Archer couldn’t help but smile, because her words were true. Perdita did take care of everyone. And perhaps it was time she allowed herself to be taken care of. Standing, he laid a companionable hand on the maid’s shoulder. “I do thank you, ma’am,” he reiterated. “And now, if you don’t mind my leaving you here with her, I must go inform Lord Dunthorp of her condition and find someone to stand watch over the house.”
“I don’t understand, Lord Archer,” she said, her gray brows furrowed. “I thought it was an accident.”
Not wishing to let on more than he was ready to, Archer merely raised his brows. “I am just being extra cautious,” he assured her. “Nothing more.”
He left before she could ask him any further questions. The problem with old family retainers, he decided, was that they expected one to tell them the whole truth of the matter. And in this case, he wasn’t prepared to tell even a fraction of the truth. Not only because it might endanger Perdita’s life, but also because to say the words aloud would make Archer feel like an insane fool. Even so, the situation threatened to strain the bounds of credulity no matter whom he decided to tell. For Perdita hadn’t simply been accosted for no reason. He was quite sure the man in the park today had intended to do something much worse.
To kill her.
And he could hardly admit such a thing to the dowager’s maid without being prepared to talk the matter over with the dowager herself. Something he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever be prepared to do.
Hurrying down the stairs, he went in search of Lord Dunthorp.
* * *
He found Dunthorp in the little drawing room, his fingers drumming repeatedly on the mantel over the enormous old-fashioned fireplace. “Is she well? Dammit, Lisle, you must tell me,” the other man said as soon as he saw Archer.
“Easy,” Archer said. “She is fine. She’ll have a bump on her head for a few weeks, but other than that the doctor thinks she’ll make a full recovery.”
The degree to which Dunthorp’s shoulders relaxed said a great deal about what he’d thought the duchess had been up against. “Thank God,” he said finally. “I was so afraid there would be permanent damage and that she’d blame me…”
“Well, never fear,” Archer retorted smoothly. “She is quite well and will doubtless be calling for tea soon.”
To his surprise Dunthorp moved forward and took Archer’s hand between his massive paws before he could stop him, and began pumping it up and down. “Thank you, Lord Archer,” the other man said firmly. “If you’d not been there to take the matter in hand I have little doubt that the duchess would be facing a much more serious injury. Perdita and I will see to it that you are handsomely rewarded once we are wed.”
Any pleasure he might have taken from Dunthorp’s effusive praise was canceled out by the annoyance he felt at the way Dunthorp linked his own name with Perdita’s. In a manner which Archer was quite sure Perdita had not and would not have sanctioned. It was opportunism at its worst and Archer wondered for a moment whether he should call the fellow to task now, or simply let Perdita cut him down to size later. At last he decided to go ahead and nip the other man’s encroachment in the bud, especially considering that Perdita needed her rest.
“I’m sorry to say it, old fellow,” he began, “but if you mean to convince the duchess of your serious intentions, then simply pronouncing your engagement as if it were a fait accompli is not the way to go about things. Especially when one considers that the widowed duchess has suffered a head injury. She may have forgotten some of her memory, but she hasn’t lost her mind, you see.”
As Archer continued to speak, the other man’s face grew redder and redder until, finally, he seemed to burst like a bladder filled with air. “How dare you, sir?” Dunthorp clenched his fists at his sides in rage.
But Archer was not to be easily cowed. “I dare, sir, because I have known the lady for some five years now and do not believe she has ever expressed the intention of marrying you. Oh, she’s considered it, of that I’m sure. But that is hardly the same thing as agreeing. Especially if one considers your exchange earlier this morning.”
Dunthorp’s jaw clenched and his fists shifted back and forth at his side, as if he were unable to decide whether to take a shot at Archer or not. Archer suspected not. Men like Dunthorp were never quite sanguine with the notion of being hit back, no matter how eager they might be to throw the first punch.
“You have overstepped your bounds, sir,” he said, his teeth bared like a cur protecting a bone. “I will allow the lady to tell me whether she will or won’t have me. Not some hanger-on, with delusions of his own importance.”
His shoulders raised in a shrug, Archer said, “Suit yourself. Though I’m afraid that the duchess won’t be able to see you today. She’s had quite an upset this morning and I should like to see her rest before she gets involved in monetary matters again too soon.”
At the mention of money, Dunthorp’s mouth opened and shut like an angry fish. Finally, he said. “I won’t stand here and be insulted.”
“I perfectly understand, Lord Dunthorp,” Archer said, flicking an infinitesimal speck of dust from the arm of his coat. “Pray, feel free to sample the insults somewhere—anywhere—but here. I feel sure once she hears your tender proposal to love, cherish, and protect her money for the rest of your days, the duchess will be beside herself with delight.”
Dunthorp bit back a curse and stalked out. Archer could hear the other man’s every step as he stormed down the stairs and out the front door.
Suddenly exhausted, Archer collapsed into the nearest chair and scraped his hands over his face.
“I never did like Dunthorp overly much,” a voice rang out from the other side of the room. “The nerve of the fellow thinking to just assume an engagement because the duchess was unconscious.”
Archer was on his feet as soon as the first words emerged from his visitor’s mouth.
“Con!”
Seated in the shadows of the drawing room was the Earl of Coniston, a glass of Ormond’s best brandy in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other.
“It looks as if you need a bit of assistance, my dear fellow.”
That, thought Archer, was a gross understatement.
Four
When Perdita awoke again, it was to see faint light through her bedroom window. It was difficult to determine whether it was very early morning or very late afternoon. While she was sleeping someone had removed her clothes and dressed her in a nightgown, and her hair was neatly braided in one long plait down her back. Remembering her maid’s hysterics yesterday—or today, or whenever her accident had happened—she supposed that someone else had been called in to act as maid for her. For a flash she remembered Archer seated on the side of her bed, but though the thought sent a jolt of electricity to her belly, she dismissed it immediately. Not only would he not do something so unseemly, but she suddenly remembered Simmons, the dowager’s maid, had been here. It had likely been she who undressed her.
Grateful that the only remnant of the horrific headache she’d sustained from her accident was a faint throb, she threw back the covers and padded over to the dressing room to use the chamber pot and wash her face and hands. Feeling much more the thing, she donned a robe and stepped back into her bedchamber and pulled the bell.
Instead of a maid or footman, however, the knock at her door revealed a remarkably disheveled Archer, his hair sticking up as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and his coat having been abandoned. Closing the door behind him, he stepped forward, and Perdita found herself stepping back until she stopped at the bed.
“I apologize for invading your bedchamber,” he said, looking sheepish, “but Simmons had to go back to care for the dowager and your own maid is still sedated.”
“Surely another of the maids could have been assigned to care for me,” Perdita said, her heart beating far more quickly than it should. “Anyone will do.”
Twin flags of color appeared on his cheeks. “That
is true enough,” he agreed, looking at the floor. “I just … that is to say … I wanted to see you.”
Her legs suddenly giving out from beneath her, Perdita sat down on the edge of the bed. “Oh.”
He thrust a hand through his hair. “I was just worried about you, and I didn’t trust another one of the maids to look after you given what happened in the park this morning.” His expression turned fierce then. “In fact, I don’t know that I trust anyone to look after you at this point but myself. And Trevor, Con, or their wives.”
Her heart was beating faster now, but for another reason. “Surely you don’t think one of the servants would do something to harm me,” she said quickly, thinking about the older members of the staff who had been with Ormond House since the dowager had married the old duke. “I mean, I know what happened to Isabella, but her maid was newly hired. These servants have been here for years.”
“And might just as easily be convinced to harm you as a new servant, I’m afraid,” Archer said, his blue eyes serious. “Or maybe someone who holds you responsible for Gervase’s death. That has been the context of the threats against you, as well as Isabella and Georgina, hasn’t it?”
Thinking back to the tableau at the Sumrall Ball, Perdita nodded silently. Though her sister’s and Georgina’s assailants had seemed to wish them harm for reasons specific to them that had nothing to do with Gervase’s death, they had been recruited by someone else. Someone who linked all three of them to Gervase’s death. With Perdita, however, the motive had been to threaten her because of her husband’s death from the beginning. Not only had the notes said that they knew what she’d done last season, but they’d also asked why she would murder her husband. And of course there had been the little reenactment, for the members of the ton to see, of the night of her husband’s death. Yes, whoever wished to make her suffer did so as punishment for what she’d done—or what they thought she’d done—to Gervase. And Archer was right. Any of the servants who had been with the household since Gervase was born could be behind the threats against her. A chill ran up her spine as she contemplated the fact that she was safe nowhere. Not in her home at least.
“What can I do?” she asked him, schooling her features not to show the utter panic she felt at what he’d just suggested. It was one thing to indulge in hysterics in the privacy of her own bedchamber where no one could see her, but to stand before Archer trembling with fear was something she could not do. She wasn’t sure why, but every fiber of her being rebelled against the notion.
As if he sensed the way she held her emotions in check, Archer stepped closer. “You need not do a thing,” he said softly. “I’ll keep watch over you.”
“But that’s…” She tried to come up with a rational reason why she should object. But if the truth were known, she felt only an overwhelming sense of relief at knowing he’d protect her. More than any man she’d ever known, Archer had always felt to Perdita like a solid bet. Someone she could rely on no matter how he frustrated her or made her want to tear her hair out in vexation. He could be as stubborn as a mule, but he could also be warm and funny and caring. All of which was why she couldn’t allow herself to fall under his spell if he was going to be spending more time in her company. It was all too tempting, but she could not allow herself to fall under any man’s spell again. Ever. “That’s unnecessary,” she finished lamely.
“Not if you wish to stay safe,” he returned. “In fact, I’d say it’s quite necessary.”
It was difficult to argue with him when she was so weak. It was quite unfair. But she would do it all the same.
“My safety is not your responsibility,” she said as a sudden wave of weariness washed over her. “You know it’s not.” She heard the fatigue in her voice, and almost involuntarily lay down upon the bed. She should feel embarrassed, but she was past that. The pillow felt so good beneath her cheek, and she couldn’t have risen if she’d tried.
“Not quite my responsibility,” he agreed, but she no longer remembered what she’d said to prompt his words. “But I don’t mind.” He pulled the covers up to her shoulders and Perdita felt more protected than she had in years. “I’m your friend.”
He stepped back from the bed. “And you’ll be happy to know reinforcements have arrived.”
She blinked against the heaviness of her eyelids. “What ‘forcements’?” she muttered, wishing she could stay awake for what she was sure was a very important conversation.
“Lord and Lady Coniston are here,” he said. “And Ormond and Isabella as well.”
But why? she said, though his lack of a response told her that she’d not spoken the words aloud.
“Go to sleep, Perdita,” she heard him say. “We will keep you safe.”
And unable to fight sleep any longer, she let herself drift off.
* * *
Archer had just shut Perdita’s door behind him, the housekeeper having agreed to sit with her for a bit while he went down to report on her progress to the others, when a commotion at the front entrance drew his attention.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this at once?” the dowager demanded, on seeing him descend the staircase. “I am still the matriarch of this family even if my grandson and that wife of his wish to see me relegated to the dower house!”
He might have received these complaints with a sharper tone if he hadn’t seen how pale the dowager was beneath the powder she wore. “I apologize, Duchess,” he said, stepping forward to bow over the hand she extended to him. “I hadn’t any thought beyond seeing to it that Perdita was taken care of. Of course you were worried.”
Inclining her head in acknowledgment of the apology, the dowager said in a more conciliatory tone, “When Simmons informed me that she had been attacked in the park like a commoner, I do not mind telling you that I was taken aback. It is simply unheard of. What can the world be coming to when a duchess cannot even ride on the row without being accosted like the veriest fishwife, I ask you?”
“I agree that the situation is most unacceptable, Duchess,” Archer said, amused despite himself. He offered the old woman his arm. “Won’t you allow me to escort you to the drawing room? I believe Ormond and his lady are there.”
He had received word that they’d arrived while he was looking after Perdita.
She took his arm, even as she asked querulously, “What? Are they in town again? In my day ladies had the decency to remove themselves from the public gaze when expecting a happy event. But I daresay I shouldn’t expect anything else from my goddaughter for all that I know she was raised to know better.”
Archer forebore to mention that her own drawing room was hardly in the public gaze, but simply nodded and agreed with the old woman as they processed up the stairs and into the brightly lit drawing room.
“Godmama!” Isabella cried upon seeing the dowager in the doorway. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. I was planning to come pay a call on you tomorrow.”
As the duke, the duchess, and Lord and Lady Coniston greeted the dowager, Archer took a moment to cross to the sideboard and pour himself a brandy. If nothing else, the alcohol would settle his nerves, which were still on alert at the idea of just how close he’d come to losing Perdita.
When he turned back to the room at large it was to see that Ormond was watching him with something akin to sympathy. Which made sense since the other man knew full well what it was like to see the woman he loved in danger. For that matter so did Coniston.
“Since you are all here,” the dowager said abruptly, interrupting Georgina who was in the middle of asking after a shared acquaintance, “I want to know what you mean to do to ensure Perdita’s safety.”
To his surprise, Archer suddenly felt the eyes of the room upon him.
“I’m hardly in a position to dictate to Perdita on the matter of her safety,” he said, then drained his glass. “She is as stubborn as anyone I’ve ever met. And she’ll hardly listen to the likes of me.”
“Piffle,” the dowager said with disgust. “Don
’t pretend we haven’t eyes in our heads, Lord Archer. I know well enough that my granddaughter trusts your opinion. Didn’t she listen to you on the matter of the butcher? If not for your counsel the household might still be patronizing that extortionist Hamilton. What can the man have been thinking to charge such a price for an inferior joint of beef, I ask you?”
Archer did not dare point out that the matter of a butcher who was overcharging the household was not the same as someone trying to cause Perdita bodily harm. It would do no good. Besides, he really did think Perdita was stubborn. That didn’t mean he would abandon the field, however.
“You’re right,” he said, watching with amusement as the dowager preened at how quickly he’d agreed with her. “I will see to it that she’s kept safe.”
“But how?” the dowager demanded, her pleasure turning to annoyance.
“Yes, Archer,” Con said with a suspiciously innocent expression. “How?”
“I cannot tell you,” Archer said with asperity. “Otherwise whoever wishes her harm might learn the details. It is too delicate a situation for me to give all the details away.”
He was precluded from saying anything more by a knock on the drawing room door and the appearance of the dowager’s maid, Simmons.
“I beg your pardon, Your Graces, my lords, my lady,” she said to the assembled company, “but, Duchess, we must return to the dower house before Dr. Johnson arrives.”
The mulish set of the dowager’s jaw told Archer that she was not pleased at the interruption, but after some silent communication passed between the two women, the older woman sagged a little. “I suppose I must be off,” she said to the others. “But I expect you,” she said, nodding toward Archer, “to keep me apprised of developments on the matter we discussed.”
Archer bowed to acknowledge the order and the dowager seemed to relax a bit. Allowing Simmons to assist her to stand, she left the room, leaving nothing but silence in her wake.
“Well,” Isabella said finally, “that was pleasant.”
Why Lords Lose Their Hearts Page 4
