“Be assured that I have.”
Georgianne looked up at him. “Then…you really do care for me?”
“Yes, m’dear, I do, but it is time to retire for the night,” he said to resist the temptation to kiss her.
Georgianne scrambled to her feet obviously disconcerted by his abruptness. She looked around and gasped. “How could I be so careless? Where is my muff? Oh, there it is on my escritoire.
Surprised, he raised his eyebrows. “Your muff?”
She fetched a pocket pistol from inside it. “Are you shocked because I own a pistol? I am an expert shot. No need to fear for me.”
Tarrant chuckled. “So long as you do not aim it at me, I am not shocked, but are you capable of handling it without—”
“Of course I can handle it,” she said and repeated what she had told Pennington. “I have excellent eyesight and my father taught me to hit a target from thirty paces or more.” She removed the charge and put her pocket pistol into its case in the drawer of the escritoire.
With outstretched hands, Georgianne took a step toward Tarrant. “When Pennington’s letter arrived, I scarce knew what to do.”
Tarrant stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank God you did not come to harm.”
Georgianne shuddered at the thought of Pennington.
Tarrant released her and led her across the room. He sat on a commodious wing chair and again drew her down onto his lap.
“Are you still angry with me?” Georgianne’s soft voice drew him back from his thoughts.
“No, I am angry with myself for not realising how dangerous Pennington is.” He cradled her against his chest. “In fact, I admire your courage. My blood boils at the thought of anyone wanting to harm you. At the same time, I admit I was furious because you left the house alone, and only God knows what might have befallen you.”
She toyed with one of his waistcoat buttons. “You are not to blame for my impetuousness.”
“What passed between you and that scoundrel?”
“It is a long story.”
“Tell me.”
By the time she finished the tale every bone in his body seemed rigid with outrage. “I want retribution, but to charge Pennington with kidnap is to risk bringing you into disrepute if he were to divulge the fact that you went to his house unescorted. And I cannot avenge you by challenging an old man to a duel.” His arms tightened round her.” But what a brute I am to speak so frankly after your terrible ordeal.”
Georgianne giggled. “You are not a brute and I am not a delicate princess from some fairy tale.” She pointed at her pistol. “I can protect myself.” She giggled. “You should have seen Pennington’s legs shake when I threatened him with my dagger.”
“Your dagger?” Tarrant laughed despite his obvious anxiety. “Where did you get it?”
“Father gave it to me. Although it is an ornamental one, it came in useful.”
“So it seems.” He kissed the top of her head. “We must decide whether or not to return Bab to school and if, for safety’s sake, we should send Helen away.” He threaded his fingers through her silky ringlets that fell from a knot arranged on the crown of her head. “Now, promise me you will not go out without Mrs. Deane and one of those stout footmen I have employed for your protection.”
“As you please,” Georgianne said with uncharacteristic meekness.
* * * *
His expression deliberately inscrutable, Tarrant considered the likelihood of Pennington attempting to extract further revenge. In all probability he would try. After all, an arrogant man with his unforgiving nature would have been infuriated when shamed before his footman.
“Poor Georgianne, what a let down on the day after your birthday. But thank God because, for the moment, ‘all’s well that ends well.” His forefinger traced the outline of her mouth. “My beautiful princess, what you need is sleep.”
“Do you really think I am beautiful? When you said so before I thought you were being polite.”
“Who would not think you are beautiful with your raven black hair and satin smooth complexion? What’s more, mere words cannot convey how proud I am of you for rescuing Bab, although I hope you will never again be so reckless.”
“Be careful, by tomorrow’s end you might wish for an obedient ‘bread and butter’ wife, but were you married to such a female, you would most likely yawn from morning to night. And, I am not such a female.”
“No, you are not,” Tarrant agreed meekly as he wondered to what lengths Pennington’s malice would drive him.
Chapter Eleven
Georgianne put a finger to her lips to warn Tarrant to be quiet when he followed her into the day nursery. “Bab caught a fever yesterday at the Frost Fair,” she whispered.
“What can I do to help?”
Her hands twisted a fold of her gown. “Have a doctor summoned. For the time being, I have confined her to bed.”
Helen came through the door adjacent to the night nursery. “Georgianne, please send for Mamma. Bab asks for her repeatedly.”
“Dearest, it would be folly to send for Mamma. She has never been of the slightest use in the sickroom. Instead, we should send for Nurse.”
Tarrant nodded his agreement. “An excellent idea, Georgianne, you must not wear yourself to the bone looking after Bab.”
“What do I care for that?” Georgianne asked.
Her husband put his arm around her. “Since your father died, you have carried too much weight on your shoulders. It is now my privilege to care for you.”
Helen gazed at Bab. “Georgianne, I will help you until Nurse arrives.”
Georgianne pressed a hand to her heart. “We should not have taken Bab to the Frost Fair. Oh, Tarrant, whenever Bab is chilled she is prone to congestion and putrid throats.”
“Do not blame yourself. She was well wrapped up in her pelisse. I doubt the bitter weather is the cause of her illness.”
“Oh no, the lovely pelisse you bought for her is at Pennington’s house. Most likely she sickened on her way home. I could not…that is there was no time to bundle her up warmly. Oh, what a—”
“Do not blame yourself, it is not your fault. You acted for the best,” Tarrant interrupted. He drew her closer. “I will send for the doctor. Bab shall have the best of care.”
“Thank you.”
“Come and breakfast with me, Georgianne, you too, Helen.”
Georgianne shook her head. “I cannot think of food while Bab is so ill.”
“Nonsense, you and Helen must eat. The housekeeper shall sit with Bab while we breakfast. No, please do not object, you know as well as I do that Bab likes her.”
“You are so kind, no woman could ask for a better husband.”
The admiration in Georgianne’s eyes and her entrancing smile aroused him. He should be more in control of himself. But kind? As hot blooded as any other male, he wanted to be much more than kind to his innocent wife. Prompted by his desire, he wanted to thrill her with his kisses until she quivered with passion. Tarrant controlled his wayward thoughts. He did not regret his decision never to father a child.
* * * *
After breakfast Georgianne returned to the nursery and sat with her sister until it was time for nuncheon when she again left Bab in the charge of the housekeeper.
Accompanied by Helen, Georgianne joined Tarrant in the dining parlour. She took her seat to the tune of Mrs. Deane’s gushing words, “Are we agreed, Cousin Tarrant?”
“Agreed?”
“I declare, Cousin, you have not heard a word I said.” He did not reply but his indifference did not deter her. “Although London is always thin of company at this time of year, we have been invited to some select gatherings. In April, the season will be well underway. By then I hope Mrs. Tarrant will be at ease in society and have made friends before her presentation at court. What is more, in March, your wife will have the opportunity to practice her dance steps at your parents’ country ball.” She smiled at Georgianne. “Shall we call on my d
ear friend Mrs. Bettismore and her granddaughter this afternoon? I understand they have accepted their invitation to the ball.”
Helen put her coffee cup down. “I doubt my sister will leave Bab’s side for a moment longer than necessary.”
Mrs. Deane arched her eyebrows and looked at Georgianne. “I had not realised…is Bab very ill?”
Georgianne nodded. “Yes, I fear she is. Tarrant and I have sent for my former nurse. We expect her to arrive this evening or, at the latest, early tomorrow morning.”
“But what did the doctor say?” Mrs. Deane asked.
“Halford holds out hope that Bab’s fever will break within the week,” Tarrant said. “In the meantime, he recommends complete quiet and suggests straw should be laid in the street to deaden the noise of traffic.”
Georgianne swallowed a lump in her throat. “You are so good to us, Tarrant.”
Mrs. Deane paused in the act of raising a glass of Canary wine to her lips. “There is no need to fear. Halford is highly thought of and if he said Bab’s fever will break within the week, I am sure it will.”
“I hope so.” Georgianne looked at her husband for reassurance before she continued. “Halford is very kind. He prescribed warmth and rest and promised to send a draught for her. In the meantime, Bab complains of her throat and must be persuaded to drink. I hope Cook has made plenty of barley water and some nourishing broth.”
“Unless I can be of assistance to you in the nursery, I trust you have no objection to my paying a call on my friend.” Mrs. Deane glanced at Helen. “Miss Whitley, you are pale. Fresh air will bring the roses back to your cheeks. Would you care to accompany me?” She turned her head to face Georgianne. “Mrs. Tarrant, it will do Miss Whitley good to be out and about. Besides, it is never too early for a young lady to move in polite society.”
Georgianne looked at her sister. “Of course you may go and, if Helen wants to, she may accompany you.”
Helen wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “No, I cannot stir from the house while Bab is so ill.”
“My dears, if you are sure I cannot be of assistance here, I shall visit my friend. I will purchase some lavender water for Bab. It is very soothing when one is unwell.” Mrs. Deane smiled at Georgianne. “Try not to distress yourself, children frequently suffer from various ailments and soon recover.”
* * * *
After sitting up all night to attend to Bab, Georgianne greeted Nurse with relief.
“Look at those dark circles under your eyes. Off to bed with you,” Nurse said as she removed her bonnet.
Mrs. Deane bustled into the entrance hall in time to overhear. “Bed?”
“Yes.” Nurse gazed at Mrs. Deane. “Who might that be?”
“Mrs. Deane, my companion.”
Nurse eyed Mrs. Deane’s elegant lace cap and her silver-grey gown worn over a white satin petticoat. “She looks flighty.”
“Flighty!” Mrs. Deane exclaimed. “I would have you know my good woman—”
“Do not ‘good woman’ me who’s known my lamb since she was born and—”
Tarrant came down the stairs. “Nurse, your patient is asking for you.”
“I’ll go to her immediately, sir,” she said and bent to collect an assortment of bags and parcels.
“Barnes,” Tarrant began, “attend to Nurse.”
“Take Nurse’s belongings upstairs,” the butler ordered a footman.
Before she followed the man, the nurse glanced balefully at Mrs. Deane. “No gallivanting for Miss Georgianne today.”
Mrs. Deane opened her mouth to speak but Georgianne forestalled her. “I am too tired to go out but if Bab is better tomorrow I will be pleased to visit your friend, Mrs. Bettismore, and her granddaughter.”
* * * *
To Georgianne’s dismay Bab’s condition deteriorated. By the end of the week, she lay in bed, wasted by a high fever. Nurse favoured herbs and various tinctures to heal her, however, despite her initial mistrust, Halford handled his young patient gently and eventually won the nurse’s respect. She made no objection when the doctor suggested an application of leeches to reduce the fever, and tincture of laudanum to quieten her down.
“Go along with you, Miss Georgianne,” Nurse said after another of Halford’s visits. “You’re wearing yourself out. Why send for me if you won’t leave your sister’s side?”
“But her illness is my fault, if—”
“Nonsense. Are you God? He alone is responsible for all, though His ways are often hard to understand.” Nurse wiped Bab’s forehead with a cool cloth. “There there, my chick. Nurse is here and all’s well.”
“Cousin Tarrant, I want him,” Bab pleaded.
Nurse frowned. “No, no, Miss Bab, a gentleman has no place in a sickroom.”
“But I want him,” Bab said, the colour rising in her thin cheeks.
* * * *
Conscious of the nurse’s disapproval of his presence in Bab’s bedchamber, Tarrant clasped the child’s small hot hand in his. “You sent for me, ma’am, so here I am, at your service.”
Bab’s eyes opened and, although she moved her head back and forth on the pillow as if seeking a cool spot, Bab managed a small, throaty chuckle.
“Please tell me a story, Tarrant.”
Nurse indicated a small iron pot kept warm by the fire. “Cook made some broth to keep Miss Barbara’s strength up.”
“Ah Bab, I will tell you a story if you have the nice broth Cook made for you.”
His wife seemed to look at him approvingly. “Perhaps Bab could sit by the fire while her sheets are changed,” Georgianne suggested.
Tarrant picked up his sister-in-law and carried her to a chair, but instead of seating her in it, he sat with her on his lap. “Open the window to let some air in.”
Nurse glared at him.
He frowned. “No wonder Bab is burning up, it is as hot as a blacksmith’s forge in here. I remember while I recovered from my wound in my billet in Portugal, my sergeant closed the window and built up the fire until I thought the heat would kill me. As soon as I could stagger across my bedchamber, I opened the window. Words cannot describe the relief fresh air brought.”
Nurse glared at him. “Your sergeant was sensible. Fresh air in a sick room? And in a feverish child’s one, at that? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Tarrant refrained from giving the elderly woman a set down for her impertinence because of her obvious devotion to Bab.
Georgianne opened the window a little. “Some air might do her good,” she murmured to the affronted old woman. “So long as she is not in a draught, it might help her to breathe more easily.”
“I shall tell the doctor I washed my hands of this.” Nurse ladled some broth into a bowl. “Time to sup, Miss Bab.”
Bab buried her face against Tarrant. “Tell her to stop fussing, I do not want it.”
“Give the bowl to me,” Tarrant said.
Nurse handed it to him. “Don’t be naughty, Miss Bab, have your broth. I don’t suppose the Major had broth to make him well in those wicked parts.”
“My sergeant, God bless his soul, did the best he could. Now, Bab, sit straighter. I will spoon feed you.”
“No, I do not want you to. My head aches.”
“That is because you are so Friday faced,” he teased.
“I am not ‘full of woe’ now you are here, but—”
“No buts, Bab. Sip a few mouthfuls to please me.” He held the bowl to her lips and coaxed her until she had drunk half the contents.
* * * *
Nurse spoke to Georgianne too low for Tarrant to overhear. “I don’t approve of opening sickroom windows, but I must say I like that husband of yours. He’s so kind to Miss Bab. Nothing’s too much trouble and he has a way with her.”
Yes, Tarrant did have a way with Bab and he charmed everyone. Now that he had sold his commission and left the army, Georgianne was glad she had married such a considerate man. She smiled. Who would have thought he would be so tender with a si
ck child? After all, he was a soldier hardened by war. Doubtless, he must have witnessed appalling injuries and seen men die of dreadful illnesses in terrible conditions.
The nurse smoothed the clean pillowcases and folded back the covers. “If you’ll leave us, Sir, I’ll change Miss Barbara’s nightgown and nightcap.”
Bab clutched Tarrant’s hand. “But you will come back and tell me the story?”
Tarrant kissed the top of her head. “I am yours to command.”
Chapter Twelve
Tarrant thought about Georgianne as he waited outside the sick room. His wife was as stoic as a soldier. He admired her for never complaining, although, as heaven only knew, she had just cause to grumble about her ogre of a mother and lament the loss of her father and brothers. Moreover, she was unselfish and never put her own wishes before those of her sisters.
Yet, the manner in which she had looked at him while Bab sat on his lap was not that of a stoic. Her eyes were soft and her mouth tender. He raised his eyebrows. No longer could he conjure up the precise details of Dolores’s face. Georgianne’s was replacing them. He whistled low. Sometimes gentlemen fall in love with their wives. Could he do so? He desired Georgianne and held her in great affection but, on the other hand, marriage for men of his class usually had little or nothing to do with love.
The nursery door opened. Georgianne drooped as she walked toward him. “What is it? Is Bab worse?”
A smile illuminated Georgianne’s tired face. “No, her fever has broken.”
“Good.” Despite his years of soldiering, never before had he been so weak at the knees with relief. Tarrant squared his shoulders. He had taken Georgianne’s sisters from their mother and would never forgive himself if they came to grief while in his care.
Pennington! When Bab recovered, he must ensure her safety and Helen’s. As for his wife, he hoped that from now on, unless he accompanied her, she would not go out without one of the stout footmen guarding her and Mrs. Deane in attendance.
Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1) Page 11
