Claimed by the Marquis

by Carole Mortimer

  “My lady!” A knocking much like the one from last night sounded on the locked door to accompany the hissed query. “My lord, please, you must come at once. There has been an accident. My lord!” Sally’s maid sounded more and more frantic.

  Sally was in such a state of euphoria that it took several moments for her to realize Rose was outside in the hallway, and something was obviously seriously amiss.

  Nicholas reacted much more quickly as he rose agilely to his feet to cross the room to the door.

  “You cannot answer the door like that!” Sally cried in alarm. Rose was exceedingly broad-minded, but even she must have her limits.

  Nicholas shot her an impatient glance before speaking to the maid through the closed door. “What sort of accident?”

  “It’s your mother, my lord. She—” Rose got no further because Nicholas had not only unlocked the door but also thrown it open, no doubt at hearing that this latest emergency involved his mother. Rose’s eyes opened so wide in surprise as she took in his nakedness, they seemed to swallow up her whole face.

  Sally gave an inward groan and quickly stood to straighten her own clothing before gathering the throw from the top of the bed. She hurried across the room with it and pushed it into Nicholas’s hands. “Put it on,” she instructed, not bothering to see if he complied as she turned to Rose. “What has happened?” she prompted.

  “The dowager marchioness has taken a fall and hit her head on the—” Again, Rose came to a halt as Nicholas turned away from the doorway—the throw wrapped about his waist and covering his thighs, thank goodness—to stride across the room and gather his clothes before disappearing into the dressing room with them.

  Sally shot him an anxious glance before turning back to Rose. “Is the Marchioness seriously injured …?”

  “Unconscious, my lady.” Rose seemed to visibly gather her scattered wits together as she straightened. “She took a fall in her rooms. Miss Brockwell—her cousin—is beside herself, wailing and carrying on. It’s a wonder you didn’t hear all the noise even on this side of the house.”

  Sally knew exactly the reason they hadn’t; she and Nicholas had been too engrossed in each other to be aware of anything or anyone else. Something he was not going to thank her for if his mother’s injury should prove fatal.

  “Go to the dowager marchioness’s suite and see if you can calm the situation down,” Sally ordered Rose briskly. “His Lordship and I will be with you as soon as—”

  “His Lordship is going now,” Nicholas informed them grimly as he came from the dressing room, dressed in his shirt and pantaloons, at least. “Stay here,” he instructed Sally as he strode past the two women and down the hallway.

  Stay here?

  As if she were one of his servants or a faithful hound. Sally was not sure which she found the most insulting.

  That Nicholas should treat her as either of those two things was humiliating.

  Because she was his lover, not a pet, and as his lover, she had no intention of being told to “stay” anywhere. She had kept to her rooms for the past three days. It was past time she showed herself and made an effort to help Nicholas rather than feel sorry for herself.

  “Do as I asked, please, Rose,” she spoke evenly. “I will join you as soon as I am fully dressed.”

  “Yes, my lady.” To the maid’s credit, she did exactly that, rather than lingering to voice any of the questions Sally could see in her curious gaze.

  Sally wasted no time on thought as she quickly donned a gown, a pretty sprig muslin, which did not have buttons down the back that required fastening. She pinned her hair up in a simple style at her crown. Her own appearance was completely irrelevant to the situation.

  It was only as she hurried down the hallway, following the direction of the “wailing and carrying on,” that it occurred to Sally there had been altogether too many “accidents” at Oxbridge Park since her arrival here.

  First the fire at the Dower House from a candle setting fire to the dowager marchioness’s bedclothes. Then the laudanum in her own tea—obviously not an accident at all. And now the dowager marchioness had taken a fall.

  Causing Sally to question as to whether any of those things had been accidents…

  Chapter 21

  “Give me your opinion on what you think is currently going on at Oxbridge Park?”

  Sally was not surprised Nicholas had drawn the same conclusion she had. She had never had reason to doubt his intelligence, and these incidents really had now become too numerous to continue to be classed as accidental.

  Nicholas had invited her to join him in his study once the doctor had arrived and proclaimed the dowager to be badly shaken and suffering a nasty cut to her temple, but otherwise uninjured. The dowager was now asleep under the watchful eye of Sally’s maid, the slightly hysterical Cousin Maud having been persuaded by Nicholas to go and lie down in her own bedchamber.

  Once Sally had dressed earlier, she had hurried from her bedchamber, passing the butler in the hallway walking in the opposite direction, presumably on his way to send for the doctor. The wailing was at least reduced to a low keening by the time Sally reached the dowager’s bedchamber.

  Although there had been plenty of activity, Nicholas sat on the side of his mother’s bed holding her hand and talking to her softly. An elderly lady dressed in black—Sally presumed this was Cousin Maud—stood by the window wringing her hands together and making that whimpering noise. Mrs. Jackson instructed two maids in cleaning up the blood from the rug in front of the fireplace, and a corner of the fireplace itself, where presumably the dowager had fallen and hit her head.

  A bad fall, from the amount of blood visible.

  “I would welcome your thoughts,” Nicholas now prompted at Sally’s silence, the two of them sitting on either side of his mahogany desk. Nicholas nursed a glass of brandy, despite the early hour, Sally having refused his offer to join him.

  She chose her words carefully, not sure how much Nicholas was going to “welcome” her opinion. “The household does seem rather prone to…accidents currently.”

  He raised one dark eyebrow, his expression grim. “I am sure we both know by now that it is doubtful any of these incidents have been accidents. The laudanum in your tea was most certainly deliberate, and these two incidents with my mother cannot be dismissed as accidental either, when you consider the timing of them.”

  “No.”

  “Out with it, for God’s sake!” Nicholas lost what little patience he still possessed. Which was unfair to Sally, but his worry over this problem was such he needed answers, not polite prevarication. Before someone died.

  Her brow cleared. “Well, all seemed chaos when I first arrived at your mother’s bedchamber earlier, but that quickly settled, and…”

  “Do not attempt to spare my feelings. Just tell me what you observed earlier.”

  “You, sitting on the bed beside your mother. Mrs. Jackson supervising the maids. Your cousin, Miss Brockwell, standing near the window whimpering and wringing her hands.”

  “And?”

  “And you were obviously distraught but in control. Your mother was unconscious still. Mrs. Jackson was being as briskly and unemotionally efficient as always. Miss Brockwell was—Miss Brockwell was making that infernal noise, but at the same time… She had a malicious glitter in her gaze that I found… How long has Miss Brockwell lived with your mother?”

  “Since a year or so after I was born.”

  “And how long has your mother been suffering these illnesses?”

  Nicholas eyed her guardedly. “The same amount of time.”

  “And when and how did your mother first learn of the rumors circulating about your father and other women?”

  “From our conversation the other day, I gather she first heard of them not long after that.” Nicholas stood abruptly to stand with his back toward the study window, too restless to remain seated.

  “You said when you visited your mother the other day, she seemed…disorie
ntated? That she mistook you for your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your mother on regular medication for her nerves?”

  His nostrils flared with distaste. “There are enough bottles and pills and potions beside her bed to stock an apothecary.”

  “Then I believe we may assume one of those bottles contains medication for her nerves.”

  “Laudanum,” he spat out disgustedly.

  Sally nodded. “Who has charge of giving your mother her medication?”

  “I suspect it must be Cousin Maud. But surely the doctor would have known if my mother was imbibing too much of the foul stuff.” He realized that must be Sally’s suspicion.

  “True.” She fell silent for a moment. “If your Cousin Maud is as troubled by her nerves as she seems to be, then is it possible she has also been prescribed laudanum?”

  “I would have to ask the doctor, but…yes, it is highly likely.”

  “Then perhaps Miss Brockwell has been adding some of her own medicine to your mother’s as a way of supplementing the dose, and so causing her disorientation and lethargy.”

  “You believe that she has been adding to my mother’s ill health, rather than aiding it?”

  “I believe it is a possibility, yes.”

  Was it really possible that Cousin Maud, in the guise of friend and companion to his mother, had in fact been poisoning his mother’s body with heavy doses of medication and her mind with false rumors all these years? Had she caused the estrangement in his parents’ marriage? And made his mother’s ill health worse than it need be all these years?

  Could she also be responsible for the fire at the Dower House four nights ago?

  For putting laudanum in Sally’s tea yesterday?

  For his mother’s fall this morning?

  “Why would she have done any of those things?” He asked himself the question, not Sally. “She is my mother’s cousin by blood. Has lived within this household ever since her own parents perished.”

  “As a spinster cousin,” Sally put in gently. “Living off the charity of the cousin who appeared to have everything she did not. A magnificent home. A husband who loved her. And a son and heir. The nature of Miss Brockwell’s…mischief, if indeed she is guilty, would seem to imply, to indicate… I believe she may have been in love with your father. A possessive love she has now transferred to you.”

  “What?” Nicholas stared at her incredulously.

  “Is the likeness between you and your father as strong as I suspect it might be?”

  “Well…I…” It is strong enough for my own mother to have imagined she was talking to her husband four nights ago. “I believe so at the same age, yes,” he confirmed bleakly. “He was also named Nicholas, as was his father before him.”

  Sally gave a pained frown. “Then I think Miss Brockwell may well have imagined herself in love with him all these years. A twisted sort of love, if my suspicions are correct. It is also highly possible that, since your father’s death and because of your physical likeness and name, in her mind, you have become him. If that is true, then it may well be it is my own presence here which has…unhinged her completely and pushed her into these desperate acts.”

  Nicholas gave a shake of his head, not one of denial but incredulity. “I have never so much as looked sideways at Cousin Maud. She is—well, she is old enough to be my mother.”

  Sally nodded. “I once had a Great Aunt Beatrice, and she… Well, sufficient to say the poor lady ended her days in an asylum after she attempted to kill my grandmother. She believed, wrongly, that Grandmother had stolen her beau, and that if she could only dispose of her rival, then my grandfather would turn to her for comfort.”

  “You really think that Cousin Maud and my father…?”

  “No, I am not accusing your father of any wrongdoing,” Sally instantly assured him, realizing she had imparted a great deal of information in the past few minutes for Nicholas to process. Except it all made a twisted sort of sense. “But the two instances are so very similar, which is what made me think of it after seeing that maliciousness in Miss Brockwell’s gaze earlier. Great Aunt Beatrice’s feelings for my grandfather were completely one-sided. He barely noticed her existence, as I am sure your father had no idea of Miss Brockwell’s feeling toward him—”

  “That is not true!” A whirlwind dressed in black stormed into the room, dark eyes blazing. “Nicholas loved me. Loves me. He has always loved me. You—” Maud Brockwell turned those malevolent black eyes on Sally. “You are nothing to him. Nothing!” she screeched as Sally rose slowly to her feet. “A harlot who has wormed her way into his bed with your wicked ways. He will come back to me once you are gone.”

  Without warning, she darted across the study toward Sally, the knife she had been hiding in the folds of her gown raised high in her hand, her face a mask of vicious hatred as she plunged that knife downward.

  Sally raised her own arms defensively, sure she was about to meet her end at the will of a madwoman.

  Without having told Nicholas that I love him.

  Strange how the mind processed these things, gave time for regrets at the moment of death, almost as if the world were moving more slowly—

  “No!” she screamed as Nicholas stepped in front of her before the knife could plunge into her heart. The jolt of his body told her that he had taken the blow in her stead.

  “It is all true, you know.”

  “We will not talk about it now,” Sally told Nicholas huskily as he lay back against the pillows on his bed, his face pale, a white bandage strapped across his right shoulder and secured about his naked chest.

  “I was not referring to that.” He grimaced. “We all know now that Cousin Maud is insane. Her rantings prove she was guilty of everything you suspected she might be.”

  Several hours had passed since Nicholas had disarmed the elderly woman before calling for the butler and several footmen to restrain her and then take her away.

  Which was when Sally had been able to take her first good look at Nicholas.

  Still wearing only his shirt and pantaloons, the front of the white shirt was badly stained with blood and became even more so as he pulled the knife from his shoulder. Sally had instructed Rose to recall the doctor before she lifted her gown and ripped the bottom from her chemise, then pulled Nicholas’s shirt open and applied it as a makeshift bandage to the deep wound in his shoulder.

  The doctor had returned within minutes, by which time Sally had instructed several footmen to help Nicholas to his bedchamber and onto the bed. The doctor declared he did not think there was any internal damage, but he would need to apply several stitches. Nicholas, being Nicholas, had refused to be sedated during the process, and Sally, being Sally, had refused to leave his side.

  They were both pale, their brows damp, by the time the doctor departed to make arrangements for Maud Brockwell to be admitted to the asylum for an assessment of her mental derangement. It was Sally’s opinion the lady would never leave the establishment again.

  Nicholas had yet to break the news to his mother, of course, and it would be no easy task for him to reveal the truth to her. All those years, of Maud Brockwell poisoning her health and happiness could not be easily forgiven, or forgotten.

  Sally had no doubt that Nicholas would know how to deal with the situation once he was well enough to speak with his mother. Or that he would do everything he could to heal the rift that had long existed between mother and son. Possibly, once his mother was completely recovered, Nicholas might even persuade her to return to London with him next Season, and resume her place in Society. Whatever happened, Sally was sure Nicholas would do everything in his power to secure his mother’s well-being and happiness.

  “Why did you do it?” Sally sat beside Nicholas’s bed, unashamedly holding his hand in hers, needing the reassurance of being able to feel his warm skin against her own. “You might have been killed.” Her fingers tightened about his. She had so nearly lost him.

  “You would
have been killed. Maud was aiming that knife directly at your heart.”

  The heart that belongs completely to Nicholas.

  She looked down at their entwined hands, Nicholas’s skin so much darker than her own, so much warmer than her own too. God, how she loved this man. So much she feared her heart might cease beating when she knew the knife had entered him and she believed he was going to die.

  “It really is true, Sally.”

  She looked up at him. At least, she attempted to look at him. The tears were blurring her vision. “Are you delirious? If so, I will have the doctor brought back—”

  “I believe we have bothered the good doctor enough for one day,” Nicholas dismissed dryly. “Besides, I am not at all delirious.” He attempted to sit up higher on his pillows.

  “Remain still.” Sally stood to frown down at him sternly. “You will pull out your stitches, get an infection, and you will die, and then what will I do?” The last came out as a choked sob, and she lowered her lashes so that he should not see her actual tears.

  “Sally.” His fingers tightened about hers. “Look at me. Please look at me?”

  She was so surprised by the please and the gentleness of his tone that she did as he asked. Only to see that gentleness reflected in his eyes. And something else. Something she was almost afraid to hope—

  “Climb into bed and lie beside me, love.” He patted the bed next to him, on the side his shoulder wasn’t bandaged. “I want to hold you. We could even make love, if you are not averse to doing all the work,” he added teasingly.

  “We will not be doing anything like that again until you are completely recovered.” She slid onto the bed beside him, careful not to jolt him in any way as she laid her head down on his uninjured shoulder. His arm immediately moved about her waist to hold her close against him. “I really thought I had lost you, Nicholas.”

  “And I could not bear the thought of losing you.” His chest reverberated beneath her ear as he spoke. “That is what I was referring to just now. I saw Maud lunge toward you, the knife in her hand, and I realized—I realized that if you died, my own life would end with you— Stay exactly where you are,” he instructed as Sally would have moved to sit up. “Sally, we have not been together long, but I—I have fallen in love with you. The thought of losing you—I could not bear it.”