The Last Waltz: Hearts are at stake in the game of love... (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances)

by Dorothy Mack

  If only she could convince herself that there was some real improvement, however slight, in his condition, but sadly, that wasn’t the case. The pains in various parts of his body were still severe and the episodes of delirium had not abated. Each time she hoped a period of quiet sleep might have signalled the end to the fever, she was proved wrong within an hour or two. As was the case now, she predicted with a sigh. He would be waking soon, hot and flushed with fever and crying with the pains in his limbs. She must steel herself to deal with it all and not think about the aching tiredness of her own limbs. She recognized this was due more to frustration and the struggle to keep despair at bay than to actual physical fatigue. She and Becky split the nursing chores between them, but Lord Creighton’s servants did all the rest. They no longer had to concern themselves with meal preparations, laundry, or fetching supplies. Everything moved on silent greased wheels in their cousin’s house.

  They had seen very little of Lord Creighton since their arrival at Rue Ducale. He was occupied with his military duties of course, and a sickroom was no place for a man in any case. Becky reported that he inquired for Jean-Paul daily, but Adrienne, having insisted on taking on the tedious task of night nursing, generally spent the daylight hours resting in her room. She hadn’t even been all over the house yet, but there was no denying it was an enormous establishment for a lone bachelor — fortunately for the Castles, she reminded herself quickly. Once she had met him coming in as she was leaving for the short daily walk that Becky insisted she take for exercise and fresh air. Their conversation had consisted of a brief exchange concerning Jean-Paul’s condition and Lord Creighton’s polite inquiry into her comfort in his house, which she had responded to with equal politeness and even greater brevity.

  “Adrienne, my head hurts and my arms ache.”

  At the first fretful whimpers from the bed Adrienne had risen, and now she glided over to smooth the dark hair back from her brother’s damp forehead.

  “I’ll bathe your face for you, my pet, so you will feel cooler. And Marie has just brought some delicious lemonade that the cook prepared especially for you. Would you like some now?”

  “I’m tired of lemonade.” Jean-Paul rolled his head away from her ministering hands, but the cool damp cloth felt too good to resist, so he soon quieted his movements without being pressed to do so.

  “Would you like a glass of water instead?”

  “No. I don’t like water.”

  “Then it will have to be lemonade,” she replied with a professional cheeriness that irritated Jean-Paul. The irritability was part of his illness, and Becky and Adrienne had girded themselves to deal with it patiently. When she presented the glass of lemonade, Jean-Paul downed its contents thirstily despite his earlier complaints.

  “Does that feel good on your throat?”

  “Yes, no … I don’t know. I wish my head would stop aching.”

  “It’s time for your medicine now, my pet. That will help your head.”

  “No, I don’t want it! It’s nasty!” Jean-Paul began to cry, and Adrienne feared it was going to be even more difficult than usual to get the bitter-tasting draft down his throat. She was stirring the mixture when a discreet knock sounded, followed by soft masculine tones.

  “Might I be of assistance? I heard voices as I passed the door and thought I would just pop in and wish Cousin Jean-Paul goodnight.” As Lord Creighton approached the bed, coming within range of the candles on the nightstand, the eyes of brother and sister widened in silent tribute to his magnificent appearance in full-dress uniform. The hilt of his dress sword gleamed in the candlelight, as did his fair hair when he sat down by the side of the bed. The fringed sash rippled slightly as he calmly appropriated the glass Adrienne was holding.

  “Drink it up, lad. It will help relieve your aches and pains.” The words were softly spoken, but there was an air about the colonel that discouraged disobedience. The little boy swallowed his medicine without further verbal protest, though his feelings were written clearly on his tearstained face. Adrienne asked their cousin to support the patient’s shoulders while she swiftly turned his pillows.

  “There, now, that must feel cooler,” said Lord Creighton. “You go back to sleep now, lad, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Jean-Paul’s eyes were already closing as his large cousin settled him on his pillows again. The two adults watched in silence while the rhythm of his breathing gradually steadied. When Adrienne raised her eyes at last, it was to find Lord Creighton regarding her with compassion. He pointed toward the fireplace, and she led him away from the bed after extinguishing all but one candle.

  It was a strange feeling to be sitting around a fire in the middle of the night in a strange house with a stranger who had taken over the ordering of her life. A little shudder passed through Adrienne’s slight frame as a sense of unreality plagued her.

  “You’re cold. Shall I build up the fire or fetch you a shawl?”

  Adrienne’s hand went out to the stranger’s arm when he would have opened the fire screen. “No, please, I’m not cold, I promise you I’m not, my lord.”

  Again the soft voice and the air of command. “I am your cousin Dominic, not your lord, my child.”

  “And I am not a child, Cousin Dominic.” Adrienne’s voice had regained its customary assurance. If there was also a suspicious tartness, the earl chose not to recognize it as he made her a token bow. “I stand corrected, Cousin Adrienne. Is there any improvement in Jean-Paul tonight?”

  The transitory defiance evaporated like morning mist. Her sigh barely reached him across the three feet of space between their chairs. “I don’t think so.”

  “The fever will break soon. I am sure of it.” Lord Creighton put all the confidence of which he was capable into his words, in a desire to comfort this courageous child. Something inside him was pressed to the point of pain at the sight of the slight, resolute figure in the limp, faded gown sitting opposite him, her hair glowing in the firelight, sending out sparks that rivalled the flames. There was no other sign of vitality about her tonight. Those remarkable blue-green eyes were shadowed, and he was forcibly reminded of a small woodland creature braced for a life-and-death struggle against a predator. At that moment, he knew the frustration of utter helplessness. If any action of his could bring back some of the eager life he had glimpsed at their first meeting, he would gladly perform it without counting the cost. She was too old to be offered the comfort of his physical touch, though it was a torment to keep his arms at his sides, and she was too young to accept the wisdom of the ages if it stressed acceptance of adversity and loss. She was devoting all her young strength of purpose to nursing her brother, but fear was eating away at the core of her strength. No words seemed adequate to comfort her. As a distraction, he mentioned idly that he had taken Luc with him to the field marshal’s headquarters that day.

  Quick alarm darkened the girl’s eyes as they flashed to his in protest. “Oh, please, cousin, do not encourage Luc to associate with the military! You do not know how obsessed he has been with joining the army.”

  “I think I do know,” he replied, to surprise her. “Unless I am greatly mistaken, that obsession of Luc’s lies behind your somewhat belated decision to return to your own country. Believe me, you are refining too much on a boy’s romantic notions of glory. His interest is natural enough at his age, but Luc knows he is too young to enlist. I promise you I will keep a very close eye on him.”

  Adrienne watched the firelight play over the face of her new relation as he sat at ease among the shadows of the dimly lighted bedchamber. In full light, his fair colouring and charming smile made an immediate impact on an observer, but now with the flickering shadows casting the bones of his head into relief, emphasizing the solid structure of his jaw and the strength of his broad forehead, Adrienne accepted the evidence that his surface amiability was an attractive facade for a character of bedrock strength. He sat quietly under her searching examination, and there was understanding in
the partially veiled eyes noting the small signs of relaxation in her taut posture as she mentally shifted some of the burdens she had been carrying onto his broad shoulders.

  “I hope you will trust me in this matter?” He held her glance and was pleased when hers did not waver.

  “Yes, I trust you, Cousin Dominic.”

  “Good.” Strong white teeth gleamed in the firelight as the earl rose unhurriedly. For a moment, his hand closed over Adrienne’s shoulder in a friendly clasp on his way to the door. “I’ll leave you to your vigil, my dear, with the hope that Jean-Paul will be over the worst very shortly now. I will not suggest allowing someone else to sit up with him because I know you would not consider it, but try to get some rest on the daybed over there. The night hours seem very long when one is waiting. Goodnight, Adrienne.”

  “Goodnight, D-Dominic.”

  Lord Creighton headed for his own quarters, thankful for the chance that had brought him past the sickroom when Jean-Paul had been awake and coherent. Tonight he and his prickly female cousin had reached an understanding, and optimism surged through him that this unexpected episode should end happily. He was convinced that the child would recover his health in time. Transferring the youngster to England would have to wait, of course, but there was no reason why the expanded household should not be able to dwell together amicably during the interim. His thoughtful expression dissolved into amusement as he recalled Adrienne’s hesitant use of his name in bidding him goodnight. Funny, he had not noticed before that her English was at all accented, but he had detected the slightest trace of a French intonation in the way she pronounced his name just now. He rather liked it.

  He liked it rather less the following afternoon, however, when a somewhat breathless enunciation of his name heralded her untimely entrance into the study.

  “Dominic, oh, Dominic, the fever has broken at last! Ohhh, I … I beg your pardon!”

  At the first vibrant words, two figures broke apart from a close embrace and Lord Creighton called, “No, Adrienne, don’t go!”

  As the girl hesitated in the doorway, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment, he led a faintly smiling dark-haired woman across the room toward her, never removing his arm from about the woman’s elegant waist. “That’s wonderful news about Jean-Paul,” he declared warmly. “Pamela, my dear, may I present my cousin Miss Adrienne Castle? Adrienne, this is my fiancée, Lady Tremayne.”

  “How do you do, ma’am?” When Adrienne dipped a polite curtsy, Lady Tremayne produced a soprano trill of laughter and extended her fingers to the girl.

  “Please, Miss Castle, I am not so much older than you as to warrant such a mark of respect.”

  Adrienne allowed her fingers to be taken for the correct half-second while hotly aware that the colour flushing her skin was intensified under the assessing stare of the well-dressed brunette. Lord Creighton, who seemed to notice nothing amiss in his cousin’s tongue-tied embarrassment or his betrothed’s smiling watchfulness, remarked with engaging smugness, “I had a feeling last night that Jean-Paul would shortly turn the corner. Are the aches and pains gone too?”

  “Not entirely, but he is more comfortable and demanding food, which is such a relief. I had just gone to check with Becky on arising, and now I must go to the kitchen to order a meal to be prepared for him. If you will excuse me, Lady Tremayne, Cousin Dominic?”

  “No, stay a moment, Adrienne, please,” begged the earl as the young girl began to edge backward toward the door. “Lady Tremayne actually came to call on you and Miss Beckworth this afternoon, with no expectation of seeing me. It was just a fortunate accident that brought me back to the house at the same time.”

  Adrienne had been all too conscious of a cool amber-eyed regard from her cousin’s stunningly beautiful fiancée, so she didn’t miss the sudden intimate exchange of glances between the engaged pair. Her eyes fell as the uncomfortable feeling of being de trop held her awkwardly in place, but the earl was going on cheerfully:

  “I regret that I must return directly to headquarters, but perhaps you might offer Pamela tea, my child, so the two of you may have a chance to become acquainted.”

  “Of course, cousin,” she murmured dutifully, keeping her eyes averted for fear he would divine her impulse to slay him where he stood beaming paternal goodwill impartially on both women.

  Lady Tremayne came unexpectedly to the rescue. Tucking her hand under the earl’s elbow in a consciously proprietary gesture, she looked up at him with a confiding air. “I very much fear, dearest Dominic, that I have chosen an inopportune moment to call on Miss Castle and Miss Beckworth. I am persuaded Miss Castle would prefer to offer me tea at a more convenient time.” Her understanding smile played over both members of her audience, and Adrienne’s heartbeats increased as she prayed that her reluctance to engage her cousin’s fiancée tête-à-tête was not as apparent as she feared. “Besides,” Lady Tremayne was explaining brightly, “now that the dear little boy is on the mend at last, Dominic and I must discuss a new date for our betrothal dinner.” The smile she focused on Adrienne showed small even white teeth but did not reach those cool alert eyes. “You must know that your brother’s illness necessitated a postponement of the official announcement of our engagement,” she added in careless explanation before redirecting the smile at Lord Creighton. “So, if you will kindly escort me to my carriage, Dominic, I will beg Miss Castle’s indulgence in setting another time for feminine tea-drinking.”

  Adrienne’s shoulders went back in unconscious reaction to the sweetly issued challenge. The earl looked at her expectantly. “Would you be free to take tea with Becky and me tomorrow afternoon, Lady Tremayne?” she invited with unsmiling civility.

  “Thank you, Miss Castle, I shall be delighted. I’ll look forward to furthering our acquaintance at that time.”

  Adrienne murmured appropriately and excused herself to go to the kitchen, forcing her feet to a measured tread that would not proclaim her sense of escape.

  The kitchen staff was elated to hear of the invalid’s improvement and set about with a will to prepare a meal to tempt his returning appetite. Adrienne thanked them before retracing her steps to her bedchamber. She really ought to go straight in to Becky to acquaint her with the fact that they were to entertain Dominic’s betrothed at tea on the morrow, but she passed the sickroom without entering, her feet carrying her to her own apartment next along the corridor. She had a few words with Marie, who was just finishing the routine cleaning of the room.

  When the maid departed, Adrienne stood before the dressing table staring at her reflection without seeing it, since a vision of Lady Tremayne was superimposed over her own, signalling that the memory of the awkward scene in the study could no longer be kept at bay. That ought to teach her to control the impulsiveness so wisely deplored by Becky! If she had waited for permission to enter after her perfunctory tap on the panelled door, she would have been spared this uncomfortable conviction of having blundered tactlessly, but no, her one thought on seeing the blessed improvement in Jean-Paul had been to share it with Dominic, and she had raced down the stairs to inquire from Moulton if his lordship was at home. It was typical of her to have flown to the study immediately on being advised of her cousin’s whereabouts, without bothering to check whether it was convenient for him to receive her. This was the second time she had barged in unannounced on Dominic, and on both occasions she had reaped her just deserts in embarrassment.

  Tentative fingers crept up to her mouth without conscious will. She had never before witnessed a passionate embrace between a man and a woman, and she had found herself unaccountably weak in the knees, a rare happening she couldn’t attribute to running down only one flight of stairs. In addition to this passing weakness, she had been too stunned initially to effect a quick retreat. Again she regretted that impulsive streak. If she had waited to speak until properly in the room, she might have managed to withdraw unseen. Instead she had been forced to suffer an introduction to the lovely poised woman who was her cousin�
�s betrothed, under circumstances that forcibly brought home to her the Castles’ anomalous position in his life. Had she been previously informed of the existence of a fiancée, she would have been prepared for Lady Tremayne’s loveliness; at the very least, she could have avoided appearing at such a personal disadvantage. Her eyes dwelt in sudden disgust on the outmoded and patently inexpensive gown that covered her slimness. Thanks to Becky’s dressmaking talents it fit her well enough, but she could not regard her appearance as anything but dowdy after meeting the elegant Lady Tremayne.

  Dominic’s intended bride had been absolutely stunning in a pomona-green carriage dress of a lightweight cambric ornamented by rows of self-frills around the hem. Pale yellow silk gloves of openwork had matched a hat of satin straw set at a jaunty angle atop smooth dark hair pulled back from her face and confined in a swirl at the nape of her regally held head. She was tall for a woman and carried her marvellous figure proudly. She and Dominic had made a handsome pair whose combined magnificence had rendered Adrienne insignificant to the point of invisibility.

  This was the conclusion she came to after an intent scrutiny of her nondescript features in the mirror. Adrienne had never really considered her physical attributes seriously. There had been little incentive to do so in the past. Her mother had died before she was sixteen, and she had slipped into maturity with no one taking much notice. With the exception of two brief periods of affluence when her father’s luck had been running strong, their life had been a day-to-day existence for the most part. The boys’ futures were much more important than hers. That was the overriding concern that motivated Becky and herself always.

  “And nothing has changed,” she reminded the downcast girl in the looking glass. “It doesn’t signify if you are cast in the shade by Lady Tremayne and every other lady presently in Brussels. All that matters is that you and Becky, with Dominic’s assistance, should succeed in transporting the boys safely to England.”

  With this restatement of her priorities hopefully assimilated, Adrienne left her bedchamber and proceeded to Jean-Paul’s room, where she informed Becky of the experience that awaited them on the morrow. She congratulated herself that she had kept her voice uninflected, but since she had her head down, making work by unnecessarily straightening out the patient’s bedcovers, she missed the sharp glance Becky sent her way.