Fortunate Wager

by Jan Jones

  Caroline was still far from sanguine about Lord Rothwell’s recovery. She regarded the visitor’s airy confidence with extreme disfavour. ‘Then according to the doctor, he will do himself a great deal of damage,’ she said repressively.

  ‘I don’t fancy being the one to tell him,’ said Giles, laughing. He eyed the drawing-room furniture with amusement. ‘You have been much put out. I am sure my friend will be appropriately grateful. This is a fine terrace you have here.’ He turned the handle of the long glass door.

  ‘Mr d’Arblay! Pray do not let the cold air in.’

  ‘No need to worry about that. Alex doesn’t hold with a fusty atmosphere.’

  Caroline’s lips thinned. One could get remarkably tired of Mr d’Arblay remarkably quickly. ‘I shall take care to remember,’ she said. ‘For the moment, however, Lord Rothwell is sleeping and so does not have a say in the matter. Shall I send word to you at the White Hart when there is a change? I daresay as soon as he is conscious he will be glad of your company.’

  ‘Champing at the bit to be off, more like.’ Giles cast another glance at the window. ‘Aye, do that. Is Fortune at the stables? I’ll have a word with him about—’

  ‘My brother has gone to lodge information regarding the attack. He is anxious to discover how such an assault came to take place on his property.’

  There was an infinitesimal moment of silence. ‘Of course. An anxious time for us all. Although, of course, there are ruffians everywhere you turn in this town. One of the hazards of Newmarket, don’t you think? No matter, I expect I’ll run across Fortune at Crockford’s later. Well now, you won’t want to leave your patient, so I’ll see myself out.’

  ‘I would not dream of any such thing,’ said Caroline, ringing for the butler with a good deal of suppressed violence. One of the hazards of Newmarket indeed. Who did this cocksure dandy think he was? ‘Hibbert will show you out. We are not in quite such disarray as to ignore the common courtesies of life.’

  Giles d’Arblay made a smiling bow and left.

  Caroline regarded the closing door with narrowed eyes. ‘A strange friend you have, my lord,’ she said to the sleeping man, ‘to put his own comfort and his curiosity about this house before you and your condition. I would at least have expected a question on what you were doing here so early in the morning, even if his belief in your resilience precludes an enquiry of the doctor’s prognosis.’

  Which proved in the event to be accurate. As the shadows lengthened, Lord Rothwell did indeed become feverish. Caroline mopped his face, set her jaw and changed his sweat-soaked bandage, and then persuaded him to take some of the cooling draught Dr Peck had prescribed. He tossed from side to side, talking in restless mutters and saying repeatedly that he had to overtake Lizzy.

  ‘Where is she?’ he cried out, suddenly sitting bolt upright and seizing Caroline’s wrist. ‘I must get her back or there will be a scandal!’ He was clammy with perspiration, staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes, and astoundingly strong for one so ill.

  Caroline felt her heart thump and her own brow grow damp with perspiration. Where was the nurse Dr Peck had promised? She would have called for a footman except for not knowing what effect a shout at such close quarters would have on Alexander’s mental state. While she hesitated, he put up his other hand to tear off the bandage. ‘I must find her before nightfall. It is all my fault. I should not have left the house. I should not have believed her when she said she had the headache. Let me go! Why do you keep me here?’

  ‘She is safe,’ said Caroline in desperation, hauling down on his arm and not having the smallest idea who he was talking about. ‘She is at home. You will see her for yourself tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow will be too late! She will be at Gretna!’

  He started to struggle again and Caroline bore down on him with her body. It took all the strength built up from a lifetime of horse-riding to prevent him from rising. Why had she not insisted on someone else standing watch with her? ‘Lizzy is safe, my lord,’ she panted. ‘Now do lie down.’

  ‘Was I in time, then?’ he said in a puzzled voice. ‘Did I find her?’

  ‘Yes, yes, you were in time. Lie down, Alexander.’

  He fell back all at once, taking her tumbling with him. Heat came off his body in waves. ‘Rosetta?’ he murmured.

  Caroline would have agreed to being the old queen herself, so concerned was she at his behaviour and his burning temperature. ‘That’s right,’ she said and pushed herself upright.

  Or tried to. All of a sudden, she was very glad indeed that there was no one else in the room. One of Alexander’s arms had come round her and the other was at the neckline of her bodice. ‘Too many ribbons,’ he said drowsily. ‘Such a tease, always. I am glad you are back.’

  Caroline’s heart leapt into her mouth. ‘Shh, Alexander, you are not well.’

  ‘Well enough for this,’ he slurred.

  For a sick man, his hand was appallingly determined. Caroline swallowed down her panic. ‘Lie still while I get you a drink,’ she said. ‘You need to recruit your strength.’

  He gave the wickedest chuckle she had ever heard in her life. It sent a quivering stab right into her belly. ‘You are all the elixir I need,’ he said and pulled her mouth to meet his.

  Caroline went completely rigid. No one had ever kissed her like this. Alexander’s lips were hot and dry and papery, but still they covered hers with a seigneurial urgency. Her mouth opened in protest, and instantly his tongue was inside, trying to twine with hers. It happened so fast that Caroline was barely aware of a tingling rush in her body and of not knowing how to respond before he was releasing her, rolling suddenly boneless against his pillows.

  ‘Thirsty,’ he muttered. ‘I’m thirsty, Nanny.’

  Oh, thank goodness. Caroline scrambled off the bed faster than the last Craven Stakes’ winner had passed the post. Alexander drank most of the barley water she held for him before falling into a shallow doze.

  Behind her, the door opened. Mrs Penfold came in, followed by a footman with a tray of tea. Normality and an overwhelming sense of the everyday flooded the room. ‘I daresay you’ll be glad of this,’ said Mrs Penfold, directing the footman to light the candles.

  ‘Oh wonderful,’ said Caroline, falling on the refreshment with real gratitude. With light, bread and butter and Mrs Penfold’s presence, the alarming episode with Alexander retreated to a manageable distance. ‘I would have called a maid and joined you but I did not like to leave him.’ She lowered her voice, eyeing the footman. ‘He has been a little indiscreet in his delirium.’

  ‘Ah.’ Even knowing her all her life, Caroline was never quite sure what was going on behind Mrs Penfold’s placid façade. ‘Men will be men, of course.’

  ‘No …’ Caroline felt her cheeks scorch, but made herself sound calm. ‘He is anxious about some sort of scandal.’

  ‘Then we will wait dinner until Dr Peck’s nurse arrives,’ said Mrs Penfold. ‘Nurses are trained to be circumspect.’

  It was just as well. The fever increased its hold overnight. Alexander babbled about ‘Lizzy’ again and not being able to find his way to her, along with the breaking bridge and other youthful mishaps magnified out of all proportion.

  ‘The poor gentleman,’ said the nurse, a stout, practical lady of middle years. ‘It always takes the wiry, nervous ones the worst. He’ll be the silent type normally, will he?’

  Caroline hadn’t noticed Lord Rothwell as being particularly uncommunicative, but there was no sense in alienating the nurse by telling her so.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ said Alexander, clearly. The nurse turned, ready to be affronted, but he was tossing from side to side again. ‘A mare’s nest,’ he continued. ‘Nothing wrong here.’

  It could be worse, thought Caroline, trying to prevent him flinging himself off the bed. He could have been talking to Rosetta again.

  ‘Jersey’s horse,’ he muttered. ‘Fortune making too much. That boy. That rider. Never there. Never anywhere. Find o
ut.’

  Shock slammed into Caroline’s belly, ice cold and indigestible. Was that why he had been in the yard? He was spying on them?

  Alex opened his eyes languidly, aware of a haze of headache consonant with a convivial night. Light was just touching the room. His eyes focused on an unfamiliar cornice. ‘Where the devil am I?’ he said, baffled. He winced as he turned his head – it must have been a really convivial night, which made it rather disturbing that he couldn’t remember any of it – and was arrested by the sight of a young woman, fully dressed, thank the Lord, curled up in a wing chair next to his bed. Except that this wasn’t his bed and he had never seen this room in his life before. What the devil was going on?

  The girl stirred. Her brown hair had come loose from its knot and lay in an untidy curtain across her face. She pushed it back as she straightened up, opening sleep-filled, honey-brown eyes.

  ‘You’re awake.’ Her voice was wary, yet familiar.

  Ah, that was it. He was still dreaming. That’s why none of this made sense. ‘I don’t think I can be,’ he said with relief. ‘Because if I was, I would know how I came to be here. And I don’t.’

  She let out a long breath. ‘And rational. You have no idea how thankful I am.’

  In a floating, dreamy daze, Alex continued to regard her, waiting for his brain to supply her name. ‘Caro,’ he said at last. ‘Miss Caroline Fortune.’

  ‘Correct. Do you know who you are?’

  He closed his eyes, pleased with himself. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do.’

  *

  Caroline was still looking at Alexander when the nurse came back with more barley water. ‘He spoke,’ she said to the older woman. ‘He knew my name.’

  ‘Well, that’s a blessing. He might not remember what happened, mind. They often don’t when they’ve had a bang on the head like that.’ She laid a professional hand against his uninjured temple. ‘He’ll sleep for a couple of hours now. You could do with a lie-down too, miss, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’ve been up three days straight with him. And him no relation.’

  ‘He is important to my brother’s future as a trainer.’

  The nurse nodded, inured to the necessities of life. ‘Then I hope for your sake he’s the sort to remember a favour. Run along now, then you’ll be fresh later.’

  But Caroline had cat-napped sufficiently and in any case had her own method of renewing her strength. She took a bowl of porridge, thick with cream and honey, out to the stables, sitting on a hay bale to eat it whilst Flood groomed Solange.

  ‘That’s all to the good,’ he said, when she told him Lord Rothwell was mending at last. ‘The sooner we get milord home and out of our way, the better I’ll be pleased.’

  ‘And I,’ said Caroline. She hastily pushed aside the memory of that kiss. Even three days old and with him plainly not aware what he was doing at the time, it had the power to unnerve her if she thought too long about it. ‘From something he said at the beginning of his fever, I believe he may have been spying on us.’

  ‘Spying? Nay, Miss Caro, what is there to spy on? You’re not mixing him up with that varmint groom of his?’

  ‘No, this was something about Harry making too much money. He wasn’t comprehensible for the most part.’ And she had been so shocked – so outraged – especially after what had gone before, that some of his words had passed her by.

  ‘Jealous, belike, at your touch with the wagers. More pressing is the problem we’ve still got with this lass.’

  Caroline’s attention sharpened. ‘With Solange? What sort of problem?’

  ‘Has Mr Harry not told you?’

  ‘I’ve barely seen him. I’ve been too busy nursing Lord Rothwell.’

  ‘Ah. Well, she won’t go out with any of the men. She’ll let ‘em groom her and lead her to the paddocks and walk her round and saddle her up. But as soon as even the lightest tries to swing a leg across her back, she’s off like a banshee.’

  Caroline spooned up the last mouthful of porridge and then moved over to lean her forehead into Solange’s neck. ‘Silly girl,’ she said. ‘But now your master’s fever has broken, I’ll start taking you out again. Get you used to some weight on your saddle.’ She made her way slowly around each of the horses in the stable, petting and murmuring to each one. ‘Oh, I have missed this,’ she said to Flood.

  ‘Aye. They’ve missed you too. Back to normal now, though.’

  ‘It’ll be awkward until Lord Rothwell is fit to go home.’ She frowned. ‘And we still don’t yet know who attacked him or why. There’s not been any word from the magistrates? Harry hasn’t said anything? You’ve not seen anyone hanging about?’

  ‘There soon wouldn’t have been, if I had!’

  ‘Be as well to keep an eye out, all the same.’

  ‘Be sure of that! I’ve told all the lads.’ He rubbed his mouth. ‘We did have that fine friend of milord’s here on Friday. After Mr Harry he was.’

  ‘Friday? But I told him Harry wasn’t here.’

  ‘Aye, we told him too. We told him again on Saturday.’

  ‘There is nothing here to see,’ said Caroline in bewilderment. Oh, this made no sense. What could he be after? What could either of them be after?

  ‘I did think,’ said Flood, apparently at random, ‘that I’d take Rufus and the young ’un up to the heath myself for their races today.’

  Caroline was jolted anew. Was it Monday already? Then this was the First Spring Meeting week. She’d lost track. She hoped Harry had worked out some sensible bets. Flood was looking at her sideways, waiting for her reaction. She made herself focus. Racing. The grooms’ enclosure. Gossip. ‘That is a very sound idea,’ she said. ‘Fancy will be much steadier in those crowds with you to reassure him.’ She grinned, feeling much more herself all of a sudden. ‘And it’s always nice to keep abreast of the news around the course.’

  Alex came awake to the sound of voices. One of them, for some reason, seemed to belong to Caroline Fortune. How peculiar. It was too much of an effort to open his eyes so he rested where he was, sorting through the words until they made sense.

  ‘A week?’ he heard her say in dismay. ‘A week or more before he can be moved? But I told you he spoke to me and knew me. And his skin is a better colour, for all he is haggard from the fever.’

  A man’s voice now. ‘Aye, but his brain has been bounced about in that skull of his and needs to stay still for fear other damage may have been done. You’d not have him half-witted for want of the proper care, Miss Caro?’

  There was a pause. ‘I suppose not,’ said the girl ungraciously. ‘What is this proper care, then? What must I do?’

  ‘Why, keep him quiet, tempt him to eat, make sure he drinks plenty of the lemon barley. Encourage him to sleep as much as possible and do not let him become agitated in any respect. That is most important.’

  ‘He has been agitated! What was all that delirium if not agitation?’

  Delirium? What delirium?

  Through the sudden hammering in his chest, Alex heard the man – who must, he supposed, be a doctor – suck in a breath between his teeth. ‘We can only hope the fever-dreams have not done him any lasting harm. I will look in again tonight.’

  Alex put up a leaden hand and felt his head. To his astonishment, there was a bandage around it. And if Caroline Fortune was here, he must either be at Fortune House or Penfold Lodge. Stranger and stranger. What had the doctor said? Fever and delirium? Yes, now he thought back, memories of nightmarish, formless dreams crowded his mind. He shuddered and forced them away. He knew them of old and had no wish to revisit them. More to the point – had he talked in his fever? What had he said? To whom? That was almost more worrying than why he was here in the first place. It occurred to him that the room was quiet again. He opened his eyes, straight onto the sight of Caroline glaring at him from a wing chair.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said.

  ‘Good morning, my lord.’ The fierce look was gone so fast it must have been a trick of the l
ight.

  He moved and made an unpleasant discovery. ‘I hurt. What am I doing here?’

  ‘You were found sprawled in our stable yard with your head bleeding. It seemed likely that you would recover faster indoors than if you were left outside in the wet.’

  Later he would appreciate the sarcasm. For now, he looked at her in blank incredulity. ‘Someone attacked me?’

  ‘That is the conclusion the doctor drew. Your greatcoat had been pulled off and thrown aside. We found your notecase on the ground near the road and have restored it to your jacket.’ She nodded to a covered rail in the corner of the room. ‘I am afraid there was no money in it.’

  Memory flooded back. He had let down his guard. Of all the stupid things to do! He had been triumphant that he had at last got to the stable before anyone inside was stirring. This time, he’d thought, he would finally get a good look at that damned mystery rider. And then … ‘I don’t remember anything,’ he said.

  This drew a slanting look from her. ‘Not even why you should be at Penfold Lodge before dawn in the pouring rain?’

  ‘I went for a walk. I was unable to sleep,’ he invented. He put a hand to his chin and grimaced. ‘Something I seem to have remedied since. Good God, I must look like a bear.’ Had he distracted her? It was difficult to tell. Certainly he couldn’t think straight enough to answer any more of her questions right now.

  ‘What odd things men worry about,’ she commented. ‘Your valet is just the same. He descended on us in a welter of valises and finicky mannerisms as soon as I informed the White Hart of your accident and has been itching to shave you these three days. Such a fuss as he has been making. I wonder you can bear to have him in your employment.’

  ‘My valet is here? Then call him at once!’ said Alex. Hot towels and a keen razor and he would be himself again in no time. ‘Three days? I cannot believe it.’