A grin broke across her face. “Yes, I can see that quite clearly. She’s a harridan for sure.”
For a moment, he stared, mesmerized as the fire cast a soft glow over her skin. “What?”
“Lorelei. A harridan. Everyone knows Lady Kimpton is an absolute shrew.” She picked up the pitcher and poured more water and handed it to him. “So, how do you feel about my taking charge of your convalescence?”
“If you are instrumental in helping me recover my memory—” He stopped as the anxiety seeped back in.
“You can’t remember…?” Her voice trailed off in a question.
“Not much of the past year, at least to Lorelei’s satisfaction.” Or my own. He spoke with a deceptive lightness. “So I should be eternally grateful for your assistance. Besides being much easier on the eyes, my lady.”
“Well, the lighting in here is dim,” she returned with a slight frown marring her brow.
One he found he wouldn’t mind easing away.
Two
Maeve let herself quietly back into the parlor in time to observe the assertive stance of the dragon, er, nurse, as said nurse addressed Lorelei. Lady Kimpton.
The nurse pulled her broad shoulders back and her stout form up. “Lady Kimpton, to reiterate, I feel it my duty to question your decision in Lord Harlowe being tended to in this manner. In all my years of assisting the ill and infirmed at hospital, never have I witnessed such thrashing about with no fever present. It is my recommendation that your brother be institutionalized if he is to recover without injuring himself.”
Every word the woman uttered, Lorelei’s jaw tightened.
Maeve stood near the door somewhat awkwardly—should she leave? Or move into the room?
Lorelei’s eyes flashed with suppressed fury.
Lorelei inclined her head at the older woman. “Thank you for your… opinion, Mrs. Bark. I shall take your recommendation under advisement. In the meantime, you are hereby relieved of your duties.”
Mrs. Bark’s flaccid jaw jiggled with outrage. “Well, I never,” she sputtered.
Lorelei stepped over to the mantel and tugged on the bell cord. “Do not worry yourself, ma’am.” Her smile turned feral, a shocking sight to anyone who was privileged to know the usually cool and reserved Lady Kimpton.
Oswald appeared at the door. “You rang, milady?”
“I did. Please have Mrs. Woods accompany Mrs. Bark to her chamber to assist her with her packing. She is in a great hurry to leave, Oswald.”
“Certainly, milady.” Oswald turned his cadaverously thin frame to Mrs. Bark. “This way, ma’am.”
The room fairly vibrated with Lorelei’s anger after the parlor door closed. She paced over to the table that held a full tea service.
“Breathe, Lorelei. You’re liable to faint,” Maeve told her. She went over and drew her friend from the hearth to the settee, planted a hand on her shoulder, and pushed her to sit on the settee. Maeve poured out a cup of tea, added sugar and a dash of milk, and handed it to Lorelei, because it was a certainty she could not manage even the simplest of tasks. “Shall we include a dollop of brandy?” The question was rhetorical, and Maeve proceeded to add a medicinal amount of bracing liquor.
“I have never been so furious in my life.”
“I can well believe it,” Maeve murmured while her mind scrambled for a way to put her own situation before her friend. Maeve fixed herself a cup and settled in the chair across from her. “If it’s any consolation, you were right to sack her. I took care of my late husband in his dotage. I am a firm believer in fresh air, fresh water, and clean linens. Cleanliness all around, in fact.”
Lorelei gazed down at the contents of her cup, frowning. “The problem is, I shall need a caregiver. Something of which I am certainly not qualified.”
Maeve slowly straightened. She would be a dolt to pass up the opportunity presented as she quickly weighed the advantages to the disadvantages of the idea spiraling through her.
Of course, anything that saved her from Mother’s incessant nagging to find another husband constituted a possibility one should not pass up.
Maeve did have experience with taking care of an infirmed. Her husband, the late Lord Alymer, had seemed more than grateful for her attentiveness. One drawback? Her mother might perish of apoplexy.
Then again, perhaps that was an—oh, she was an ungracious daughter. Shaking her head at the uncharitable thought, Maeve considered her other options: stay in her mother’s home and suffer the constant barrage of inept noblemen her mother pushed on her at every turn, or do something useful without the constant criticism for her efforts…
Maeve spoke slowly, testing the words as they came out of her mouth. “Suppose I offered my services.”
Lorelei’s cup paused at chin level. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Well, you more than anyone, know I could use the reprieve from my mother.” Now she sounded defensive. “That, in and of itself, would be worth me paying you for assisting with your… brother…” she finished weakly.
Lorelei’s mouth fell open.
Heat rushed Maeve’s face. “That sounded odd, I suppose.”
A small smile touched Lorelei’s lips. “A little.”
“All I’m saying is that I took care of my late husband in his dotage.”
“But, Maeve, Harlowe thrashes about in the night. I fear Mrs. Bark may be right when it comes to him injuring himself.”
Maeve shrugged. “Suppose you hire a couple of men who sat with him? I could oversee his total care. Make certain no one is feeding him too much” —if any, in her opinion— “laudanum. I would need to stay here though,” she said on a rush.
“But your mother,” she gasped.
Maeve grinned. “An added benefit to be sure.”
Within the hour, Maeve alighted from the Kimptons’ carriage in the Ingleby House drive, instructing the footman to wait, then steeled herself for the coming confrontation. Causey met her at the door. “Is Lady Ingleby about?”
“She is at tea with Lady Faulk this afternoon, madam.”
“Thank you, Causey. Send Parson up, would you?” Maeve hurried up the stairs to her suite and darted into the wardrobe.
“My lady?”
Maeve poked her head out. “Oh, there you are, Parson. I need help packing. We shall be staying with Lord and Lady Kimpton for a time. She needs assistance, and I appear to be the one at hand.” The one who pushed her way in.
“What of Lady Ingleby, my lady?”
“I’m a woman grown, Parson, and a widow besides. I don’t require, nor particularly want, my mother’s permission.”
“Yes, my lady.” Despite her creased brow, Parson dragged out a valise.
“Better pull out the trunk.”
“Oh dear.”
Oh dear, indeed.
“Lorelei?” Harlowe felt as if his head would never stop its infernal pounding. His voice cracked from lack of use. “So you dismissed the dragon?”
“How on earth would you know that?”
He ignored that. “You can’t think to take care of me yourself,” he said, astonished at his ability to string a coherent sentence together.
“No. No, I secured someone else. In the meantime, I’ve sent for broth. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll eat it. The new dragon I’ve engaged will not tolerate your hunger strike.”
It was too much effort to muster a physical smile, but he felt the remnants of one inside. He closed his eyes. “Do your worst.”
A few minutes later he heard the rumbling of voices, but again, the exertion was too great to comprehend the goings on around him. He caught the scent of beef broth and warm bread, and his stomach rumbled. That had to be a good sign.
“Harlowe, Andrews is going to assist you to sitting,” his sister said.
“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not, darling.”
Harlowe had no fight within and
grunted only slightly as her footman handled him as if he were but a child. Child. He had a child. “What is his name?”
“Whose name?” Lorelei’s voice echoed from a deep chamber.
“The child. My child.”
“Nathaniel.” She spoke on a soft sigh that he took as encouraging. “Ah, here we are. Thank you, Bethie.”
“Bethie? The general? She’s still alive?”
“Damn sure am, Master Brandon, and don’t you fergit it.”
“It’s Lord Harlowe, Bethie,” Lorelei chastised her.
The general ignored her, stuffing pillows at his back.
Harlowe watched her rake a critical eye over him from under a hooded gaze. “Ye want me feedin’ him, milady?”
“I can handle the task,” Lorelei said at the same time as Harlowe said, “Definitely not.”
“You’re dismissed, Bethie. Andrews, stay nearby. I shall have need of you in a moment.”
Harlowe heard the door latch and forced his eyes completely open. The candlelight seemed unnaturally bright. A tray holding a bowl with steam rising and a crusty loaf had been placed on the bedside table. “Give me some of the soft part of the bread.” He was appalled by his lack of etiquette, but it required too many words.
To his surprise and dismay, Lorelei complied without comment.
He took it and chewed quietly. It was delicious. The insides of his cheeks pinched and watered.
Lorelei took up the bowl and dipped the spoon.
But Harlowe drew the line at being fed like an infant when he was conscious. “I’ll do it,” he growled.
“Is it too cold in here?” she asked. Frowning, she handed over the bowl, watching him closely.
“Tell me why you sacked the dragon,” he said around a bite of bread. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“She insisted on plying you with laudanum. And when I protested, she decided you should be institutionalized until you were better.”
A shudder racked Harlowe’s body at the thought. He managed to swallow. The bread hit his stomach. He bypassed the spoon and tipped the bowl and drank… slowly. He lowered the bowl then handed it off. “More bread… please.”
She smiled and handed over another large chunk.
“I probably deserve to be put out to pasture, but I’m exceedingly glad you opposed the notion. Who is the next dragon you have in mind?”
“Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer.”
If he’d had the strength, Harlowe would have choked from laughing. “Ah, so she worked it out, did she?” Somehow he wasn’t surprised. Actually, the thought sent a shot of energy through him.
“Worked it out?” Lorelei’s curiosity pierced him like a sharp instrument. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
He certainly had no desire nor the strength to explain the new dragon’s recent visit, nor did he wish to give Lore any ideas where the lady was concerned. “Isn’t she that gangly redhead with the unsightly freckles who married that old geezer four times her age?” he asked, hoping to divert her attention.
“Lord Alymer expired some time ago. And he was only three times her age.”
“Ah, well, that is much better.” Harlowe handed Lorelei the rest of his bread, unable to manage another bite. He laid his head back surprised that the pounding had abated a degree. “I think I’d better rest now,” he said.
“Should I close the window?”
“No. I can’t bear the thought of no air,” he said.
The chair creaked as she rose. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand and, apparently satisfied, she said, “Of course.” She went to the door. “Andrews, please assist Harlowe.”
After Harlowe was situated deep within the bed and Andrews had left, Lorelei asked him, “Would you like me to stay with you a bit?”
He grasped her hand and squeezed, embarrassed of his need to have her near. “For a bit. With the candle burning,” he whispered.
Three
P
arson is settling you in a chamber in the family wing,” Lorelei said.
“I hope it’s not too far from Harlowe,” Maeve said. “However improper.” Though she knew the words needed to be said, she could feel the heat crawling up her neck. She accepted the cup from Lorelei and watched as Lorelei prepared her own.
“I admit to struggling with the impropriety, but practicality won out. But no adjoining doors. That is a stretch even I could not quite muster.” She tapped her spoon against the china then set it aside, spearing Maeve with a glint of amusement. “So, I’m a harridan, am I?”
Maeve winced. “You heard that, did you?”
Lorelei sipped at her tea. “You may refer to me as anything you like if you are able to get my brother to laugh again. My heart swelled to twice its normal size. It was the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in an age.”
Maeve’s heart melted at her friend’s words. What happened to Harlowe was heartbreaking. He had a long road to full recovery ahead of him, and the beau monde was not known for making things easier. The upper nobility were, in fact, notorious for exploiting ones perceived weaknesses.
“Has he seen Nathan?” she asked softly, thinking of that sweet plump child, too young to realize the tragedies that had already befallen him.
“Once or twice. While Nathaniel’s exuberance can be overwhelming, it’s his unpredictable shrills I fear will drive my brother to outright madness.” She finished this on a small smile.
Maeve’s marriage to Alymer had not been blessed with a child. She’d had to settle with fond affection. On the plus side, he’d respected her knowledge on various topics. A respect she hadn’t been afforded since before her father’s death. Mama believed she was ‘too’ smart. Which, if looked at from the proper angle, was a compliment, in and of itself. “Were you able to locate a man to sit with Harlowe?” Maeve hadn’t expected to like Harlowe so much.
The door to the parlor swung wide and Kimpton swept in. “Yes, Lady Alymer. Two, in fact, Rory and Casper. Both are big as oxen.” He sauntered over to his wife, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. “Hello, love.”
The outward show of affection had the lace fiche on Maeve’s neck itching, and her wanting to rip it away. She finished her tea and, as unobtrusively as she could muster, set her cup on the tray. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the evening.”
Maeve took her leave and went up the second flight of stairs, to the family wing. Lorelei said she’d placed Maeve next to Harlowe’s chamber, and that made it a simple matter of elimination to locate her own. There was only one door near her “patient’s.”
She stopped outside his door, cracked it open and peered in. A man whose head looked too large for even his bulky frame, sat in a chair near the windows, keeping vigil. There was no movement from the bed. She backed away and went to the next door where she found Parson laying out her toiletries on the vanity.
“Oh, there you are, my lady. I’ve called for your bath. It should be along in a moment.”
Those were the most heavenly words Maeve had heard all day. “Thank you, Parson.”
The bath water was hot and sprinkled with rose oil, and without Lady Ingleby demanding every waking moment of Maeve’s time, and with the soft patter of rain drumming the glass panes, she might have her first peaceful night’s sleep since the day she’d moved back to Ingleby House. She was indeed in heaven.
Maeve shot to sitting, heart pounding in the unnerving black surrounding her. Something woke her. In the fog of her brain, she fought the bed sheets, then realized the curtains had fallen closed. The Kimptons. She was ensconced at the Kimptons’. For as long as she could remember, she could not abide enclosed spaces, and many times woke, fighting for her breath as if she were underwater, her skirts dragging her down. You are not drowning. You are not underwater.
She splayed a hand against her chest and took a centering breath. After a long moment, the pounding steadied, and Maeve tried to make sense of her jumbled wits. Why ha
d she woken so suddenly? She reached out and moved the bed curtain aside, relieved to see the window cracked. That explained why the bed had been enclosed. The wind shook them loose. Parson knew she did not like them shut. Maeve wouldn’t care if it were twenty below, she hated the enclosure. The sensation of being entombed.
She shuddered.
Then she heard it. The grunts. The thrashing. The low murmur of pain.
Harlowe.
Maeve dove out of bed, whipping up her wrap and cinching it at her waist. Lorelei was too proper to have put Maeve in a room with an adjoining door, so she had no choice but to enter Harlowe’s chamber from the hall. She pushed her way into his room.
The mountain of a man she’d seen earlier stood over the bed holding Harlowe down by the shoulders. He glanced up. “I have him, milady. You shouldn’t be here. It ain’t seemly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, hurrying over. “What is your name?”
“Casper, milady.”
Harlowe’s eyes were closed, his face gaunt and neck strained with pain, one long muscular leg had escaped its confines in a bed large enough to hold three people. The dark heavy coverlets were twisted about his lower body, exposing an expansive chest despite the loss of muscle. Her late husband had looked nothing like this man.
“Is it a cramp, my lord?” She reached for his leg. The taut muscles of his calf jerked beneath her touch. She ran her hand down to his foot. “I’m going to attempt to push your foot forward, my lord. Believe it or not, it will release some of the tension.” This she did, all the while speaking softly.
After a moment, the muscle released, and left Harlowe panting.
“Casper. Water, please. He needs hydration.”
He moved slowly, as if he didn’t quite trust Harlowe not to leap from the bed and murder the both of them.
“I could use a whiskey,” Harlowe croaked.
Maeve smiled in the darkness. “That may be, my lord, but in my experience, alcohol tends to dehydrate, which would defeat our purpose in dealing with these cursed cramps.” Casper handed Maeve the glass of water, she put it to Harlowe’s lips. “Take it slow, my lord.”
The Viscount's Vendetta Page 2
