An Earl Like No Other

by Wilma Counts

  “We’ve cleaned her up as best we can what with them burns an’ all. She has a lump on her head and burns on her hands and one arm. Havin’ trouble breathin’—but that coughin’ might be a good sign. I give ’er one o’ my nightdresses, it bein’ real loose on her, you see. There’s some burns on ’er legs too, but they don’t seem serious. Her skirt was wet from passin’ them buckets; protected ’er legs, it did. Her hands are worst. An’ ’er hair. Poor dear. She had real pretty hair.”

  “Yes, she did,” Jeremy agreed. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll sit with her until the doctor arrives.” He saw the three women exchange questioning looks, but he simply had to be here. “She saved my daughter’s life,” he added—lamely, he thought.

  “As you wish, my lord.” Mrs. Porter placed a straight-backed chair near the couch.

  The mad energy of his initial reaction having abated, Jeremy sat pondering the enormous debt he owed this woman. Yes, she had saved Cassie’s life. But my God! He might have lost both of them! Suddenly, he realized the magnitude of that possibility.

  “Good God! You’re in love with her!

  “You, who swore after Willow that you would never—never—fall into that trap again.

  “Yet here you are.

  “What about her feelings?”

  Well, she did not seem totally averse to his person. He recalled her response to that kiss in the stillroom.

  And Robert? One could not pursue a woman with whom his brother was in love! But . . . Robert did not seek Kate out especially. In fact, Robert had deliberately sought out Delia Dennison earlier today. Still, there was something between his brother and the Kenrick housekeeper.

  What a coil this was turning into.

  When Dr. Ferris, a slim, wiry little man of middle years, arrived nearly half an hour later, his report was anticlimactic, for his assessment paralleled the ladies’ examination.

  “Can she be moved?” Jeremy asked. “Can I take her back to the Hall?”

  “Don’t see why not,” the doctor replied. “Just be careful of her head. That’s quite a lump she’s got there. She has a concussion, but she should come around in a few hours. Three or four, maybe. Maybe longer. The longer she’s out, the more worrisome it is, though. Also, I think she strained her shoulder, but no broken bones. Luckily, her burns are relatively minor. Painful, though, I’m sure. I’ve put some salve and loose bandages on her hands. I’ll come out tomorrow to check on her and I’ll leave some laudanum now for the pain.”

  Jeremy thanked the doctor and asked him to check on Cassie as well. Jeremy was glad to learn that Cassie’s wound was as minor as he had thought earlier.

  Leaving Robert to supervise the cleanup, and holding the unconscious Kate on his lap, Jeremy accompanied his sad little party back to the Hall. Lady Elinor asserted her position as nominal lady of the house by organizing the logistics.

  “When we arrive, Wilkins will show me to my rooms and you should put Mrs. Arthur in the countess’s unused chamber,” Lady Elinor told him. “It will accommodate caring for her better than having servants traipsing up to the nursery rooms. Rosie can handle the children.”

  “I hadn’t thought that through,” he said, “but of course you are right.”

  So, he did not hesitate at all before placing Kate in the countess’s chamber, which connected to his own bedchamber through adjacent dressing rooms. Cassie and Ned, both of whom had been inordinately quiet on the return journey, followed him, along with the maid Rosie.

  “Is my mama going to die?” Ned asked in almost a whisper on seeing his mother lying motionless on the canopied bed in the countess’s bedchamber, a light cover over her body.

  “No. You must not think that,” Jeremy said. “She will be fine.” He thought his own need for her to be “fine” was nearly as strong as Ned’s.

  “But why doesn’t she wake up?” Ned persisted.

  “She is sleeping. Sleep is sometimes the way God keeps us from feeling too much pain.”

  “Oh.”

  Jeremy was glad the boy accepted this explanation, but knew he himself would not be satisfied until she did wake up. “Now you and Cassie go on up to the nursery.” He looked at Rosie, who nodded. “Rosie will see that you have some supper and I’ll come to tuck you into bed later.”

  “And read us a story?” Cassie asked.

  “And read you a story.” He knew it was important to maintain routine for children in a crisis. It was, he was sure, what Kate would want for them.

  Later, he turned over Kate’s care to a maid long enough for him to get a hurried bath and change of clothes. In an open-necked shirt, his favorite buckskin breeches, and slippers, he reported to the nursery as he had promised. He gave Ned a reassuring report, hoping he was not being overly optimistic. The children were subdued, but readily accepted this new normality. Having read them a story and tucked them in, he returned to his post at Kate’s bedside.

  Some time later, there was a knock on the door to the main hallway. Jeremy looked up from a book he had been reading as the maid Nell opened the door and then left on an errand. Robert came in looking tired and begrimed.

  “How is she?” Robert asked quietly, striding across the room to gaze down at the unmoving form on the bed.

  “Still unconscious. Doctor said it could be a few hours. It’s been over four. She’s been a bit restless the last half hour or so.”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  “Yes.”

  Robert drew up the chair the maid had vacated and sank wearily into it. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

  “The bad. Always save the best ‘til last.”

  “The barn was destroyed—well, the roof, supporting timbers, and the stalls. Hard to destroy walls and floors of stone.”

  “I expected that,” Jeremy said.

  “It gets worse. That fire was deliberately set.”

  “What?”

  “It was no accident. Arson. The evidence was pretty clear where it started. Rags and lamp oil.”

  “Who—?” But, instinctively, Jeremy was sure he knew the ultimate who. Who stood to gain the most from his inability to sell that wool? Proving his suspicion would be next to impossible. Mortimer was rich enough and clever enough not to involve himself directly.

  Robert said, “Maybe someone with a grudge. Or paid. Or both.”

  Jeremy sighed. “Is there any good news?”

  “Some. We saved the smaller barn—apparently the arsonist got scared before he could light his starter there.”

  “But no one saw or heard anything suspicious?”

  “We think it was set after the men were in the field and the women had not yet arrived. Mrs. Porter said the dogs put up a fuss early in the morning, but when she sent one of her daughters to check on it, the girl did not see anything.”

  “Perhaps that child saved the small barn,” Jeremy said.

  “Could be. In any event, whoever set it might have had military experience.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Timing. Someone who could time explosives could time the outbreak of a fire, but I think we should keep this whole arson business to ourselves for now. Ask around. See who knows what.”

  “I agree. Interesting that this should have occurred today.”

  “Happenstance, probably,” Robert said. “Bad timing, maybe—and we were just lucky to be on hand to deal with it.”

  “Yes,” Jeremy agreed absently, his mind still reeling not only with the idea that he had an enemy capable of such treachery, but, more importantly, what his personal losses might have been.

  “And—” Robert’s voice rose on a more optimistic note, “we saved about a third of the wool in the big barn. Not a total loss.”

  “But will it be enough?” Jeremy could not keep the bleakness from his tone.

  “Don’t give up yet, big brother. We’ll have to reconnoiter again. This war is far from over.” Robert stood and stretched. “I’m for a bath and some sleep.” He gestured to the figure
on the bed. “Keep an eye on our girl here.”

  As Robert left, Nell returned with a tray of food and a glass of ale. “Mrs. Jenkins sent this up for you, my lord.”

  “Thank you. Just set it on that table. Then you should get some rest, Nell.”

  “I don’t know, my lord. Lady Elinor said—”

  Jeremy chuckled, glad to find something to be amused about in the last few hours. “Mrs. Arthur’s virtue is safe this night. You go on, now.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  And Jeremy was thus left with his thoughts for company. Our girl? What did that signify?

  He must have dozed off, for he was suddenly aware of Kate’s thrashing about and muttering incoherently. He leaned forward to wrap his hand gently around her upper arm and murmur soothingly. His touch and voice seemed to quiet her. He released her and sat back. Almost immediately, she began flailing her arms about and hit her right hand on the bedpost, dislodging the loose bandages. Had she been awake, that blow would have been very painful, he thought. He replaced the bandage, retied the strings holding it, and restored the blanket she had kicked off. He was not immune to a glimpse of her shapely legs or the feel of her smooth, warm skin as he did so. Her muttering became more frantic. Occasionally, there was a coherent word or phrase—sometimes they even made sense.

  “Run, Cassie! . . . Ned, be careful.... ’member: it’s a secret . . . No, Robert, the duke . . . Can’t tell Ken—. . . Runners . . . My son . . . Ned . . . Ned . . . No . . . No-o-o!” The last words came out in sheer terror.

  When he had replaced the cover the fourth or fifth time, he gave up and lay on the top of it next to her, his arm cradling her head against his shoulder. Despite the smell of burnt hair, he savored her closeness. And she was calmer, her breathing less labored.

  He lay there pondering her rambling cries. Can’t tell Ken—Can’t tell Kenrick what? A duke again. Which duke? Good God, there could not be that many dukes in the realm, could there? What was it that had her so frightened? Runners? Bow Street Runners? More pieces to the puzzle—and by God! Someone was going to answer these questions!

  Finally, he slept himself.

  In a bow to propriety, Jeremy had left the door to the hall slightly ajar. He awoke when there was a sharp knock on that door and Robert barged in. Light at the window showed it to be past dawn. Kate was quiet.

  “Oh!” Robert said. “I—uh—”

  “Come in, Robert. Don’t be misled by what you see here.” Jeremy untangled himself from the sleeping form beside him, slid his feet into his slippers, and stood. “She became quite restless and I could hardly grab her hands, now could I?”

  “No. I suppose not. But you’re damned lucky I—and not that chatterbox Rosie—caught you out. Even so, with Kate in this room, there’s likely to be some talk.”

  “Ah, well—”

  A groggy voice from the bed interrupted. “Lord Kenrick? Robert? What am I doing here?” Then her voice became more alert—and alarmed. “Cassie? Ned?”

  “They are both all right,” Jeremy assured her, “and Dr. Ferris assured me yesterday that you will be too, as soon as these nasty burns heal.”

  She rolled her head to look at him and winced. “My head . . .”

  “Yes. You suffered a blow there.”

  “The Angel of the Forty-sixth is up to her old tricks,” Robert said with a grin. “But really, my dear, you could leave some of the heroics to us men!”

  Jeremy immediately noticed the endearment, but he thought it might be just a casual turn of phrase.

  “I—I don’t understand,” she said. “I remember the fire—the barn—stumbling—losing hold of Cassie. Cassie. Is she—?”

  “She’s fine,” they assured her again as they filled her in on the basic details of yesterday’s events.

  “What caused it—the fire?” she asked.

  Jeremy exchanged a look with Robert and said, “We are not sure yet.” He cut off this line of discussion by reaching for the bellpull. “Nell will bring you some breakfast and see to your needs until your hands have healed.” He looked at Robert to include him in his next statement. “When you are sufficiently healed, Mrs. Arthur, I think the three of us should have a chat.”

  “H—have a chat?” she repeated dumbly.

  “Not now. When you are up to it. Ah, here’s Nell now.”

  With that, he and Robert left the room.

  The simple tasks of getting through the day prevented Kate’s dwelling on Lord Kenrick’s parting words that morning. In fact, they were swept to the nether regions of her mind as she dealt with the constant frustration of being almost totally dependent on others. With both hands bandaged and every movement painful, she struggled with even mundane things, such as lifting a spoon or a slice of toast. By the time the doctor had come to pronounce her on the mend, and she had had an audience with Ned and Cassie—and the ever-present Lady Lobo—her head hurt so abominably that she agreed to a small dose of laudanum, which allowed her to lose herself in sleep.

  The next day, aware that her occupation of the countess’s bedchamber was likely to be viewed as most improper, she insisted on removing to her own room in the nursery wing. That day too some of the bandages were redone to give her more range of movement. Lady Elinor’s maid managed to snip off Kate’s damaged hair and create a most attractive, albeit short, hairstyle. From then on, she felt herself improving steadily and within the week was back to supervising staff members, if not always performing the hands-on chores she was wont to do.

  In brief visits, Lord Kenrick checked on her frequently while she was still bedridden and, as she began resuming her duties as housekeeper, she encountered him far more often than had been usual before. He was always cordial and solicitous, but she could not shake the feeling that there was a good deal of speculation in his expressions of concern. Lady Elinor entertained her with on dits of local gossip—as did other members of the staff. Even Mr. Wilkins had climbed the stairs to the nursery wing. After the third day, Robert was conspicuously absent. Lady Elinor told her he was on a hasty trip to London to finish details of selling his commission.

  Kate was grateful for Jeremy’s concern. No. Grateful was far too mild a word. So was concern. She recalled now the utter contentment she had felt as she was entering a semiconscious state. Learning he had spent the entire night at her side had thrilled her, but also frightened her. Perhaps he did care for her as she cared for him. And if he did, how was she reciprocating that affection? With such deceit as might undo much of the good he was achieving with his earldom.

  Was that to be the subject of his promised “chat”? Had he somehow learned the truth about her and Ned? She had pressed Robert, but he merely shrugged and said he had no idea what Jeremy had in mind. He told her not to worry about it. He did, however, once again urge her to confide in his brother.

  Well, perhaps she would—when Robert returned. She knew it was cowardly, but with Robert there to support her, explaining herself should be easier. So long as Jeremy did not know her secret, she could postpone facing the issue of where she and Ned could run next. So long as Jeremy did not know, she could revel in being near him.

  So, she avoided doing anything.

  In the end, the matter was taken out of her hands.

  CHAPTER 16

  In the next two weeks, activities at Kenrick settled back to a semblance of routine as Mrs. Arthur recovered from her injuries and resumed more and more of her usual duties. The remaining wool had been shipped off to market and repairs begun on the burned barn, for the storage space was sorely needed for hay now. Jeremy rode out nearly every day to supervise the rebuilding and the harvesting, and to visit people on his own farms. Porter often accompanied him, and when Robert returned from London, he joined them. However, they gleaned little information about who might have set the fire.

  Jeremy, Robert, and Lady Elinor were to attend a dinner party given by the Hartwicks. It was an invitation of long standing and Jeremy now dreaded it, for the Mortimers were sure to be among
the guests.

  As they were.

  The Kenrick party had barely entered the drawing room when Sir Eldridge brought up the subject of the fire.

  “The whole neighborhood is still abuzz with news of that unfortunate fire, Kenrick. But these things happen—”

  “Some do not just ‘happen.’ ” Jeremy held the other man’s gaze until Mortimer looked away with a slight tightening of the lips.

  Robert said, “The fire is still under investigation.”

  “Unfortunate, as I said,” Mortimer replied. “But surely an accident.”

  Charlotte Mortimer stood near her father. She was dressed in a teal blue silk gown cut to show a tantalizing degree of cleavage. She murmured sympathetically. “At least no one was seriously injured. We must thank Providence for that.”

  “Not just Providence,” Jeremy replied. “I might have lost my daughter but for the remarkable courage of a very brave woman.”

  “Oh, I did hear that one of your servants had ingratiated herself in the crisis. I assume you rewarded her quite adequately.” Miss Mortimer waved her fan flirtatiously to dismiss the topic.

  But Jeremy was not ready to let it go. “Adequately? I hardly think so. One cannot put a material value on a child’s life. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.” He gave her father another direct look, but Mortimer merely averted his eyes again.

  “Lady Elinor, you are looking very fine this evening,” Miss Mortimer said.

  “Thank you,” Lady Elinor replied. “I do not attend many evening events, but my nephews insisted.”

  When dinner was announced, Jeremy was neither surprised nor pleased to find himself partnered with Charlotte Mortimer. He managed to keep up his end of conversations with her and with Mrs. Hartwick on his other side. Their talk involved such fascinating topics as the weather and travels on the continent now that Napoleon was firmly ensconced on the island of St. Helena.

  “Hartwick’s and my wedding journey was cut short by Bonaparte’s adventuring,” Mrs. Hartwick said. “I hope young people today will be luckier than we were.”