A Hint of Scandal

by Rhonda Woodward

  Looking around the room, Westlake was suddenly and inexplicably disappointed to see that the low rocking chair near the bed was empty.

  Tentatively he sat up, swung his legs around, and placed his feet on the floor. Immediately a wave of dizziness engulfed him. Feeling as if he were about to faint, Westlake wonder if he had drunk too much whiskey the night before.

  No, that was not right, he thought as his brain cleared a little.

  Slowly the events of that wild night, the night he had received the note about Henry’s accident, came back to him.

  He recalled the two horses emerging from the forest, and the smoking pistol. Gritting his teeth against the pain and dizziness, Westlake rose unsteadily, but with determination, to his feet. He needed to find out where he was. He needed to find out about Henry.

  Standing next to the bed, swaying slightly, he looked again at the rocking chair. The image of a pair of darkly fringed blue eyes and a long dark braid came to mind.

  His nurse. The young woman who put cool compresses on his forehead and fed him broth. The images flashed through his mind. She had spoken to him in a soothing, melodious, unforgettable voice.

  “Damn,” he said to himself, breathing as hard as if he had just finished a fencing lesson. He took a couple of wobbly steps toward a stand that held a pitcher of water and a basin.

  He put his hand on the bureau next to the stand as his knees threatened to give way. He looked around the room for his boots and clothes and caught sight of them on the chest at the foot of the bed. After a moment he attempted to wash his face with his right hand. Though it was difficult to perform his ablutions with only his right hand, the cold water helped clear his head. There was no mirror in the small room, but by running his hand over his jaw he could tell he was badly in need of a shave.

  A wave of sickening dizziness swept over him again and he moved back to sit down on the unmade bed. Breathing as slowly as he could, he waited for the dizziness to recede before picking up a freshly laundered white shirt and his breeches from the end of the bed. After wrestling with the breeches for some time, he finally got them on over his small clothes. He rested for a few moments before slipping his left arm into the sleeve of the lawn shirt. Taking a very deep breath, Westlake decided not to even attempt tying his neckcloth. Picking up one of his Hessian boots, he tried, one-handed, to pull the boot onto his left foot. After only a few moments exertion, Westlake’s hand shook with exhaustion, and he still had not managed to pull the boot on.

  A self-disgusted scowl formed a crease on his brow. He let another moment pass before he held his breath and redoubled his efforts to pull the boot on. Grimacing, he continued to hold the boot in his right hand while trying to push his foot in.

  “You vexing man!”

  The boot went flying across the room at the sound of the startled, angry voice.

  Westlake snapped his head up to see a dark-haired, blue-eyed young woman standing in the doorway. Even with her angry tone, Westlake recognized her voice: She was the one who had nursed him.

  He did not move and did not try to retrieve his boot. He just looked at her.

  She was disarmingly lovely. He could not recall when he had last seen such an exquisite creature. The deep garnet of her simple gown flattered the flawless ivory of her complexion. Her dark hair, almost black, was pulled back in a simple twist. The style showed her fine, deep blue eyes to great advantage—beautiful, revealing eyes that were now gazing at him with a touch of anger and a great deal of concern.

  A surge of gratitude swelled in his heart. This beautiful young woman had nursed him, had in all likelihood saved his life. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but first he needed to thank her. Paying no heed to the pain and dizziness, he rose as steadily as he could to his feet.

  “Oh, sir, please do not get up!” Bella moved swiftly toward him, appalled at seeing him almost dressed and trying to stand.

  “I do not have the words to express my gratitude—”

  “Never mind that.” Bella so forgot her usual manners in her distress that she uncharacteristically interrupted him. “Please sit down before you fall down. And please tell me who you are and where we can reach your people. I am sure they are worried sick.”

  Westlake remained standing. It went against his innate good manners to sit down while a lady remained standing.

  “Yes, I am sure you are correct. I am Westlake. My home is Autley. I left there when I received word that my nephew, who lives in Tilbourne, was injured. Two blackguards set upon my groom and me. I was shot, but I trust my groom got away safely and returned to Autley,” he explained, growing almost breathless by the end of his explanation.

  “Westlake!” Bella exclaimed. “But I thought your name was Mr. West.” Bella put a hand to her head and laughed, the days of pent-up tension finally finding a release.

  “Mr. West.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “Westlake. And you live at Autley.…” The smile on her lips faded as the words sank in. “Autley.” Though she had never had the pleasure of visiting the place, Bella was familiar with the vast estate of the Duke of Westlake. Everyone in Kent was familiar with Autley, for it was considered one of the finest estates in all of Britain.

  The Duke of Westlake.

  “Good heavens!” Bella looked up at him in complete surprise. It was not until she saw him sway slightly that Bella caught hold of herself.

  “Forgive me, your grace. But you must sit down. My name is Arabella Tichley, and you have been at our house for four days. My uncle, Lord Penninghurst, has men out looking for anyone who might have missed you. We shall send word immediately to your people at Autley.”

  “Thank you, Miss Tichley,” he said, finally complying with her request to be seated. In truth, he did not think he could remain standing for much longer. “And I would also like to send a note to my sister-in-law, if I may. I need to know how my nephew fares.”

  “Of course, your grace. I shall return momentarily with quill and ink. Please stay still,” she cautioned as she left the room.

  He looked paler, if that was possible, when she returned moments later with the writing implements. Placing the paper, quill, and inkpot on the tiny desk by the window, Bella cast a quick look at the pallid man seated on her bed. Good Lord, she thought, he is a duke! She had been caring for the Duke of Westlake all this time.

  He rose slowly and took a few steps toward the desk. Bella moved to his side to help steady him. She became suddenly aware that he was quite tall.

  Without speaking, for he was feeling thoroughly ill, Westlake wrote two short missives: one to his mother and one to Margaret, his sister-in-law. He then wrote the directions on each note before sanding and folding them.

  Bella stepped forward, silently offering to help him back to the bed. Even though it was only a few steps it took some moments for them to traverse the distance. Bella stayed quiet. It was obvious that the duke was an exceedingly proud man, demonstrated by his attempt to get up and dress himself. Bella, though wanting to help, did not want to cause him further embarrassment by calling attention to the fact that he needed assistance.

  Once he was seated, Bella hesitated before him. Now that he was fully conscious, the matter of his care was a different proposition.

  Coming to a decision, Bella took the matter in hand. “You must rest, your grace. I will send my younger brother, Tommy, to help you undress. Please lie back. I will have your letters sent immediately,” she said softly yet firmly before turning to the desk to pick up his letters.

  When she turned back, she found him lying against the pillows, already slipping once more into sleep.

  After quietly closing the door on the exhausted duke, Bella moved quickly to the front room, where Papa and Tommy were reading.

  “Tommy! You must go to the Park at once and have one of our uncle’s men deliver these letters immediately,” she directed, deciding that she could send Tommy to attend the duke when he returned.

  “Yes, Bella, I will depart at o
nce,” Tommy told his sister, jumping up from his chair.

  “How may I help, my dear?” her papa questioned, setting aside his paper.

  “Would you mind riding over to Dr. Pearce’s home and asking him to come this afternoon or first thing in the morning?”

  “Not in the least,” he replied, rising from his comfortable chair. “Have you finally discovered the identity of our unknown guest?”

  “Yes!” Bella practically burst out. “He is the Duke of Westlake!”

  “The Duke of Westlake!” Papa and Tommy exclaimed in unison, looking at each other in great surprise.

  “No wonder he has such a remarkable horse,” Tommy remarked.

  “The Duke of Westlake,” her papa said again. “I would certainly like to have a look at his library.”

  Bella laughed at that. “Off with you both while I prepare lunch.”

  It was several hours later when Bella entered her room with a neatly arranged tray and smiled at her patient. It was odd, but now that he was awake he seemed much too large for her bed. She took note that his skin was very pale and his eyes still had that slightly glassy, feverish look. Upon closer inspection, she noticed green flecks in the gray irises around his pupils. She found his eyes quite striking.

  But his jaw was now clean-shaven and his hair neatly combed. She thought he looked much more comfortable in one of her papa’s soft lawn nightshirts.

  “I must say that your little brother makes a very good valet,” the duke stated with a grin, running his hand over his smooth jaw.

  “I am certainly glad that you did not nick yourself.” She smiled and set the tray next to the bed. “Do you think you could eat a little something, your grace?”

  That voice. Velvet music to my ears, he thought.

  He did feel like eating, but refused to let her feed him. He found it annoying that so simple a task could prove so arduous. But the thick vegetable stew was satisfying and he ate slowly.

  “Tommy has informed me that our uncle has dispatched two messengers with your notes,” Bella told him after seating herself in the rocking chair. “My uncle is also sending for the constable so that you may describe your attackers. It is no wonder we could not locate anyone who was looking for you, for Tilbourne is miles and miles away. Your people were probably checking all the villages between Autley and Tilbourne for you. Your horse carried you a great distance away from your original destination,” she observed.

  “Yes, he did, to my very good luck,” the duke told her quietly.

  After having heard the whole story earlier from Tommy—of how they had found him and dragged him indoors, and how Bella had removed the ball from his shoulder—Westlake was at even more of a loss as to how to express his appreciation. And he found it humbling that the Tichley family had no desire for his gratitude.

  “You have a very good cook,” he complimented, instead of trying to thank her again, and placed the bowl back on the tray.

  Bella laughed in surprise. “I am the cook, sir, and thank you,” she said as she began to tidy the room.

  Glancing up at her in surprise, Alex felt unexpectedly ashamed of himself. What a bufflehead he was, he thought self-deprecatingly. His innate good manners caused him guilt because of the extra work he knew he was causing her. As he continued to watch her activities, Alex wondered how he would ever begin to repay her and her family for their kindness to him.

  “There,” Bella said, patting the neatly folded blanket at the foot of his bed. “Is there anything else I can get for you at the moment, sir?”

  “No. You do too much, Miss Tichley.”

  Bella decided to ignore his remark and came around the bed to feel his forehead for fever. Westlake had the sudden desire to take her cool, slim hand and hold it against his cheek.

  “You are a little warm. Will you rest now, sir?”

  Though it was only early afternoon, he felt it had already been a long day. “Yes,” he said, leaning back against the pillows.

  At the door, she turned and looked at him. He was a surprisingly handsome man, she thought for the first time. His features now seemed completely different than they had while he had been unconscious. She saw that his gray-green eyes were almost silver in the firelight. There was also a new, lordly air about him. This was emphasized by the slight rogue’s smile he wore as he lounged back on her bed.

  “Dignitate cum laudanum,” she whispered, and then realizing she had said the words aloud, she quickly left the room.

  Westlake stared at the closed door. “Dignitate cum laudanum,” he repeated the words to himself. Latin had not been his favorite subject at school, and it took him some minutes to work it out.

  Dignity and… peace? No. Dignity with …? Suddenly he smiled. So that was her image of him: Leisure with dignity. It was a surprise to find his beautiful nurse was also a scholar.

  Chapter Six

  It was very early the next morning when Dr. Pearce drove up to the house in a small gig.

  “I hear from your father that the crisis has passed with our patient,” he said as soon as Bella opened the door to him.

  “Yes, his grace’s fever broke last night. He has eaten a little and seems vastly improved,” she responded as the doctor moved past her to stand in the middle of the room.

  “Does he? We shall see,” he stated cryptically.

  Bella followed the doctor up to her room, where they found the duke already sitting up in bed.

  “Your grace, may I present Dr. Pearce?”

  “How do you do, Dr. Pearce? Shall I live?” the duke questioned with cheerful irreverence.

  A little nonplussed at the duke’s attitude, Dr. Pearce stuttered for a moment, casting a quizzical glance to Bella.

  Bella shrugged slightly, and smiled. Since the duke had come out of his fever, she, too, was finding him a surprise.

  “Well, we shall see, your grace. Let’s have a look at you.”

  Dr. Pearce helped Westlake remove his nightshirt. He then retrieved a pair of scissors from his black bag and proceeded to cut away the bandages wrapping the duke’s shoulder.

  Bella stood back and watched with her hands clasped tightly together, wincing as the doctor probed the ugly, swollen wound with none-too-gentle fingers.

  “Humph,” the doctor grunted, continuing his examination.

  Bella could not help but marvel at the duke’s tolerance for pain, for she recoiled at the doctor’s attentions more than he did.

  Just when she was about to lose control and shout out to the physician to be careful, he finally sat back and gave the duke an assessing look.

  “Well, it certainly could be worse, but I have seen a lot better,” he said. “I don’t like the amount of swelling, and by the looks of the bandages, the wound has been seeping. But there does not seem to be any obvious infection.”

  The duke nodded his understanding to what the doctor was saying. Looking past Dr. Pearce, Westlake was struck by Bella’s concerned expression. Most of the ladies of his acquaintance would be reaching for the hartshorn by now, he thought, unaccountably touched by her gentle and unexpected kindness.

  “You must have complete rest for another full week, at least. You are still feverish, which may be due to being out in the storm. I’d be happier if you rested a fortnight, but I have the feeling that you are an impatient young man,” the physician declared.

  The duke had no response and allowed the doctor to rebandage his shoulder in silence.

  Bella was enormously relieved when she saw the doctor to the door. He was right: It certainly could have been worse.

  Bella went back to her room to see how the duke was faring after the doctor’s rough treatment of him. She found him still sitting up, but his eyes were closed. Hesitantly, she decided to leave him to rest. Turning, she walked softly to the door.

  “Won’t you please stay a moment, Miss Tichley?” His deep voice stopped her movement. “Of course, your grace.” She walked back and seated herself in the rocking chair. Silently, she watched him for a few m
oments. Her concern for him grew as she noticed a muscle jumping in his jaw.

  “The pain must be very bad.” She almost whispered the words.

  He turned his head toward her slightly and opened his eyes. He met her beautiful gaze, and again saw the concern and compassion there.

  A wry little smile touched his lips. “It could be worse,” he said, repeating the doctor’s succinct words. He closed his eyes again.

  Trying to find some way to ease his pain, Bella suddenly recalled the small vial of laudanum the doctor had left days ago. She had given him very little of it, so she knew there was some left.

  “Your grace, will you take a few drops of laudanum? It will help with the pain.”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her with his startling gray gaze. “No, Miss Tichley, no laudanum.” He shook his head emphatically.

  Seeing the question in her eyes, he continued: “I have seen too many men, brave soldiers, reduced to bland, needy simpletons because they were given too much laudanum after being injured on the battlefield.”

  An expression of surprised curiosity spread across Bella’s features.

  “Were you in the war, your grace?”

  “Yes,” the duke replied. He really had very little desire to speak, but he wanted her to stay and talk with him, so he went on: “I was in for four years. Was sent home when my father died, as I was the oldest son, but not before we trounced the frogs at Salamanca.”

  “Never say you were at Salamanca!” Bella gasped. “I have read many accounts of this great battle. Two French eagles were captured!”

  He again looked at Bella in surprise, impressed with her knowledge. What an unusual girl, he mused as he watched the genuine interest on her face.

  “It was a glorious victory and will, no doubt, be considered one of the most important battles of the entire war.”

  “And you were a part of it,” Bella said, her tone filled with awe.

  Feeling a little embarrassed, for he never spoke of the war, the duke changed the subject.