My Darling, My Disaster (Lords of Essex)

by Morgan, Angie

  “Bloody hell,” she swore as another unwelcome rush of heat teased her body, and she grinned. Percy and James would be proud of her expanding vocabulary. It thrilled them to teach her words that wouldn’t be tolerated in any polite society.

  The carriage came to halt, and Lana sat forward. She looked out the window and realized they were not at Ferndale, but in Breckenham. The carriage door opened, and the very man who had been filling her thoughts for the last handful of hours stood within it. She tried to keep her expression one of cool composure, but the tense look upon his face chased away any apprehension she’d had. He was worried for his daughter, of course.

  “I’m sorry,” Gray said in a low voice. “I can’t wait until morning to see her. I’ll walk to the Coopers from here, and Colton can take you the rest of the way.”

  Walk? Understanding was quick as Lana realized the lacquered family crest on the coach would be far too noticeable. Unwanted questions might arise should Lord Northridge be seen visiting Sir Cooper at so late an hour.

  She shook her head, deciding in an instant. “No, I’ll come with you.”

  Gray hesitated, but then reached a hand out to her. She took it and descended to the dirt lane.

  “Thank you,” he said as the carriage started away. “It isn’t far.”

  Gray pulled his hat low, and she followed along behind him. She had no idea why she hadn’t let Colton take her the remainder of the way to Ferndale. Hadn’t she just promised herself that she would avoid any closer contact with Gray? And yet one glance at his anxious face had her rearing to help.

  He hadn’t said much more to her other than that Sofia was sick, but Lana guessed that he feared the worst. He’d reached into his pocket numerous times in the first part of their journey to reread the letter that had arrived at Bishop House. He’d wanted to be at his daughter’s side even then, and so his swift walk down the darkened road, toward the softly lit windows of the Coopers’ fine house, did not surprise her.

  Lana’s legs were warm with exertion when they finally turned into the circular drive and approached the home’s front door. Gray brought down the knocker twice and then stood tall, bristling with impatience, and waited.

  “I am sure she is just fine,” Lana whispered, wanting only to reassure him. To soothe the glare of worry he was currently burning into the wood of the door with his eyes.

  “I do not know what I shall do if she is not,” he replied, his voice hoarse and nearly inaudible.

  Lana touched his hand, but the door opened and she pulled it away. An aging butler stood aside and permitted Gray in without so much as a blink.

  “This way, my lord,” the man said. He shut the door as soon as Lana had stepped into the foyer and immediately led them both up the main staircase to the upper floor.

  The familiarity and warm welcome so close to a midnight hour struck Lana. They had anticipated Gray’s eagerness to see his daughter. The butler led them to a room on the second floor and, with a firm knock upon the door, allowed Gray and Lana entrance.

  The nursery was lit by a single lamp and a small fire in the hearth. A little bed, half the size of the ones Lana slept in at Bishop House and Ferndale, was in the corner of the room, and underneath a blanket laid a small bundle of blond curls and pink skin. The child was asleep, her lashes brushing against her over-rosy cheeks. The nursemaid, who had been knitting in a wooden chair beside the bed, stood up quickly, her needles slipping from her fingers as Gray rushed across the room toward her.

  “Lord Northridge,” the young woman said, jumping out of his way.

  He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, careful not to jounce the mattress and startle the little girl awake.

  Lana watched with a breath caught in her throat as he gently pushed a few curls from Sofia’s forehead. His hand shook as he withdrew it.

  “She is still feverish,” he said.

  “Yes,” replied a voice directly behind Lana, and she spun on her heels. A man in shirtsleeves and breeches entered the nursery. Though he appeared rather rumpled, Lana suspected it was Sir Cooper.

  Gray stood from the bed. “Thank you for sending word.”

  “Of course. I knew you would want to know, and I was correct in expecting your prompt arrival. A room has been prepared for you in the event you do not wish to open Ferndale for your stay.” Sir Cooper’s eyes found Lana. They were friendly but curious. No doubt he wondered what a maid was doing here as well.

  “Sir Cooper, this is Miss Lana Volchek, my sister’s lady’s maid. She’s here on an errand for my mother.”

  Lana curtsied, and Sir Cooper nodded in greeting. If he was surprised that Gray had allowed his deepest secret to be known by a maid, he did not show it.

  “How long has she been feverish?” Gray asked, taking his seat on Sofia’s bedside again. “Has the physician been here today?”

  Lana saw that the little girl’s forehead was dry, her cheeks flushed in comparison to the creamy lids of her closed eyes. A basin and a pitcher of water had been set up on a table, along with a stack of linens. Lana moved toward the table, removing her cloak and draping it over the arm of a rocking chair along the way.

  “Four days,” Sir Cooper answered. “And yes, Doctor Jensen has been checking in on her regularly. He thought the fever would break by now.”

  Lana poured lukewarm water into the basin and took a cloth from the stack. She wet it thoroughly and wrung it out before crossing to the bed and perching herself near the bedpost, next to Sofia’s pillow.

  “Here,” she said, folding the cloth and placing it upon the girl’s forehead. She looked to the maid standing out of the way, her knitting now tucked into a basket. “Can you fetch some cold water from the kitchen? The nursemaids my mama always kept on staff folded damp towels and laid them on my head when I had a fever. And the cook would send up yarrow and peppermint tea from the kitchens. Sofia could sip some when she wakes.”

  Lana removed the now hot compress over the child’s tiny forehead before lifting her eyes to Gray. He was staring at her, his brows furrowed.

  “Your nursemaids on staff? And tea from the kitchens?” he echoed. It was then she realized her mistake.

  “Yes, well, we did have a large home…when Papa was alive…and well…”

  Before she could stammer another senseless word, Sir Cooper interjected, “Both excellent ideas. Becky, can you see that fresh linens and cold water are sent up and the tea is prepared?”

  The nursemaid bobbed and darted from the room. Lana avoided looking at Gray, instead staring at Sofia’s sleeping figure. She was a beautiful little thing, with round cheeks made for kissing, and an upturned nose that index fingers everywhere would itch to tap lovingly.

  “Has there been anyone else in town with a fever like this?” Gray asked.

  Sir Cooper shook his head. “Not that Doctor Jensen is aware of. We have not been quarantined for yellow fever or the like, if that is what you are fearful of.”

  Lana brushed the backs of her knuckles against Sofia’s rosy brow, frowning at the heat of the child’s skin.

  Gray covered her hand with his. “Nevertheless, she could be contagious. Perhaps you should wait in the kitchens.”

  Lana took the compress and stood, but went to the pitcher and basin instead. “I will stay, my lord.” And then with a care for Sir Cooper, still looking on, added, “If I may.”

  Neither Gray, nor Sir Cooper, argued, and she returned to the bed and placed the cloth on the child’s forehead. Perhaps not with enough gentleness, however. The little girl’s lashes fluttered, and she made a wakeful noise in her throat.

  Lana saw Gray’s whole body tense as Sofia opened her eyes.

  “Norry?” she said, her voice scratchy. Lana’s heart swelled at the nickname for Lord Northridge, but she covered her smile by busying herself with pouring a glass of water.

  “Hello, sunshine,” Gray replied. “I heard you were feeling low and thought I might pay you a visit.”

  Again, Lana’s heart thudded wi
th emotion. He didn’t speak to Sofia with the saccharine tone so many adults took when addressing children. He spoke to her as easily as he would to any other person. Except Lana heard something in his voice that she hadn’t before. It was so strange to hear something she had never even noticed was missing: joy. There was a lightness and joy in each word Gray spoke to Sofia.

  “Did you bring flowers?” She mumbled her words, still half asleep.

  He laughed, and as Lana returned with the glass of water, she could no longer suppress her grin. He looked so pleased, so content, sitting there, holding Sofia’s small hand.

  “Whatever was I thinking? I have no flowers for you tonight, but I will bring the largest, most beautiful bouquet I can hunt down tomorrow. Are daisies still your favorite?”

  Sofia nodded, her head nearly engulfed within the feather pillow, and smiled bashfully at her admirer.

  “Good, then,” Gray said, his attention lifting to Lana. He gathered a breath, and Lana heard it rattle. He was still overwrought with worry.

  “Sofia, I’ve brought a new friend,” he said, standing up and indicating for Lana to take his place on the bed. “This is Lana.”

  She sat and smiled at the little girl, whose expression had changed from playfully shy to uncertain. “Hello, Sofia. Are you thirsty?”

  Lana helped her sit up and then guided the glass to her lips.

  “I’ll be back in just a bit,” Gray said. “Lana is going to sit with you for now.” His eyes pinned her with a puzzled look as he added, “It seems she has had experience with scores of nursemaids in the past.”

  Lana broke from his thoughtful stare and concentrated on Sofia, who had gulped half the glass of water.

  Curse her loose tongue! First, he’d somehow determined Langlevit was her friend within the peerage, then he’d wheedled the truth about Irina hiding in Cumbria out of her, and now Lana had gone and blurted out yet another secret. This one perhaps the most damaging. She was supposed to be from a modest genteel family, and such families did not employ entire staffs of nursemaids and cooks!

  Sofia finished her water, and Lana tucked her back in, glad she did not have to meet Gray’s eyes again. She had to think of an excuse. Perhaps her nursemaids had been aunts or family friends? Her cook, a helpful neighbor? She smiled at Sofia and waited for Gray and Sir Cooper to leave the bedroom before slumping her shoulders in defeat.

  She had known this charade would be difficult to pull off. She’d expected complications to arise. However, she’d never expected that complication to take the form of a man. One she could not resist. One she could not have. Even if Viktor and her uncle were captured and things went back to normal, Gray would never leave his family… He would not leave his daughter here in Breckenham or take himself so far away that he would never be able to see her, play with her, or tend to her when she was ill. Lana would return to St. Petersburg, and Gray would stay here where he belonged. She would not make him choose.

  And if Gray knew the truth, he would insert himself even deeper into this trouble with Zakorov, putting himself at risk. If anything were to happen to him because of her, she would never forgive herself. He needed to be here for his daughter. Lana checked the compress and received a slight grin from Sofia. This little girl, whether she knew him as Norry or as Father, needed Gray, too. Lana would not allow him to risk his own safety.

  As soon as she returned to London, she would quit her desperate hiding. Lord Langlevit was supposed to be meeting with someone who might be able to cipher the coded letters, but if that did not turn out as expected, there had to be something else Lana could use. Some other evidence. Perhaps in Viktor’s rooms in London, wherever he was staying? Zakorov certainly would not expect her to seek him out. Which meant he might not attempt to hide anything incriminating.

  Lana knew it was far-fetched and undoubtedly dangerous, but what else could she do? Continuing on as Brynn’s lady’s maid was just as dangerous. Gray would attempt to seduce her again, and she knew she would not be able to resist. She’d be ruined. She’d be a doxy at worst, or Gray’s mistress at best. Neither was good enough. Not for Princess Svetlanka Volkonsky.

  “Rest now. You’ll be just fine, princess,” she whispered to Sofia, whose lids had started to grow heavy again.

  You’ll be just fine, princess, Lana repeated to herself.

  And she would be.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gray studied his valet’s handiwork with an approving grunt. Following his return from Essex, Harrison had trimmed Gray’s hair and shaved several days’ worth of stubble. He looked more human than he had an hour ago. After the last two grueling days at Sofia’s bedside in Breckenham, he’d looked worse than a sailor coming off a week of drinking and whoring on the wharves. Not that he’d had any of the latter, but he’d polished off the better part of a bottle of whiskey while waiting—and praying—for Sofia’s fever to break. And break it had, partly in thanks to Lana, who had refused to leave the girl’s side.

  Something stirred within Gray as he recalled the muted sounds of Lana’s whispered stories and Sofia’s rapt, if drowsy, attention, even as the maid convinced her tiny charge to consume enough broth to make her weak body combat the infection. Lana’s vigilant ministrations had been the turning point, Gray knew. With such high, intense fevers, if a child did not have the strength to recover, they would often succumb. Even Dr. Jensen had been prepared for the worst, but Lana had simply refused to give up. She had taken turns with Gray sitting at the child’s bedside, alternating between using cooling cloths, warm baths, and offering sips of soothing tea. Her stories had brightened Sofia’s eyes in those few moments when the fever lessened.

  “You don’t have to be here,” he’d told Lana, seeing the shadows of exhaustion congregating beneath her eyes. “You should go to Ferndale and rest.”

  “I want to be here.” Her eyes had been unreadable, but something in her voice had tugged at him.

  Like him, Lana had not slept a wink. But because of her, Sofia was recovering. Gray was more than grateful—he would forever be in her debt.

  He sighed as Harrison straightened the shoulders of his fitted jacket, the thought of Lana all-consuming. It wasn’t like before, born solely of attraction and lust. Something had evolved between them…something he wasn’t sure he fully understood. Seeing her tenderness with Sofia had made him yearn for something he couldn’t quite articulate, even in the privacy of his own mind. He’d felt the grasping need for his daughter and a home where she would be safe and loved.

  The Coopers were a loving family of means, but Gray still wanted more for her. He wanted a world where he could take care of her himself. But without a wife, that was a foolish dream. And no matter how loving she’d been toward Sofia, Lana was far from an appropriate candidate. Still, the image of her tending to a slightly older Sofia, Lana’s own belly round with his child, wreaked havoc with Gray’s senses.

  Impossible. It was not something even the most liberal of the ton would accept.

  Gray chuckled humorlessly. As if he cared a whit what any of those asinine highbrows thought. But the shame it would bring to his mother and his sister, who had only just secured her own engagement, was another matter entirely. Not to mention the fact that both he and Lana would become outcasts, and if he claimed her, Sofia as well. The situation was untenable. Even if he did marry according to his station, no young debutante would want to be saddled with another woman’s child.

  No, despite his desires, a life with the Coopers was the best thing for Sofia. And for him.

  “Thank you, Harrison,” Gray said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He hadn’t quite recovered from the lack of sleep. “Please inform my father that I will be down shortly.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Bishop House was bustling, preparations for his father’s dinner well underway, and their guests would be arriving at any moment. He needed a few minutes to clear his head. Viktor Zakorov would be in attendance, and Gray wanted all hi
s wits about him. Perhaps he’d be able to suss out more of the truth about the two missing princesses and figure a way to keep Lana safe.

  He frowned, thinking of her offhand comment about having more than one nursemaid and a cook working in the kitchens. If her parents had been landed gentry, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Lana could have been raised with a household staff. Though it did seem far-fetched that a modiste of modest fortune would keep an entire staff of nursemaids on hand. And Lana had flushed profusely, as if she had made a terrible gaffe by mentioning it. She was keeping yet another secret, and it bothered him.

  He could not marry her, but that did not mean he didn’t care what happened to her. And that meant keeping her out of the clutches of men like Zakorov. Thankfully, Lana was currently nowhere near the vicinity of Bishop House. She’d left that afternoon with Brynn and Lady Dinsmore. Something about yet another dress fitting for his sister’s engagement ball gown. They were supposed to have been back in time for the dinner, but his mother had sent word with Colton that they had run into Lady Cordelia and her mother, Countess Vandermere, and had accepted a last-minute invitation to a musicale at their home that evening.

  Gray knew the musicale would entertain the ladies far more than father’s dinner, but he did not know if Lana would be joining her mistress and Lady Dinsmore for the evening, or if she had returned home. He’d considered asking Harrison if he knew but had held his tongue instead. He trusted his valet, but displaying an interest in Lana’s whereabouts was not a wise move. Most likely Lana had stayed with Brynn and would be occupied elsewhere while the dinner unfolded.

  Gray gritted his teeth and made his descent to the dining salon.

  “Monti,” he called out to the man standing at the foot of the staircase waving a glass of brandy with emphatic gusto. “Good to see you again, although I am disappointed it is not at the tables. I’d hoped to give you a chance to recoup some of your losses.”

  Helmford Monti threw back his head and laughed. “I am smart enough to know when to fold, and you, Northridge, are a dangerous opponent. Perhaps I shall challenge you with dice next time.” He turned to a dour-faced man admiring the paintings along the salon walls a few feet away. “You remember Baron Zakorov?”