She shook her head in denial. “Not you, Mayson. The person who intends you harm has set something in motion. Could this be your uncle’s doing?”
“Perhaps. Although I would not think that he would risk involving others. He never did before.”
“Evelyn, I have been thinking. If I were to let go of my inheritance, let go of it officially, the funds would go to my uncle. It is all he wants, I think. If I did that, then you and I could go to New South Wales, and begin a life that has nothing to do with any of this.”
Evelynn clasped his hand in both of hers and drew his fingers to her lips. “Oh, Mayson, I am touched that you would even think such a thing. But what of the people on the estate? What of the way he has treated them?”
Mayson freed his other hand from the covers, and captured her hands in his. He pulled her hands to him, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “That is a thing, is it not?” he said, cradling her hands against his face. “But if I take up my inheritance, I will be expected to wed a lady of my station and beget a bevy of high-born children to carry on the Name.”
“Then I will go with you to your household, in whatever capacity you need. Do not fear that you will lose me, Mayson.”
“In any capacity?” Mayson looked at her, searching her face for any flinching or withdrawing.
“Any capacity,” she said firmly. “I do understand the ways of the world, My Lord Sacrificial Lamb.”
At that Mayson laughed, and a merry smile lit up his face. “Then we shall astonish the world, Mrs. Absolutely Willing, for I would have you to wife, and be hanged to the opinion of the world.”
“Mayson!” she said softly, in astonishment.
“Do not think I have not seen the look on your face these weeks past. I know that you have been prepared to give me up. But I will not have it, do you hear? I want no other, nor do I wish to share you with someone else just to make you secure. I have seen how these arrangements work out, and I would rather defy society than risk you to an arranged marriage of dubious quality.”
“Whatever makes you think I would submit to such a thing?” Evelyn asked. “I said I would serve you, not that I would serve any other.”
“But what if there were children?” Mayson asked.
“What if there were? I know you would do your best for them, and they would have a trade and education.”
“But what of a name?” Mayson asked. “Would you condemn them to doing without?”
“Oh, Mayson, there is more to life than a name. Besides, what if they were all daughters? Not every expectation produces a son.”
“Evelyn, Evelyn,” Mayson pulled her down to him. “It is all moot for I will not do this thing to you. I asked you some weeks ago if I might have you to wife, and you as good as said yes. Have you changed your mind?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not exactly.”
“Then, what exactly?”
“I said yes to Mr. Rudge, the cook, not to…”
“Shhh,” he put his finger across her lips. “Do not say that name here. You never know who might be listening. Besides, I knew who I was when I asked. And I asked Mrs. Swinton, the beautiful, tragic, recent widow of Mr. John Swinton. I asked a lady of noble heart and great generosity such as I am unlikely to find anywhere.”
“But Mayson…”
Evelyn got out no further words, for Mayson wriggled himself up in the bed, cupped the back of her head in one hand, and pulled her in for a gentle, but deep and thorough kiss.
“Oh, my!” Evelyn said when he drew back. “Oh, Mayson.”
“I’ll not ask how that was in comparison to your dear departed,” he said, “for every man who marries a widow has a saint to follow after, but was it passable?”
“Oh, more than passable, Mayson. You make extremely cogent and unfair arguments, Mr. Rudge.”
Mayson lay back down on the pillows, and began coughing.
“Oh, dear, I have excited you too much!” Evelyn exclaimed, rising hurriedly and crossing the small room for the pitcher of water on the washstand.
She poured a glass for him, and brought it back, along with a cloth.
He spat into the cloth, and was no little astonished when she opened it and inspected his sputum. “Flecks of black,” she said. “No doubt from that horrid smoke, but no tinge of blood.”
“That is a good thing?” he asked.
“That is a very good thing,” she said, deliberately neglecting to mention the greenish tinge that indicated infection. She set the cloth aside to show Dr. Alton when he next visited.
“I will ring for someone to bring you some wine,” she said. “You need to sleep, not fret yourself about tomorrow. I will sit with you, so that no one will disturb you.”
“But what of you?” Mayson asked. “Do you not need rest?”
“Oh, Mayson,” Evelyn said tenderly, smoothing back his hair. “You are my rest.”
Resting against the pillows, Mayson leaned his face against her hands. This is home. This is what I need.
Chapter 37
The next several days were busy ones for Evelyn. The Duchess had developed a bad case of gout, and although the cooks the Duke sent from the Main House were more than adequate, they were certainly not up to Mayson’s standards. Nor were they willing to manage the small, late night repasts the Duchess enjoyed.
Mayson, just as Dr. Alton had predicted, developed a rattle in his lungs. The physician ordered him to bed, and refused to listen to any pleas that Mayson be allowed up.
In consequence, on this particular evening, Evelyn was baking an apple and carefully toasting bread over the coals of the Duchess’ fireplace.
“That apple does smell good,” the Duchess remarked. “And so does the toasting bread. Do you suppose that by having others prepare our food, we are missing out on part of the joys of dining?”
Evelyn gave a polite little laugh. “It is certain that this meal will not be cold before you can partake of it. How fortunate that there is fresh butter and strawberry jam.” She rose from where she knelt on the hearth, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the coals.
“Oh, that does smell delicious,” the Duchess said. “And the tea will be piping hot, as well. We should do this more often, Mrs. Swinton.”
Evelyn forced a smile. “I think you would find my cooking tedious after a time, Your Grace.”
And I need to get back to Mayson. Never before have I appreciated the difficulty of washer women and barmaids who have families.
“Perhaps.” The Duchess bit into the toasted bread. “But I think these simple meals are made better by the company. It is too bad that Mr. Rudge cannot join us.”
“Oh, you are too shrewd, Your Grace.” Now Evelyn’s laugh was genuine.
“My dear, I know what it is to love. And I know what it is to fear for a loved one who is ill. I am sorry to be such an old crosspatch as to insist upon your company. But, in truth, the maids fret me. Come sit with me, and have a cup of tea before you go back to Mr. Rudge. Are you sleeping at all?”
“I’ve caught a few winks. Mr. Bruce sits with Mr. Rudge, and so does Mr. McElroy. But Mr. McElroy is limited in what he can do until the carpenter completes his leg.”
“Such a shame that someone would be so petty as to burn the peg-leg of a one-legged man. It is a miracle that he is getting about at all.”
“He does well with his crutches, but they do not leave his hands free to carry things about. Moreover, while he was trying to move Jemmy away from the hearth, he strained the arm he broke that was newly-healed when he came to work here.”
“Such a noble spirit in that tortured body.”
“I think so,” Evelynn replied. “But there are many who do not see beyond the scarring and the sightless eye.”
“I do not understand the ways of people sometimes,” the Duchess said. “But I will own that had it not been for Mr. Rudge, we probably would have turned him away. Yet he not only gave as good a service as many an able-bodied man, but he also risked himself to save Jemmy.�
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The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes. Then the Duchess said, “I note that Bruce has become Mr. Bruce of late.”
“He has earned it,” Evelyn said. “Mr. Wilson has confirmed that he is grooming him to become a butler.”
“Perhaps at least one good thing will come of all this turmoil.”
“Perhaps. But I think he would soon be moving up anyway. He is already the lead footman.”
“So he is. Well, my dear, you have borne with me admirably. If you will but help me into bed, I will not take it amiss if you go to Mr. Rudge. Let me know if there is any change.”
Evelyn lent her shoulder to the Duchess so that the older lady could hobble her way from chair to bed on her swollen feet. The Duchess sank down on the edge of her wide bed with a sigh of relief.
“Someday, they will make an easier way for those who are crippled up with age or rheumatism to get about more easily.”
“No doubt they shall,” Evelyn soothed her. “But until that time, those of us who are still able must serve those who are not.”
The Duchess settled back on her pillows and Evelyn drew the covers up over her. “You are like an angel to me, Mrs. Swinton. Go now to your friend, the cook who has served up so many delectable dishes. I miss them. Tell him I miss my golden milk and that the fool my son sent me cannot make it fit to drink, so he must hurry and get well.”
The Duchess’ tone was light, but Evelyn heard the genuine concern behind the flippancy. “I will tell him, Your Grace. Good night.”
“Good night, Mrs. Swinton.”
Evelyn banked the fire, and made sure the fire screen was firmly in place. She turned down the nightlight, and giving a nod to the footman stationed outside the door, she hurried down the hall to the guest room where Mayson no doubt lay awake, waiting for her.
When she entered the room, she found that Mayson was awake. Mr. McElroy sat in a wingback chair beside the fireplace. The chair and the bed nearly filled the small room, but a straight-back chair sat in the niche between bed and nightstand, waiting for Evelyn. She sank down upon it, gratefully.
“How are you, Mayson?” she asked. But she could see it. Two hectic red patches glowed on his cheekbones, his eyes were fever bright and hollow.
“Evelyn,” he croaked. “What took you so long? I was worried about you.”
“I am here now, Mayson. The Duchess is having a bad time with her gout. She misses your cooking, and she misses our little chats. She even suggested that you dine with us.”
“Should we, then?” Mayson asked.
“I do not think it is a good idea,” Evelyn replied. “She is upset and in a certain amount of pain, and Dr. Alton does not want you out of bed for longer than it takes to use a chamber pot. Right now, Mr. McElroy has greater mobility than you.”
“Now that is unkind of you, Evelyn. Although I should be lonely these long days lying here without him.”
“Long days… it has been but three,” Evelyn protested, while Mr. McElroy said at the same time, “I was glad to do it. The time drags for me, too. I’ll be glad when the carpenter has me new leg.”
“Oh, the pair of you! One in bed, the other in a comfortable chair. I have been upstairs and down, reasoning with the cooks the Duke sent for his mother, and finally cooking her bedtime snack myself at her drawing room fireplace.”
Mayson began to cough into a large white handkerchief. He then blew his nose, and when he would have wiped his eyes on the same cloth, Evelyn handed him a fresh one. “Tank you,” he said, the nasal congestion gripping his usual clear diction.
Evelyn did not say anything, merely looked worried.
“Did Dr. Alton look in on you today?” she asked.
“He did, on both of us, and on Jemmy,” Mr. McElroy said. “He said to tell you he would be by in the morning, and not to fret yourself too much. He left some packets of tea for you to make up for Mr. Rudge, as well as a draught for the pain in my arm, and a pair of crutches for me.”
“How is Jemmy?” she asked.
“Fit as a fiddle, and chomping at the bit to be back in the kitchen. The physician wants him to wait another day, especially since he anticipates a fight between Jemmy and that pair of dunderheads the Duke sent to cook. He is hoping that both Her Grace and Mr. Rudge will soon be fit enough to send those cooks back to the estate manor.”
“Oh, dear,” Evelyn laughed a little. “It would seem that no one likes them. But small wonder. They tried to cook up a seven-course meal for Her Grace. Mr. Wilson had to speak with them very sternly about Dr. Alton’s directions for the Duchess.”
“Let me guess,” Mayson suggested, “They tried to make all her favorites for one meal?”
“That would have been bad enough,” Evelyn sighed, “but the lead cook wanted to make a steak and kidney pie. This, when Dr. Alton expressly forbade organ meats, and the entire household knows that she detests the dish. Apparently, it was the late Duke’s favorite and is this cook’s specialty.”
“What did you do?” Mr. McElroy asked, with great interest.
“Suggested that he make the dish for the staff, and requested fresh bread, apples and cheese for the Duchess. I roasted the apple before the fire, toasted the bread, and Her Grace and I had a simple repast. Oh, and tea. I made ordinary tea by the drawing room fire.”
“Good solution,” Mayson put in. “And I think you had the better meal. I did wonder when Mr. McElroy and I were served the pie. It might be this cook’s specialty, but I cannot compliment him on his crust or the gravy.”
“Oh, dear,” Evelyn laughed. “Should I make something for you?”
“Not to worry. Mr. Wilson slipped us a snack of bread, cheese, and apples, having given over most of the pie to the hound master who hoped that it would not give his pups indigestion.”
“Oh, dear. Whatever possessed the Duke to send us these two fellows? Surely he knows how important it is that his mother have the right foods.” Evelyn shook her head in disbelief.
“That is a good question,” Mayson replied. “I can scarcely credit it myself.”
“Well, I think I’ll toddle off to bed,” Mr. McElroy said. “If you could just help me with the door, Mrs. Swinton?”
“Gladly,” Evelyn replied, as Mr. McElroy struggled up onto his one good leg with the aid of the crutches. “Will you need help at the other end?”
“With the door, I might.”
But when Evelyn opened the door, she found one of the footmen waiting. He volunteered not only to assist Mr. McElroy with the doors, but with any other thing he might need. “We reckon you saved Jemmy,” the footman said. “We got into a lot of mischief together when we were boys. I’d be glad to do it in any case, but I’m especially happy to be of help for his sake.”
Relieved, Evelyn watched the two men, one young and hale, the other old and injured by life, make their way down the hall
Then she closed the door and resumed her seat beside Mayson. She picked up his hand, and held his knuckles to her lips. “What will become of us?” she murmured.
Mayson, who had been drowsing with his eyes closed, opened them and said, “I’ll not leave you, Evelyn. You are not sitting another death watch. I have been thinking. Maybe you are right about what would happen if I take up my title. Let us run away together. New South Wales would suit, or maybe some place in the Americas. What do you think?”
“I think I will go with you to the ends of the earth,” Evelyn replied. “It would be nice to have a destination so that I know what to pack.”
Mayson started to laugh, then began to cough again. When he lay back against his pillows, he looked pale and the red patches on his cheeks were brighter than ever. “Just let me get over this,” he said. “Then we will make our plans.”
Evelyn smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “I will wait as long as it takes,” she said.
When Mayson’s breathing evened out, Evelyn collected up the soiled handkerchiefs. She checked the last one. The sputum was no longer flecked with black, but i
t was green as the moss on a stagnant swamp and smelled nearly as bad.
Am I, indeed, sitting at another deathbed?
Chapter 38
Darrius sat with Blanche in the large drawing room. A tea table was drawn up between them.
“So you are feeling better?” Darrius asked.
“Better, yes. Not as well as I would like. I might never be able to wear my stays tight or contemplate any powder or paint beyond a little flour or berry juice.”
“That does not seem like such a dreadful fate,” Darrius commented.
Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 22
