by Anna Small
A new sense of purpose came out of nowhere. She was on a path to relieving his pain any way she could. “If you like, I will go to the kitchens and find something for you. There is a lavender infusion we can try, or perhaps one with rosemary.”
He seemed amused at her enthusiasm. “You are very kind. But I do not wish to trouble you.”
“It is no trouble.” She clenched her hands at her side, scolding her eagerness. One of the servants approached to clear away the breakfast things, and they stepped into the hall.
“You are a true angel to think of it. In the meantime, may we proceed to the drawing room? I have found there is nothing better than music to soothe my aches. Do you have any compositions of your own?”
“I have a few songs, but nothing you would—”
“I would love to hear them,” he interrupted, his smile so charming she could not deny him. They walked together to the drawing room, and she sat at the bench, her heart fluttering with the realization it was only the two of them. She played a simple piece she’d composed the previous year, inwardly berating her trembling fingers and expecting criticism any moment. But he remained silent.
Once she looked up and met his gaze. She had no idea how long he’d been watching her. A brief smile crossed his lips, and he turned toward the window again.
Chapter Ten
Jane gulped twice before knocking on Colonel Blakeney’s door.
“Come in,” he barked.
Clutching the fake hand she’d made out of his evening glove, she inhaled sharply and opened the door.
“It’s about time, Parker,” he muttered, lost beneath the twisted folds of a snowy shirt.
Jane froze. He stood with his back to her, wearing only his buff-colored breeches, stockings, and shoes. His broad back was bare, and she stared, fascinated, at the muscles rippling with his every movement. His left arm ended abruptly at the wrist, in a rather ugly scar and stump. A rushed battlefield surgeon was to blame, she thought, unconsciously echoing Doctor Adams’ sentiments on the subject.
He threw the shirt to the floor with an oath, turning at the same time. His face blanched, and he gasped in shock.
“Miss Brooke!”
Heat rose instantly to her face. Torn between fleeing the room and staying, she chose the latter and closed the door quietly behind her. She focused on the painting above the mantelpiece, as his attempts to hide his battered arm rent her heart.
“Mr. Parker’s gone ahead to the ball with some of his friends. I can fetch Colonel Parker for you.”
“No, thank you. He’s not well and lies abed as we speak. I’d rather not have any of the wide-eyed servants, either.” He regarded her keenly and lowered his right hand from his stump. “This is rather shocking to you, I’m afraid.” A note of apology lingered in his voice, as well as a veiled challenge.
She hoped he couldn’t hear her pounding heart.
“I am not shocked, Colonel Blakeney.” She stepped forward boldly and placed her shawl and the glove she’d stuffed with sawdust beside his hat on a table. “I will assist you, if I may.” Her words hung in the air between them.
Finally, he nodded, his expression showing he was just as startled by her offer as she was.
“My man has been detained in town, so I am at your mercy.” This last was added with a twinkle in his eyes. He handed her his shirt. “I’ve been making do with Jeremy’s help, but he often has other, pressing engagements.”
His sarcasm was thinly disguised. She hated to think Jeremy’s sudden disappearance was a purposeful slight toward his father’s guest.
She straightened his shirt around his neck while he slipped first his left arm into its sleeve and then the right. Unsure of what to do next, she remained until he murmured, “Buttons are a little difficult…” She buttoned his shirt, and when she reached the top, his throat flushed. “This is very…awkward for me, Miss Brooke. I’m not used to being helpless in any way.”
“You are not helpless.”
When had her voice changed to a breathy whisper? She stared at the hollow in his throat, catching the scent of his shaving soap and other related scents lingering on his clothes and body. He had a clean, fresh scent as if he’d just come out of his bath. An evocative image stirred her senses and she blinked to change the picture before her eyes. Her fingers lingered on the topmost ivory buttons. She didn’t want to move, though every ounce of sensibility urged her she must. She hadn’t realized how close they were until his warm breath misted her forehead.
“My cravat…”
She started, spinning away to retrieve the items from the table. When she turned, he was sitting so she could better attend him. Hands trembling, she draped the fastidiously ironed cravat around his neck.
“You seem especially good at this.”
“When I helped the doctor, I often assisted those unable to dress. The ladies, I mean,” she added, heat creeping up her throat again.
“I should have healed quickly in Portugal, had I a nurse such as you.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of his comment and was about to leave him to his cravat when she realized that, obviously, it would be impossible for him to tie one-handed.
“Do you prefer any particular knot?” She stood between his knees, which she noticed he’d moved apart so she could be closer. The side of her leg brushed the inside of his, and she bit her lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But he had gulped, and she’d heard it, soft as the sound had been.
“You know more than one?” he asked, his voice huskier than normal.
“I have tied my father’s on occasion.”
“You choose for me.”
She fought desperately to keep her eyes focused on the strip of cloth, though she imagined he was staring quite fixedly at the lace just below her neckline. Lucinda had chosen her ball dress—a pale green silk gown, trimmed with flounces of lace that skirted the hem. A slender velvet ribbon in a darker color was tied just beneath her breasts. She had declined any borrowed jewelry, despite Lucinda’s pleadings.
“You look lovely,” he said.
She forced herself to concentrate on her task and finished tying a Mathematical knot, giving it an expert flourish at the end. She resisted the urge to run her hands through his hair, to smooth down a curl, which refused to lie with its brethren.
“It’s Lucinda’s. She was kind enough to lend it to me.”
“I wasn’t talking about the dress.” He stood, his gaze taking her in from the top of her carefully arranged hair to the hem of her gown. “Waistcoat,” he murmured.
“Waistcoat?” she replied dumbly, almost swaying on her feet in a reverie caused by his voice and warm, musky scent. He reached out and picked up his gold brocade waistcoat draped over the chair.
“I can manage this, for the most part. Luckily, the buttonholes are loose.”
Embarrassment flooded her. She had handled his clothes and dressed him as if she were his wife. She should think of an excuse to leave, as he clearly no longer required her help, but he indicated the table.
“Is that my new hand?”
“Pardon?”
“My glove looks like it’s been stuffed with sawdust.”
“Oh, that!”
She was relieved to have something to do. She picked up her creation, which consisted of her thickest, best wool stocking with his glove sewn securely to the end. If Mamma ever found out, she would kill her for abusing it so. She removed a packet of pins and a threaded needle from her pocket.
“I thought I’d sew it to your sleeve. With your coat covering it, no one will be able to tell the difference. I’ll make up my shawl like a sling. I already told Lucinda, and she has agreed to go along with it.”
His black brows shot up. “You are quite a genius.”
“People will see your arm in a sling and look no further. You’ll have all the dancing partners you could want.”
“If I had both my hands, Miss Brooke, I would prefer only one partner.”
He was a kind, perfect gen
tleman, but was older and more experienced in the ways of the world. Was this how ladies and gentlemen behaved in private? She suddenly realized she’d closed his door. If Colonel Parker or Lucinda should come looking for her…
She hastily fastened the stuffed glove to his sleeve, sliding her stocking over the remaining part of his arm to secure it better. With difficulty, she ignored the dark, curling hairs on his arm and the warmth of his skin as she touched him repeatedly while sewing.
She stepped back when she was done. He hefted it admiringly, turning his arm to examine her handiwork.
“It just might work, Miss Brooke! Let’s put on my coat.”
She helped him into his black wool coat and fastened the buttons so only the triangle of his gold brocade waistcoat was revealed. He hugged the fake hand to his body, and she made the sling out of her shawl. He stood before the mirror, a look of excitement brightening his face.
“I shall keep this, if I may. It will make traveling a great deal easier.”
Longing filled his voice. Lucinda said it was more than physical pain he’d suffered since losing his arm. But, if he was happy, she was more than satisfied she’d contributed a little.
“You may have the shawl. I’m glad it has some better purpose. It never kept me very warm.”
He smiled sympathetically. “Here I am, in this great coat, and you and Lucinda shall be forced to freeze in the name of fashion. We will just have to warm ourselves up with dancing.”
She clasped her hands together, restraining from bouncing up and down on her heels in her hopeful excitement. He looked so young and carefree with the trouble of his hand no longer a worry.
He frowned. “I’m not certain what I should do with my hair. When I’m in uniform, I just tie it back.”
She clucked her tongue before she could stop herself. “For a ball, you’d want it off your face.” In for a penny…. “Have you a hairbrush? I can do it for you.” She choked back a rush of breath. Her forwardness had surely offended him.
He sank back into the chair, his face etched with relief. “If you would be so kind, Miss Brooke. I shall box Jeremy’s ears very soundly when I see him tonight. He should have been here to assist me, as promised.”
She picked up his hairbrush and stood behind him. “Perhaps he has other things on his mind. I cannot imagine his slighting you on purpose.”
“Forgive my harsh words. I had not realized you and he were…close.”
Her arm stopped in its downward gesture, a few inches from his hair. Good heavens, did he believe she had any feelings toward Jeremy?
“I am not…I mean, he and I are not close. Not close at all.”
His shoulders straightened, and she hurried with her task, dragging the brush through his silky black hair until it gleamed in the lamplight.
“I did not mean to intrude. Forgive me. Your personal life is not my business.”
A light beading of perspiration broke out just beneath her elaborate hairstyle. She couldn’t answer him. Indeed, there was no appropriate reply.
He cleared his throat.
“You could do worse than marry someone like Jeremy, Miss Brooke.” His voice was soothing, gentle, even. “I believe he has more potential than I give him credit for. He just might make a fine husband.”
“Oh,” was all she could say. She hastily brushed a stray tear from her eye, pretending her discomfort was from a dust mote, and not his dismissal of her.
“I will talk to him, if you’d prefer. His father would approve, since you are his friend’s daughter. I imagine it’s why your parents and Robert arranged this holiday for you in the first place.”
Miserable, she replaced the brush on the table, which gave her an excuse to turn her back. More tears seemed dangerously near. She had dreaded Lucinda finding her in the colonel’s chamber before, but now she’d welcome the interruption. She need not worry about causing a scandal by being alone with him. He clearly thought she was intended for Jeremy.
“I’ve upset you. Again, Miss Brooke, I apologize for speaking so frankly. I’m afraid I am stepping on your toes, and we are not even at the ball yet.”
His attempt at humor fell flat on her broken heart. She idly straightened the things on his dressing table, pretending to be occupied in her task while she digested his words.
“You are right,” she said, once her voice could be trusted to sound normal. “Mr. Parker would be a good catch for a girl like me.” Before she could walk away, he caught her elbow, spinning her around with more force than she realized he’d meant.
She stared up at him in shock. He released her abruptly.
“Forgive me.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “I hadn’t realized…” His voice ended in a whisper.
She blinked, unable to tear her gaze from his. He’d kiss her, now. The future loomed ahead, and it was bright and filled with promise. She held her breath and squeezed her hands together.
“Jane! Do hurry. The barouche is outside. Oh, and bring Colonel Blakeney, will you?”
Lucinda’s voice at the foot of the stairs snapped her back to the present. The colonel turned so abruptly from her a slight breeze stirred the lace on her dress.
He motioned to his arm in the sling. A new sparkle filled his eyes and he had a different set to his jaw.
“Will you do me the honor of walking downstairs with me, Miss Brooke? You can see if my new hand feels like the real thing.”
Without hesitation, she slipped her arm through his, settling her hand briefly on the stuffed glove. She gasped in delight at her own inventiveness. “It does feel real.”
“I know not how to thank you.”
They were at his door now. She paused before touching the latch. In another moment, he would belong to the rest of the world.
“You need not thank me. I did it because…” Her voice broke. It was no use. A man of his station was far out of reach.
“There, now, Miss Brooke!” He squeezed her arm against his side for a heart-stopping moment. “I am truly fortunate to have made your acquaintance. I am the luckiest man in all of England, to have found my own guardian angel.”
He chucked her on the chin. Instead of moving away, his fingers lingered, bestowing a brief caress across her cheek. A moment later, he opened the door.
She had almost regained her normal demeanor when they met Lucinda, who took the colonel’s other arm with an easy familiarity Jane wished she possessed.
Chapter Eleven
The assembly rooms were grander than those at Weston, with more people in attendance than Jane had ever seen back home. Her shyness and dislike of such events returned stronger than ever, and she nearly feigned a headache so she could return to Everhill.
But the colonel was insistent, and Lucinda begged so furiously she couldn’t refuse. Her reluctance vanished when the colonel slipped her hand through his arm, patting it once as if to reassure her. He had offered his other arm to Lucinda, but she had skipped ahead toward a group of girls, whose gaily colored gowns made them resemble flowers, with Lucinda their buzzing bee in the center. Jane was alone with the colonela thing she hardly minded.
He led her inside the hall, and she pretended they were not in Shropshire, but at the Theatre Royal in London about to attend a performance. The fantasy seemed so real that when he lowered his head to ask her if she wanted a glass of punch, she almost jumped. Several women stared at him with interest, but he didn’t seem to notice any of them.
“Not just yet,” she replied. She was thirsty, but if she had said yes, it would mean his departure. She couldn’t bear being away from him and stifled the nagging thought that only a few weeks remained of her visit.
Lucinda left her friends and hurried back to Jane’s side. “Jane, I do want to introduce you to the Miss Thorntons. I thought we could go driving with them tomorrow.” She tugged on Jane’s hand for good measure. Jane reluctantly turned to the colonel, who seemed amused.
“I won’t be long,” she said, and Lucinda laughed.
“Pooh,
he’ll be all right! Colonel B., some officers from the regiment are by the punch. Go and talk with them, and we’ll be back when the dancing starts. You did promise me the quadrille.”
She jostled her way through the crowd until they reached the end of the hall, where two younger girls shared a laugh. Lucinda introduced her, and she made small talk where appropriate, though she wondered if anyone was paying the slightest attention to her. She was almost grateful for their indifference, as it gave her time to look across the room for a glimpse of the colonel.
“Jane! You are daydreaming. Catherine just asked you about your music.”
Jane stammered, “I do enjoy the pianoforte. Miss Thornton, do you play?”
“Yes. When you and Lucinda come tomorrow, we’ll look at the new music our uncle sent.”
Lucinda nudged her in the ribs. “Their uncle has been to Italy! I should so love to go abroad.”
She sighed dramatically, and her friends laughed. Jane smiled, though her thoughts were elsewhere. One of the Thornton girls suddenly opened her fan and used it to shield her face.
“He’s coming over here!”
Her sister giggled, and Lucinda and Jane turned at the same time. Jane half-expected to see the colonel, but her shoulders sagged with disappointment. Jeremy strode up to them, looking almost regal in a dark blue coat, his cream-colored breeches taut on his legs, heavy and muscular from all the riding he’d been doing. His hair was brushed back from his face, showing his high cheekbones to best advantage. He ignored his sister and bowed to Jane and the others, which caused a new paroxysm of girlish twittering.
“Will you dance, Miss Brooke?”
She longed to excuse herself and continue searching for Colonel Blakeney but didn’t know the proper words for such a scandalous idea. She curtsied. At least she’d be away from the silly girls.
“Thank you, Mr. Parker.”
The crowd cleared a space in the center of the assembly hall, and Jane took her place in a line of women opposite the men. Jeremy seemed unable to look anywhere but at her. Jane blamed this on too much wine punch, as his face glistened with perspiration. The musicians jumped into a rollicking gavotte, and she almost enjoyed being turned and twisted around the other swirling couples.
