‘Rob?’ Ned asked, reducing his multitude of questions to that one word. Darleston waved both his brother and the doctor away. He left the drawing room and went straight to find Hill.
That gentleman sat behind his desk in his study. He looked particularly gaunt this evening, his eye sockets hollowed by the grey smudges around them. His irises were a watered-down shade of Emma’s blue. ‘What can I do for you, Darleston?’ He looked up, flicking away powdery snuff stains from his waistcoat.
Darleston ignored the impolite address. In the circumstances, it was hard to find offence. ‘I’ve spoken with Waddingthorpe regarding my wife.’
Hill took another pinch of snuff before putting aside his little silver box and giving Darleston his full attention. He sneezed violently, but remained in a defensive pose, his arms crossed and resting on the blotter before him. ‘He concludes that her ladyship is ill, and not of sound mind, is that right?’
No mention had been made of Lucy’s mental functioning, only of her physical symptoms. Regardless, Darleston nodded in affirmation.
‘I trust you understand that I cannot allow you to remain here with her. I’m willing to keep this matter quiet between us. I’ve no wish to involve the justice service in my affairs. I think we can agree that it was an accident amidst the crowd at the prize-fight that resulted in Lyle’s injuries.’
‘Absolutely,’ Darleston agreed. Given the recent scandals that had hounded his person, discretion was in everyone’s best interests.
‘I’m sure you understand that I cannot extend you any further hospitality. You may depart this evening or with my other houseguests on the morrow, but you must remove yourself and your lady wife from my property.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He had no wish to deal with Lucy, but couldn’t shirk his responsibility in that regard. He’d married her, for better or worse. That made it his job to deal with her. Ned had already sent word ahead that they’d be arriving at the family estate in Shropshire imminently. Once there, they’d have Lucy confined to her rooms. The situation wasn’t ideal, but would hopefully prevent the worst of the tattlemongers’ speculations.
Of course, it would mean leaving Lyle and Emma behind at the very time he wanted to be with them the most. ‘I’ll arrange for us to depart right away. I would like to see Mr Langley before I depart, if that’s possible. I feel I owe him a grave apology.’
Hill scraped back his chair and rose at once, shaking his head of thinning grey hair. ‘I’ll pass on your sentiments when and if he wakes.’ He poked out his chin and his words emerged in a flat tone, squeezed through his gritted teeth. ‘Lyle’s condition is much too grave for visitors. Lady Darleston’s actions may yet deprive him of his life and my daughter of her husband. I think you’ll agree, given those facts, that your presence will only aggravate an already volatile situation.’
Did he imagine Emma would run at him and beat her fists against his chest, or that Lyle would wake and bellow at him in outrage? He might deserve both, even if he expected neither. ‘I needn’t disturb him.’ He only wanted to say goodbye and explain his departure. ‘Lyle needn’t be roused. If I could just speak with Emma, so she could pass my words on.’
Hill gave a more vigorous shake of his head. ‘I will pass them on. What did you wish to say?’
Darleston stammered for a moment. He was not about to whisper ‘I love you’ to Hill to pass on. ‘Just that I am sorry, and that I hope he mends, and that I hope this will not sever our friendship.’
Somehow he doubted Hill would even pass on that much. His whole demeanour had changed. Darleston almost said as much. He bowed instead and backed away. Regardless of what Hill wished, he’d pay his respects to both Emma and Lyle before he left.
‘I’m not blind to what goes on around me, sir.’ Hill’s voice snaked its way across the carpet towards him. ‘I know what part you played in this. Don’t think to go against my wishes and aggravate the trouble you’ve already caused.’
Had his intentions been so plainly written on his face? Darleston tried to readopt the mask he wore in town, but found he could not smile, even thinly. ‘Sir.’
‘Milord. Both my daughters have made suspect decisions of late. I cannot find those choices acceptable. Do I make myself clear? Don’t increase the trouble you’ve already caused. In fact, I’d henceforth advise you to sever all contact with the Langleys.’
Darleston steadied himself against the back of a chair that stood by the doorway. The soft leather moulded to the shape of his grip. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’
‘No, Lord Darleston. I am not. Provided you do as I suggest I have no cause for complaint.’
Which meant that the man suspected certain things but had no evidence to back them up. Darleston met Hill’s eyes and saw the truth staring back at him – coldness and hatred, and not because of any damage Lucy had done, but because Hill knew that he and Lyle’s relationship had encompassed more than friendship. Heaven knows when he’d begun to suspect. Hell knows what he thought of his daughter’s involvement. Maybe he still questioned it. Certainly he’d dismissed the notion of Emma engaging in any sort of physical contact when Lucy had hinted at the affair that morning.
‘The servants have their instructions. Leave, milord. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.’
Darleston turned on his heels and left without bidding his host goodnight.
* * *
Emma woke to daylight with cramp slicing into the side of her neck. Lyle still lay in the bed, swaddled within a thick layer of blankets. Someone had stoked up the fire so that the room was stifling and grey wisps of smoke belched from the sooty chimney.
Emma eased herself out of the chair in which she’d slept, stiff muscles protesting at the effort, and leaned over Lyle’s prone form. Having satisfied herself that he was still breathing, albeit with an uneven rhythm, she hobbled over to the window and cast open the door onto the balcony. The fresh breeze rushed in to greet her, lifting her skirts and freeing her skin from the clammy grip of her clothes. The sky stretched out before her, bright blue, with not even a wisp of cloud. The day would be glorious, perfect for idling away picking blackberries or splashing her feet in the stream. They might have taken a picnic hamper packed with Beattie’s pickles and freshly cooked pies. The three of them could have sat together, learning who they were. Darleston knew so much more about her than she’d ever told Lyle, but he knew more about Lyle too. The two men shared a past she wanted to unravel. She wanted to listen to their stories and laugh with them over ancient misdeeds. Instead – Emma glanced back at the bed and a sense of foreboding made her hug her arms to her chest – she didn’t know if Lyle would make it through the day.
Perspiration peppered his brow and the bridge of his nose when she returned from the window to perform a more thorough inspection. His blond hair hung in damp curls that stuck to his skin. Emma combed one away from his cheek. It sprang back into place like an unwound coil.
He’d always been well dressed. Lyle turned heads, but he’d never turned hers. She’d never appreciated him in that way until this last week, when Darleston had made her see Lyle differently.
Darleston loved him.
He loved her too, at least she thought so. She shook a little as she reached out to trace a fingertip over Lyle’s cracked lips. They were bleached almost to the tone of his skin. Why hadn’t Darleston come to see them? She understood that he had Lucy to deal with but, once she was securely locked away, she’d expected Darleston to sit beside her and wait for Lyle to wake.
Her husband lay so still that Emma thought nothing of extending her touch across the rest of his face, then down his neck into the collar of his nightshirt. The wound in his arm had been bound with strip upon strip of clean white linen. Drummond had removed the sleeve from one of Lyle’s nightshirts to accommodate the injury.
Emma touched the bandages lightly, counting the lines down from his shoulder to his elbow. The linen was wet.
Alarmed, she drew back. Drummond had c
losed the wound. She’d held Lyle’s arm and watched the seams of the hole being drawn together by the thread. The bandages ought not to be wet.
She looked at Lyle anew, and saw the sweat beaded on his skin and his deathly pallor. Fever. ‘No, Lyle,’ she told him. ‘I cannot lose you.’
Emma rang the bell for assistance, but didn’t wait for it to arrive. Instead she poured tepid water from the jug on the nightstand into the basin and bore that over to the bed. Lyle groaned a little as she pressed a damp cloth to his skin. She cleaned his face and upper torso, delving into the open collar of his shirt. His eyelids fluttered once or twice but never fully opened. Instead, his stillness mocked her. This is how she’d asked Darleston to be – still, almost lifeless. She no longer wanted that. She wished Lyle to be as he had always been. They had a future together, an uncertain one, yes, but a more positive and fulfilling one now that Darleston had come into their lives. She didn’t fool herself into thinking they’d ever be intimate in a conventional sense, but they’d forged a bond over the last week more meaningful than their hollow wedding vows.
‘Wake up, Lyle. Please.’
Amelia arrived in answer to the bell, instead of a maid. She’d brought up a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of broth. ‘You’re touching him,’ she observed, before sinking into the chair Emma had recently vacated. She looked almost as wan as Lyle, with her bright-blue eyes red-ringed.
Emma nodded. ‘It’s hard to bathe someone without doing so. Where’s the maid?’
‘Must I be ill for you to touch me?’
A rebuke sat on Emma’s lips, but something in Amelia’s expression stopped her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised instead. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a dreadful sister to you. I never looked after you as I should have. You deserved my affection and I never gave it.’
‘I understand why,’ Amelia replied. ‘At least I do now that certain things have been made plain. Aunt Maude tried to explain it once, but I didn’t understand how you could hold all those dead things dear and not me. You never comforted me, not even when I scuffed my knees.’
It seemed strange to talk of such things with Lyle lying between them, yet somehow appropriate. ‘I couldn’t. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault. You survived, Amelia, like me. We survived and none of the others did. I never expected that to happen. I always believed I’d have to give you up too. So I was determined not to love you too much.’
Amelia held out her hand. Emma hesitated, but then took it. Her sister’s hands were slender and cool, utterly unlike the pudgy sibling fists she’d held before.
‘How is Lyle?’
Emma shook her head. ‘Not good. I think Drummond ought to look at him again.’
‘Not Dr Waddingthorpe?’
‘I trust Drummond over him.’
Amelia nodded. ‘Father’s sent him away. He’s dismissed Harry too, and sent all the guests home.’
It took a moment for the full extent of Amelia’s news to sink in. ‘All of them? Whatever for? Harry had nothing to do with this, and Drummond saved Lyle.’ Their father’s actions made no sense at all. ‘All of the guests?’ Her stomach seemed to drop into her feet, which suddenly seemed so heavy she could hardly move them enough to guide herself into the chair on the opposite side of the bed to Amelia.
‘Darleston went first. He and his brother drove away with Lady Darleston last night.’ Her horror must have shown, for Amelia scuttled around the bed to her. She knelt by Emma’s side. ‘I don’t think he wanted to go. He tried to get in here, but Father set the footmen on guard.’
‘I never heard anything.’ Emma jumped up, too agitated to remain still. Darleston simply couldn’t be gone. She needed him. He was her backbone. Without him, she was not nearly so brave.
‘Father had something put into your tea. He made me, Emma. He said you needed your rest. I swear I didn’t know what he was going to do. He had Grafton put something into mine too. I slept like a log for twelve hours.’
If it was not lack of sleep that had ringed her sister’s eyes, then what was it?
‘He dismissed Harry. He’s dreadfully angry, Emma.’
Why did she keep twittering on about Harry Quernow? ‘Did the fight go badly, then?’ Emma asked.
Tears tracked down her sister’s face. Amelia rubbed at her eyes, making their redness all the more lurid. ‘No. Jack won. It was an overwhelming victory. He sent Harry away because he knew I loved him. Harry made a bet upon the fight. He hoped it would give him enough independent means to support me. Father never even gave him the chance to ask for my hand. He just packed him off with all the other guests.’
Emma braced herself with her hands on the footboard. There was so little clarity at the moment, or maybe she simply refused to see the truth. ‘I still don’t understand why he’d dismiss Lyle’s valet. They’ve been with each other for years. He had no authority to do that.’
Amelia clambered to her feet once more, her conservative dress now thoroughly rumpled. ‘I don’t believe Father thinks he’ll survive.’
Emma shot a quick glance at her husband. Lyle’s condition was by no means good, but to have already dismissed him as if he were gone – that stung. She had never believed her father a callous man, and he had always got on so well with Lyle.
‘Emma, in his head I think he’s already buried him.’
All she could do was pace and shake her head. How could he think that? Nay, even if he thought it, to precipitately send the healers away was madness. ‘I need to speak to him.’
‘Emma.’ Amelia backed towards the door, successfully blocking her exit. ‘He knows what you’ve done. What you and Lyle have both done. He said some frightful things before I came up here. I can’t believe that they are true. Tell me they’re not true. I know I said some things, but I only meant to vex you. I never truly believed them.’ She swallowed hard, and then burst into a fresh bout of tears. ‘I can’t see a season or anything else to look forward to now. Father means to punish us. He says we’re both a disgrace.’
Emma idly patted her sister’s shoulder while her thoughts reeled. She knew the bond that Lyle and Darleston shared was not one accepted or even tolerated by society. She’d always known that if Lyle’s proclivities were revealed she’d have to forfeit her life with him, but she’d never expected her father to act so cruelly as to wish her husband dead. ‘What did Father say?’
‘That Darleston incited you both to lewd practices. He made me read from the Old Testament, but I can’t believe any of you did such wicked things.’
They had, though she wasn’t about to confess to it. Besides, letting a man die without fighting to save him was a far worse sin than loving one, or even two. ‘I’ve done nothing of which I’m ashamed,’ she said. She grasped Amelia’s hands tight. ‘My husband is not dead. Help me, Amelia. Help me save Lyle and my life. I’m not allowing him to die because Father thinks it’s just punishment for some imaginary sin. Love isn’t wrong. It will distress me far more to lose him than whatever ills father believes we have done will harm him.’ She handed Amelia a handkerchief to dry her face. ‘Drummond said we should use maggots if the wound became infected. I think it might be. The bandages are wet when they should be dry.’
Amelia gazed at her, her face alight with wonder behind her uncertain frown. ‘You’ve changed. Knowing Darleston has changed you.’
‘He opened my eyes.’ She refrained from giving any more details. Amelia didn’t need to know the complexities of the triangular relationship she, Lyle and Darleston and formed. All she needed to understand was that it was something worth fighting for.
‘You don’t deny that you made love to him?’
‘We can ask Beattie to help, and her daughter. They both know about poultices and compresses. So it was Harry all along that you were making eyes at?’
‘I liked him from the very first day that Father employed him, but I didn’t know for sure that it was more than that until the other gentlemen arrived and I had something to compare him to. It’s no good n
ow, though. Father won’t hear of it. And don’t lie to me that he will.’
For the first time in her life Emma embraced her youngest sister. ‘I won’t, but that doesn’t mean it has to end badly. If Harry’s still true to you, you can elope.’ Amelia’s eyes lit with hunger. She dried away the last of her sniffles. ‘But not yet. Not until Lyle is healed. Help me, and I promise I’ll help you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nine weeks later: late August 1801
Few turned out to witness the interment, only the diehard barnacles and those unfortunate and desperate enough to have no other social engagements. A funeral simply didn’t hold the same appeal as a coming-out ball, several of which had already been announced for the coming season, and while the rumours about Darleston’s preferences had quieted over the summer, the scandal surrounding him hadn’t been entirely forgotten.
He stood by the graveside nodding his acknowledgements to the other attendees. His father, the Earl of Onnerley, had come, as had Neddy, bearing condolences from Giles Dovecote and some others of their set. Most surprisingly, Oxbury had dragged himself out of the woodwork to pay his respects, but then, considering how often he’d shared Lucy’s affections, perhaps he felt he owed her that much. Littleton, on the other hand, remained notable by his absence.
Only one buffoon was foolish enough to suggest he start hunting for a new wife. Darleston immediately cut him. One marriage was plenty for any lifetime. Let his brother produce an heir for the title, or let it fall to some distant cousin. He didn’t care either way. No woman would ever shackle him as Lucy had done. He’d watched her suffer these last nine weeks and regularly wondered if he ought to have taken up the pistol she’d used to maim Lyle and turned it upon her. It certainly would have been a swifter, more satisfying sort of justice. Instead, he’d watched her become stick-thin apart from that swollen, tender belly. She’d maintained it was his child even with her dying breath.
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