His Lordship's Last Wager

by Miranda Davis

  Seelye gave her the strength to say, “Let me be clear, Mr. Daly. You will promise me, before God and everyone you cherish, that you will never hunt Bibendum, nor capture him, nor leave baited traps to entice him, nor poison him, nor cause anyone else to interfere with him in any way. I will not tolerate any connivance that results in harm to my bear. To all of that, have I your solemn word?”

  Daly flushed to his silvery roots.

  “Grandmama!” Hyacinth buried her face in the woman’s muslin gown to sob loudly.

  Charlotte Daly glared at her husband and said, “Enough, Mr. Daly. Have done.”

  “Yes, yes,” he huffed. “Fine, I give my word no one will harm the bear so long as he keeps to himself. Will that do, Lady Jane?”

  “Yes, it will. Thank you,” she said and leaned on Seelye’s arm. “I’m afraid, I must excuse myself. I feel unwell.”

  Julia Martin accompanied them into the manor and had a hot posset prepared immediately.

  Jane required Seelye’s arm inside and to her room, which felt much farther away than she recalled. Her legs wobbled up the stairs. Her sense of balance betrayed her over and over. Seelye held her gently, with a strong arm about her waist to tuck her to his side.

  When they reached the first floor landing, he ignored her protests and swept her into his arms to carry her the rest of the way to her room.

  Cushing hurried from the dressing room to support her to a chair. Both women waited for him to retreat. But he stood his ground.

  “You will have a doctor soon, Jane.” To the maid, he said, “Her ladyship requires a hot bath. Make it a long one. Ask the kitchen to keep plenty of water on the fire. I’ll stay here while you make the arrangements. My lady must not be left unattended, understood?”

  Cushing curtsied in a fluster and left to do his bidding.

  “Thank you, Seelye,” Jane said. “My thoughts have scattered. I’m rather fatigued by the day.” She swept a strand of damp hair from her face. “It went well, did it not?”

  “As only you could’ve pulled it off,” he told her with uncharacteristic earnestness. She let him take her cold hands in his own warm grasp. “Bibendum retires in peace or Daly will face his family’s wrath. You blew his square to flinders, my girl. I’ve never been so proud of anyone.”

  “Bibendum was wonderful.”

  “No. Your bear behaved himself. The triumph is yours alone.”

  She ignored his second compliment. She was too tired to ponder the oddness of his sincerity.

  “The children understood that if you love someone,” she said, fighting the desire to sleep, “you do what’s best for him, though it may be the hardest thing to do.”

  He frowned down at her.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Seelye. I won’t add to your burdens but relieve you of one. I’m only sorry it took me so long to see the obvious.”

  He looked more troubled now than earlier that afternoon when her strength was failing.

  She tried again to explain herself: “I absolve you of any obligation you may feel toward me. It was wrong to corner you as I did. And cruel to use your honor against you that way. I told myself it was for your sake, but it was what I wanted. I am still sadly selfish and headstrong. I am so sorry, Seelye. You have been a good friend. Please, forgive me.”

  “Jane, no—” he said, his expression grim.

  “I shall return to London with Mr. Stoker and Cushing after I’ve rested. You’ll be free of me, I promise you.”

  “Like hell—”

  “Don’t let’s cross swords, Seelye. I’m too tired.”

  An upstairs maid knocked on the half-open door before entering with footmen carrying steaming coppers and a hip tub. They filled the bath.

  Splashing water nearby did nothing to interrupt their fraught silence. He stood above her, handsome but somber. She prayed she’d said enough. She hadn’t the strength to say more.

  The footmen left. Cushing came in with the hot posset prepared to Mrs. Martin’s receipt. Jane sipped it and let her heavy lids droop.

  Seelye slipped away without a word to await the doctor.

  * * *

  By evening, Mrs. Martin reported to Seelye that she feared it was a fever. He went to Jane and felt her forehead. It was hot to the touch. She dozed fitfully. The doctor who came to attend her described her fever as “serious” and prescribed willow bark tea and blood-letting. And if the fever broke, fortified beef broth.

  If?

  She looked too pale to lose blood to leeches or the cup. But Seelye dared not refuse the physician after his dire prognosis.

  She was bled.

  Seelye watched the slit at her elbow flow red into a stoneware bowl. If only Ainsworth’s wife were on hand to tell him to ignore the doctor’s pessimism. It was torment not knowing how best to help Jane. So much blood, he fretted. Too much. She looked paler than white.

  He regretted his acquiescence and barked, “That’s enough,” when the bowl was half full.

  The doctor pursed his lips. “A scant pint, my lord,” he said. “The body requires a proper goad to heal.”

  “She’s been goaded sufficiently. Look at her. She lies there like a wax works figure, for God’s sake.” With that, he sent the grumbling physician on his way.

  After the doctor’s discouraging visit, Seelye tore up his letter to George and requested quill and ink to write another. In it, he not only explained Jane’s participation exporting the bear but confessed the tragic outcome. He exonerated Jane, for he should have refused point blank to help her. And he took full responsibility for her illness and possible death.

  George would never forgive him; but then, no one could hate him half so much as he hated himself for what had befallen her.

  He dozed off sometime after he sealed the letter and gave it to a footman. He awoke in early morning darkness and crept to Jane’s room in the silent manor.

  It was dim inside. The curtains were drawn closed over the windows and the fireplace screened. Servants had yet to begin their chores.

  Seelye found her asleep and alone. He bathed her face and neck with a cool, damp cloth. She did not awaken. He swept damp strands from her forehead and kissed her closed lids lightly.

  He watched her pulse flutter at the base of her neck and felt it with his fingertips. When he heard footsteps approach, he slipped into the dressing room and waited for the upstairs maid to stir the coals and leave. The housekeeper came next to look in on Jane, refresh the pitcher of water, and go. He crept from his hiding place.

  On the bed stand, he spied the book she enjoyed on the narrow boat. He opened it randomly, brought a chair close and read quietly to her:

  ‘What various evils man await,

  In this strange, sublunary state!

  No sooner is he cheer’d by joy,

  Than sorrows come, and pains annoy;

  And scarce his lips are op’d to bless

  The transient gleam of happiness,

  Than some dark cloud obscures the sky,

  And grief’s sad moisture fills the—’

  “Good God.” He threw it to the floor in disgust. “You have terrible taste in literature, Jane.”

  Her eyelids flickered and he leapt to his feet.

  “Jane?”

  There was no other movement beside the telltale flutter of her pulse.

  So long as her heart beat, he thought, he could breathe. And with that breath, he scolded her, hoping for a grimace, an eyelid’s flicker, or better yet, an indignant glare. Anything to provoke her return.

  “Now that I have your attention, I might as well give you the rest of my opinion. If you’d rather I didn’t, just speak up. I’ll hold my tongue.” He cupped a hand to his ear. “Nothing? Very well.”

  He reviewed her misuse of firearms, her want of conduct, and too-short pasty-selling skirt.

  “And when I think of the cakes, the eggs, the potatoes, the milk, the bacon and the tarts you’ve consumed, gad, you’re expensive to keep,” he grumbled hopefully. “Where you p
ack it away, I’ve no idea. Must have a hollow leg.”

  Still no response.

  “Worst of all, you snore. Poor Bibendum cowered at the echoing sound of thunder coming from the berth night after night. Alarmed me, too, till I discovered it was you.” He paused. “Ignoring me? I’ll scold you for that as well.”

  She turned her face away. But did not snore.

  He stopped teasing her. Although he had the best intentions, he did not want his last words to be unkind. In the weighted silence that followed, he surrendered to despair. Maudlin thoughts came in waves to scour away his optimism and make his eyes sting with salt tears.

  What would he do if she died? He moved from the chair to sit at the foot of her bed in a daze.

  In the dark, stuffy room, he leaned against the bed’s tall post and whispered, “Truth be told, you mustn’t change. I regret the breath I wasted saying you should.”

  She slept on and he grew bolder.

  “I admire your courage. And determination. I will even admit to enjoying your unpredictable temperament. The world is never flat where you are.” He studied her face. “How rare you are, Jane. I think you’re the Impossible because you cannot be equalled or emulated. There is only you, my love.”

  He stood up to pace the room and unburden his heart: “I should’ve confessed that sooner, so you could give me the setdown I deserve. How dare I love you but I do. A little more with each kiss I steal. I love your indignation. And passion. And quick wit. I love you, my girl. If you will live, I promise to love you all my days, assuming George will let me and you’ll still have me. Please, don’t leave me.”

  He flung himself into the chair by her bedside to keep watch over her till dawn.

  Something woke him with a start. The house was silent as a sepulcher. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

  She stirred. Her lips moved. He braced his hands on the mattress to lean over her. He dared not breathe lest he miss a word. Her lips moved but he heard nothing.

  “What, Jane?” he whispered anxiously. “What did you say?”

  “Byron, is that you?” A quirk of her lips gave her away.

  He frowned down at her. “I’m a damned sight better off than you at the moment.”

  “Have you looked in a glass? You may cause my relapse.”

  He sat beside her to tuck her up against his shoulder.

  You look a fright,” she told him and nestled close. “But at least you’re warm.”

  “I’ll have you know,” he murmured, “your hair’s a rat’s nest. We’ll have a terrier in it before we shave it all off.”

  “You think of everything,” she said and patted the arm encircling her.

  “It’s no more than you deserve.” His voice caught, “Jane, you must never do that again.”

  “Play dead?”

  “What?”

  “Such a love of melodrama, my lord. I swear you missed your calling.” She turned to smile at him before relaxing against his body. “If only I were a skull, you could’ve done the soliloquy from Hamlet.”

  “You were awake, I take it. For how much of it?”

  “Some, not all,” she said.

  “So you heard me.”

  “You should know by now I don’t attend your complaints.”

  “Thank God.”

  He reached for a cup of tepid tea on the table and held it for her. She rested her hand on his to steady it and sipped.

  “Jane, you must never put yourself in harm’s way on my account. You’ll wait in the carriage the next time I’m called out for releasing some beast of yours where it’s not wanted. I’d rather take a bullet than see you—”

  “Bald?”

  “Unwell, Pest.”

  “I’m tired, silly, not dying. Yesterday was rather eventful, all things considered. And I was anxious. But now,” she said and gave him a calculating look, “I’m hungry.”

  “What would you like?” he asked with more verve. “A side of beef or a suckling pig?”

  “Ah, that’s right, I’m terribly expensive to keep.”

  She looked on while he mumbled incoherent apologies.

  When had he become a gormless idiot? And how could he, a newly-minted moron, make a proper declaration to the most extraordinary woman he knew? Never mind eloquence, simple, grammatical sentences escaped him in the wake of Jane’s miraculous resurrection.

  “Will you have me anyway?” she asked.

  And there it was. The answer to a question he was too bashful to ask. She could have made him beg. And he’d have begged on bended knees, ripe for a kicking he deserved. Instead, she surprised him again.

  “I will if you’ll do justice to breakfast. A dozen eggs to start?” he answered, his wits partly restored.

  “My dowry should help with expenses,” she said. “And a gentleman would not mock a lady’s appetite after indisposition.”

  “I’ve snuck into your bedchamber not once but twice. I, Jane, am no gentleman.” He shifted her onto his chest, wrapped her in his arms and slowly, carefully kissed her smile.

  “More battlefield relief?” she asked breathlessly.

  “You’ve no idea, my dear.”

  Chapter 45

  In which the eternal question is answered:

  a bear lives in the woods.

  True to form, Jane was determined to see Bibendum off in person. Seelye had anticipated this, knowing her as well as he did.

  The day Jane fell ill, Seelye requested—well, begged—his host to undertake the search for the Bibendum’s sanctuary so he could cheer her with their progress if she regained consciousness or honor her last wish if she didn’t. In retrospect, he recalled Martin’s quizzical expression and cringed.

  Yes, perhaps he’d been overdramatic. But so what? Jane’s blood-letting upset him far more than anyone else’s loss of blood, including Clun’s and those he stuck intentionally with his saber. The gloomy doctor’s dire warnings only exacerbated his worst tendencies.

  Thankfully, Martin indulged him.

  Among the hills of Connemara were many places far removed from human settlement, too many for any one man to explore. The Martins’ estate steward, the head gamekeeper, and several trusted tenant farmers joined the effort. They sought a remote habitat with fresh water, meadows, woods, and hilly terrain to sustain a bear.

  The morning of Jane’s recovery, Seelye set off with Martin to vet the best option found the day before. They traveled on horseback skirting the tallest hill among the Twelve Bens. They bushwhacked on foot when the terrain made it necessary.

  The spot, a wild place alive with birdsong and resplendent with grass meadows and berry bushes, appealed to Seelye immediately. It seemed a paradisiacal spot that Jane would love as much as her furry protégé. It lay ten miles north of Ballynahinch as the crow flies but only a crow could reach it readily. They themselves arrived after great difficulty by a circuitous and rarely-used trail.

  They dismounted, tethered their horses and continued on foot, leaving the path to hike a low bluff into a sheltered vale. According to Martin, a salmon stream ran through the land south to the Owenmore River.

  The bluff they descended had any number of rocky outcrops and hidden caves. Woods surrounded acres of meadow. Among the trees, Seelye toed the leaf-strewn ground to uncover a wriggling multitude of fat grubs. Bees hovered at wildflowers in the open space. Hunting for the hive would certainly entertain a bear.

  Gazing around in delight, Seelye declared, “Success.”

  “Very well,” Martin said.

  Former military men needed few words to accomplish a task.

  That settled, Seelye returned to Ballynahinch eager to discuss the end of Bibendum’s journey with Jane.

  “I want to come,” she said, defiant as ever. Her blue eyes glowed with an intensity he had come to love.

  “Did I say you couldn’t?”

  “I’m much restored but I shall be meek and cooperative,” she said in a happy rush. “How will we do it?”

  “We’ll have to set
off on horseback early when it’s still chilly. It might rain, too, so you’ll ride bundled up like a mummy with Mr. Martin, Stoker, and me,” he said in a way that brooked no argument. “I will not have you fall more seriously ill.”

  “Mr. Martin’s men will haul Bibendum’s crate as far as possible by dray,” she thought aloud.

  “And when we leave the trail, I’ll carry you over the bluff. You may not overexert yourself.”

  “Seelye, I am fine—”

  He cocked an eyebrow in warning.

  “Nevertheless, I shall ride,” she said, “like a mummy, then be hauled like useless baggage over the bluff.”

  “Jane, you may be a baggage,” he said, “but never useless.”

  “Honeyed words, my lord,” she said with a twinkle.

  Transporting Bibendum was not the trial Seelye feared the next day. Nor was ensuring Jane dressed warmly. According to her, Mrs. Martin provided fine woolen versions of every layer ladies wore: stockings, chemise, petticoat, gown, pelisse, and bonnet, which covered a wool cap on her head.

  After a few too many anxious questions about her warmth and comfort, Jane assured him once and for all that she was perfectly toasty.

  The bear obeyed Jane and climbed into his crate on the dray.

  Stoker, Martin, and Seelye escorted her into the hills with the dray following over the rough trail till it could go no further. The ox was led away. And Seelye sent Martin and Jane ahead. He and Stoker walked the bear the rest of the way.

  At the trail’s end, they found Jane sitting demurely on a boulder. Martin had tethered the horses out of sight.

  Bibendum sniffed the air and when he caught scent of Jane, he trundled up to her, touched her glove with his muzzled nose, and ‘murghph’ed uncertainly to her.

  She removed the muzzle. “No need for this any longer.”

  “Let’s go, Bibendum. Time for one last leg-stretch.”

  He swept Jane into his arms and started up the rise, taking great care with each step. The bear ambled behind them and Stoker followed well behind the bear. At the top, he let her stand to survey the land.