Then she reminded herself that she and her brother were new to the district and had kept their personal affairs to themselves. No one had any reason to suspect they were well-to-do in their own right, rather than a penniless parson and his sister. That was surely a good thing, since it helped ensure no man tried to marry her for her money. Nor was she a duke's daughter, as Elizabeth was. Most women would envy Elizabeth, but Sarah knew what troubles her friend had endured and how she despaired of ever meeting a man that could lover her for herself and not her fortune and connections.
She wondered what her friends would say if they met him, if they would form the same opinion despite the shabbiness of his dress. She was sure he was the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes on. The only way his looks could be improved was for him to regain some expression in his incredible tawny eyes. But they were flat and lifeless, shadowed with pain and visions of horror.
She stiffened at that thought and shook her head. He wasn't a beau, he was a poor suffering soul who needed her help. She couldn't let her girlish fancy for an attractive face cause her to ignore the reality of his needing her to be strong and sensible.
She hovered in the hallway, listening to the low murmur of voices and splashes, reassured that he was well enough and enjoying his bath.
Caleb came out of the chamber with the stranger's clothes a short time later, and a grim expression on his face.
Sarah wondered at it, and his refusal to meet her gaze. He fetched some of his wife's excellent liniment for burns and other injuries, and returned to the bathroom.
"He's going to have a good long soak. No need to worry, Miss, he's just fine with me," he said quietly as he saw her pacing outside the door.
She blushed. "Thank you, Caleb. I'll be in the front room when he's done."
The elderly man nodded curtly, went back inside, and locked the door with a decisive click.
Sarah returned to the large parlor and opened her sewing box. She busied herself with some mending, trying not to feel so anxious about her blind houseguest. He was with Caleb. He would be fine. It was only a bath, after all. What could possibly be wrong. Mayhap he really did have fleas or lice and that was why Caleb was looking so grim?
Just Jenny came with a pile of clothes of Jonathan's, wanting her approval for her choices. Sarah looked the items over quickly. She had chosen a pair of dark navy breeches, stockings, waistcoat, and jacket. He would look as somber as a parson, but somehow she guessed he was not given to flamboyant dressing. She thanked Jenny, and asked her to serve coffee as soon as the stranger was out of the bathroom.
Then Sarah began to contemplate what she knew of the stranger thus far. He was obviously a gentleman. His whole demeanor had informed her of that. His manner of speaking was interesting too, very musical, though the tones were crisply British. He might have been raised in one of the colonies abroad, or been one of the better class of merchants who had plied their trade upon the Continent? So many people had been dispossessed by the war, not least the English in Paris, Madrid, and Lisbon who had traded there for hundreds of years, but had had to flee in the face of French aggression.
He was certainly a mystery. She realized with a jolt that she had spent hours with him and still had not learned his actual name. But then, the poor man had been so tired, his skin stretched tautly over his high cheekbones betokening his near-exhaustion. His journey had been fraught with difficulties and dangers. But why had he come here?
Well, why not? Jonathan was certainly a kind man and good friend, and had been long before he had ever become a man of the cloth. All of the Rakehells were kind. No one in trouble or needing assistance had ever been turned away, no matter what they had done, so long as they genuinely repented. She was glad he had felt free to trust his old comrade enough to come to him for assistance. She only hoped that he had other friends, family, who could help him cope with his desperate plight.
Jenny came into the room with his boots, which were newly polished but still badly battered. "He's the same size as Master Jonathan, if you want to give him a better pair."
"Yes, of course. But I think just some house slippers for now, don't you?"
The old woman nodded and disappeared. Sarah could hear her digging into the hall closet, and went out into the hall once more, hoping she didn't look like she was hovering too anxiously outside the bathing chamber.
"Here you are, Miss. "
"Very good. Slippers, boots, and a pair of shoes?"
"I'll see what I can find."
The bathroom door opened and closed once more. Caleb came out again to fetch the clothes. He would not meet her eye.
Sarah frowned. She guessed that he had to be very angry for being asked to help the stranger. She sighed and rubbed her hands together. She did not relish having to lecture him about Christian duty. Perhaps the gentleman would be able to cope better after a few days of getting used to the vicarage. For now he needed their help.
She did not reflect too closely on her hope that he would be staying that long. He would simply have to remain until he was well rested, and she was certain he had somewhere else safe and congenial to go to. For all she knew he was heading west or north to rejoin all of his loved ones. But for now, he was her guest, and she would do her best to build him up.
She returned to the room she had recently vacated, and looked over the parlor from a whole new perspective. She closed her eyes, took a couple of steps forward, and scoured her shins upon a small footstool.
She could see within a few moments that all the fussy bits and pieces of furniture the Duke had given them would make it hard for him to negotiate without injury. And they really were too fine for a simple country vicarage anyway. He had only been trying to be kind, of course, but impractical like many men when it came to running an efficient household.
She didn't dare rearrange the room. That would be up to Pamela when she entered her new home. But there were other options for helping the stranger take his ease.
She stepped across the hall into her own snug sitting room. It was only half the size of the parlor, but her favorite room in the house. In it she read and studied, did her correspondence and household accounts. She also basked in the sunshine which poured in through the mullioned windows and down onto the snug window seat she had made some comfortable cushions for and rested on the sofa with a book between chores. It was a small room, but had a good fireplace, and was relatively uncluttered by all the finery the Duke had insisted upon them having.
She went upstairs and looked at the blue room with a similarly critical gaze. It was comfortable, but did perhaps have too many footstools and chairs. She took them all out save one good armchair, carrying them upstairs to the storage room in the attic.
Then she went back to the guest room, turned down the covers and lit a candle. Not that it was much use for a blind man, she reminded herself, and wondered at the safety of giving him one.
But she couldn't negotiate the house in the dark, and burning candles were a fact of life in the evenings. Normally the twilight would last until seven or even eight o'clock in the spring as the days got longer, but the storm raging outside had rendered it as black as night.
She blew out the candle and went back to the door. She closed her eyes against the blackness of the room and tried to grasp what it would be like to lose her sight. She knew the room well, but even so, she stubbed her slippered toe on the end of the four-poster bed.
Deciding the passage between the bed and desk and chair were too narrow, she moved the smaller pieces further over to the left. They were still under the window, but with much more space to pass from one end of the room to the other. Not that the light from the window would make much difference to him, she thought with a sigh.
A clatter downstairs brought her back to reality. She struck her tinderbox and re-lit the candle, and left it in a bracket high up on the wall. She completed her tour of the room, ensuring he had towels, soap and water in his alcove behind the screen, and plenty of hot water bottles in
the bed. She checked the fire to make sure it was banked up well, and drew the hearth rug back just in case of stray sparks. There was a fire screen also, but she would put that in front of the hearth for him when she built up the fire one last time before he went to bed.
Sarah headed downstairs and told Caleb to put the gentleman in the parlor, close to the fire so he could dry his hair before he went up to bed.
She stared at her handsome guest again as he entered, and for once was glad he couldn't see. She was sure her mouth was hanging open, he looked so stunning. He was now well scrubbed and newly shaven and dressed in clean, dark clothes which complemented his raven-haired good looks perfectly. His long jet hair fell in rippling waves well past his shoulders.
He had no cravat, and Caleb had left off any stock. He had not fussed too much with his neck cloth, thus leaving his strong, lightly tanned throat bare. With that and the scar along his eye and into his hairline, his appearance was almost piratical. She felt her heart turn over at the sight of his handsome vulnerability.
"Please, sir, do come sit by the fire. You need to get that hair dried before you head up, or else your neck will be ragingly stiff in the morning. And we certainly wouldn't want you to catch a chill."
"Oh, thank you, Miss," he said, almost eagerly seizing her hand, grateful for the warm contact.
He found to his surprise that he had almost missed her in the tub, her touch, her soft, soothing voice. "I fear I shan't be good company, however, for that hot bath has nearly exhausted me."
She seated him in the chair and spread his long thick locks over his shoulders. She draped a dry towel which Caleb offered her over his jacket, and squeezed his thick rope of hair. Then she fluffed it out again, relishing its silkiness.
"There, it will be dry in no time. And until it is, shall I play for you again?"
"That would be lovely. You're too kind."
"Not at all. I'm glad of the company. My home was always full of music until my brother went away to war. He's only just now becoming accustomed to it once more, and can finally listen to it and perform without pain and regret."
"Regret?" the stranger asked curiously.
Sarah knew she was babbling in an effort to cover her nervousness over being with such a handsome man.
"Yes, he and his childhood sweetheart Jane used to perform duets all the time, both on the pianoforte, and singing. They were exceedingly well matched in that respect, though not in all, I have to admit. She, er, became ill whilst he was away in the Army. Lost her wits. He tried to stand by her, but she, um, finally died this spring. He does not play very often, and has never sung since.
"But I think now, with his new love Pamela, he might be persuaded. It will take time, I think, but he's a good man, with a nobility of spirit which cannot be oppressed forever. But then, you probably know some of this, if you're Jonathan's friend."
"Friend?" he echoed, frowning. "Jonathan."
"Yes, of course. You came to the door asking for him, don't you remember?"
He rubbed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "To tell you the truth, there are some days when I remember very little. Others when I recall far too much."
She combed his hair with her fingers first, reveling in the silkiness, then realized how sensually forward she was being, and used the implement designed for that purpose which Caleb had brought in with him.
"I have to say, Jonathan is unforgettable. I mean, I'm sure that circumstances must have been very bad during the war, but he's always been most congenial company. Forgive me for boasting about him, but he's the very best of men. I'm sure any close friends of his are equally decent."
He raised one hand to test his hair and riffled it in front of the heat. "I'm sorry, Miss," he said with a dejected sigh, "but I really have so few recollections of the past couple of years. And my head is throbbing."
She began to rise from the bench. "Can I get you--"
He stayed her with one hand. "No, please, just sit and play."
"What would you like to hear?"
"I have no idea."
"You enjoyed the Beethoven before."
"Did I?" he asked with a frown.
"Why, yes. You named the piece for me, Fur Elise."
"I did?" He looked as blank as his tawny eyes now.
She tinkled the keys for a moment, wondering at the change in him. "Do you recall what we had for dinner?" she asked after a time.
He had to think for a moment. "Roast beef, potatoes. Apple crumble. Cheese."
He was accurate, but she could see the effort it had cost him. He had also stiffened and tensed up, bristling with defensiveness. "I'm not mad, not like your brother's friend."
"No, of course not. I never said--"
"If you don't mind, I really am exhausted," he said curtly. "May I go up to my room?"
"Yes, of course," Sarah said, rushing to his side to take his hand. She narrowly averted disaster as she steered him safely past the small table next to the settle. "Please, sir, I'm sorry if you're offended. If you thought that I was--"
"It's all right. It's just damned hard not remembering things. Feeling at a loss all the time, with everything so blank, so confusing," he said through lips now as white as bone. "I'm more grateful than I can say for all you've done for me this evening. But I really need to lie down before I fall down. And I apologize for being such a terrible and difficult house guest."
"Nonsense. Caleb, come here please?" she called quickly.
"Yes, Miss?"
"Can you assist the gentleman up to the blue room? He's become overtired."
"Of course, Miss. Glad to help." He put his wrinkled but still strong hand on the young man's shoulder. "This way, Sir, please."
The tall stranger dwarfed her servant, but Caleb got his shoulder in under his arm and began to help him from the room.
"Good night, Sir," she said quietly.
He paused. "Sarah, may I ask one more favor?"
"Certainly."
"Can you please play for about ten minutes, to lull me to sleep?"
"Yes, I'd be delighted."
"Thank you for everything. You've been a wonderful friend. I shall never forget your kindness. And I'm sorry--"
"No more apologies. Off you go. I shall see you in the morning."
She took the hand he offered and patted it. She followed them into the hall and watched as Caleb led him up the stairs as patiently as a shepherd leading a newborn lamb.
She listened while the old servant showed her guest to his room. Then she heard the stranger disrobe and get into the bed with a creak and sigh of relief.
"Good night, Sir."
"Good night, Caleb."
She waited until her servant came down the stairs, and motioned silently for him to come into the sitting room, where she seated herself at the pianoforte and began to play a Bach air.
"Well?"
"Well what, Miss?"
"Is he all settled?" she found herself saying, though that was not the question uppermost in her mind.
"Yes, he seems to be."
"What do you think of him?" she ventured to ask.
The reply was not one she ever expected to hear. "He will make me thank God every day that I haven't suffered the way he has."
Sarah stared at him in wonder. "What would make you say that?"
Caleb shook his head.
"Why, what did he tell you?"
"He never said a word. He just enjoyed the bath, and groaned from time to time."
Sarah thumped her temple with the heel of her right hand. "His headache. It slipped my mind. How thoughtless of me. Caleb, I need some vinegar and brown paper."
"I'll fetch it, Miss." He turned to go, but she called him back.
"Caleb, er, does he have tattoos like Mr. Jonathan's?"
He nodded. "They're not exactly like his, but yes. On his arms and legs, and a small George and Dragon over his heart."
Sarah sighed. Caleb could not read, though she had tried to g
et him to learn. There was no point in asking what the man's name was and where he came from. All of the Rakehells had tattooed their names and home villages on their arms and legs in case the worst had happened and they had been killed in the war.
She tried to recall any special friend the other men had made during the war that Jonathan might have mentioned. The original set of Rakehells had been Clifford, Jonathan and Thomas, all schoolfellows together at Eton and then Oxford, before enlisting to fight Bonaparte. In both places they had added to their set of Radicals, with brave and decent men like Dr. Blake Sanderson, Michael Avenel, whose title was Viscount Glyne, and his brother Randall, Randall's best friend Matthew Dane, and the famous barrister Alistair Grant.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 4
