Wyndham Legacy

by Catherine Coulter

  She realized then she was safe. No one could strike her again, not with Marcus and Badger here with her. She heard Spears say as he walked toward the bed, “I have prepared the mixture you detailed, Mr. Badger. If you can gently move her head, my lord, I will apply the mixture to the lump.”

  “It will reduce the swelling and make the pain lessen,” Badger said.

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” Marcus said, but then he moved her head on the pillow.

  She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt someone wipe the tears off her cheeks and gently daub at her closed eyes. Marcus said very softly, “Gently now, Duchess. Spears has the lightest fingers of all of us. It will hurt though, but then it will be better. That’s what Badger promises. If he’s wrong I’ll let you smack him on the side of the head. That will make three of us with headaches.”

  Spears applied the salve. Suddenly she felt nausea twist and roil in her stomach, adding to the dreadful pounding in her head. She swallowed convulsively.

  Badger said, “Breathe deeply, Duchess. That’s right. It will make the sickness go away. No, don’t fight it. Do as I tell you. Deeply. Good.”

  When at last they gave her laudanum, she actually felt better, but Marcus wouldn’t allow her yet to speak. “No, Duchess, I want you to sleep.”

  She managed to whisper to him, “Don’t leave me.”

  He was silent for a moment, a surprised silence that went on so long she was afraid that he didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t want to remain. Then, however, he said easily, “I won’t leave you, I promise.”

  She took stock of her injuries. There was a dull thudding over her left eye. The nausea was gone, as was the debilitating pain from the blow to her head. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Marcus wasn’t there and she cried out, panicked and afraid.

  “I’m here,” he said, and she watched him stride quickly back to her bed. “Shush, I’m here.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

  “I just wandered to the fireplace, no destination further away than that. Ah, and once I did have to relieve myself, Duchess. But I sent Badger in to oversee your sleep whilst I was gone. How do you feel?”

  “I did feel like a keg of ale that rolled off the wagon and splatted on the cobblestones. Now, the keg only has a small leak.”

  “I felt something like that,” he said, then grinned at her, leaned down, and lightly touched his mouth to hers. His mouth was warm and reassuring. “Now, here’s tea for you. Badger said you would be thirsty and this fancy herbal tea he mixed for you would be just the thing.”

  He helped her drink, then said, “Are you hungry?”

  “No, nothing. The tea is very good.”

  “You promise me you feel all right now?”

  “Yes, the leak is merely a small crack now.”

  “Good.” His voice lost its sweetness and became a low furious roar. “What the hell were you doing in the library with guttered candles at four o’clock in the morning?”

  She wanted to laugh but a small smile was all she could manage. “The Wyndham legacy. I went searching for clues and I found another old book just like Mr. Burgess’s.”

  He frowned as he said, “You should have awakened me if you wanted to go treasure hunting. You won’t go do anything alone again. Now, about that book—there wasn’t one there when I got down to the library.”

  “Someone hit me and took it. Actually I guess someone saw me reading it and struck me down in order to take it.”

  “No,” he said. “That’s simply not sensible. You must misremember, Duchess. You must have slipped and fallen. You must have struck your head on the edge of the desk.”

  “I’m sorry, but someone did strike me, Marcus.” She saw that he believed her, but he didn’t want to. To accept it meant that someone in the house had deliberately hurt her, that someone was up to no good. She didn’t want to believe it either.

  “That cursed treasure,” he said, and continued to swear as he plowed his fingers through his hair. “Where did you find the book?”

  “Behind another one on a lower shelf that hadn’t ever been read or moved, just dusted periodically.”

  Surprisingly, he said, “All right. You went to the library to look for a clue and you found the book. Were you in the library long? I went to your bedchamber and you weren’t there. I was perturbed—about many things—but I didn’t go looking for you.”

  “I went to the Gold Leaf Room but I couldn’t sleep. As I said, I went to the library to search for a clue—I never even thought to believe I’d find the book, find anything that was important—but I did find it. Only someone else must have seen the candlelight. I didn’t hear anything, not really, just this slight movement, this sort of whispering sound, but I was concentrating so hard on the text and the sketch—”

  He gently touched his fingertips to her lips. “Don’t get upset, you’ll just make yourself sick. Close your eyes a moment and breathe deeply. That’s right. Just relax, Duchess.”

  He studied her face as she stilled. She was very pale, terrifyingly so, but Badger had sworn to him that she would be fine. Just a bit more time, he’d said.

  Her breathing evened into sleep. Slowly, he rose from the bed and stretched. He wanted a bath and clothes. He rang for Maggie and she came, her glorious hair becomingly tousled, for it was still early, barely eight o’clock in the morning. At least she was dressed now. Before she’d dashed in wearing a peignoir that a London mistress would be proud to own, a feathered silk affair of pale peach. Just who, he wondered, had bought that for her? Her taste was flamboyant, but really quite good. The peignoir was something a man would buy, expensive, but gaudy and screaming sex.

  He sent her to search out Badger, who just happened to be with Spears in his own bedchamber, just beyond the adjoining door.

  Damned meddlers, he thought.

  * * *

  She was sitting up in bed, still weak, but now she felt in control again. She hated being sniveling and helpless.

  “You still look pale as death,” Maggie said as she gently braided her hair. “But since you looked like death itself just this morning, what you look like now is an improvement.”

  “Thank you, Maggie.”

  “You must eat some more of the barley soup Mr. Badger made for you. It should taste quite delicious to someone who nearly stuck her spoon in the wall but didn’t, and thus should be grateful to be able to eat anything at all. I took a sip but it didn’t suit me. I’m well, you see, not sickly like you, Duchess. I don’t feel like I’m going to puke up my innards, not like you do.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be sick now, Maggie. The nausea is gone.”

  “Well, that’s a blessing. I don’t fancy cleaning up that kind of sickness, mind you.”

  Marcus overheard the last of this and was hard-pressed not to smile. He lost the desire when he saw her face. She looked utterly defenseless. The aloof reserve was gone and in its place was a damned vulnerable look that made him flinch. He’d never seen her this way before and he realized that it scared him witless. He realized with a start that he would prefer her yelling at him, calling him a bastard and a sod, even sticking that chin of hers in the air again, anything but staring silently at him as if he weren’t worth the words to say to curse him with, as if, somehow, she were afraid of him. No, she couldn’t be afraid of him. Soon, she’d be as she had been and he knew it would take some getting used to, that passion of hers, that very loud violent anger of hers, but he wanted to see it again, he wanted to see her face turn red, watch her change from the aloof, bloodless creature into a woman as passionate out of bed as in it. She’d gotten in a quite good blow with that damned bridle.

  And someone had struck her down. Someone in this household. And that someone had to be one of the damned Colonists. Aunt Wilhelmina was his prime candidate, the miserable old besom.

  “Hello,” he said, walking to her bed. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. He searched her eyes, saw that they were clear and that pleased
him. “You will appreciate that Badger and Spears together took Mr. Tivit beneath his arms and bodily assisted him from this room.”

  “I vaguely remember a fat little man with a red face and a loud voice. His black coat was dirty, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, filthy. I’m glad you didn’t see his hands. That’s Mr. Tivit, and he’s the local doctor, and a miserable one at that. Anyway, when he pulled out his bleeding instruments and brought over a basin to the bed, Badger told him to take his torture devices out of here and never show his face again. He appealed to me and I told him you were so weak now that if he took any blood from you, you would turn into a beautiful leaf and float away. He huffed, lamenting his wounded dignity all the way to the stables.”

  He lifted her hand, enclosing it in his large one. He felt warm, solid. “He is an old fool. I wouldn’t have let him near you but Trevor sent for him, not realizing that he was an ancient relic and even as a young man he was a half-wit.”

  “Has anyone said anything about what happened?”

  “Do you mean has Aunt Wilhelmina broken into tears and confessed all? I’m sorry, Duchess, no such luck. It turns out that James was downstairs on his way out the door to the stables. He had it in his mind that he would visit the ruins just at dawn, and search for the treasure. A romantic notion but one that would have probably just given him an inflammation of the lungs, given our damp mornings.

  “Perhaps James struck you down and took the book and then raised the alarm. Perhaps he was afraid he’d killed you or that you would die without help. I don’t know, Duchess.” He paused a moment, then looked directly into her eyes. “Why did you leave your bedchamber?”

  “I didn’t want to stay. I was afraid you would come.”

  “I see,” he said, his hackles rising, but he managed to keep both his voice and his expression calm. He’d been stupid to ask her that question given her current condition. No, he would ask it again when she was once more fit and he could yell at her and then toss up her skirts and drive her wild with pleasure. Just maybe she’d yell back at him and . . .

  “Why are you smiling, Marcus?”

  “Huh? Oh, I was just thinking about the obnoxious barley concoction Badger is right now mixing up for you. Esmee, my cat, even removed herself at the smell. That or it was Badger’s singing whilst he stirred the mess that made her run yowling from the kitchen.”

  He was lying but he was good at it, and she didn’t really mind. She’d lied to him herself once or twice in the past five minutes.

  “Now, tell me about the book and those final pages.”

  She did, describing in detail that gnarled ancient oak tree and those stones that were piled up, not just in piles but constructed with a purpose in mind. And the well, with that leather-bound old wooden bucket, surely it was very, very old. And there were men and women there and they looked Medieval, if she remembered correctly.

  He looked abstracted. He rose.

  “Where are you going?”

  He grinned down at her. “So, my company is preferable to no one else’s, eh? No, don’t worry, Duchess. Aunt Gweneth will be here shortly. She’s very worried about you. She’ll not leave you until I return.”

  Not five minutes after Aunt Gweneth arrived, all gentle worry and soothing fingers to smooth away her headache, Aunt Wilhelmina came into the bedchamber, swathed in dark purple, her impressive bosom well in the foreground like the figurehead on a ship.

  “Oh dear,” Gweneth said, “I don’t believe dear Marcus wants more than just one visitor at a time, Willie. The Duchess is still quite weak.”

  The Duchess opened her eyes and stared into a face that had once been quite pretty but was now filled with discontent, and bright, dark eyes that were filled with a savage sort of delight at seeing her lying here on her back. Willie? Surely that wasn’t quite the right name for her aunt. Surely a Willie was warm and giggly and kindness itself. It was just as odd a name on her as Trevor was on her eldest son.

  “So, someone struck you down. What a pity.”

  “Yes, as you see. To get the book, the same book that Mr. Burgess has.”

  “You’re lying. No one would strike you to get to that silly book.”

  “Really, Willie, the Duchess is ill. I beg you to leave now. She must rest.”

  “I wish she would die and good riddance to the whore.”

  Aunt Gweneth gasped. “What? What did you say, Willie?”

  “I said I could cry and that I pray there’ll be no more.”

  The Duchess closed her eyes and turned her head away from Wilhelmina.

  It required but the Twins and Ursula, and they poked their heads into the bedchamber not two moments later.

  “Mother, the Duchess must rest,” Ursula said in a firm adult’s voice. “Come along now. Fanny and Antonia want you to see the new bird feeder we’ve made. Mr. Oslo, the estate carpenter, helped us, but we did most of the work and we even painted it. It has the look of our house in Baltimore.”

  “Oh, very well. Do rest, Duchess, maybe forever.”

  “Willie!”

  “What is wrong with you, Gweneth? I just told her to rest and get better.”

  “Mama, please come along now.”

  When they were alone again, Aunt Gweneth said softly, “Do forgive her, Duchess. She isn’t always a diplomatic woman and her life hasn’t been all that easy.”

  “You mean she was starving in a gutter drinking blue ruin when your brother married her? Or perhaps she was an orphan in a workhouse? I know, it was smallpox, wasn’t it? Or do you mean that your brother—my uncle—beat her?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. However, you’ve covered just about every possibility.” Gweneth paused a moment, a brow raised thoughtfully. “That was well put, very well put indeed. You seem a bit different, Duchess. Ah, it’s just that, well—Wilhelmina isn’t a very happy person.”

  “She’s a vicious harpy,” the Duchess said, then sighed deeply. “I want to rest now, Aunt Gweneth, that’s certain, but not forever.”

  “No, dear, certainly not. Whatever medicine Badger gave you, keep taking it. I like the vinegar in you, dear. It’s such a change, but so invigorating, don’t you think?”

  20

  WHEN SHE AWOKE, it was late afternoon. Badger was sitting beside her. He immediately smiled down at her and gave her some water, holding her head gently in the crook of his arm.

  “You always know what to do. Thank you.”

  He merely nodded. “I heard about the invasion of that American person from Miss Antonia. Now, this person, who is only your aunt by marriage, will not be allowed to discomfit you again. Mr. Spears and I have worked out a schedule. Whenever his lordship isn’t here, either Mr. Spears or Miss Maggie or I will be. You won’t be bothered again, Duchess.”

  “And when they aren’t here, why I will be. How do you feel, Duchess?”

  She felt her spirits lift just at the sound of his voice. It was stupid of her, but true nonetheless. “I’m fine now, Marcus. If you wish, you can relieve your spleen. You can yell at me again with good conscience.”

  He frowned at her. “No, I shan’t do that, particularly in front of Badger. Now, I will dine with you this evening, right here, then we will see tomorrow morning if you’re ready to get out of bed.” He continued to Badger, “I understand you forced my poor Esmee to eat some of the barley mixture you made for the Duchess and she died. Is that true?”

  She laughed, a weak laugh, but still a laugh.

  “That damned selfish cat wouldn’t offer herself up to try my barley soup,” Badger said. “Miserable beast, that Esmee. I thought I’d caught her, but she twitched her tail right out from between my fingers. Mr. Spears said she sleeps with you, when you’re in your own bed, that is.”

  “It’s been known to happen. Esmee is fickle, just as is the Duchess.”

  “Esmee slept with me last night,” she said. “Right in the bend behind my knees.”

  “She prefers my chest when she deigns to visit me,” Marcus said. “She lik
es to knead the hair, damned creature. As for her volunteering for that barley mixture, she wouldn’t ever offer herself up.”

  He slept with her that night, stretching out naked beside her, completely at his ease, as if he’d slept there for the past twenty years. Esmee had come briefly into the bedchamber, stared silently at them, then, twitching her tail, she went through the open adjoining door into Marcus’s bedchamber.

  He reached out and took her hand in his. She could feel the heat from his body. She felt safer than she ever had in her life.

  “All this excitement left me with a gray hair, Duchess. I ask you to keep to your bed after this and not go searching out clues in the middle of the night.”

  “I don’t believe you, Marcus. Let me see this gray hair.”

  “No, I shan’t light a candle and have you poking about my scalp. You can find it in the morning.”

  “Did you discover anything?”

  “No. Everyone claims to have been soundly in the arms of Morpheus. Also, I might add, the Wyndhams have excelled at the art of falsehood for centuries. None of us ever flinch or even blink an eyelid when spilling out a lie. Even you, Duchess.”

  Her fingers tightened over his. “You must be exaggerating, Marcus.”

  “Nary a bit. Now, I find this a mite interesting. Here we are side by side in bed like a good married couple should be, and I will admit that I’m harder than the bricks on the fireplace, but I won’t attack you, not even when I know you like it so much.”

  Before she would have been silent as a tombstone. But now she giggled and bent back his thumb until he yelped.

  “You become physical again. But my thumb, Duchess? Would you like me to give you pleasure?”

  “No. Be quiet, Marcus. My head hurts.”

  He laughed. “Ah, the excuse of wives for centuries, or so my father told me. However, in your case, it just might be the truth. As I recall, my mother hit his arm when he said it. Good night, my dear.”

  “Did you go to the abbey ruins?”

  “Yes. Trevor and James were there poking around, the damned sods. Even Ursula arrived shortly to do her own poking. It was a merry family, all wanting to find anything at all and keep it from the others. I don’t like any of this, Duchess.”