Strathairn appeared behind him. “Is Miss Harrismith badly hurt?”
“He hit her. There’s a nasty bruise and swelling on her chin. She must have fallen and knocked her head.” Andrew was vaguely aware of how much his voice shook. It earned a sidelong glance from Strathairn. “I need to get her home.”
He hefted her slight body in his arms, her long hair escaping its pins, and began to make his way down the rocky slope with Strathairn following. “A fine piece of shooting, Strathairn,” he said over his shoulder.
“Lucky I didn’t follow the shot down,” Strathairn said. “Had to lean out and wedge my feet into the tree roots. I would have called out after I’d shot him, but I wasn’t sure he was dead, and I didn’t want you to break cover.”
“I am extremely grateful, my friend.” Andrew was aware that a tremor still shook his voice. Was he blighted to lose those he cared for? No. God could not be so cruel. Greta! She had lost her brother, and would be devastated by what had happened. Andrew’s rage at Ivo was too raw, his thoughts were all for this innocent young woman in his arms.
Strathairn glanced at him again, his eyes questioning. “Glad to have got the devil.”
When they reached where the horses were tied up, Strathairn assisted Andrew to lift Jenny onto his saddle. Andrew mounted behind her. She lay limply within his arms so deeply unconscious that it scared him. He kicked the horse’s flanks and rode for home. “Jenny, Jenny, sweetheart, don’t die,” he murmured. “I couldn’t bear it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Her head ached. Jenny opened her eyes. She’d never been in this bedchamber before. Gold silk tented above her, the damask bed hangings drawn back from the ornately carved four poster. The walls were an intricate pattern of gold and blue, the carpet like thick cream, a swathe of gold silk dressed the windows.
Confused, she closed her eyes again. The image of a rider falling from his horse brought her up on her elbows with a gasp, before she sank down again, trembling. Wisps of recollection jostled in her brain. Was it the duke? Had Von Bremen shot him? That His Grace might have been hurt, or worse, brought tears to her eyes. She had the strangest dream. The duke had spoken to her. “Jenny, sweetheart, don’t die, I couldn’t bear it.” His urgent voice came out of a fog which hid his face from her, yet she knew he was close, because she was held snug and safe in his arms. She frowned. Was it a dream?
The door opened, and a woman entered, dressed in unadorned gray linen, her brown hair pulled severely back from her face. She crossed to the bed with a look of inquiry. “You’re awake, then, Miss Harrismith. You gave everyone quite a turn.” She stood before the bed, hands clasped at her waist, her brown eyes stern. “I am the nurse, Miss Green.”
“How do you do, Miss Green.” Jenny wanted to ask about the duke, but feared it would come out wrong somehow. That this stringently observant woman might suspect she cared too much. “How are the children?” Jenny attempted to sit up again, but her head still spun, and she lay down, grateful for the soft pillows.
“Perfectly well, but demanding to see you. When you’ve recovered, I shall permit it.”
“I’m quite recovered and should like to see them now,” Jenny said. “Do you know who brought me here?”
“I’m told it was the duke. But servants are inclined to speculate. They say His Grace entered the house with you in his arms.” She looked faintly disapproving, whether of the servants, or her, or indeed, her employer, Jenny wasn’t sure. And neither did she care. The duke was alive! Was it as she remembered? His strong arms around her, his clean manly smell, being carried light as a feather, her fears falling away. But the rest of it, his passionate words, were they real, too? Dare she hope he cared for her? Or should she protect her heart from a foolish dream? Who knew what tricks the mind could play on one?
At the fireplace, Miss Green pulled the bell sash. “You will wish for tea, and something to eat.”
“Thank you, I would appreciate a hot drink. How long have I been here?”
“I arrived two days ago when everyone was in a fluster over the accident. The housekeeper took me straight to the nursery. My time has been taken up with the children, who want for discipline, and the nursery, which has required my attention to set it in order.”
“They are beautifully behaved children, and have suffered a shock,” Jenny said, frowning at the woman. She ignored Miss Green’s suggestion that the nursery required ordering. It hardly mattered. “His Grace wasn’t hurt was he?” She needed to be sure.
“I don’t believe so. Why would he be?”
“I’m a little confused.” Who had been shot and fell from his horse if it wasn’t His Grace? She wondered just how much the staff had been told. Fortunately, Miss Green displayed little interest in probing her for information about her apparent accident.
She must eat to gain her strength and assume her duties. Jenny cautiously pushed herself up on the pillows. Her head no longer spun, but still ached, and her chin hurt most dreadfully. She touched it gingerly and then discovered another sore spot on the back of her head. How did that happen? She must have fallen onto the rocks. “Some bread and cheese would be welcome, thank you.”
Miss Green shook her head as if Jenny was one of her charges. “Something more substantial than that, I should think. You’ve barely eaten a mouthful since the day before yesterday.”
Jenny seemed to remember someone assisting her to drink a little broth, but had no idea who it was.
George answered the bell. “The servants have been worried about you, Miss Harrismith. I trust you’re well now?”
It surprised her, did the staff really care? “I am rallying, thank you, George, but there are gaps in my memory.”
“The house is abuzz, but no one knows for sure what happened. I imagine His Grace will tell you more although he is about to depart for London with Baroness Eisenberg. His Grace asked to be advised when you had awakened.”
The baroness! How foolish to have forgotten. She would be greatly distressed by her brother’s wicked behavior. And naturally, His Grace would be there to comfort her. So very foolish of her to forget the elegant, beautiful, woman. “Oh wait, George. I must tell him…” She put a hand to her head finding it hard to think through the pounding of her temples. “I’m sure there’s something I must tell him.”
“Best give yourself time, Miss Harrismith. The body has to heal.” The Nurse turned briskly to address George. “Miss Harrismith requires hot water, tea, and a light meal, I recommend coddled eggs.”
After George left them, Miss Green smoothed the bedcover and arranged Jenny’s pillows. Then she brought Jenny a mirror and comb from the bureau. “Now I must return to my charges.”
How efficient she was. Jenny hoped she would become more congenial on further acquaintance. It was important for the children to warm to her. “Of course, please tell them I miss them and bring them to see me soon,” she said faintly, resisting the urge to leave the bed and dress. Her limbs seemed to have turned to lead.
With a brisk nod, Miss Green left the room. If she’d been surprised to find Jenny in one of the guest bedchambers, she hadn’t revealed it.
The cozy bedchamber in the nursery was now Miss Green’s. Jenny would no doubt return to her old attic room. She should not be here in this luxurious bedchamber as if a guest of the family. She held up the mirror, and gazed at the unsightly purple bruise on her chin, where Von Bremen hit her. Grimacing, she ran the comb gently through her tangled tresses, trying to avoid the sore spot on her scalp. Her hairpins had vanished, and as she braided her hair what Von Bremen had told her came back in a rush. The duke must learn of it! Had the German escaped? Or was he captured? Could the duke already have learned about the men hiding in the tavern in Seven Dials? Von Bremen confessed it all to her because he intended to kill her when she was no longer useful to him. She shuddered remembering his mad eyes.
An hour later, after a good wash and a hearty meal of eggs, ham, and bread, washed down with hot tea, she felt considera
bly better. She was about to throw back the covers and leave the bed when a light tap on the door made her start. “Yes?” She pulled the covers up over her chest, hoping it would be the duke.
Miss Green popped her head around the door. “Shall I send in the children, Miss Harrismith?”
“Please do, Miss Green!”
After the nurse left them, William, and Barbara ran across the carpet. When Jenny patted the bed, they climbed the step and settled beside her. “Are you better now, Jenny?” William asked. “Father said you’d had a fall.”
“Yes.” Jenny touched her chin. “Silly me.”
“It’s purple,” Barbara observed coming close to examine Jenny’s chin, her sweet breath touching her face. “Does it hurt?”
“Not so much now,” Jenny said with a smile.
“Father said they caught the man who shot Mr. Irvine,” William said. “Mr. Irvine’s gone home now.” He looked disappointed.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to say goodbye to him,” Jenny said. “Such a good man.”
“A nonpareil,” William said with conviction. “Like Father and Lord Strathairn. The marquess has invited me to visit his horse stud to see his Arab stallion.”
“That’s splendid, William.”
Barbara seemed unusually quiet. “And how are you, my pet?” Jenny asked.
The little girl plucked at the bedcover. “Miss Green is sleeping in your room, Jenny. And I’m not allowed to visit Misty and Carrot. Their babies will be all grown up.”
“No, they will still be quite small. Shall we visit them tomorrow?” Jenny asked her.
Barbara smiled and nodded.
“Miss Green is to care for you both in the nursery, but I am still your governess, and we will do all the things we did before.” Jenny suspected that she and Miss Green might have a few disagreements in the future.
“I found the books you dropped on the stair. It must have been when you fell and hurt yourself,” William said.
“Did you find them interesting?”
“Yes! Did you know that in the desert the Arabs never used a bit on their horses? They were considered so smart they didn’t need it. They took their horses into their tents when the sand storms hit, too.” William’s eyes were alight with interest. “Father’s horse, Cicero is an Arab stallion. He has the arched neck and the high carriage of the tail.”
“Your father’s stallion is a beauty!” An image of His Grace riding the magnificent horse made her pulse race. She was a hopeless case. She must stop this, or life would become unbearable.
“Did you know Father is going to London?” William asked.
“I’m sure it won’t be for long,” she said, hoping he would not leave the children for a lengthy time. Jenny hoped the duke hadn’t already left. She must tell him what she knew.
*
Jenny! When Andrew discovered her lying so pale and still, fearing her dead, it had rocked him. Then, learning she would live, he’d buried his head in his hands and uttered up a prayer of thanks. He was forced to admit that she’d come to mean more to him than merely a servant in his employ.
The events that followed, left him little time to dwell on the state of his emotions. Once the doctor assured him that Jenny was not seriously injured, Andrew was forced to turn to other matters, while all the time, wishing to go to her, to confirm in his own mind that she was well, and on the mend.
Greta had accused him of murdering her brother and demanded to be taken to London where she would arrange passage to Germany with Ivo’s body. Andrew promised to ensure her safety and comfort until she sailed.
Irvine, anxious to get home, had left immediately, with Andrew’s grateful thanks and a remuneration for his trouble.
Not long after Irvine left, Andrew saw off Strathairn in his phaeton. He was to return to his lady wife, Sibella, at his Yorkshire estate. He explained to Andrew that Sibella was not keen on him taking up the reins of his old life and placing himself in danger. “She lived through my time working for the Crown and now requires assurance that I’ll come home at night.” He grinned. “And I am to please relay a message. She plans to have words with you when next you meet, for sparking my interest and sending me from home.”
Andrew smiled. “Please beg the marchionesses’ pardon, and say I am very grateful that you came, and have every hope that when we meet again, it will be over a glass of champagne.”
“Sibella will forgive you anything, Andrew,” Strathairn said with a grin, as he gathered up the reins. “She’s too fond of you to remain cross for long.”
With a laugh, Andrew waved Strathairn off as he drove his prime pair of bloods down the carriageway.
Andrew visited Raymond’s bedside to reassure himself that his cousin would live. Although he’d lost a lot of blood, the doctor was confident that Raymond would make a good recovery.
Andrew would always be grateful for his cousin’s brave action when he’d so courageously drawn Ivo’s fire, and as soon as he was able, told him so.
“I’m relieved you brought that bloody mongrel down,” Raymond muttered.
“I would have preferred you not to get shot. But heaven knows what might have happened if we’d all ridden into a trap. Ivo had an arsenal up there.”
“I’d like to know what was behind it all.” Raymond yawned. “But I expect you have Greta to deal with.” He grimaced. “I didn’t do what she accused me of, but I’m still heartily ashamed.”
“Let’s leave it in the past, Ray. I don’t want the baroness to come between us.”
A smile lit Raymond’s eyes, but it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.
Andrew returned to the library, wondering what Castlereagh was dealing with in London. He could offer nothing to help him. Ivo’s attempt to kill him and William seemed unconnected to the other two murders, for nothing the mad German did made sense. Unless Jenny knew something that would help fill in the pieces of the puzzle when he was able to see her. The doctor had dosed her with laudanum and kept her asleep for most of yesterday and he’d had had to curb his impatience. He just needed to see her, for his world had turned upside down when he feared she wouldn’t be in it.
“Miss Harrismith has woken, Your Grace.” George stood before the library desk some hours later, where Andrew sorted through some pressing matters with Bishop, before he took Greta to London. “She has asked to see you before you leave.”
“Have the children been in to see her?”
“Yes, a few moments ago.”
Andrew finished a letter and put down his pen. He stood. “The rest can wait, Anthony. I’ll leave those other matters in your care.” He donned his coat and headed for the stairs. The children had driven him mad demanding to know why they couldn’t visit Jenny. They’d not warmed to their new nurse. Well, it was early days yet. No one could doubt Miss Green’s efficiency. But her manner did seem a little unbending. It might not do the children much harm to be in the care of a disciplinarian, with Jenny there to make sure they didn’t want for affection.
As he reached the northern wing where the guest bedchambers were situated, he relived the crippling anxiety of carrying her in his arms, unconscious, with the fear that he’d lost her, and the guilt sour in his mouth that he hadn’t done enough to protect her.
At her bedchamber door, his breath caught in his throat as he knocked, fearing to find her unwell.
At her faint reply, he entered to a charming tableau: his children lying beside Jenny on the bed, as she read to them from a book.
William sat up. “Jenny is better, Father.”
“She hasn’t finished the story, yet,” Barbara grumbled.
“I promise to finish it later, poppet.” Her cheeks flushed, Jenny put down the book and drew the sheet up over her chest.
“Yes, later children, your nurse will be here in a moment. It’s time for luncheon,” he said his gaze sweeping over her to reassure himself she was well. The dark bruise on her chin was the only sign that she’d been hurt, as her lovely eyes gazed int
o his, full of life and unquenchable warmth. “And I must talk to Miss Harrismith.”
After the children were collected by the nurse, Andrew took the brooch from his pocket and came to hand it to Jenny. “The catch will need to be mended.”
“Oh, you found it!” She smiled and took it, gazing down at it fondly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
He drew up an impractical gilt framed chair beside the bed and squeezed himself into it. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better. I hoped you’d come, I must tell you what Von Bremen said. Has he been arrested?”
“No, Ivo is dead,” Andrew said. “The Marquess of Strathairn joined me in the pursuit. He climbed to the top of the cliff and had no option but to shoot Von Bremen.”
“I think Von Bremen knew he must die,” she said thoughtfully, “But he would never have given up.”
Andrew sat back and allowed himself the pleasure of just looking at her. Jenny’s skin was naturally fair and there were now a sprinkling of faint but appealing freckles on her nose. Her hair was drawn back into a long braid baring the slender column of her neck which appeared tender and vulnerable. She’d forgotten the sheet. It had dropped to reveal the desirable shape of her full breasts beneath the thin lawn nightgown. He suffered a strong desire to join her in the warm bed and hold her, to kiss the soft skin of her throat. His lips twitched with faint amusement. He was hardly a rowdy schoolboy. Jenny was eminently desirable, and he suspected his relief to find her relatively unhurt had slightly unhinged him. He cleared his throat and rested his booted foot on his knee. “Please go on.”
But as Jenny began to reveal how Ivo had accosted her on the stairs and how he’d threatened her, Andrew found himself edging forward in the chair, his hands gripping his knees. When she reached the point where she’d screamed, and Ivo had knocked her unconscious, it was all he could do not to go to her and hold her. Her voice had begun to tremble. “He talked quite madly about the men he knew in London. They were murdering lords and placing white lilies on their bodies. He said he hadn’t been part of it, and I believe he was telling the truth, but he did plan to join them. He said they used a tavern in Seven Dials as a base.”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 64
