Miss Truelove Beckons (Classic Regency Romances Book 12)

by Simpson, Donna Lea

  If that was so, if he could hear her, she would find a way to bring him back. Drake was strong; he would not succumb to a mere fever.

  • • •

  “It is scandalous,” Lady Swinley muttered. “Utterly scandalous, and so I shall tell Jessica when she comes down, if she comes down! I have not seen her in days. I cannot believe she went away and came back, all without saying a word to her houseguests! Abominable treatment. And now this. She has shut my cousin in with that raving lunatic and has left them alone. Alone! Together!”

  “Drake is hardly in a condition to ravish her, Mother,” Arabella said sulkily.

  Lord Conroy entered the saloon just then and crossed to the two ladies. “I’ve heard a report I cannot but think must be false. M’valet says that your cousin, Miss Becket, has returned and is closeted alone with Drake!”

  “Absolutely true,” Arabella said. She sniffed into a handkerchief, daintily, then eyed the gentleman. He looked gratifyingly concerned. “I am so afraid for her! I tried to help, but he . . . he beat me!” She held out her arm to show a bruise she had gotten the day before when she had accidentally knocked against the bedpost.

  Lord Conroy, his dark eyes wide with horror, swiftly knelt beside her and, taking the handkerchief from her hand, dabbed at her dry eyes. He daringly pressed a kiss to the bruise. “You poor, delicate child! What were you thinking? You haven’t the strength for sickroom nursing.”

  Lady Swinley turned from the window and gazed at the nobleman, appraising him from his polished Hessions, to his immaculate jacket and breeches, to his gold watch fob, gold seal fob, and gold quizzing glass fob, all dangling on display on his waistcoat. “Of course not,” she said slowly. Then she came to a decision. “My darling girl is a delicate flower, and her bloom would soon be faded if she spent all her time in a house of sickness. And a place of such . . . such immoral goings-on! To shut an unmarried girl like True up alone with a lunatic like Lord Drake . . . anything could happen.”

  “But she went in willingly, Mother!” Arabella reminded her with a side glance.

  “Yes, well, I always did say the minx had an eye for the main chance. No better than she should be, even though she is my kin.”

  Arabella felt a little queasy at the havoc her mother was wreaking with poor True’s reputation. But her cousin had chosen her course knowing what it entailed. It was no longer any of her business, and perhaps True’s betrothal to her dull vicar protected her in societal eyes. At any rate, she must start thinking what to do for her and her mother now that a marriage to Lord Drake seemed out of the question. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Arabella announced, making a sudden decision. What was there to stay at Lea Park for? “With or without you, Mother.”

  “I shall escort both of you ladies anywhere you like, if I may be so bold as to offer. I would not rest knowing you were alone on the road.”

  Arabella turned her dimpled smile on him, full force. “We would be delighted, sir,” she said. She laid her hand on his arm and felt him quiver at her touch. How delightfully susceptible he was! And good-natured, and rich!

  Lady Swinley smiled, too. “Delighted, sir. So nice to know true gentility still survives in this world.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Darkness had fallen, the storm had played itself out and a light rain fell against the window, and still True held Drake. Horace had changed his nightshirt, and a maid had brought a fresh bowl of water. The countess had helped prepare the tea of the infusions True had brought. Then, on True’s orders they had all left, just as Drake was beginning to get restless again.

  Once more he had started the downward spiral of nightmare visions and fevered delusions, but through it all True talked, calmly, about anything and everything. She told him stories of her childhood and her sister, and about her village. And all the while she held him, stroked his hair off his forehead and fed him, bit by bit, the herbal tea, dripping it down his throat with infinite patience whenever he would let her. She felt a tension ease out of him, draining like a bad humor from his body, leaving him limp in her arms.

  Soon she knew every inch of his sleek shoulder and arm and neck muscles under the light linen of his nightshirt. Her own arms ached with the effort, but still she held him close. Once a maid came, at Lady Leathorne’s request, to bring True some broth and toast.

  “Her ladyship’s order, miss. She does not want you to be taking ill from your nursing,” the girl said, timidly advancing with the tray, eyes wide to see True holding the viscount in such a close and intimate way.

  Drake started to toss and turn at the maid’s sharp voice.

  “Thank you . . . Bess, is it? Bess. Tell her ladyship I thank her. It is just the thing. Will you bring me some fresh water for his lordship and more of the tea infusion? Lady Leathorne knows how it is to be prepared.”

  Alone again with just True, Drake settled down. He could not seem to bear anyone’s voice but her own. The evening wore on, with just occasional interruptions from the maid, and once from the countess looking in on the two of them.

  “Has the fever broken yet?” the worried mother whispered, putting her hand to his forehead.

  “Not yet,” True had to admit. “But it has had enough time to take a fierce hold of him; it will take some time to conquer. I have seen worse recover, though. I’m so touched that you trust me to nurse him. We were strangers just a month ago.”

  “Quite frankly, my dear, I’m desperate. We have had all the medical men in the area to see him, and they cannot seem to heal what they all agree is a simple fever. My fear was that he did not want to get well, and I have always thought that a necessary part of recovery. When he asked for you, I knew that you would be his good angel. How could I not trust you when Drake so clearly does?”

  True was silent, not knowing how to answer.

  The countess perched on the edge of the bed. Keeping her voice quiet, she whispered, “I believe he missed you, when you left. He expected you to come back, I think. He asked every day if Miss Swinley had received word from you yet. The nightmares started when . . .” She stopped and shook her head and looked away.

  True thought she heard the woman say, “Not fair to do that to you,” but she said no more.

  “I never promised to come back,” True said. Drake shifted a little in her arms, and she rolled her shoulders, trying to drive the ache from her body. “I was silent when he asked, though. He may have had the impression . . . but we were just friends; I didn’t think . . .” She broke off, not sure what she was trying to say.

  “You were nothing more than friends? Are you sure?” With a kind smile, and a caress for her son, the countess left, saying, “Try to get some sleep, my dear. I would not have you making yourself ill nursing my son.”

  True thought about the woman’s question. She could not say for his side, but she knew that she loved him. Drake shifted again, threw his arm over her and pulled her closer to him. She smoothed the damp cloth over his forehead and threaded her fingers through his soaked curls, lifting them off his neck and patting away the sweat.

  She must have been mad to think that, loving Drake as she did, she had a right to marry another man. It would not do. It would have been unfair to Mr. Bottleby, and even more unfair to herself. Better to remain single. When the viscount recovered she would have to decide on her future, now that she had refused the vicar, but for now she must concentrate on helping her patient.

  It seemed that for some reason she had a way of keeping him calm. Not once since she had come had he needed to be restrained, nor had he fully descended into his nightmare world. His arm tightened around her waist, and for the first time she realized how scandalous was her position, lying with a man on his bed, alone in his room.

  And yet she was among friends here, and all must understand the exigencies of this particular case. With her there he did not thrash nor suffer the awful nightmares that kept him from getting well. Surely no one would think indelicately of that which necessity demanded. Her patient murmured and shift
ed, and raised his face to True.

  “Please get better, Wy! Please. So many people love you, and I miss the brightness of your eyes, the sweetness of your smile.” Gently she laid a kiss on his lips and he murmured against them.

  “Truelove.”

  It was just a faint whisper, but she was almost sure it was her name. “I’m here, Wy, and I will not leave until you are better.” She kneaded his shoulders and back muscles, for one thing she did know was that the sick suffered from inactivity. Muscles must be kept from stiffening. He lapsed back into the deep peaceful sleep that she hoped would break his fever, with the help of the herbal infusions she had been feeding him on and off through the evening.

  Somewhere a clock sounded the hour, but time had ceased to have meaning for True, and she did not count the chimes. Hour after hour had passed, and she didn’t know if the household slept or if somewhere they were gathered playing cards, or listening to Arabella play the piano. Her body ached from staying in one position so long, but as long as Drake slept, she would not move.

  In the dim lamplight, True could see the door open. She expected Horace or Lady Leathorne, but it was Arabella who slipped in and shut the door behind her.

  “Bella,” she whispered, glad to see her cousin. “Are you better, love?”

  The girl crept up to the bed and gazed down at the entwined twosome with a mixture of curiosity and censure. “How can you . . . how can you do this?” The distaste in her voice was sharp and clear.

  Restlessly, Drake shifted.

  “This? What do you mean?”

  “Lie with him like that! Does he not become violent? What if he should take advantage of you?”

  True felt a giggle well up in her throat, but suppressed it. She did not want to shake with laughter, for it would inevitably disturb Drake. “Take advantage of me? Bella, he’s desperately ill. Fevered! It would take some sort of miracle for him to ‘take advantage’ of me. I have spent days in the sickroom before, you know; perhaps not quite in this position, but at the bedside of men and women, children, even yours, when you were little, if you remember.”

  “I know that. It’s not that I suspect you of any immoral actions, it’s just . . . he is so very large and has such strange fits.” Arabella eyed the sleeping viscount with distaste, but took a seat in a chair beside the bed. “I did not come just to visit. True, I told you an untruth before you left, and I want to get it off my conscience.”

  Gazing at her younger cousin, True thought what a combination the girl was of contradictory qualities. She thought she knew what was coming—she had pondered Arabella’s profession of love for Drake, and something about it did not ring true—but she kept her own counsel. If Bella wanted to cleanse her conscience and confess, then True would let her. She wanted so much for her cousin to find happiness, but feared that was never to be as long as she let her mother guide her actions.

  “What is it, love?”

  Arabella gazed up at her cousin and held out her hand. True took it and squeezed.

  “I told you I was in love with Lord Drake, but that was never so. I thought that you might be falling in love with him.” She stopped. Taking a deep breath, though, she started again. “Mother so wanted me to marry him and I had just found out . . .”

  “Found out what, dear?”

  Arabella colored, but shook her head. “Nothing, True; nothing important. But it’s over. I have no intention of marrying him, no matter what happens. I don’t love him, and never could. We—Mother, Lord Conroy and I—are leaving in the morning.”

  “Leaving? Where are you going? Back to Swinley?”

  “No . . . uh, Lord Conroy has invited us to visit him at his father’s home.”

  True smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Do I smell a romance in the offing? He is a very gallant gentleman.”

  Arabella shrugged.

  “Your mother is not pushing you on Lord Conroy now, is she? Oh, Bella, do not make a mistake. Do you love him? Truly?”

  “He thinks I am a pretty little widgeon,” Arabella said disparagingly. She drew herself up and took a deep breath. “But I must marry, and though he does not have pots of money like Lord Drake, his father intends to settle a small estate on him when he marries. Nathan has spoken of it already, so perhaps he does care for me in that way.”

  “But do you care for him in that way?”

  “I don’t know!” the girl said, agitated.

  Drake shifted and murmured. True released Bella’s hand and stroked her patient’s cheek. “Hush, Wy, shhh. It’s all right.” She glanced up to find her cousin’s bright green eyes fixed on her. “He gets a little restless with other voices around, but if you talk quietly, it should be all right.”

  “You are in love with him, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you touch him!”

  True felt a blush coming to her cheek, but did not answer.

  Arabella leaned forward in her chair. “I know you, True. Tell me it isn’t so.”

  “It is a moot point, my dear. I never aspired to his hand, you know. I should make a miserable viscountess, and besides, Wy only ever treated me as a brother would treat a sister.”

  Arabella gazed at her incredulously. “A brother? Oh, Lord, True, it’s a wonder God does not strike you dead as a liar! He looked at you as if you were the only woman alive, like you were a delectable, juicy plum, and he was just deciding whether to devour you or save you for later. Every time you two would come back from a walk, smelling of April and May, I would wait. Why else my fake swoon in the parlor? I thought an announcement was imminent, and was trying to stall so I could steal him away from you.”

  The girl’s candor was one of the qualities she had had in her childhood, but that had been lost. It was good, if rather embarrassing, to hear her be so blunt, and True readily forgave her for scheming to eliminate the competition. It was obvious that Lady Swinley had been pushing her daughter relentlessly, and who would ever be proof against that woman’s ruthless nature? “I wish you had just asked me, instead of wondering. You could have had him, you know, if you had just been yourself with him. He would have appreciated all your fine qualities and could have come to love you.”

  Arabella shuddered. “Ugh. I cannot imagine going through life with a man who had fits! I am not like you, True. I’m selfish, not self-sacrificing.”

  “Do you think I’m being self-sacrificing by being here with him? How little you understand, then. This is pure selfishness on my part, staying with him, being with him. I am indulging my every whim.” True stroked his hair, feeling a swell of love overwhelm her. “If it was not for my fear for his health, I would be in a kind of heaven.”

  Staring at her in disbelief, Arabella shook her head. “Yes, well, so you say. What a strange duck you are, coz. As for me, I want a man, not an invalid.”

  “He’s not an invalid, only fevered right now and troubled. You sell yourself short, my dear. I think you have come to believe yourself the image of your mother, when you aren’t like her at all.”

  Her expression softening, Arabella said, “I wish I really were the girl you see when you look at me, True, but I’m not.” There were tears in her voice, but none in her eyes. She took a deep breath and stiffened her spine, holding her head up at a proud angle. “You see me that way because you love me, and I don’t deserve it. I have been horrible to you; scheming to take Lord Drake away when any fool could see he was falling in love with you, and you with him. I would hope to see that same look in a man’s eyes someday, but I fear that love is not for such as I. Perhaps when I’m thirty and have borne my husband three sons, I will take a dashing lover who will adore me!” Her voice was gay, but hard, like flint. She stood and said, “I have to go to bed. It’s late, and we leave early.”

  “Bella,” True said, reaching out for her cousin’s hand. “If you really believe that about yourself, that I only see good in you because I love you—that’s not true, but evidently you think it is—then you must see how powerful love is. Find it for yourself, and don’t se
ttle for anything less, my dear. You do deserve it, no matter what you think.”

  Finally the tears started in Arabella’s eyes, sparkling in the lamplight. “I wish I c-could, True. I wish I could wait for love, but I cannot. Pray for me!”

  Fear clutched at True’s heart. There was something her cousin was not telling her. “Is there anything wrong, Bella? Anything—”

  “I have to go,” the girl said, gathering her skirts and turning.

  “Bella, write to me,” True said urgently. “And remember, if you ever need me, you’re welcome at the vicarage, or wherever I may be. You are always welcome. I love you, Bella.”

  Without a backward glance, Arabella fled the room, closing the door softly behind her. True thought about her cousin for long hours after she left, and then fell into a drifting sleep, to dream of the meadow and the river, and Wy sleeping on her lap in the summer sun.

  When she awoke in the morning, as Horace came in followed by Lady Leathorne, it was to find that sometime in the night, Drake’s fever had broken. His forehead was cooler than it had yet been, and he slept a more natural sleep. His mother wept openly, and Horace could not contain his satisfaction.

  “That’ll be one fer the doctors, miss! Those old humbuggers’ll be in some taking when they find out a slip of a girl knows medicatin’ better’n them!”

  But True cautioned them, “This is good, but he’s lost strength, so don’t expect him to be up and about too rapidly.”

  “But he is better? Truly?” Lady Leathorne gazed down at her son, who rested still in True’s arms.