“Your friends say you are a decent man; they don’t see what we see! I will accept your terms, but when I return to my homeland, I will not speak fondly of the Duke of Sudworth!” Isabella replied and, with her customary flourish, she walked out of the room.
Both Peter and Rosalind sagged after Isabella departed. “Why was Robert ever attracted to her?” Peter said with feeling.
“His taste in women was certainly a little unusual, although I do see similarities between Lady Joan and Isabella,” Rosalind acknowledged.
“I wish she didn’t insist on speaking with dramatic effect driving every word she utters! Although in this instance we need to consider at least some of what she said,” Peter said gently.
“You are correct,” Rosalind said with a resigned sigh. “The staff must be talking about what has happened between Harry and Grace. I suppose it was inevitable with what happened; it couldn’t have been more public. I suppose it was naive of me, but I never really considered staff gossip; I just wanted him away from her.”
“I know,” Peter said. “With the staff talking and Isabella linked so closely to Baroness Leyland, there could be further consequences for Grace. Isabella would not consider being loyal to the family in all of this; she has made it quite plain she considers us the enemy.”
Rosalind put her head in her hands. “I just want Grace to let me into her chamber. I feel a part of me is missing at her refusal to see me. I just want to be able to comfort her.”
Peter moved to his wife and crouched by her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I know,” he said gently. “Do you want me to try?”
Rosalind looked at Peter, the expression of pain in her eyes showing just how much the disagreement with Grace was affecting her. “Do you think it would help?”
“Sometimes it is easier to speak to someone who is not directly related. You’ve shown me that with Annie. I think it won’t do any harm if I at least try,” Peter said gently.
“No, it won’t,” Rosalind said, leaning into her husband, welcoming his support.
Chapter 14
Peter approached the door to Grace’s bedchamber with a little trepidation. He did not really know his new sister-in-law very well. He enjoyed the brief conversations they shared, but he could not guess what words he would need to use to convince her to forgive Rosalind, and himself for that matter. He had to try and convince her they thought they had acted with her best interests at heart.
He knocked gently on the door. “Grace? Grace can I come in? We need to talk.”
There was no reply from the chamber. Peter repeated himself and waited, bending his head towards the door in order to hear any sound. There was no reply once more. He sighed. Grace was obviously more stubborn than he or Rosalind thought. He turned to walk away, but before he had taken a step, he heard a sound from within the room. It was the slightest sound, and he began to doubt he had heard anything, but then the sound came again.
Peter waited for a moment or two to give Grace the opportunity to reach the door, but nothing happened. He turned away from the room, but something about the noise did not feel right. As he returned downstairs in order to retrieve his master key from his study, he saw his housekeeper crossing the hall.
“Mrs Dawlish, do you have your master key with you?” Peter asked.
“My chatelaine is always at my side, Your Grace,” Mrs Dawlish replied with a smile, patting her side where a chain and large bunch of keys rested on her hip.
“Good, please accompany me to Miss Johnson’s room. I need the door opened.”
Mrs Dawlish followed her employer without question. She took out the master key and, when they reached the door, she opened it easily. Peter entered the room and paused. “She isn’t here,” he said his tone puzzled.
“The window is open; surely she would not have attempted to climb out the window?” Mrs Dawlish queried.
“As we have found no twisted body at the base of the building, I’m presuming not,” Peter said drily. “Where on earth is she?”
A sound was heard from the far end of the room, and both moved towards it. Peter reached Grace’s crumpled form first. He immediately crouched near the young woman, who was obviously in distress.
“Oh my,” Mrs Dawlish said, “the poor child.”
“She is shaking with cold. Grace, can you hear me?” Peter said loudly near Grace’s ear.
There was no immediate response and, when it seemed like there would be no answer, Grace moved a little and mumbled something. Peter was sure it was a word, but it came out like a moan.
“She is barely conscious,” Peter said, springing into action. He stood and closed the window. “Mrs Dawlish, send for the doctor, and please inform my wife she is needed. I need a fire in this room and lots of warm blankets!”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs Dawlish answered, already leaving the room.
Peter scooped up Grace and carried her to her bed. He laid her on it, placing her on the sheets as if she would break. She was a young lady who normally had pale skin, but now her skin looked deathly white and was freezing to the touch. He wrapped all the blankets around her that had lain in disarray on the bed. Peter moved to the bedding box at the foot of the bed and pulled out the blankets that were stored inside. He piled these on top of Grace, making her seem even smaller than she was normally.
Rosalind entered the room, her breathing an indication of the run up the stairs that she had just done. “Grace?” she said as she hurried to the bedside. “What has happened?” she asked Peter, looking in horror at her sister.
“I have no idea; she was collapsed on the floor. The window was opened wide, but I don’t think she had attempted to get out. She is unbearably cold,” Peter said. There was no point in trying to shield Rosalind from the seriousness of the situation; Peter was deeply concerned about the state of Grace.
“She is barely breathing!” Rosalind said anguished. “Oh, what have I done!”
“Rosalind, the doctor is on his way; we will do everything we can to help her. This is not because of you,” Peter insisted.
Mrs Dawlish entered the room, her arms full of blankets, a maid following her. “Fix the fire, Jane,” she said, her voice brusque but efficient. She turned to Peter. “Your Grace, these blankets have been in the oven for a few minutes; there are more being warmed as we speak. I suggest we replace them with the ones on Miss Johnson.”
Peter moved some of the blankets and the warmer ones were placed over Grace. Not all the blankets were replaced, Peter didn’t want Grace to be uncovered for a single moment. When the fire was lit, Mrs Dawlish shooed the maid through the door. “I shall return with more blankets your Grace. The doctor has been sent for; Mr Bryant will bring him as soon as he arrives.”
“Thank you Mrs Dawlish,” Peter said with a nod. He barely looked anywhere else other than Grace’s face, willing her to show any sign of improvement. Rosalind sat at the bedside, wanting to touch Grace but not wishing to expose her to further cold.
The doctor arrived in record time and was led into the room. He examined Grace, and the grim set of his lips told Peter all he needed to know.
“Doctor?” Rosalind asked quietly.
“Your Grace, I will not lie to you about the seriousness of Miss Johnson’s condition,” the doctor started. “Becoming so cold is serious enough but, added to what Miss Johnson has gone through over the last few days, I am very worried about her.”
Rosalind took in a sharp breath. “What can we do?”
“Warming her is the only way to try and cure her. She may improve, but there may be times when she is confused, when she tries to throw the blankets off herself. She will not know what she is doing, but keeping her warm is the top priority. Time will tell if she became too cold for survival.”
“You think she may die?” Peter asked gently.
“You said when you found her she was shivering?” The doctor asked. Peter nodded his head in affirmation. “That is a good sign. The real danger occurs when the shivering
stops. I cannot tell you whether she will live or not at this stage; if she had not been ill so recently I would have hope. She is young and strong, but her body has been through so much already. It is out of our hands.”
Peter escorted the doctor to the door and then returned to Rosalind. “We need to speak to Mrs Dawlish about looking after Grace around the clock. We cannot do it alone,” Peter said gently.
“She doesn’t look as if there is any fight left in her,” Rosalind said quietly. It was true; Grace’s normally petite frame looked tiny amongst the bed and blankets. Dark rings were visible under her eyes, and her lips had no colour at all.
“We shall help her; she won’t be fighting on her own,” Peter reassured Rosalind, but they were both facing the realisation that Grace might not pull through.
Mrs Dawlish entered once more with warmer blankets, and the swap took place. Peter spoke briefly about allocating appropriate staff to the task of tending to Grace. There was enough rumour and speculation; he did not want staff who would gossip having access to Grace. Mrs Dawlish nodded her head in understanding. “I will send the most trustworthy maids, Your Grace,” she assured her employer before leaving the room once more.
Rosalind maintained a vigil until Peter insisted she have some rest. Mrs Dawlish took over with two other maids ready to care for her during the night-time vigil. Peter forced Rosalind to get undressed and climb into bed even though she professed she would not be able to sleep.
“If you lie down, it will give you some much needed rest,” Peter said, leading his wife to the bed they shared.
“I keep trying to think of things that will help, but there is nothing more we can do, is there?” Rosalind asked.
“Care and time will give you the answer you are longing for at the moment,” Peter said gently. There was no point trying to give Rosalind false hope. There was one thing he needed to clarify. “Do you think it would be appropriate to send for your mother and father?” he asked gently.
“That thought has been running through my mind time and again today,” Rosalind admitted. “I don’t think so; not yet. Give her a day or two before we make a final decision. I know what will happen; they will want her to return with them, and I don’t wish her to have such a journey quite yet.”
“Surely they would not move her in this condition?” Peter asked.
“You forget they are wrapped in their own little worlds,” Rosalind said. “The over-riding issue for father would be that he would need to get back to his business as soon as possible, and mother would never go near a sick room. She never did when we were children; I can’t see her doing it now we are grown.”
“I shall be guided by you in that; you obviously know them better than I do,” Peter said. He stroked Rosalind’s back slowly, knowing the movement relaxed her. Eventually, he heard her breathing change and was relieved she had fallen asleep.
*
Rosalind entered Grace’s bedchamber early the following morning. She had left Peter sleeping, reluctant to disturb him after the wearying day they had experienced the day before. She dismissed the attending maid and took her seat beside Grace.
It was not very long before Grace started to moan a little, her head moving from side to side. Rosalind suspected she would be tossing and turning had she any strength, but the blankets were weighing her down. Rosalind sat on the edge of the bed and touched Grace’s face, trying to soothe her.
“Grace, shhh, we are keeping you warm; be still,” Rosalind spoke quietly.
Grace mumbled, causing Rosalind to lean forward to try and hear her. “What is it?” she asked, hoping Grace could understand her.
“a-y?” Grace responded, hardly forming the word, but Rosalind was under no doubt who Grace was calling for.
Rosalind sat back a little and looked at her sister with tears filling her eyes. “I’m sorry, Grace. I truly am.”
*
Peter was disturbed from his work by the entrance of the butler. “What is it Bryant?” Peter asked, hoping Grace had not taken a turn for the worse.
“There is a young lady just arrived, Your Grace; she says she is your sister,” Bryant said, his usual calm exterior unfazed.
“My sister?” Peter asked astounded. “Don’t tell me my father’s illegitimate offspring have started to arrive now! Show her in to the morning room; I shall be there in a moment.”
Peter pushed his chair away from his desk. When would life become mundane, he mused as he left the relative peace of his study and approached the morning room. The young lady was seated on the sofa facing the door, and she stood at Peter’s entrance.
“Good morning!” she said brightly. “I’m sorry I did not send notice of my arrival, but I needed to visit you suddenly, so there wasn’t really enough time to send word.”
“Forgive me,” Peter said, ever patient. “I am at a loss as to who you are.”
“Oh, my goodness, of course! I’m Eleanor, Rosalind’s youngest sister.”
Chapter 15
Peter looked at the young woman before him. Hers was a similar chestnut hair colour as Annabelle’s, but she did not have the striking beauty of Rosalind or Annabelle. She was also different in looks from Grace; there were no petite features or pale translucent skin. In fact she was completely different from her three siblings. Her features were pleasing rather than handsome with her eyes by far her most appealing feature. They were a rich green-blue colour, and they sparkled with intelligence, amusement and something Peter could not describe; but there was definitely something more. She looked at him as though she were looking into the deepest recesses of his soul, and it unnerved him a little. He had never been looked at in such a way.
Peter eventually found his voice. “Eleanor? Why the devil didn’t you say so to Bryant? I thought you were some sort of illegitimate sibling I didn’t know about.”
Eleanor laughed. “That would have been far more exciting, but I’m afraid not; I’m the boring legitimate sister you haven’t met until today.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Peter said with a smile. “We all thought you were in Bath.”
A cloud crossed over Eleanor’s face. “I was, but I had a sudden urge to see Rosalind. Is she well? I’m very pleased to be an aunt soon.” Whatever had troubled Eleanor, she had pushed it away very quickly, and it had been hidden behind the sunny exterior once more.
“Good, I’m looking forward to being a father,” Peter said. “Eleanor, you find us a little at sixes and sevens; I’m sorry to have to be the one who tells you, but Grace is not well at all.”
“What’s wrong?” Eleanor asked, all laughter gone, fully alert.
Peter explained what had happened with the poison and then the cold. He did not mention Harry; he did not feel it was his place. If Rosalind decided to tell Eleanor, that was up to her.
Eleanor listened intently to Peter, then stood. “I’m glad I arrived when I did; at least I can be of use here,” she said. “Would you please be kind enough to take me to Grace?”
“Of course,” Peter replied, leading her out of the room and up the stairs. He marvelled at the difference of the Johnson women compared to others he had known. Lady Joan, Isabella and Baroness Leyland would have been hysterical at the story he had just relayed. Instead of having a fit of the vapours, the youngest Johnson girl had taken it in her stride and offered to help. He would always be thankful his path had crossed with this family.
Peter opened the door to Grace’s chamber and stood back allowing Eleanor entry. He thought the welcome surprise would be just what Rosalind needed, as well as Grace if only she would regain consciousness.
Eleanor walked through the door and took in the scene before her. The room was very warm and the pile of blankets on top of Grace almost buried her. Rosalind look haggard, sitting beside Grace.
“Hello Rosalind,” Eleanor said quietly.
Rosalind look up quickly, recognising the voice, but disbelieving her ears. “Eleanor!” she exclaimed, rising and rushing to her sister.
> Eleanor smiled as she was embraced in arms that squeezed her tightly. Rosalind cried as she held her sister. “I thought you were in Bath! I’m so glad you are here!” Rosalind babbled through her tears.
Eleanor extracted herself from Rosalind’s grasp. “I can tell you all about my trip later. You look fit to drop, Rosalind; have you been doing too much?”
“No, I haven’t,” Rosalind said, returning to her seat. “There is a whole queue of people ready to sit with her, but I don’t want to leave her.”
“Is there any improvement?” Eleanor asked.
“A little. She is more conscious than she was; but she is incoherent when she tries to speak. I suppose her recovery is slow because of the strain her body was already under, but I do wish she would fight,” Rosalind said.
“The poor thing,” Eleanor said, walking to the opposite side of the bed. She bent close to Grace’s face and kissed her gently. “Come on, Grace;wake up,” she whispered.
Grace’s head moved, and she muttered something, a frown appearing on her forehead. “A-y?” she muttered.
“No, my darling; it’s Eleanor come to visit you,” Rosalind said quickly. “Can you hear her?”
“A-y?”
“Who is she asking for?” Eleanor asked.
“Come, I will ring the bell for Mrs Dawlish to take my place; there are a few things I need to explain,” Rosalind said resignedly.
*
Rosalind and Eleanor sat side by side in the drawing room, drinking tea while Rosalind explained what had really gone on with Grace. When she finished she slumped back in her seat. “I never thought her feelings were so deeply engaged, but all she wants is Harry.”
“It’s no real surprise that Grace fell in love with someone so connected to gardens, is it?” Eleanor replied. “That would be the ideal man in Grace’s opinion; I don’t think she would wish for anyone else.”
Grace: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 3) Page 15
