? Sometimes Bella thought her family displayed a severe lack of common sense.
Robert cleared his throat and asked after everyone at Penninghurst Park before turning to Bella and asking after her father and brother. When he had dispensed with these formalities, he turned his questioning to the mysterious stranger.
“What is this about young Tommy finding a half-dead chap in your garden? The whole village can speak of nothing else.”
Bella explained to him the events that had brought the man to the house.
“The doctor is due back this afternoon,” she said as she finished the tale. “The stranger does not seem to be any worse, thank goodness, but I cannot tell if he is improving.”
“Heavens! Miss Tichley, what a nine days’ wonder! Have you no clue as to his identity?” he questioned as he nibbled delicately on a biscuit.
“Not a notion. My uncle thinks the gentleman may have dropped from the moon.” Bella smiled at her uncle, who was scowling at Robert’s raised pinky finger.
“What is being done to find out who the man is?” Robert turned his questioning pale blue eyes to the earl.
“I have several men scouring the countryside as we speak. That’s what’s being done,” the earl blustered at Fortiscue, taking umbrage to the implied criticism in the younger man’s tone.
Robert blinked several times at the earl and seemed to shrink back into his chair.
Groaning inwardly at her uncle’s defensiveness, Bella said soothingly, “Yes, Uncle, we know that everything that is humanly possible is being done to discover who the man is.”
“Well, as I have traveled extensively through the country, and since you say the man appears to be a gentleman, mayhap I should have a look at him. It is possible that I might recognize him.”
Bella hesitated a moment before casting aside her previous resistance to visitors. After all, there really was no harm in letting Robert see the man. And, though improbable, it would be very good luck if Robert did happen to recognize the stranger, she concluded.
Rising from her chair, Bella nodded to Robert. “Please come this way.”
Uncle David followed, and the three of them proceeded to Bella’s bedchamber.
Bella watched Robert’s face for any signs of recognition as the blond man looked down at the invalid. She saw Robert’s pale brows go up.
“Yes?” Bella questioned. “Do you know him?”
“Er… no. I am just surprised at what a ruffian he looks. He’s quite a big chap, isn’t he?”
Bella felt that Robert’s tone was disapproving, and she wondered at it.
“Well, certainly he has grown a bit of a beard, but I would not say that he looks like a ruffian.” She ended this statement on a softer tone when she realized she was responding a little defensively.
Robert looked back down at the patient and sniffed. “I must say, Miss Tichley, does he have to remain here? You know nothing about this man. He could be a highwayman.”
Bella looked at Robert in surprise. “No, he cannot be moved, Mr. Fortiscue. He is not yet out of danger. Besides, I believe him to be a gentleman.”
Mr. Fortiscue sniffed again.
With that, the three of them returned to the front room.
Uncle David did not sit down, but turned to his niece.
“I thank you for your hospitality, niece, but I must return to the Park.”
Bella thought her uncle spoke a little too loudly as he cast Robert a significant look.
“Oh, yes, I must take my leave also,” Robert said quickly as he took the earl’s meaning.
Smiling to herself, Bella retrieved the gentlemen’s things. Her uncle was correct in his subtle hint that it would be improper for Robert to remain alone with Bella.
But she was very pleased that Robert had come, and she said good-bye to him as warmly as she could.
He kissed her fingers delicately. “I shall call upon you soon, if I may.”
“You may,” Bella said, smiling into his pale blue eyes.
It was well past midnight when Tommy rose from his pallet at the foot of the stranger’s bed. He had been roused by the sounds of the stranger’s low moaning and tossing about as if he were trying to get out of the bed.
“Hold still, sir,” Tommy said before padding out of the room. Bella was using a spare room while the invalid occupied hers.
“Bella,” he whispered to the shapeless form under the mound of blankets.
Instantly she sat up, pushing her dark braid off her shoulder.
“Tommy? Is he worse?” Bella was already pushing aside the heavy blankets and reaching for her woolen robe.
“Yes. He’s making noises and trying to get up again,” Tommy informed her with a half-stifled yawn as he followed his sister back into the bedroom.
To her deep concern, Bella saw that the stranger was half out of the bed, his broad, deeply muscled chest gleaming in the firelight.
Bella did not bother to stifle her gasp of distress at the red stains of fresh blood evident on the bandages on the stranger’s left shoulder.
“Tommy, get my things and the clean bandages. Hurry,” she urged as she rushed over to the big man who was still struggling to rise.
“You mustn’t! Please, sir, you will damage your wound further.” She tried to keep her voice calm but firm as she put her hands on his chest and gently pushed him down. His skin felt hot to her touch, she noted with dismay. She might as well have been pushing against the oak tree in the front drive for all the effect her efforts had on him. How could he still be so strong when he was so ill? She shook her head in wonder at his strength.
“Leave off,” he said in a growl, trying to push her aside. “I am a sitting duck here. I won’t have a chance against the bastards.”
Bella frowned again. He had said much the same on the previous night. But before, his ranting had not been this intelligible. Bella glanced to the door, wishing Tommy would hurry. She knew she could not handle the stranger by herself.
She decided to try reasoning with him, since he seemed a little more lucid, despite his raging fever. Bracing herself, she took advantage of his trembling legs and pushed with all her might. He fell back into a sitting position on the bed. He continued to struggle with her, trying to push her from him. Shoving his hands away as best she could, Bella grabbed his face between her hands and forced him to look up at her.
His dark gray eyes glittered up at her feverishly, angrily.
“Sir, you are safe here. You must lie down now, or you will tear your wound open further.” Gently she pushed the silky strands of his thick black hair away from his damp, hot forehead. “You have been here for three days. No one has come for you. You have eluded your attackers. We will not
let anyone harm you. You are safe here.”
He had ceased his struggles, but did not lie back on the bed.
Her voice penetrated his fever-fogged brain. Her voice: low and clear and melodious, with a slight huskiness that was very memorable. Blinking, he glanced around the little room. A vague memory of the last few days began to come back to him.
He remembered this girl with the beautiful voice and gentle hands. Her hands still held his face, and he looked up at her, trying to make out her features in the firelit shadows. He now recalled that this girl and her family had taken him in and nursed him. Without a doubt, he knew he would be dead in the shrubbery if not for her.
At this moment he was not sure what shrubbery or exactly why he would be dead, but he knew this girl was important.
“Please, sir, lie back now. I am not strong enough to constrain you in your delirium.”
He felt the pressure of her hands upon his chest and looked down to see her slender fingers splayed against him. Distantly he wondered how many times he had seen a woman’s hand upon him like this. But never under these circumstances, he mused in fevered distraction.
“What is your name?” He wanted a name to put with the voice that spoke so soothingly to him in his fever.
“Arabella, sir, and yours?” she said softly, well pleased that he no longer seemed delirious.
He allowed her to push him back against the pillows and place the blankets over him.
To her relief, Tommy had finally returned with the things from her sewing kit and the strips of torn-up nightgown.
As gently as she could, she began to cut through the bloody bandages.
“West…” he forced out through clenched teeth as pain stabbed through his body and he slipped again into unconsciousness.
Chapter Five
Despite occasional moments of lucidness, the stranger—or Mr. West, as she now thought of him—still had a raging fever the next morning.
Bella fretted over him, a frown of concern often between her brows as she sponged cool water over his flushed, hot skin.
Dr. Pearce arrived early, more out of curiosity than to actually do anything, Bella suspected. He offered little help.
“I don’t think cupping him would help. He’s lost enough blood as it is. The fever will either break or not.” The doctor shrugged. “Give him a few more drops of laudanum when he wakes.”
“But the longer the fever lasts, the weaker he becomes,” she had protested to the doctor. “Surely there is something we can do.”
“Only time will tell if he can survive this,” the doctor stated flatly before taking his leave.
Bella continued to care for the man as best she could. Sometimes he was delirious and hard for her to handle. During these times she would speak to him softly. Bella had noticed on previous nights that her voice seemed to calm him.
Papa and Tommy did their best to be helpful, though it did little good. The man only fussed when anyone but Bella tried to tend to him.
Uncle David and Aunt Elizabeth called, but they brought no news of the man’s identity.
“No one in three villages is aware of a missing Mr. West,” her uncle had lamented.
It was not surprising to Bella that after the first few days, Triss found the house a dead bore, as she had put it, and had not visited since.
So the hours blended and Bella continued to pray that the man would soon be better.
Later that night, during the wee hours, when he was quiet, Bella retrieved the letters from the pocket of his greatcoat. Unfolding the vellum, Bella reread the tryst notes and wondered which lady he had chosen to meet.
“I hope you did not choose the one who uses too many exclamation points,” she said to her patient, smiling a little at her own absurdity in the quiet room.
For some reason that she could not identify, Bella had not shown anyone else the notes.
Refolding the notes and placing them back in the pocket, Bella looked at her patient closely, almost willing him to heal. Her gaze traveled over his angular features, down his aquiline nose to his square jaw.
“My, you are growing quite a beard,” she observed.
He did not move, and she continued to scan his features.
His lips were perfectly sculpted. It was a mouth that revealed sensitivity and kindness, she mused.
She moved down to his broad chest and felt an irrepressible blush coming to her cheeks. Bella had never come into such intimate contact with a man close to her own age. She found it rather disconcerting. There in the shadowy dimness of her room, Bella found herself thinking that her patient looked like one of the heroes in the storybooks she loved to read. Did he look more like Sir Galahad or Apollo? she wondered, tilting her head to the side so that she could examine him more closely.
She wondered if he liked poetry. Or history?
His hands looked strong and capable. The fingers, splayed on top of the blanket above his waist, were long and bore no calluses. She decided they were handsome hands. Certainly not artistic like Robert’s, she thought quickly in defense of her intended, but still handsome. Bella made a face, recalling that Papa had once said Robert’s hands looked weak.
As she grew sleepy, her thoughts drifted to Robert. She wondered when he would officially propose to her. Though there had been definite discussions regarding a future together, Robert had not approached Papa yet to ask for her hand. Bella suspected Robert knew that Papa and her uncle did not hold him in high regard.
Leaning back in the rocking chair, Bella gave in to her favorite pleasure of mentally redecorating Robert’s home. Oakdale was a large, well-appointed house that boasted not less than eight bedchambers.
Unfortunately Oakdale was sadly out of style. And no wonder, since it had not been redecorated for more than thirty years. Robert’s mother had been a new bride when she had arrived at Oakdale. Robert’s father had died shortly after Robert’s birth, and Mrs. Fortiscue had not wanted to change anything about the place. The gardens were beautiful, though, if overgrown. And the stables had been recently refurbished.
Bella thought it would be lovely to be mistress of her own home. “After all,” she said aloud to her patient, “I am almost five and twenty. It is time that I have a home of my own.”
Westlake showed no sign of hearing her.
She also wanted a family. It was her opinion that Robert, with his good-natured gentleness, would make a very fine father.
It pleased her that she and Robert were so well suited. But what she liked best about him was that he did not mind that she enjoyed reading so much.
Over the years, a number of young men whose families were well known to hers had paid court to her. But she had ultimately declined them all because they had thought her love of learning was something to be discouraged.
Triss had often told her that gentlemen had an aversion to bluestockings. “No matter how pretty you are, Bella, no man wants a wife who is smarter than he is. You are in danger of remaining on the shelf,” Triss had warned. But Bella had paid her cousin no mind.
Robert was different. He seemed to like the fact that Bella was intelligent and sensible. He had often paid her this compliment during their walks to church.
It pleased Bella that she and Robert had practically grown up together. It was important to her that she wed someone from Mabry Green. She loved the tiny village, and felt a certain satisfaction, and even a little pride, in the fact that she was invited to all social functions, and that her opinions on any number of subjects were well respected.
Being the only practical one in her family had caused Bella to appreciate peace and normalcy, and Robert had often stated that he desired those qualities also. So it seemed to Bella that Mr. Fortiscue was the wisest choice she could make. It would have been even better to actually be in love with Robert Fortiscue, but one could not have everything, she mused philosophically.
Looking back down at her patient, Bella wondered if he was married. If he was, she certainly pitied his wife. How horrible it would
be to have no trust in one’s husband, to always worry about him disappearing to meet ladies in atriums.
No, thank you, she thought as her lids grew heavy. I will take trustworthy Robert over a philanderer any day.
Sometime later Bella jerked awake, almost falling off the chair as it rocked forward.
The candle had burned itself out, and the fire in the grate was now only glowing embers.
Bella held still for a moment, listening intently for an indication of what had awakened her.
“Johnny, into the woods.” The man’s voice was a harsh rasp. “I must reach Henry.”
Bella instinctively reached out to him in the dark. Her hand touched his upper arm as he was trying to push the blanket aside. His skin felt hot to her touch.
As quickly as she could, Bella reached over, fumbling to find the nightstand. When she did, she located the matches and lit the lantern. “Oh, sir, your fever is raging,” she said in exhausted dismay.
If anyone else had been in the room with her, they would have heard the fear in her voice. In the dim lamplight she saw beads of moisture on his forehead and upper lip. His cheeks were flushed and his legs moved restlessly under the covers.
Pouring a cup of water from the pitcher on the nightstand, Bella moved to sit on the bed next to him. As gently as she could, she slipped an arm under his shoulder and lifted him so that she could put the cup to his lips.
“You must drink. It will help your fever,” she whispered urgently, knowing that it would be extremely dangerous if his fever lasted too long.
An appetizing aroma wafted up to the bedroom, rousing Westlake from his near-unconscious slumber. Shifting his head slightly on the soft pillow, he allowed his heavy lids to open slightly.
His sluggish thoughts drifted aimlessly, as his gaze took in the unfamiliar room. It was odd, but he did not care a whit that he had no idea where he was.
How long he lay there, in a state of half wakefulness, he did not know.
The appetizing aroma again reached his senses. His thoughts began to clear when he realized he was ravenously hungry.
Stretching like a big cat, he rolled onto to his side, until a searing pain in his shoulder halted his movement. He looked down at his left shoulder and frowned curiously at the bandages he saw.
A Hint of Scandal Page 5
