But if he were to learn of her past, would he still gift her with pretty jewelry and bold, romantic flattery? Would he still hold her in his arms and bring her body alive with glorious passion?
Kimberly’s face turned sly, as if she could smell indecision like curls of invisible smoke in the air. Picking up the ear bobs Helena had placed on the dressing table, she huffed with scorn. “He brings ye baubles bought with yer own money.”
Helena snatched them out of her hand. Kimberly sneered and gave an ugly laugh. “He loves yer money, not ye, and he’ll show kindness only to keep the golden goose content.”
With a cry, Helena pushed Kimberly away. “Get out of my room!”
Smirking, Kimberly nodded. “As ye wish.”
Helena watched her leave, then went to her dressing table. White knuckled, her hands gripped the edge. She stared at her reflection, then down at the ear bobs.
Bought with her money. It was true.
She knew she was foolish to allow anything Kimberly had said to take root inside her, but she had spoken truth. Adam had not married her out of anything close to affection. He hadn’t even pretended it was so.
He’d never spoken a word of anything even close to love.
It was true he was a kind man, even a good man in some ways, for all his faults. He desired her, but that meant nothing. He’d bedded her out of simple lust, no mean feat for a man as virile as he. It meant nothing other than a night’s pleasure.
Of course. Of course, she must remember the facts were so plain, so indelibly clear. She didn’t need vindictive Kimberly to point this out to her. She should know better.
Her mother had taught her better.
When Helena began to feel ill one day the following week, she immediately thought of the possibility that she had conceived. Now that she was clearer on the specifics of how it worked, she knew the frequency with which she and Adam came together made it likely.
Her womanly courses started within a few days, and her hopes were dashed. The sickness increased along with a heavy dose of grief. She felt weak and nauseous most of the day, and head-splitting aches made getting out of bed impossible.
The village surgeon was of the opinion that these maladies were the result of poor blood. He called the leech and she was bled. The nightmares, which had so obligingly receded when Adam had come home, returned. She was afraid to sleep. She didn’t eat.
Adam’s concern knew no bounds. He talked of bringing surgeons in from York, but Helena said she didn’t want any more bleedings or purgings. She pleaded so piteously that he relented, although it drove him to near madness to see how frail she had become in just a matter of days. He had never felt so frustratingly helpless, so insanely worried in all his life.
Then she began to recover and he thought the crisis had passed.
The wind blew cold in December in this part of England. It moved the snow into immense drifts. They covered the landscape like water, filling in gullies and concealing everything under the flat, dry, crystalline surface. Adam liked the view. It made everything appear different, obscured by the blanket of white—smoother, filling in the imperfections. The wintry fairyland was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, Adam decided.
The thought surprised him. He was actually growing fond of this godforsaken north country.
It was warm here by the fire. He took another sip of the rum drink Mrs. Kent had brought him and continued to stare out the window. His brow was furrowed in worry, and his thoughts, although calmed somewhat by the scenery, were vaguely troubled.
Helena’s recent illness had him uneasy, but she was recovering well. He shouldn’t be worried, but he was.
He sighed. At least she was on the mend, and soon she’d be as good as—
Was that smoke? He looked harder at the scene in front of him. Out over the back meadow lay the stables. He could have sworn he had seen smoke rising.
Yes! There it was—ugly black smoke barely noticeable before the wind whipped it away. “Fire!” he yelled, racing out of the room. He yelled for the head footman. “Jack! Jack! Call the staff. Fire in the stables.”
Through the kitchens, he shouted, stopping to grab Maddie and round up her assistants, getting them started with gathering cook pots for water. The scullery maids he sent off for the grooms, who were taking their midday meal in the servants’ hall. Someone was dispatched to get Lord Rathford.
By the time they were gathered in the front hall, he already had donned his boots and redingote. “Let’s go,” he commanded, and they set off.
The snow made the going difficult. It was hip high at some spots, and they had to wade through. Adam’s heart was pounding with both the effort of his movements and the panic blooming in his chest as they drew closer and he saw the boiling smoke spewing from the roof increase. He was thinking of the horses—Kepper, too! Where the devil was the man? Was he safe?
Adam tucked his chin in and strode on. He remembered Cain and his bitch and their pups, and gnashed his teeth at his slow progress.
The wind buffeted him, seeming to lift him up and carry him down the slope. The drift was thick here. He stumbled, went down on one knee, so the snow was up to his chest. He got up and pressed on. Behind him, the men who had come with him labored.
He reached the doors and flung them open. Heat hit him, knocking him back a step or two. The sound of the fire and the scream of the wind was deafening. Fire and wind—it was a bad combination. It would spread the flames fast within the building, although the thick blanket of snow should, hopefully, keep it isolated to the stables.
He shouted orders to the men, directing them to get the horses out. He ran to the unused stall where Cain and his brood slept.
It was empty. Looking around, he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Cain was smart. He would have gotten the pups out. Adam raced down the aisle and began flinging open doors to the empty stalls. He had to be sure.
The thick smoke stung his lungs. He heard the shouts of the men as they yanked and pulled on terrified horses. The neighing was terrible. One of the beasts bolted past Adam, its head covered with a man’s coat. Thankfully, it was heading for the open doors. A manservant chased after, smacking the panicked gelding on the rump to get it going.
“All out, sir!” Jack shouted.
“Kepper—is he safe?”
Jack nodded. “He was in the back. Out cold. We found him, sir, not to worry.”
Drunk? Or was he hurt? Adam didn’t have time to ask. “There were a litter of pups in here. Did you see them?” He could barely get the words out, his throat was so raw from the heat and the acrid smoke.
“No, sir. The water line is going. I’m off to help there.”
“Let’s go,” he yelled, and the two men joined the effort to save the now evacuated building.
Adam selected a few men from the water brigade and began packing the middle of the building with snow. They filled troughs with the white stuff and carted it in. The heat was intense, so the snow melted in moments. The resulting moisture created a barrier to slow the fire down. It might be possible to save at least part of the stables, they hoped. Up into the rafters they climbed, to drench everything in sight.
On the other side of the barn and outside, the men were having some success. The conflagration seemed to be lessening. Halfway down a loft ladder, Adam paused to catch his breath and survey the situation. If they had indeed weakened the intensity of the flames, they might just have a chance.
He saw something then, outside, on the edge of the woods. “Who is that?” he called down, pointing to the shape that wavered in the billowing smoke. Someone shouted an answer, something Adam couldn’t hear. Another man, one of the footmen, was already moving toward the figure, gesturing wildly.
In a gust of wind, the smoke cleared, and he got a good view of the person. Adam started. Helena! She was dressed in a loose robe tied snugly at her waist. What did she think she was doing here, dressed like that?
But she was just standing there, starin
g off in another direction, as if unmindful of the tragic drama going on only a short distance away. What was the matter with her?
Adam jumped down, landing in the soaked hay littering the stable floor, and ran out the door toward her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The door leading to the back gardens burst open and Adam came in, startling Mrs. Kent. In his arms, he held the unconscious body of his wife.
He stood in the entranceway, his eyes wild, his hair plastered to his head, dripping wet. His lips were drawn back in a snarl. Feet braced apart, he stood motionless for a moment when he saw the housekeeper.
His voice was sharp, urgent. “Get hot water, quickly, up to your mistress’s room. She’s drenched to the bone and frozen solid.”
“My God!” Mrs. Kent lifted a trembling hand to her lips. “What happened?”
“She was down by the stables,” he said, striding purposefully across the floor.
The housekeeper followed on his heels, beside herself with worry. “Was she in the fire?” she squeaked. “She isn’t harmed, is she?”
“I don’t think so. I have to get a better look at her.” Helena’s hair dragged on the floor as Adam took the stairs two at a time. “Please hurry, Mrs. Kent.”
The housekeeper ran to the kitchen.
Upstairs, Adam laid Helena gently in the bed. She was very still. Too still, and he found himself fumbling against her clammy skin, desperately seeking a pulse. Ignoring the stabbing beat of his heart, he willed himself to remain calm.
Helena’s eyes fluttered open. He leaned forward, his voice urgent. “Helena, it’s me. Adam. Can you hear me?”
“Adam?” Her voice was so desperately faint. The slightest of furrows creased her smooth brow.
“What the devil were you doing out there? You were half frozen to death.” He began undoing the buttons down the front of the dressing gown. There were a cursed lot of them and the damned thing was made of wool. “Why are you all wet?”
“The fire, Adam,” she said weakly. He could barely hear her. “Cain…”
“Cain is out,” he said, working to undo her buttons. He hoped it were true about the dog. “The pups, too.”
“The horses…
“All safe,” he replied. The dressing gown was giving him a hell of a time. “What happened to you, Helena?”
“I saw the smoke.”
She was out of her head, he realized, and gave up trying to get any information. Tugging at the garment, he finally got the thing open and began the arduous task of pulling the thick, wet wool over her shoulders. It clung to her skin, and it was very heavy. He grabbed bunches of her skirts and yanked, trying to work the garment down that way.
That was when he saw something fall out of her pocket. He reached down and picked it up. As he uncurled his fingers, the breath whooshed out of him in a rush.
Faggots. She had faggots in her pocket.
Mrs. Kent came in and he shoved the incriminating things in the back of his trouser waistband, then adjusted his coat. “Help me get these clothes off. They are wet and I can barely budge them.”
“Dear Lord,” Mrs. Kent exclaimed, putting down her burden and rushing to the bedside. Taking over, she made short shrift of the nightdress. “Go get the tea,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s on the tray I brought.”
Mrs. Kent had Helena stripped and dressed in a fresh night rail and tucked under the covers by the time he had poured the water with shaking hands and steeped the tea, then fixed it with cream and sugar. He wasn’t sure that was how she liked it, but damn it, he’d make sure she drank it.
Mrs. Kent was toweling Helena’s dirty hair dry. “Do you have any idea how this happened?”
Adam shook his head. Helena’s head lolled and her heavy-lidded eyes looked at him dully.
“Is she drunk?” Mrs. Kent asked quietly.
“I don’t think so. Her speech is clear and there’s no smell of anything. She does seem drugged, though. Does she…do you know if she’s apt to use laudanum or anything else?”
“We’ve nothing in this house like that. She’s not acted this way before. Of course, she has been ill. It could be a fever.”
Adam didn’t think that explanation adequate, but he had no other. He sat on the edge of the bed and brought the tea to Helena’s lips. “Drink this, love.”
She made a slight grimace and turned her face away. He wasn’t going to be discouraged. “Come, Helena, drink it. It will warm you.”
Mrs. Kent pushed his hand away and in one smooth motion brought the towel she had wrapped around Helena’s hair to her mistress’s face just in time. The sound of retching was muffled.
“She is ill,” Mrs. Kent said with concern. “Perhaps the ague, and right after the other illness, it could have her disoriented. Send Jack for the surgeon.”
A thin arm came up to flail somewhat wildly. Helena didn’t turn her head. Adam understood. She was trying to reach out to him, to keep him from doing what Mrs. Kent had suggested.
Indecision tore at him. He knew Helena feared and despised the frumpy surgeon, and Adam was inclined to agree with her. The man seemed a sadist, always wanting to let blood or scourge the body to release the ill humors, he said. To Adam, it seemed only to weaken Helena. Her improvement had come when he had banished the stupid man from the house.
“Let her rest,” he said at last. “If she’s not better by evening, we’ll call him.”
Tenderly, Mrs. Kent wiped Helena’s sweat-beaded face with the corner of the towel. “Poor thing,” she muttered. “Maybe she can take some of that tea now, Mr. Mannion.”
“Helena?” he asked, proffering the cup.
Helena sat back, managing to say in a squeaking voice, “Please, no.”
“All right.” He put the cup aside, taking her hand. “When you’re ready, I’ll make you a fresh cup. Go to sleep now.”
She nodded, a slight bob of her head, and closed her eyes.
“I’ll stay with her,” Mrs. Kent volunteered.
“No. I will.”
“You’ve got to get back to the fire, sir. I can sit with the mistress.”
“It was well under control when I left to bring your mistress home.” He looked down at his sleeping wife and fought the grip of anxiety that twisted in the pit of his belly. “Just…just stay for a moment while I go change. I’m stained with soot and I’ve gotten mud all over the carpets.”
“Don’t rush. I’ll be here.”
Adam exited the room, reaching behind him as he headed down the hall to his room. Extracting the pack of faggots, he gazed at them thoughtfully. There was an explanation. He’d ask Helena when she was feeling better.
Yet what answers could she give to put this matter satisfactorily to rest?
He thought of the ear bobs, and of her inordinate nervousness when they had turned up in their food. As he stripped off his stained clothes and quickly washed in the cold water still in the commode, he knew he had to accept the fact that something was very, very wrong with Helena.
Adam’s worst fears were realized when a chill set in and Helena began to shiver. She was sweating profusely, yet calling for more blankets, a bigger fire. She began to speak nonsense, and he knew she was having delirium. He sat by her side, wiping her brow, holding her hand. At one point, he lay beside her and wrapped her in his arms, giving her his warmth.
The feel of her trembling body increased his terror. She could die if pneumonia set in. He listened anxiously to her breathing.
Mrs. Kent came up the following morning and he went to wash and change. On impulse, he ran downstairs for a moment to speak to Jack, the head footman, about the stables. He knew that the fire was out, and the damage must have already been assessed. Jack told him that the north end was decimated. Lord Rathford had already put out the order to rebuild.
Adam was more concerned with Kepper. He learned the groomsman was recovering. He had been taken in by one of the crofters to be tended by his wife. Adam was glad he wasn’t in the hands of the village surg
eon. He’d take folk medicine over that barbaric mule anyday.
The footman also told him that Cain and his brood had been found late yesterday afternoon and had been allowed into one of the cellars on a temporary basis. Adam went to check on them immediately, coming upon a maid who had brought them their breakfast and to cuddle with the pups.
Gesturing to the canine brood, she said, “I hope that’s all right with you, sir. We didn’t know where else to put them. It seemed cruel to turn them out in the snow, especially the wee ones.”
“Of course it is. I would have done it myself,” Adam assured her. They had been given a cozy corner where straw was heaped into a decadently plush bed. There, like a horde of four-legged princes, the fat pups lounged in luxury, tended by their content mother.
Cain held nothing back in his pleasure to see Adam, who gave him a good rubdown in return.
“You’ve taken good care of them,” Adam said, examining each of the dogs closely for injuries. The bitch and the pups didn’t have a mark on them, but Cain was streaked with soot. Grimacing at the odor of smoke that clung to him, he suggested the maid get a manservant to see to the dog’s bath. Then he looked at his watch.
He’d been gone over an hour. Helena was probably sleeping, however, so he decided to go see Kepper.
The man was awake and propped up on a straw pallet when Adam was let into the small dwelling. “Mr. Mannion, sir!” he exclaimed in surprise.
Adam pulled up a stool. “Glad to see you are well, good man.”
“Got me a headache near to split my skull, but other than that I’m not harmed.”
“Did you fall?”
“I don’t rightly recall, sir, and that’s the truth of it. I’m thinking I heard something and turned around. But I wouldn’t know the difference if I was whacked or if I walked straight into one of them low beams. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done it, though not this bad.”
The Sleeping Beauty Page 17
