“I cannot say for a certainty. A few hours. Maybe a day or two. The longer he is unconscious, the more serious the worry.”
Adrian held his son’s head still as the doctor stitched the wound, with Miss Palmer assisting. Adrian thought this the most difficult task he had ever performed.
“Thank you, miss. You were a great help,” the doctor said as he finished his procedure. “Done this before, have you?”
“Not exactly.” She smiled. “I once had a pet, a collie, who tangled with a donkey. We had to stitch Antigone’s head, too.”
“Antigone?” Adrian asked, glad to be diverted by something so trivial.
“Yes. She was such a faithful companion, you see.”
The doctor shrugged himself into the coat he had removed earlier. Leaving some powders for pain and promising to return in the morning, he departed.
Adrian saw the doctor to the door and returned immediately to his son’s room. Miss Palmer was still there, standing beside the pathetically small, still form of his son. She had remained calm throughout the ordeal, but now, as she brushed a hand gently across Geoffrey’s brow, she turned to Adrian with tears in her eyes. It occurred to Adrian that she seemed as shaken in the aftermath of the accident as he was himself.
“He is going to be all right,” she said vehemently.
“Oh, God! I hope so!” He could not keep the despair from his voice. “I should never—never—have allowed this to happen.”
“Allowed? But this was not your fault.”
“Had I not been there, it would not have happened.”
“You cannot know that.” She put her hand comfortingly on his arm. “You could not have prevented this, my lord.”
“I cannot lose him.” Naked pain clouded his eyes and voice. Adrian could not have said who moved first, but suddenly she was in his arms and he buried his head in the softness between her cheek and her shoulder. He clung to her, breathing in the scent and warmth of her body. Here was vibrant life as opposed to the predator death they had been fighting.
Her arms cradled his head, her hands caressing his hair and the back of his neck. “I know. I know.” Her voice crooned softly at his ear. “He will be all right. I just know he will be.”
He lifted his head to look into her eyes, drinking in the empathy he found there. Then, with no apparent volition from either, he was kissing her and she was responding fervently. She met his desperate need for reassurance with gentleness and generosity. In her response, he found a haven. Yes. Everything surely would be all right. He withdrew his lips to look into her eyes again and saw his own passion mirrored there.
“Oh, my love,” he whispered, pulling her even tighter into the circle of his arms. He pressed his mouth to hers again, consumed now by long-suppressed desire. His tongue probed against her lips. They parted and she welcomed him with desire he recognized as a reflection of his own. His body hardened as she leaned into his embrace.
A whimper from the bed abruptly brought them to themselves.
Staring in wonder at each other, they parted and turned their attention to the little boy. He had not regained consciousness, but he did seem restless. Elinor put her hand against his cheek and leaned over to murmur nonsense words of comfort. The boy quieted down and she rose to look at his father.
Appalled at his own behavior, Adrian ran a hand through his hair. He cleared his throat to apologize.
“Miss Palmer ...”
“No,” she interrupted. “Please. Do not apologize. There is no need, really.”
“But . . .”
“No. Please. I understand. Truly, I do.”
“As you wish.” Feeling powerless against her gentle rebuff, he wondered just what it was she understood.
There was a soft rap at the door and Baxter, the middle-aged nursery maid, came in.
“Mrs. Hoskins thought you might like me to sit with Master Geoffrey so’s you could have your dinner, my lord.”
“Is it that late already?” he asked distractedly.
“I must change,” Miss Palmer said and it dawned on him they both still wore a good deal of the mud from the arena.
“Call me the instant there is any change,” he said to Baxter as he and Elinor left the room.
Later, he sat at Geoffrey’s bedside, satisfied just to watch his son breathe. He also thought about the events of this day. And about the woman whose calm assurance had made a crisis bearable for all of them.
At dinner she had been somewhat subdued, but then so had he. Luckily, Gabrielle, Huntington, and Madame Giroux had managed to keep the conversational ball in play. Apparently, they noticed nothing amiss with their dinner companions.
Afterward, he had gone to the schoolroom to check on how Bess and Anne were getting on. He found the governess there before him, explaining the nature of Geoffrey’s wound and easing the girls’ fears. Elinor accepted his presence with no discernible change in attitude. She even seemed to welcome his own assurances to his daughter and his niece that their schoolroom companion would soon return to plague their lives anew. Then she excused herself.
Now, it was well after midnight. Adrian had long since sent the nursery maid to her bed, knowing full well sleep would elude him as long as Geoffrey was in danger. Periodically, Adrian wiped his son’s brow with a cool cloth and forced some water between parched lips. But mostly it was a matter of waiting. Waiting for a change in the patient’s condition. Waiting for his son to awaken.
And with all this waiting, his thoughts seemed to dwell inexorably on the woman sleeping just down the hall. He knew he should be ashamed of losing control as he had. Had he not promised at Wallenford that it would not happen again?
Now it had.
But how could one feel shame and remorse for something that felt so absolutely right? In her arms he had discovered a sense of completion that he had not even known was missing.
Why had she refused his apology? Was she so very disgusted?
No. Her response was given freely, born of her basic sweetness and generosity. He was a human being in need. She gave.
And the passion. Was that real?
Oh, yes. He had not mistaken her desire, her own need a parallel to, a fulfillment of, his own. This was so right!
But you forget yourself, Whitson. Had the lesson not been drummed into him and his brother early on?
“Whitson men do not dishonor themselves by taking advantage of women in their employ.”
“Whitson men seek women of their own class—or pay handsomely for the services of those in the demimonde.”
Miss Palmer—Elinor—was neither.
The woman just down the hall was not sleeping. Elinor pounded her pillow yet again seeking cloud-like softness to lull her senses. Within seconds, it turned into a brick again, refusing to free her from self-recriminations. Finally, she sat up, her arms resting on her knees.
Why had she allowed that first kiss—let alone the second one?
She knew why.
There had been that terrible need in him, an overwhelming urge for a reaffirmation of life. Refuse such a primal need in this man? As well try to turn back the tide.
And the second kiss? She could have stopped that one. He would have honored her wishes.
But I did not wish to stop it. I had to know ...
Know what?
Whether it was real.
It?
Whatever it is between us. My own feelings.
And?
I love him.
That was why she could not bear to hear him apologize.
Yes. It would hurt too much to know that he regretted the moment, that he saw it as something shameful.
She buried her face in her hands. She loved him. She loved his wit, his caring, his dedication, his sense of honor, even his pride.
And her very presence in his household could bring disaster to the man she loved.
She gave herself a mental shake and gave up the idea of sleep. She would go and relieve Baxter. She put on a robe over her nightdress
and ran her fingers through her hair. She quietly opened the door to Geoffrey’s room. But it was not the nursery maid sitting at the bedside. It was Adrian.
He must have been half dozing, for he started at her sharp intake of breath.
“Pardon me, my lord. I did not mean to disturb you. I could not sleep, so I thought to relieve Baxter.” She spoke softly but somewhat nervously.
“I sent her off some time ago.”
“How is he?” She went to the other side of the bed and placed her hand on Geoffrey’s brow. “Poor sweet dear,” she murmured.
“I think he has improved. He has calmed down in the last hour or so—not so much thrashing about.”
“He does not seem feverish.” She straightened already smooth bed covers, needing to perform some helpful action, however trivial and unnecessary. “I will sit with him so you can get some rest, my lord.”
“I cannot rest until I know he is out of danger.”
“Shall I leave you then?” Yes, she should leave, she told herself. It was not quite proper that she be alone with Trenville in the dead of night. She doubted that a sleeping child qualified as a chaperone.
“No. No. Stay, if you’ve a mind to. I should welcome the company.” He rose to find a chair in a corner and bring it to her side of the bed and she knew she would stay.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Their eyes locked for a moment and Elinor was sure he, too, was remembering those kisses. She lowered her gaze to the book he had laid aside and deliberately changed the subject.
“May I ask what you are reading, my lord?”
He smiled. “Only if you will please stop ‘my lording’ me in private, Miss Palmer. My friends call me ‘Adrian.’ ”
She returned his smile. “As you please, m—Adrian. And my friends call me ‘Elinor,’ though my brother slips into ‘Ellie’ from time to time.”
“Elinor. Ellie. Elinor.” He turned the syllables over on his tongue, testing their sounds. “No. You are more ‘Elinor’ than ‘Ellie.’ More dignified, stately.”
She laughed softly, loving the sound of her name on his lips. “You make it seem downright stuffy.”
“No. Not at all. Independent, perhaps. Self-assured. The name means ‘light’—and it suits you.”
“How so?”
“You have brought light—and laughter—to my children. They have more fun since you came.”
“How very flattering.” Her tone conveyed a trace of embarrassment.
“I never flatter.”
“Never? That must make you popular in London’s drawing rooms,” she said with gentle irony.
“Almost never. I find most people prefer sincerity.” He paused and picked up the book. “I am reading, rereading, actually, the Odyssey. And it is your fault.”
“My—”
“Yes. Geoffrey and Bess keep asking me questions. I must be able to respond.”
From this they launched into a discussion of Homer’s classic, then moved on to other works and other topics. Elinor was glad that, while both seemed conscious of those moments of passion earlier, they were able to regain their usual rapport.
There were also long periods of silence as they watched over the injured child, but these were not moments of tension or strain. The shared companionship of silence was every bit as significant as words.
At one point, she went to the kitchen to make them some tea. Both were surprised some time later when Baxter came to check on her charge as daylight seeped through the window draperies.
Geoffrey began to thrash about and make small mewling noises in his sleep. Finally, he opened his eyes.
“Papa?” He was obviously surprised to see his father. “My head hurts something fierce.”
Ten
With the resilience of youth, Geoffrey recovered fully in the next few days. Elinor was glad to welcome him back to his lessons—both in the schoolroom and at the stables.
Life had taken on a curious state of limbo for Elinor. She performed her duties with her usual proficiency. Occasionally, she rode in the mornings with his lordship. They were at ease with each other, though there were no more passionate kisses. His hands sometimes seemed to linger momentarily at her waist when he assisted her in dismounting, but perhaps she imagined that.
Late one afternoon when the children were spending their usual time with their respective parents, Elinor was in the library idly browsing for a book to replace the one she had finished the night before. The room seemed inordinately chilly, despite a fire in the fireplace.
Suddenly she felt a gust of wind and saw the draperies behind Adrian’s desk billow out, sending papers flying in all directions. She quickly crossed the room to close the open window.
“There is such a thing as too much fresh air, your lordship,” she muttered to herself as she secured the latch on the window and smoothed the draperies.
Then she set about picking up the scattered papers. Some were official-looking documents; some appeared to be random notes. She had no idea what order they should be in, so she simply stacked them all together.
She had just retrieved the last sheet from behind the settee to place it on the stack when Adrian entered the room. She was standing behind his desk with the last paper still in her hand. He stared at her questioningly.
“Is there something you needed?” he asked.
“Oh, no. I was just retrieving these papers. Someone left the window open and a breeze blew them all about.” She gestured toward the offending window.
“I see.”
She thought there was a note of doubt in his voice. He came over beside her to check the window.
“It seems secure.”
“Yes. I just closed it.”
He leafed through some of the papers, then looked at her silently. His behavior made her nervous.
“I was looking for a book when the breeze caught the papers.”
“Did you find what you wanted?”
“Well, no. I mean, I was just looking—trying to find something new.” Why did she feel he suspected her of something?
“Carry on, then. I will not disturb your search.” He sat at the desk and began to put the papers in order.
She felt his presence as she turned to the shelves of books. He seemed strangely silent and she could feel him staring at her. She chose a book hastily and left.
As she thought about it later, she became angry. Good heavens! Did the man think she was snooping through his private papers? Besides, she had not seen anything that looked important to her. Next time she would just leave them lying about. How would his noble lordship like that?
That evening he announced over the tea tray that he would be departing for London the next day and would then be off to the continent. He expected to be gone about three weeks.
“And when I return,” he finished, “I shall expect to find that the lot of you have removed to the London town house.”
“How wonderful!” Gabrielle exclaimed. “We will be there early for the season.”
“Thought you might like that, sister dear,” Adrian said with a touch of irony.
“Of course. And I shall have several new gowns. Please, Maria,” she said to Madame Giroux, “hand me that copy of La Belle Assemblee we were looking at earlier.”
The companion handed it over and Gabrielle eagerly leafed through it.
A wave of panic washed over Elinor. She could not go to London. What if she were recognized? After all, she had had two seasons in London though she had not quite “taken.” It was true that before her father’s death she had spent several months on the continent and afterward a year in mourning. Still, there were a good many people who might remember Lady Elinor Richards. What if Uncle Brompton discovered her whereabouts? Perhaps Trenville did not intend to remove the children to London, too. Then she remembered the fully equipped schoolroom in the town house.
She swallowed and asked calmly, “Will the children be going to Town also, my lord?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thought what?” he asked. She felt all eyes on her now.
“Well ... that perhaps you would find it less disruptive to their lessons for them to remain here at the Abbey.”
“That is perhaps true,” he conceded, “but the city offers some unique opportunities for lessons, too.”
“Of course.” She kept her tone carefully neutral.
“Do you not welcome the chance to see the sights of London, Miss Palmer?” Gabrielle asked.
Elinor chose her words carefully. “I am not averse to renewing my acquaintance with the city. However,” she turned to Adrian, “I should be happy to remain with the children here, if that pleased you, my lord.”
“It would not please me,” he said decisively. “I shall be in Town throughout the season and I want my children there, too.” He turned to Huntington. “Thomas, will you join me in the library? There are some last minute details to be settled.”
“As you will, sir,” the secretary said.
The two men left the room.
Elinor sat with the marchioness and Madame Giroux. They talked of fashions and balls and Elinor made appropriate responses, but her mind was elsewhere.
Surely a plainly dressed governess would move in circles far removed from where she might be taken for the missing Lady Elinor Richards.
Before leaving Devon, Adrian stopped at the local militia headquarters to confer with Captain Olmstead. At Adrian’s suggestion the two settled in a corner of the taproom in a nearby inn to carry on their discussion.
“Anything to report of Thompkins?” Adrian asked as the waiter left them. The courier had been at Whitsun Abbey the week before.
“Not a thing. He proceeded directly to London. Kept to himself when he stopped.”
“Did he suspect he was followed?”
“I think not. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal.”
“That eliminates that possibility, then.”
“Appears to.”
“The leak must be within my own domain, then. Hell! Damn! Blast!”
“But who? Your sister-in-law? She is French. Her companion is, too.”
“Yes. So is my chef. I doubt Gabrielle has the heart—or the frame of mind—for this kind of thing.”
My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) Page 12
