by Sandra Heath
Two young gentlemen emerged from the club at that moment, halting in surprise on seeing Stephen’s unconscious body on the pavement. For a moment they were cautious, suspecting a trick by footpads, for they had just won handsomely and carried a considerable amount of money in their purses, but then they saw that Stephen was well dressed, and they hurried toward him, fearing that he was himself the victim of footpads.
They crouched beside him, turning him gently over, and by pure chance one of them recognized him. “I say, it’s that Rutherford chap, the one whose sister is to marry Kane.”
The other man put his hand to Stephen’s face. “He’s burning up with fever. Didn’t I hear something about a sailing accident on the Thames?”
“Yes. Dear God, he hasn’t been attacked, he’s passed out!” cried the first man.
“You’re right. Where does he live?”
“Damned if I know, but Kane’s residence is in St. James’s Square, we’ll take him there. I’ll get some help.” Scrambling to his feet again, the first man hurried back into the club, returning a minute later with two more gentlemen.
Together they lifted Stephen from the pavement and carried him carefully to a nearby carriage, which belonged to one of them. Stephen was eased gently into the carriage and laid upon one of the seats; then the first two gentlemen remained with him as the carriage set off on its brief journey along King Street, which connected St. James’s Street and St. James’s Square.
Almack’s Assembly Rooms, where high society strove to be seen at the Wednesday night subscription balls, lay on the south side of the street. The building was in darkness now, and presented an almost gloomy facade to the thoroughfare as the carriage drove swiftly by.
Stephen knew nothing of what was happening, for he remained unconscious. He was delirious, his lips moving now and then as if he were speaking to someone, but although both the gentlemen leaned forward to try to hear, they couldn’t understand anything.
The sound of the carriage changed as it emerged from the confines of King Street into the openness of the square, and the coachman’s whip cracked once as he brought the team up to a smarter pace for the final hundred yards to Gerald’s residence, which was in complete darkness.
As the vehicle drew to a halt at the curb outside, one of the young gentlemen leapt swiftly out and ran to the door, hammering loudly upon the knocker. The sound reverberated through the house and echoed around the square. The flicker of candlelight appeared in the fanlight above the door as someone came swiftly to see who was knocking so urgently in the middle of the night.
A cautious voice came from within. “Who’s there?”
The young gentleman was irritated. “If it’s of any consequence, my name is Hamilton-Smythe, but what is more to the point is that I have with me Mr. Rutherford, the brother of the lady who is to be Lady Kane. He is very ill, and in need of a doctor, so for God’s sake open the door and let us in!”
After a moment there came the sound of bolts being pulled back, and then the door opened and a footman in a nightshirt and tasseled night cap peered out. He was shading a lighted candle in his hand, and he was still cautious, although he relaxed a little when he saw that the unexpected night caller had arrived in a particularly elegant town carriage.
Another nightshirted footman appeared, and soon Stephen was being lifted out of the carriage and carried into the house, where he was laid gently on a sofa. A third footman began to hastily light candles.
Gerald appeared suddenly at the head of the staircase. His hair was tousled, and he was pulling on a green silk dressing gown. “What in God’s name is going on?” he demanded.
Mr. Hamilton-Smythe went quickly to the foot of the staircase. “Kane, it’s me.”
“Hamilton-Smythe?” Gerald looked blankly at him, for they were only slightly acquainted.
“Forgive the intrusion, Kane, but we found your future brother-in-law lying in the street. He’s dashed unwell, running a high fever.” Mr. Hamilton-Smythe indicated the unconscious figure on the sofa.
Gerald came quickly down the staircase, and as he approached the sofa, he could see that Stephen was indeed desperately ill. He nodded at the footmen. “Get him to the Chinese room, and then send someone for Dr. Longford. And do it quickly.”
“My lord.” The footmen picked Stephen up carefully and carried him up the staircase. As they did so, a golden-haired figure in a flimsy white nightrobe appeared at the top.
Raine paused, her hand resting on the banister. “What is it, Gerald?” she asked, her sweet voice carrying clearly down into the hall below.
Gerald turned sharply, as did the two gentlemen who had brought Stephen. Gerald looked coolly at her. “Go to your room, Raine.”
“But—”
“Go to your room!” he snapped.
The two gentlemen exchanged glances. So that was the way of it, eh? The future Lady Kane was in town, but Kane was still involved with the Countess of Purbeck!
Gerald ran his fingers through his hair and then turned to them. “Thank you for all you’ve done. You may leave the matter with me.”
“Think nothing of it, Kane,” murmured Mr. Hamilton-Smythe. “I’m only sorry we, er, disturbed you.”
There was an angry set to Gerald’s mouth as he showed them to the door, and as he closed the door behind them he turned to look darkly up at the place where Raine had been standing a few moments before. A nerve flickered at his temple, and he began to walk toward the staircase.
The butler hurried from the direction of the kitchen. He still wore his nightshirt, but had managed to put on his coat and wig. He carried a candle, which fluttered and smoked as he walked. “I have sent a man for the doctor, my lord.”
“I trust the urgency of the situation was stressed?”
“It was indeed, my lord.”
“Is someone attending to the fire in the Chinese room?”
“A boy is lighting it at this very moment, my lord.”
“Good.” Gerald paused, his hand on the banister. “Mr. Rutherford’s family must be informed without delay. Send someone to tell them, and to reassure them that all is being done that should be done.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
Gerald went up the staircase, his thoughts flying momentarily to Emma, but even as memories of her face and voice moved over him, he pushed her away. He did not wish to think of Emma Rutherford, not now, or ever again.
The Chinese room deserved its name, for it was decorated and furnished entirely in the Mandarin style. There was hand-painted silk on the walls, the canopy of the bed resembled a pagoda, and the chandeliers were like Oriental lanterns. The room was predominantly blue and white, but pink flame shadows danced over the furnishings as the boy dispatched by the butler kindled the fire into roaring life.
The footmen had laid Stephen gently on the bed and were removing his outdoor garments. Within a moment or so he was dressed in one of Gerald’s own nightshirts and was lying comfortably in the soft bed. He seemed close to consciousness, for his lips moved and he turned his head from side to side, but his eyes remained closed, and nothing he said was intelligible.
The boy finished attending to the fire, placed a guard in front of it, and then scurried out. The footmen then withdrew as well, leaving Gerald on his own. He went to the window, holding the curtain aside to gaze out over the square, where the lamplight reflected on the circular lake in the center.
“How is he?” asked a soft voice from the doorway behind him.
He turned to see Raine standing there. She was still dressed in the revealing white robe, and her figure was outlined very clearly by the bright lamps in the passage.
He drew a long breath. “Please go to your room and stay there, Raine.”
“I am merely showing concern,” she replied, ignoring the instruction by entering the room and going to stand by the bed, looking down at Stephen. “There is no family likeness at all, is there? No one could possibly guess that he and sweet little Emma are—”
�
��I don’t wish to discuss it with you, Raine.”
Her lovely lilac eyes were luminous as they swung toward him. “How very touchy you are, to be sure,” she murmured.
“Have a care, Raine, for I am in no mood.”
“My poor darling …” she whispered, leaving the bedside to come to him, but as she raised her slender arms to link them around his neck, he caught her wrists and held her away.
“Enough, Raine. This is neither the time nor the place, and I have already told you that I dislike your attempts to manipulate me in this way.”
“Manipulate you? Oh, Gerald, how could you think such a thing?” She pouted, affecting to be hurt.
“I think it because I know you too well. Now, please go to your room, before I have you forcibly removed there.”
“I will wait for you,” she said softly, reaching up briefly to brush her lips over his; then she left him, her robe whispering softly, her perfect body silhouetted against the light from the passage.
Gerald exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked toward the bed, and with a shock found that Stephen was awake. He went quickly to him.
The sick man’s eyes were glazed and feverish, and he was obviously confused. “Kane? Where … ?” Stephen glanced uncertainly around the strange room.
“You were found unconscious in the street, and someone brought you here to my house in St. James’s Square.”
Bewilderment entered Stephen’s eyes, and his brows drew together as he tried to remember. The pain in his chest was hot and dry, as if a fire was burning behind his ribs, and all the time he could hear the urgent, swift pounding of his heart.
Memories slid in and out of his head, one moment clear, the next jumbled and forgotten. But then he recalled that there had been something important concerning Avenley. He struggled to sit up. “Avenley, I must see him …”
Gerald’s mouth hardened at the mention of his foe’s name, but he gently restrained Stephen. “Be still, man, for you’re in no condition to go anywhere.”
“I have to see him without delay. It’s important—”
“Later.”
“It’s Emma, she and Avenley …” Stephen’s voice faded away, for he was sinking back into the velvety blackness. Everything was fading around him, even though he tried to cling to consciousness. He stared up at Gerald’s face, his lips moving, but no words came out. Darkness engulfed him again.
Gerald released the unconscious man and then straightened. Stephen’s last words were still audible in the silent room. It’s Emma, she and Avenley … A bitter smile twisted Gerald’s lips. Yes, Emma and Avenley. Emma and Avenley.
Chapter Twenty
It was almost dawn as yet another carriage drove swiftly toward Gerald’s residence in St. James’s Square, this time conveying a distraught Emma, who responded immediately to the message about her brother. She had changed out of her green-and-silver evening gown, and wore her peach-and-white-striped muslin gown beneath a green velvet cloak trimmed with white fur, and her hair was combed up into a loose knot beneath the cloak’s hood.
Her face was pale and tense, and her eyes still showed signs of her recent weeping, but she was otherwise reasonably composed. Thoughts of Lord Avenley were temporarily pushed into the background, for Stephen was of much more immediate importance. She had not yet informed her father, wanting to be absolutely sure about her brother before she said anything.
She was accompanied by a very subdued and contrite Dolly, who had tearfully confessed her role where Stephen’s actions were concerned. The maid sniffed from time to time as she sat opposite her silent mistress. Dolly felt wretchedly guilty, for she had always been a loyal and discreet servant, but tonight she had transgressed, and as a result something terrible had happened.
What if Master Stephen should die? It would be all her fault. The maid’s remorse did not end there, however, for if Master Stephen’s ill health had not intervened, and he had reached Lord Avenley, what might then have ensued? A duel? Oh, the thought was too horrid …. Dolly’s eyes filled with tears again, and she tried to blink them away as she looked out of the carriage window.
They were just entering St. James’s Square, where the gray light of dawn cast a steely glint on the central lake. The statue of William III looked cold and isolated in the middle of the water, and the horse’s rump was a prime perch for two sea gulls, whose pale shapes seemed almost ghostly. There was a frost, and it touched everything with a sheen of silvery white.
Dr. Longford’s carriage departed as they approached, and Emma caught a glimpse of the physician as the two vehicles passed. She was immediately panic-stricken. Why was he leaving already? Was Stephen … ? She didn’t dare finish the thought, for it was too awful to contemplate. Her heartbeats quickened, and she could barely wait for the carriage to draw up at the curb.
She climbed swiftly down and hurried to the door, knocking loudly. There were lights inside, and the butler admitted her without delay. “Miss Rutherford?” he inquired, guessing that it was she, and wondering if his master would really wish her to be admitted while the Countess of Purbeck was also in the house.
“How is my brother?” she asked without preamble.
“Mr. Rutherford is comfortable, madam.”
Relief flooded through her, and through Dolly, who entered the house in time to hear his words. The maid’s lips quivered, and more hot tears stung her eyes.
Emma looked at the butler. “What did Dr. Longford say, do you know?”
“That Mr. Rutherford had suffered a dangerous relapse, but that he is young and healthy enough to overcome the crisis. Strong doses of laudanum and willow bark have been prescribed, and a poultice of warm cooked cabbage leaves is to be applied to his chest, to draw out the inflammation.”
“The doctor was quite certain that he is not in danger?”
“It was his considered opinion, madam, but if Mr. Rutherford should refuse to remain in bed, then the doctor could not say what might happen.”
“May I see him?”
“Certainly, madam. If you will come this way, I will show you to the Chinese room, and then I will inform his lordship that you are here.”
The butler glanced a little uneasily up the staircase, only too conscious of the embarrassing fact of having both the Countess of Purbeck and the future Lady Kane beneath the roof at the same time. The situation was potentially very awkward indeed.
Clearing his throat, he led Emma and Dolly up the staircase to the second floor, past the doors of the drawing room, and then up to the bedrooms on the third floor. It was there that they came face-to-face with Raine, who had observed their arrival from an upper window and was determined to make the most of her opportunity.
She still wore the revealing robe, and there was a malevolent smile on her lips. “Why, Miss Rutherford, how pleasant it is to meet you again.”
Emma halted, shaken to so suddenly and unexpectedly find herself confronted by her rival. The shock was so great that she couldn’t respond. Why was the countess here in this house? Why, if not because … ? Her thought was interrupted by Raine herself.
“You must excuse my deshabille, my dear, but I’m afraid you’ve caught us unawares. We, er, didn’t expect you to actually call here at such an hour.”
“We?”
“Don’t be naive, Miss Rutherford. You may be a little rustic, but I am sure that even you must understand my meaning clearly enough.’’
Emma stared at her. “Yes, Countess, I understand your meaning, I understand it very well indeed. And now, if you will excuse me, I wish to see my brother.’’ She nodded at the butler, who was waiting a little further on, his face a picture of mortification.
Raine stood aside for them to pass, and she watched as they disappeared into the Chinese room. Her eyes glittered triumphantly, and then she turned to go back to her room. She had timed matters very well indeed, and had achieved the maximum effect with the minimum of effort. Emma Rutherford’s hopes were dashed, and soon she wo
uld be scuttling back to the provincial lair from which she had so fleetingly dared to emerge.
In the Chinese room, Emma tried hard not to show any reaction to the unpleasant encounter in the passage outside. She teased off her gloves and then allowed Dolly to assist her with her cloak.
The maid looked anxiously at her. “Oh, miss, I don’t know what to say—”
“Then say nothing, Dolly,” Emma replied, glancing meaningfully in the direction of the butler, who could hear everything they said.
Dolly fell silent, making much of folding the cloak over the back of a chair that was upholstered in dragon-adorned blue brocade. Then she watched as her anxious mistress went to the bed, where Stephen lay in a deep sleep.
Emma put out a hand to touch his cheek, and her breath caught at how fiery it was. His face was flushed and dry, and he would have been tossing and turning were it not for the influence of the laudanum.
Emma looked sadly down at him. Oh, Stephen, she thought, how impulsive and quick-tempered you are. How on earth did you imagine you would emerge from a confrontation with Lord Avenley? She had no doubt that he had been intent upon challenging his former friend, for in Stephen’s eyes a brother would lack all honor if he did not call out the man who had so callously compromised his sister.
The butler hovered. “I will inform Lord Kane that you are here, madam.”
“Very well,” replied Emma.
He went out, pausing for a moment after closing the door, for he needed to gather himself for the difficult task of telling his master that Miss Rutherford had not only called but also come face-to-face with the countess. He hoped that he himself would not receive any of the blame for this exceedingly inopportune situation, but he could hardly have refused Miss Rutherford when she asked to see her gravely ill brother, and then if a lady like the countess chose not to remain in concealment, but made much of being present in the house, what was a mere butler supposed to do about it?
