by Allison Lane
“Are you aware that she eloped?” sneered Thorne.
“Yes. Why did you refuse her permission to marry? Granted Morrison was considerably beneath her, but not impossibly so.”
“I did not know Morrison existed,” said Thorne more calmly. “She was already betrothed to another.”
Norwood frowned. “Perhaps I misjudged her then,” he admitted. “I had not expected her to break her word in such a way.”
Thorne suddenly appeared nervous. “Actually, she had never spoken with her betrothed.”
“You tried to force her?” exclaimed the duke incredulously. Anger flared and his voice turned deadly. “Coercing any young lady into an unwanted match is unforgivable. And I cannot envision a more cowhanded approach to taming a spirited filly. She had no choice but to elope.”
The dinner gong sounded, cutting off the marquess’s sputtering response. “After you, your grace,” he murmured tonelessly, seeming relieved to escape the discussion.
“Of course. But I would suggest rethinking your edicts concerning Mrs. Morrison. She would be a credit to any family and will always be welcome at Norwood Castle.”
Very impudent of him, he admitted as he escorted Lady Bradford to dinner. But what was the point of being a duke if he could not occasionally throw his weight around? And he had run across few worthier causes than encouraging a reconciliation between Lady Amanda and her family.
* * * *
Oliver finally awoke late in the evening. Amanda sighed in relief when she heard the first moan. She had been worried about his continued unconsciousness. There was still no sign of the doctor.
“Where am I?” he groaned softly.
“In your room at Thornridge Court,” she answered. “Your carriage tumbled off the bridge during the storm this afternoon.”
“Who—” He bit off the words, his face twisted in pain.
“Don’t try to move. I am Mrs. Morrison, called in to tend your injuries until the doctor returns from another call.”
“I remember now,” he murmured. “Lightning struck quite close as we were returning to the Court, and John had trouble bringing the team back under control. How badly was he hurt?”
“I have heard nothing of him,” she admitted. “But I will inquire. How is your head?” She gently explored around the swelling with soft fingers, relieved that it seemed smaller than when she had arrived.
Oliver bit off an exclamation of pain. “It feels like an army is marching through my brain, with knives protruding from every foot.”
“How about your neck?”
He experimentally moved his head a fraction. “It is fine.”
“And your arms and legs?”
“A few bruises,” he admitted after a limb by limb examination. “And my right wrist and shoulder seem sprained.”
“Be grateful. Your hand caught in the strap when you went over the side and saved you from drowning. Now let’s try some of this broth, and then I will give you something for the pain.”
He sighed and opened his mouth, grimacing as he swallowed. “How did I get here?”
“Norwood rescued you, apparently at great risk to himself, though I know no details.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Many people differ from the face they show the world. You hide behind a mask yourself.”
Oliver raised questioning brows.
“Do you wear your heart on your sleeve?” she prodded him.
“Ah. Perhaps I should have joined the army after all.”
“My former comments still apply, Mr. Stevens. And accidents can happen anywhere. When I was on the Peninsula, there were often problems. Lightning struck as we were trying to cross a rain-swollen stream one summer, hitting six men.”
“How awful,” he whispered, paler than before. “Did all die?”
“Two survived,” she reported, “though both were badly burned. But you must realize that no place is safe. Death in war is common. Worse were the letters from home – a house that burned down, killing the family; a beloved brother who broke his neck while hunting; a young child drowned in a lake. It is not a perfect world. Be grateful Norwood pulled you out when he did. As for the other, running away from a problem rarely works.”
Chapter Thirteen
Oliver had fallen into a natural sleep by the time his bedroom door opened, admitting Norwood.
“How is he?” he whispered.
“He should be all right,” Amanda replied softly. “He woke an hour ago and took some broth.”
Norwood sighed in relief, but all he said was, “Good.”
“Do you know what happened to his coachman? He was asking.”
The duke dropped into a chair and frowned. “He died. We sent grooms out as soon as we returned to the Court. They brought his body in two hours ago. The neck seems to be broken, but whether that happened in the accident or as a result of being tumbled about by the stream, I cannot say. Both horses also perished.”
Amanda shook her head. “How tragic. If it had happened anywhere else, all would have survived. I did not question him about the details, but he mentioned a lightning strike quite close at hand.”
“Then it is possible that he had only been in the water ten or fifteen minutes before I found him. There was an excessively loud crash of thunder about that time.”
“Excellent. That improves his chances for a full recovery.”
“Did he suffer any other injuries?”
“Nothing serious. And he was completely lucid.”
They fell silent for some minutes, the only sounds an occasional creak of the house and Oliver’s quiet breathing. Even the wind had disappeared as the storm moved on. The duke knew that he should return to his room now that he had assured himself that the boy was all right, but he had been unable to sleep earlier and did not believe that had changed. In here he was relaxed.
Why that should be he did not understand. Was it just because he craved company? That feeling had been growing since his arrival at the Court, though he had never experienced it in the past. But the idea did not seem right. He derived no comfort from being with Geoffrey.
Comfort. Perhaps it was female company he needed. Not for intimacy, but for companionship. Since even betrothed couples were not allowed to be alone together, he had to settle for his future sister-in-law.
“I always seem to see you under dramatic circumstances,” he murmured in an apparent non sequitur.
“Not always, though I can see why it might seem that way..” She shrugged.
“I cannot forget that fire,” he admitted even as he wondered why he was mentioning it. Perhaps it was a combination of the dark room with its single candle and the weariness of a late night after a long day. But he could not keep his mouth closed, uttering thoughts he normally bottled up in the privacy of his mind. “It haunts me.”
“Nightmares?” Sympathy warmed the single word.
He nodded.
“No wonder you recognized mine so readily. Trauma frequently prompts night terrors. It is hardly surprising in your case. I doubt you are often subjected to drama. The dreams should fade in time.”
“They are becoming less frequent,” he admitted, leaning his head against the back of his chair and closing his eyes. “But at first it was two or three times a night.”
Amanda raised her brows, for that seemed excessive even for a disaster. She hoped her own behavior was not haunting him. “What are they about?”
“Oddly, Fitch’s surgery rarely appears,” he answered, seeming to read her thoughts. “It is always fire – being trapped in my room; watching Fitch engulfed as he fights to rouse me; watching Matthews buried under that wall..” His voice cracked.
“You needn’t feel guilty about that,” swore Amanda, understanding what he had not said.
“Two men died because of me.”
“Fustian,” she scoffed. “You are intelligent. How could you possibly believe that?”
“Fitch would be alive if he had not gone back to save my
worthless hide,” he insisted, staring bleakly at her. “And one of Matthews’s helpers was there only because I suffered an attack of cowardice and refused..” It was the first time he had voiced his shame aloud.
“Using that twisted logic, I was responsible for him myself,” she countered.
Norwood gasped. “Ridiculous!”
“Not at all. If I had not forced you to help with Fitch, you would never have considered whether to volunteer, and it was force,” she added, cutting off his protest. “Despite my denial at the time, I lost my temper that night and deliberately decided to knock you down a peg or two, knowing almost exactly what would happen.”
“Almost?” he interrupted.
“I hadn’t expected you to let him kick you.”
“Ouch.”
“I definitely owe you an apology, your grace. But beyond that, if I had not selfishly boarded the stage before the work was done, it would have been me under that wall.”
“I can’t deny I needed knocking down a bit, but you go too far to blame yourself for any deaths. You saved so many lives that night.”
“You also go too far,” she said, ignoring his last comment. “What happened was beyond either of our powers to influence. It is God who determines life and death. We should leave the second-guessing to Him as well.”
Norwood nodded.
“Did they ever discover what caused the fire?”
“It might have been a candle,” he suggested, “but the consensus was a careless soldier who occupied the room in which it started. He had spent the evening in the taproom, drinking heavily and smoking cheroots.”
“Nasty habit,” agreed Amanda, seeing Norwood shudder in distaste. “Many soldiers acquired it on the Peninsula. I was grateful that Jack never did.”
“The speculation was that he fell into a wine-induced slumber with one still alight.”
“I imagine so. The same thing happened in Spain to a captain camping near us – but not of our regiment, thank God. His tent went up in flames and him with it. I still hear his screams...”
“Don’t,” he urged her sharply, then lowered his voice as Oliver stirred restlessly on the bed. “I find it hard to believe that any gently reared lady could have survived what you experienced.”
“Fustian!” she scoffed, recovering her composure. “Women are not the delicate creatures that men have decreed. It is custom alone that relegates them to that position, not inherent weakness. You should have seen all the gently bred ladies succoring the dying in Brussels. I am unusual only because I refused to simper or play the coquette. I have always despised dishonesty, even when society expects it.”
“I applaud you, Mrs. Morrison. The airs and affectations that most women employ are indeed deceitful..” He sounded bitter.
“You must have had an unfortunate experience with someone who was less than truthful,” she murmured, hoping to draw him out about his past. Perhaps that was why he hid behind hauteur so often. She had been unable to learn much about him from Lady Thorne. Her grandmother had repeated what his grandmother had written when he was a young man, but she had no idea why he was so different today.
Her warmth and sympathy worked its usual magic. Norwood answered without thinking. “My wife..” A spasm of pain twisted his face.
“Tell me about her,” she whispered.
“Annabelle. She was the most beautiful creature in the world – not that her looks were perfect, but vivacity animated her like no other. I fell in love with her almost at once.”
“You must have been fairly young at the time,” she murmured.
“Yes. Not quite one-and-twenty and just down from Oxford. But that mattered not. She was so warm, so loving, so particular in her attentions. If she had flirted with everyone, I might have been warier, but she did not. Her face would light up whenever I appeared, her entire being relaxing, almost in relief. She seemed alive only in my presence. Dear God, but I was naïve..”
He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration she had never seen him use. Even his voice was livelier, convincing her that he desperately needed to talk about his marriage. He had probably never done so before.
“What went wrong?” she asked softly.
“Her father accepted my offer without consulting her. I should have realized then that something was not quite right. We settled on a wedding date barely a month ahead. I did not talk to Annabelle until that night at a ball. I do not know how familiar you are with society, but there is no opportunity for private words at ton entertainments. And when the heir to a dukedom marries, everyone turns out to fete the couple. It is even more frenzied than the usual Season.”
“So there was no chance to discuss anything with her until it was too late?” she asked, understanding where his comments were leading.
“Exactly. Nor did I have a moment to contemplate her changed demeanor. She was suddenly cold, quiet ... almost brittle. I put it down to exhaustion, which was something I was feeling excessively myself..” His hands again threaded his hair and stayed there, the weight of his head dropping his elbows onto his knees.
“Was it a case of title seeking then?” she asked.
“Not exactly, though I entertained that notion myself for quite some time. After the wedding, I realized that she was not exhausted, but was afraid of me.”
Amanda jumped in surprise. “Of you? Or just of marriage?”
“I thought at first it was marriage, and that would hardly be surprising. She was only seventeen and had never been out in the world before coming to London. It is a shocking transition, even with a spouse one cares for.”
Amanda nodded, but made no comment.
“But it quickly became apparent that it was me. Her terror eventually settled into hatred..” He raised his head to meet her eyes, his own as bleak as she had ever seen. Pain twisted his face.
“Dear heaven. But why would she marry someone she despised? Even title and wealth can hardly make up for that.”
He shrugged. “I pieced the story together bit by bit over the next months, but the crux of it remained a mystery until after she died. One of the mourners was Annabelle’s childhood neighbor. It seems that they had fallen in love when she was barely fifteen, but her father refused to countenance the union. The lad was the younger son of a baronet, with no money and no prospects. Annabelle’s father was a viscount with aspirations to higher circles. She was his only child so she represented his lone chance to improve his consequence.”
“Unfortunately not an unusual situation.”
“I know that now. If only I had known it then, but one of the few favors my cold parents ever did me was to protect me from the greediest of the toadeaters. I wish they had not.”
“Why did they not protect you from Annabelle and her father, then?” she asked, sensing another lifetime of pain associated with his family, but choosing to ignore it for the moment.
“In a burst of youthful independence and self-confidence, I arranged the whole without consulting them,” he admitted in chagrin.
“Typical..”
“You condemn me?”
“Never. How can I, having fallen prey to youthful indiscretion myself on more than one occasion? But what happened? If Annabelle loved another, how came she to fall in with her father’s plans?”
He frowned. “She had no choice. She was not as deceitful as I initially thought. Her father brought her to town for the Season, ordering her to attach a wealthy title, and demanding at least an earl. Her beau claims that she had concocted a scheme to avoid any union.”
“Ah,” sighed Amanda in sudden understanding. “She probably cut every eligible gentleman who showed interest in her, but was able to flirt with you because there was no chance you would offer for her.”
He raised his brows in surprise.
She smiled. “Think, your grace. How often does any gentleman wed at so young an age? What duke would ever countenance his heir attaching a lady so far beneath him in consequence? She must have assumed that you were engaging
in harmless flirtation like any other young sprig. That would account for her demeanor with you. She could relax and be herself, knowing that no other gentlemen would dare to cut you out.”
“You are right, of course. I was merely surprised that you worked it out so quickly. Unfortunately, I did not do so until it was much too late. I put the poor girl through hell,” he whispered, voice cracking badly at the memory of his marriage.
“I assume that her father forced her to wed you,” she stated calmly, pulling him back from the brink of collapse.
“Yes. He had already accepted my suit and agreed to settlements before she even knew that I had offered. It was one of the first things I learned after the wedding. He had threatened to incarcerate her for life if she did not comply.”
“The disadvantage of being so proper. You did not discuss your feelings with her and probably did not even hint at a future together.”
“Exactly. And then I defied all propriety by arranging everything myself. I was a devil of a fool.”
“It is over, your grace. One cannot change the past, however much one might wish to. One can only learn from it.”
“For myself, it would not matter. I deserved everything I suffered. But she was an innocent victim. There is no justice.”
“Poor Annabelle. But why was her father so adamant? Was it just the vicarious power and enhanced consequence?”
