"And Nana says to tell you her cook is sending something out here for you, too," Basil assured them before he left. "She says her ladyship looks like she could do with a meal or two."
It took Carole a moment to realize what his words implied. Did he just call her ladyship? Gracious, the young men must be under a grievous misunderstanding!
The earl must not have noticed. He simply thanked the young men for their concern and assured them that breakfast from Mrs. Hark's kitchen would be very much appreciated. Carole didn't quite know what to say, so she simply smiled and let them go.
She'd been mistaken for a countess! For his countess. Oh, but how reprehensible for her to take such private glee in that. Once her heart stopped pounding so loudly and the childish little grin stopped tugging at her lips, perhaps she would be quite ashamed of herself.
Myserleigh stared after the young men. Had he heard them correctly? Had they mistaken Miss Meriwether for his wife? He'd been too surprised to correct them and now they were gone.
Did this mean the entire household had made that same supposition? Things were so chaotic yesterday when they'd met the young men, and then again last night when they'd arrived here, that he couldn't actually recall if proper introductions had been made. Apparently not. Somehow everyone knew that he was an earl and apparently they'd assumed the rest about Miss Meriwether.
Well, for her sake he realized he should be glad for that. Traveling unchaperoned with a gentleman, sleeping in his arms on the floor of a stable... indeed, it was far better they all presume she was wed to him rather than believe what might be the other obvious implication. For her sake he'd much rather have them think her his wife than nothing more than a... well, he could not even consider that other.
He glanced over at her. She was cooing at the foal, making friends with him and patting the mother, reassuring them both that they would soon be happy in their new home. It appeared she had not caught the young men's mistake and was blissfully ignorant.
Good. He'd not set any of them straight. If he must be misjudged as a married man, he could think of no one he'd rather be associated with than Miss Meriwether. She was kind, good-natured, out-going, and certainly everything pleasing to look at. She was well-spoken and modest despite their pitiful situation and any gentleman would be happy to have such an agreeable woman represent him in society. Besides that, she was a delicious armful and had fit perfectly when she snuggled against him last night.
Whichever man was bright enough to convince her to marry him would be a lucky man, indeed. Damn lucky. Unless Myserleigh got a hold of him. The very idea of some other man curling up beside Miss Meriwether and keeping her warm through a storm made him a bit hot under the collar. More than hot, really. He was ready to do battle.
By God, just the thought of some unworthy scoundrel dragging that poor woman out into the cold, making her ride in discomfort on a rackety wagon seat and then forcing kisses on her in a dank stable... he'd kill the blackguard who would try such a thing. Never mind that he'd already done all of that, and more. He'd never let it happen to her again. If anyone was going to look after her in a wagon or keep her warm through the night it was, by the devil, going to be him.
He didn't mind people mistaking her for his wife because—damn it—he wanted her to be just that. He'd never been interested in marriage before because, frankly, he'd never met Miss Meriwether before. Now that he had, he could not deny a shocking discovery.
He loved her!
There was no sense to it, no logic or reason, but in the time it took for his heart to beat but twice this monumental realization washed over him like a tidal wave. In such an inordinately short time period he'd fallen hopelessly in love with this woman. Who could have imagined? Two days ago he wasn't entirely sure such a thing as romantic love even existed, but now he could not imagine a future without Miss Meriwether in it.
As his wife.
But how on earth was he going to get her to feel the same way about him? It was obvious she did not. Plainly—and painfully—obvious.
She was patting the ponies, tidying her clothes, straightening the stall... doing anything that would keep her from having to acknowledge his presence, his very existence. Likely if she had heard the young man attribute the Bahumburgh title to her, she would have been quick to set the lad straight. She'd no doubt rather be thought a fallen woman than one who might carry Myserleigh's name.
She had good reason to feel that way, of course. Hell, he'd spent half of the journey trying to be rid of her, encouraging her to give up. He'd looked for any excuse to drop her off somewhere. What a numbskull he'd been! To think she might have given in and been lost to him forever.
Well, he'd just have to begin making amends. He had the rest of the morning alone with her on their journey, and then once they reached Estelle's he could continue his quest. He had absolutely no idea what that meant, but somehow he'd puzzle it out. Perhaps flattery was as good as any place to start.
"You look remarkably well today, all things considered," he said, seeing how often she fussed with her hair and fidgeted with her dress.
Apparently this was not the proper place to begin. She whirled on him with daggers in her eyes.
"Thank you for reminding me of my sorry state, sir. I do hope you don't die from embarrassment if you are seen with me in public."
"What? But that's absurd. What I meant was—"
He did not get the opportunity to tell her what he meant, however. It was likely just as well. He was no doubt simply going to put his foot into it no matter what he said. Something about a fellow suddenly realizing he was in love seemed to make half of his brain fall out of his head. He was as giddy and awkward as a schoolboy, desperate to gain her attention yet not having the slightest clue how to go about it in any sort of elegant fashion.
Mrs. Hark appeared at their stall to rescue him.
"I've brung ye's some breakfast," she called merrily.
Carole instantly smiled sweetly for her. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Hark. I can't tell you how much we appreciate all your efforts for us when you clearly have such a house full."
She woman beamed, pleased to get praise from such a pretty source. Myserleigh couldn't help but notice, however, that the old woman's eyes scanned over the stall and rested on the neatly folded blankets of the pallet he'd made up in the corner. The one, single pallet where clearly two people had slept. He could only hope she was under the same misapprehension as her young charges. Myserleigh would give anything for Miss Meriwether not to leave this place feeling labeled or misjudged.
But Mrs. Hark's smile only grew warmer. She handed over a tray from the kitchen, all loaded with still-steaming bread, a small crock of jam and a plate with eggs and some rather promising bacon. Two cups with a pot of tea beckoned temptingly and Myserleigh reached over the rail, taking the tray carefully. He would not spill a drop. He recalled how Miss Meriwether welcomed her tea yesterday and hoped she might somehow credit him for providing this, as well.
"Sorry you two had to stay out here in the stable, but with the new pony, and all..."
"Isn't he beautiful?" Miss Meriwether said, clearly happy to take attention off of their sleeping arrangements and onto the foal.
"A fine gift for children. Nieces and nephews, I hear?"
"Yes, my sister's children," Myserleigh replied.
"I selected the pony for them and had no idea there was more to the bargain," Miss Meriwether added.
It had been a good topic for casual chatter, but too easily Mrs. Hark made things uncomfortable.
"You'll be their most favorite auntie, no doubt. And I daresay, it won't be long before the two of ye are hunting gifts for yer own pack o'little ones."
Miss Meriwether went instantly scarlet and the older woman cackled with glee. Apparently she thought it was great fun to mortify the young bride, but Myserleigh knew he'd best redirect the conversation before Miss Meriwether damaged herself by setting the old woman straight. After all, as far as Myserleigh was concerned
, Mrs. Hark was entirely accurate in her prediction.
He moved to Miss Meriwether's side and tried to distract her with the warm, fragrant food.
"What do you say, my dear?" he remarked, possibly a bit louder than necessary, just in case Miss Meriwether had been planning to pipe up with any nonsense about her not being his wife. "A fine breakfast like this is just what we need to get us started on our day."
She was too polite to disregard the woman's kind offering long enough to correct her.
"Oh... yes, it looks lovely. Thank you so much, Mrs. Hark. I really am quite ravenous today, I'm afraid."
"I don't care what the fashionable folk say. A healthy appetite is a good thing for a young lady," the woman said, approving.
Miss Meriwether was not to be deterred from telling the truth, however.
"Still, I think I ought to inform you that—"
Myserleigh leapt into the fray, deftly taking possession of the subject and shifting it just in the nick of time. "That we are hoping you might help us with a matter of urgent importance."
Miss Meriwether glared at him, but he continued, undaunted.
"My brother-in-law, you see, is not doing very well."
Mrs. Hark was instantly captivated. "Yes, so my dear Basil informed me. An infection, he says?"
"Sadly, yes."
Mrs. Hark was eager for details and Myserleigh was only too happy to oblige. Miss Meriwether could do nothing but take the tray from him and set up an eating area, her opportunity for incriminating herself gone and—for now, at least—her reputation perfectly intact. She seemed slightly put out over it, but Myserleigh could not regret interrupting her.
"So you told Basil, I believe, that your brother-in-law took a tumble from a horse?" Mrs. Hark asked.
Myserleigh was happy to explain further. "He was hunting with a party two months ago. Bexley's horse took a tumble and he went head over tails, landing hard and fracturing his ankle."
Mrs. Hark tsked. "Bones. Tricky devils, they are."
"For a time he seemed to be doing well, by all accounts," Myserleigh continued. "I thought the man well on his way to full recovery when I received my sister's letter just two days ago. Sadly, she said the infection set in and her husband was quite overset by it."
"Fever?"
"Yes, very high, I believe. Estelle was cautious not to share the full depth of her concern, but I could see in her writing that she is overly worried for him. Her letters to Miss... to Carole... also expressed similar concern."
Miss Meriwether had obviously been listening and now cared more for Bexley's health than for his presumptuous use of her first name.
"His poor wife," she added with clear concern. "Is all nerves over his condition. It must be quite dire, I'm afraid."
"I know it would take something severe to keep Bexley down," Myserleigh admitted, realizing even as he spoke that the fears he'd let linger in the back of his mind were entirely too well-founded.
A look into Mrs. Hark's knowing hazel eyes confirmed his concerns. She worried her lip and nodded slowly, considering all they had told her.
"I can help ye," she said. "Sit down, enjoy yer breakfast and I'll make up a cure. Won't take but a moment."
They thanked her profusely and she was off, back to her lair or wherever it was she conjured her magical potions. Myserleigh could only pray the magic would be strong enough to save John Bexley. He couldn't bear to think how his sister would suffer if it was already too late for the man.
Chapter 8
With full bellies, gifts wrapped up securely, and the foal nestled down in a bed of fresh hay, the ramshackle old wagon rolled out of the yard at the inn. The lone bell in the tower of Bethlehem Church just across the street chimed the hour of ten. It was not nearly so early as Carole had hoped they would leave, but after their tumultuous night she supposed they had all needed the extra rest this morning.
Holly was tethered to the back of the wagon and she nickered softly to the foal being carted inside. He answered back and the little mare seemed content that he was well. The earl promised he would not press his huge draft horse so there would be no worry that Holly might over tax herself on this journey. Carole craned her neck to keep watch over things, but as they rolled slowly out of Newchild-on-Bourne she could find no fault in the earl's driving or his accommodations for their littlest passenger.
"Is everything secure, as it should be?" he asked.
"Yes. The foal appears fine and can you believe? Those sweets for Mr. Bexley still smell just as tempting as they did yesterday!"
"Help yourself then," he offered.
He had been especially attentive since breakfast this morning and it was making her nervous. Her heart did summersaults in her chest whenever he spoke, those low, tender tones making her positively ache for wishing she could think he meant anything by them. Most likely, though, his voice was low due to spending a day outdoors in the rain. What she interpreted as tender was probably nothing more than exhaustion. And his attentiveness? Doubtless that was due to his eagerness to finally be rid of her and end this miserable journey.
"Oh no, I couldn't." she replied, trying not to let her wayward emotions show. "Those confections are for Mr. Bexley. Besides, you saw how much I ate of Mrs. Hark's lovely breakfast."
"I did, and I was glad for it. After yesterday I worried you might fade away."
She laughed. She'd been sharp with him earlier and regretted it. No matter how dismal she felt inside knowing how little he cared, the truth was her hours with him were numbered. She ought to commit herself to making sure he should not see her sullen or depressed. If ever he did remember her in times to come, she prayed it would be favorably.
"Little chance of that. I'm generally a very good eater," she replied lightly. "I'm sorry to say that once I'm at Estelle's house and faced with the sort of meals I'm sure her cook sends to table, I will no doubt burst out of all my clothing."
He inexplicably started choking. Good heavens, what if he was coming down with a cold—or something worse!—from his exposure to the bad weather? She'd have to warn Estelle to keep a close watch over him... perhaps even insist he not leave for London right away as he obviously had planned. Perhaps he should stay a full week, or more even, to make very sure he was well.
Clearing his throat multiple times and taking a few deep breaths to compose himself, the earl was soon back to right again. She felt immeasurable relief. Still, Estelle should insist he prolong his stay at her house, just to be safe.
"You've not had regular meals, I take it," the earl asked after a few moments of silence.
Drat. She'd not meant to turn conversation back onto her situation. The man had already seen her at her worse. He did not need any other reason to pity or look down upon her.
"As you can see, I've been doing well, sir."
"I can see you are too thin, you have no gloves, and your traveling bag is noticeably small. You've fallen on hard times, haven't you, Miss Meriwether?"
"We all have our share of difficulties, sir."
"And clearly you are determined not to discuss yours."
"It's Christmas Day. Surely you cannot mean to be mawkish today? Let us talk of happier things. The children, perhaps. When is the last time you saw them?"
He contemplated this. "Hmm. Not since the little one's christening, I should think."
"Not since then? But he's over two years old now."
"I don't get out to Wiltshire much."
"But your estate is there, very near West Timley, as I recall Estelle mentioning."
"I don't get out to my estate very often."
"Don't you have things to manage there, though?"
"My steward is more than capable."
"So you prefer to stay in London."
He paused just slightly before answering. "Yes. So far, that has been my preference."
"And you will no doubt be eager to get back there."
Again, he paused before answering. "I had told Estelle my stay will be brief."
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She nodded. It was not what she hoped to hear, but she was not surprised. She could not let him see her disappointment. At this point, all she had left were a few thin threads of misplaced pride and she'd not waste that now by throwing herself at him and begging him not to leave. No doubt that would only serve to make him run faster.
"I'm sure your sister and her family will be happy for whatever time you allow them."
"And what of you?" he asked. "How long do you intend to stay with Estelle?"
There was an edge in his voice now, as if he meant more than his casual words might imply. Was he concerned that she intended to abuse his sister's hospitality? How could she answer without confirming his fears?
"I believe Estelle wishes for my stay to be somewhat extended," she replied. "She spoke of wishing for me to instruct the children for some time, to make certain they are quite comfortable in the saddle."
"You are planning to stay quite some time, then."
"It is Estelle's wish. I am very much looking forward to renewing our friendship and spending time working with the children."
"And you are content to look forward to that life? You are sure that's what Estelle wishes for you?"
"Do you think she should not?"
"Well, you are good friends, certainly, and I've no doubt the children will enjoy your attentions. But it seems a bit selfish on Estelle's part."
"On Estelle's part?"
"If she were a true friend, I should think she should not keep you all to herself, but she should wish to see you well married."
"I have not asked her opinion on that matter, sir."
"She has no suggested that is a part of her plan for inviting you to stay with her?"
"Certainly not! All she has told me is that she'd like to see her children ride a pony."
"And I should think you've more than enough to recommend you to potential suitors."
Her heart thumped in her chest, but she could not let herself be carried away. This was not real flattery from him. It was sadly something else altogether and she thought she knew what it was.
The Earl's Christmas Delivery Page 8
