by Heather Boyd
Fletcher’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “I am not sure moving him is in the best interest of his health.”
“He cannot remain here another hour,” Quinn decided, and then shook his head, attempting to stifle his temper. Fletcher did not deserve to take the brunt of his anger.
“He could be taken out via the mews,” Fletcher suggested as he took a step back, swallowing hard. “I will do my best, but I cannot make promises no one will see, or that he will survive the journey.”
“Do it,” he bit out. “Deliver him to the Rutherford House mews, not the front doors.”
Fletcher swallowed. “As you wish. I’ll make arrangements immediately.”
Quinn nodded. If anyone found out where father had fallen ill tonight, the scandal would be enormous. Quinn would be a laughingstock. Cuckolded by his own sire—a man twice his age and three times as devious as the worst criminal sent to the colonies. How fitting that father had been struck down in the midst of such an act. Was this—seducing his mistress—Father’s punishment because Quinn refused to come to heel like the dog his old man expected him to be?
He allowed Fletcher to leave, and then took a deep breath before heading out to the hall again.
He did not look into the room containing his father. Quinn trudged down the stairs, seething with anger and disgust, but stopped when he heard Adele Blakely call to him.
He clenched his jaw, and then turned slowly, viewing her with fresh eyes as she sat weeping over his father’s condition. Sitting in the parlor Quinn had paid to be refurbished last year to make her happy. Hugging the robe he’d bought tight to her breasts…breasts his father had no doubt groped earlier that night.
He gagged, almost casting up his accounts then and there. The humiliation that he’d been so deceived in Adele’s character rose thick and horrible around him.
She was faithless.
A cunning little actress; ambitious for acclaim and attention, just as his father had claimed all along.
“I should have told you about us long before—” she whispered.
He held up one hand to prevent the flow of words. He did not want to know how long their affair had been going on. He highly doubted that Adele was sorry for deceiving him. “There’s no need. Your actions present the truth I was too blind to see for myself. Was the reason you couldn’t meet with me because you were always seeing him?”
“Quinn, I can explain!” she pleaded, eyes full of tears and sorrow for her situation. “You were gone, and he was kind.”
“My father was not kind. This was entirely his doing, a means to put me in my place. Punishment. He’s been at me for months to break with you. And you helped him do it! Goodbye, Mrs. Blakely. We will never speak again.”
He could not forgive Adele for playing him the fool. She was not the friend he’d imagined her all these years. Not if she’d been keeping company with his father, too.
He strode out and climbed into his carriage, noting with approval that Miss Dalton was two steps behind him and he’d not had to call her. He didn’t look her in the eye; he was too humiliated, too gutted, to be in any way a civil gentleman.
“Newberry House,” he called up to the driver, and the carriage rolled away.
At his side, Miss Dalton allowed him a few minutes of peace, and then stirred. “Who was she to you?”
Bile rose up in his mouth again, almost sending him flying from the carriage. He fought the sensation. As much as it pained him to reveal the truth of his distress, his secretary was too bright not to learn of the connection through her own inquiries. He’d have to tell her.
“We were friends for five years. I shared everything with her. She was my mistress. Apparently, one Ford wasn’t enough for her.”
Theodora’s hand settled over his thigh and squeezed. Something she was prone to do quite often, he suddenly recalled. “The stupid little fool,” Theodora whispered in a disapproving voice.
Quinn gritted his teeth, and as an afterthought, recklessly took her hand in his.
Theodora was kind to say otherwise but he was the real fool here.
He had been faithful to Adele, never suspecting that she wasn’t in return. But Adele had put him off so often, preferring to go her own way rather than meeting him at the halfway point, he should have suspected.
She could have been meeting with his father for years, or someone else entirely while he’d been gone without him knowing. She was crying over Father now, rather than the future she’d thrown away with him.
Why should he fight an attraction to any woman who desired to be with him?
He laced his fingers with Theodora’s, taking every scrap of comfort she offered, readying himself to face his mother and tell her the news about her unfaithful husband’s latest escapade.
Chapter 11
Newberry House intimidated Theodora on first sight as it loomed above her in the light of a half dozen lanterns. The imposing portico flanked by liveried footmen bearing lanterns made her feel very small and very, very much out of place in her drab mourning gown. She hoped no one thought her attire a bad omen for the family. She considered remaining in the carriage, but Lord Maitland held out his arm and drew her against his side as if she were not his secretary, but a close companion.
She glanced up at his face, alarmed by how still and unnatural his usually expressive features had become since she’d interrupted his dinner to share the horrible news about his father.
Her mind whirled with questions that she did not dare ask. About Amy, a sister he comforted with such sweet affection but who was not spoken of at Maitland House; about the mistress; about his father being at his mistress’ home. She’d heard enough whispers that night to know the particulars of what Lord Maitland had discovered upstairs, and to become furious about it. She held her tongue though, watching in silence, observing the anguish of the man at her side, powerless to say or do anything to soothe him. It was not her place to look after Lord Maitland, but she was surprised that she wanted to.
She clung to his arm a little tighter as they were met by an old butler. “I must see my mother immediately,” Lord Maitland explained.
The old man winced. “Lady Templeton is always abed at this hour.”
“Lord Templeton has fallen gravely ill and will be brought home shortly. Have the staff prepare to receive him from the mews,” Lord Maitland said so coldly, he might have been speaking of bringing home fish from the marketplace. “Have Lady Lenore roused, too. The countess shall need her cousin’s comfort after I’ve spoken to her.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Lord Maitland drew her to the staircase and started up. Shadows shrouded the portraits adorning the walls and, once at the top, they strolled quietly down a long, carpeted hallway. Newberry House was very grand but at the same time seemed quite comfortable.
The viscount paused eventually to tap on a closed door then waited, eyes closed. For a change, his body was utterly without fidgets. “Mama, it is Quinn.”
“Come,” an older woman’s voice called sleepily from within the room.
Theodora separated herself from her employer and stood back. “I’ll wait here.”
He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, but then disappeared inside the room without saying anything more. He’d been like that earlier. Appearing willing to talk but unable to voice his thoughts aloud.
Theodora sagged against the wall. Now that she was apart from Lord Maitland, she could breathe freely again.
“What!” Lady Templeton cried out suddenly inside the room.
Theodora straightened as footsteps marched through the room, her employer’s voice a steady murmur under the sound of his mother’s outraged outbursts. There was silence for a time, and then Theodora strained to hear anything at all.
An older woman burst out of a room further along the hall and hurried toward Theodora wearing a robe and a mop cap over her silver hair. “Is Lord Maitland still with Lady Templeton?”
Theodora nodded. “They’re still talking.�
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The other woman held out her hand. “Lady Lenore Roswell. Lady Templeton’s cousin. And you are?”
“Theodora Dalton. Lord Maitland’s new secretary.”
The other woman smiled. “A pleasure. My lady was speaking of you and her son earlier tonight.”
“She was?”
The older woman nodded. “She hoped you would be a better influence on her son than his last secretary. She has missed her son, and would like to see more of him.”
Theodora took the request to heart. “I shall do my best to remind him to visit her more often in the future.”
“Good.” Something crashed and broke inside the room, and Lenore’s face fell. “Oh, she’s in a vile temper over this latest scandal if she’s throwing things already. I’d better go in.”
The door opened, and Lord Maitland stepped out. “She waiting for you.”
The other woman said a quick goodbye and disappeared into the room. Quinn pulled the door closed but stood there, hand on the knob, his eyes closed as the women inside discussed recent events in ever-rising tones.
Concerned by his stillness, Theodora placed her hand on his chest. “My lord?”
Lady Templeton screamed out from within the room, “He will stop at nothing to humiliate us!”
Lord Maitland refocused on Theodora’s face, ignoring further crashes as objects were destroyed inside Lady Templeton’s bedchamber. “He will be here soon.”
She drew her employer down the hall without really knowing where she was going except with a vague idea that the stairs were back in this direction. The farther they were away from Lady Templeton, the better. Some furies were not meant to be shared.
However, before they could reach the head of the staircase, Lord Maitland tugged her sideways into a room and shut the door. Theodora blinked until her eyes had adjusted to the lower light of a moonlit room. A little-used bedchamber, judging by the chill in the air and the dust covers draped over furnishings. Lord Maitland kept his back to her, his fingers pressed so hard to the wood of the door that his knuckles showed white.
Theodora had a sudden insight into what bothered her about her employer’s reaction tonight. What she had noticed earlier when they’d talked. Lord Maitland’s responses were not those of a concerned son.
“You hate him,” she said, keeping her voice very low. “You hated him before tonight.”
He sagged and slowly turned around, leaning against the door for support. His eyes were huge, too full of pain to hold for long. “Yes, I hate him,” he whispered. “He made my life hell.”
She moved closer and set her hands on his chest, rubbing his body soothingly, astonished by the confession but not the fact. There was little to love in a man who would behave as Lord Templeton had tonight.
Lord Maitland trembled under her touch, but it was not grief that had changed him. It was rage.
“It will be all right,” she promised.
“Will it?”
Very slowly, Theodora slipped her hands up to cup his face as Amy Cabot had done earlier. Lord Maitland had previously rebuffed Theodora’s romantic overtures, but in the wake of what had happened tonight, she might be excused in her bid to offer comfort.
His cheeks were hot with the evidence of his temper, and she scratched against the whiskers of his cheeks with a half-smile. Oh, this man was a challenge. One moment carefree and unaffected yet the next, brimming over with so many emotions he couldn’t hope to hide them from her. He would not want platitudes or promises of a swift recovery for a man he despised. He would want facts that meant something to him.
“It has been my experience that few recover from such an affliction as the doctor described. Templeton will linger, helpless as an infant, until he dies, most likely.”
Lord Maitland trembled and then grasped her elbows tightly. “I want that.”
Although surprised by his venom, Theodora leaned into his embrace, using her whole body to connect with him. What kind of monster had Lord Templeton been to his son that death was preferred, anticipated, with such violent longing?
They stood together for a long while, Theodora plastered to Lord Maitland in a way that made her pulse race. She stroked his face gently, tangled her fingers in his wavy hair until he relaxed against her fully. His head dropped to rest against hers and he sighed raggedly. Comfort, however, was not to be mistaken for affection or, by any stretch of the imagination, a prelude to intimacy.
Theodora slowly drew back, cupping his cheeks again and smiling up into his face. If Lord Maitland saw his father again tonight, he would no doubt become angry. Theodora could help him by stepping between them. “A good secretary might be asked to oversee the care of his employer’s family and report any developments as they occur.”
“And you are an outstanding secretary,” he whispered with a half-smile tugging his lips.
“The best you’ve ever had.” Theodora caught his eye and winked, hoping further levity might be desirable at a time like this. “I shall go down and await the carriage bearing Lord Templeton and report to you any new developments after he is settled in his bedchamber. You may depend on me to keep you informed. Where will I find you when I have something to report?”
“With my mother, most likely.” He shuddered and straightened from his slouch. “She will not want to sit at my father’s bedside, either. She has a sitting room next to her bedchamber. Look for me there.”
Theodora grasped his hand and squeezed. “I cannot imagine the pain you both feel today over such a terrible betrayal, but I promise to do all I can to lessen your cares.”
He ran one finger down her cheek, causing her to shiver. “You already have.”
On impulse, Theodora pressed a kiss to his cheek before she peeked out into the hall.
Lord Maitland caught Theodora’s hand before she could escape. “Thank you.”
She nodded and, when released, she left him quickly, hurrying downstairs to find a servant that could direct her to the rear of the house and the mews. The carriage should be arriving at any time now and she would wait amongst the household staff for Lord Templeton’s arrival.
Later, when Lord Maitland had time to grapple with his own feelings, he would come and speak to his father alone. She was sure there were many things he should get off his chest before it was too late to speak his mind to the man who’d betrayed him.
She did not have very long to wait for the cart conveying Lord Templeton, and he was carried inside, still and silent strapped on a house door with just a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. As Theodora glanced around her, it became clear there was not a damp eye among the servants of Newberry House. Lord Templeton was not likely to be missed by many here.
Once the earl was settled into his bedchamber, the evening dragged into the new day with no change in Lord Templeton’s condition and nothing worthy to report each hour. He clung to life with a tenacity Theodora never expected, living many hours beyond what she had initially been told he might. During the long day, a handful of highly regarded physicians came to examine him, prod him. One had even sent a current of electricity through his left hand in a bid to stir movement, to no avail.
Only the original physician remained to monitor the patient beyond luncheon.
There was not much to do or see. The only thing that caused any reaction was mention of Lord Maitland’s name in passing. Just the smallest hitch in Lord Templeton’s breath denoted awareness of his surroundings.
Theodora studied the prone figure across the room as the day drew to a close. As expected, neither her employer nor Lady Templeton had visited the patient. They awaited her hourly reports in other parts of the house; their only words were of thanks for her coming.
It was nearing time for her next report too. She stood, a little stiff from her hours-long vigil, and approached the bed.
Lord Templeton met Theodora’s gaze. He blinked several times.
Her heart skipped a beat at the response. “Can you hear me, my lord?”
He b
linked again, then opened his mouth to speak, and a croak came out. The first sound she’d heard from him that day. It may only be that he was clearing his throat, but it was a valiant attempt to communicate. “Well done, my lord. Wait. I shall fetch your physician immediately.”
Theodora flew out of the room, along the hall to where the physician had retired to take tea in an upstairs sitting room. She tapped on the door urgently and poked her head in. “Sir, he spoke.”
The door flew back so quickly she stumbled inside. Mr. Fletcher, a man of middle years and portly proportions, gaped. “Surely not.”
“He made a sound, but there was no sense to it,” she promised. “He tried.”
Fletcher strode past her, wiping his hands on a scrap of white cloth before tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. “This I must see with my own eyes to believe it.”
Fletcher examined Lord Templeton thoroughly. He checked his pulse, the feel of his hand, his face. He peeled back the man’s eyes and brought a candle close.
After a few minutes more, he straightened and faced Theodora. “There’s no change.”
“But there was. I swear. He did try to communicate.”
The man removed his glasses and polished them with a cloth from his pocket. “Are you sure you did not fall asleep and dream it?”
“No. How could I have imagined it when I was standing beside the bed?”
“Is there a problem?” Lord Maitland asked in a cold tone that made her jump nearly out of her skin for the harshness of it.
Her employer stood beyond the doorway, looking at Theodora rather than his parent and appearing every inch the bored aristocrat.
Theodora rushed toward him. “Your father spoke to me, or tried to.”
“I think it highly unlikely,” Fletcher protested.
Lord Maitland frowned, and the façade cracked as his lips quirked briefly into a nearly missed smile. “If Miss Dalton heard him then it was undoubtedly real. She would not offer up false news to me.”
Theodora sagged, grateful for Lord Maitland’s belief in her even if he must wish to believe she was so very wrong about his father. “Thank you.”
