Lady Lost

by Jane Goodger

She kissed him again and he closed his eyes. Within minutes, his breathing was steady and he was asleep.

  “He shall be quite weak for some time,” Dr. Landsdowne said. “But his heartbeat is near normal, an indication he is recovering. The knife’s blade was short and I believe the damage to his lordship’s lungs was minimal. If his fever remains low, I believe his chances of full recovery are excellent. I’ve brought a stretcher with me. If you could fetch two of your strongest footmen, we can have him moved to a more comfortable location.”

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  The doctor gave detailed instructions, and was admonishing Lilian not to allow him to move, not even to sit up, for at least a week when Lord Chesterfield returned. His eyes went directly to his son.

  “He’s asleep.”

  “Ah. Just as well. Mr. Munroe has been dealt with. He seemed remarkably calm for a man who has just committed murder. Said he saw a redheaded man talking to Lord Granton at the Cow and Plow and that they seemed to be arguing. The lie tripped off his tongue as if he believed what he was saying. I’ve sent for the constable.” He drew out his watch. “He should be here within the hour, I’d say. And I pray this business will be over soon.”

  “And Mr. Munroe? Did he say where he was going? I fear for my sister, you see.”

  “Munroe? Why he’s tied up and gagged in the wine cellar being guarded by Mr. Fletcher.”

  Lilian let out a laugh. “How on earth did you manage that, my lord?”

  “I could hardly let the man who tried to murder my son walk away, could I?” He pulled out a small pistol. “This did have a way of convincing him he should listen to me. This and the fact I had three footmen standing outside the door waiting for me to give them the word to enter.” Chesterfield chuckled. “Rather exciting, yes?”

  “Yes,” Lilian said, laughing again. “You are quite the hero, sir.”

  Chesterfield blushed and harrumphed a bit. “Man’s lucky I didn’t kill him after what he did to my sons. Now, if you will excuse me, doctor, my lady, I do believe I’ll visit with Adam to see how he is faring. God willing, we’ll have no more excitement today.”

  * * *

  Throughout the long night, Lilian stayed by Marcus’s side, lying beside him, sleeping fitfully. Each time she woke up, she laid her hand lightly on his chest to make certain he was still breathing before touching his cheek to ascertain his temperature. He’d awoken only briefly when the footmen moved him from the settee and onto the stretcher, in what was obviously an excruciatingly painful process. But with the calm direction of Dr. Landsdowne, the men successfully transferred him to the stretcher, then carried him to his own room, where they gently moved him onto the bed, all while Lilian hovered to make certain he wasn’t dropped.

  At some point, Stephen, looking exhausted, came into the room. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lilian, but I wanted to see how Marcus is faring.” Lilian got up and lit a lamp, then turned the light low so as not to disturb her husband before sitting on the bed beside him.

  “The doctor is pleased with his progress and he hasn’t developed a high fever, so we think he will recover.”

  Stephen laid a hand against his own forehead, as if trying to contain the emotions he was feeling. His eyes filled with tears as he looked down at the prone form of his oldest brother and shook his head. “It’s my fault. If he dies, it will be my fault.”

  “I daresay the man at fault is Mr. Munroe, Stephen.”

  “But he wouldn’t have been home if none of this had happened. He very nearly died, and I would have been to blame. I can never forgive myself.”

  Lilian stood and went over to Stephen, laying her hand on his arm. “You must forgive yourself, Stephen. And remember, if the events of five years ago had not transpired, we would not have Mabel. And that would have been terrible, indeed.”

  Stephen nodded, but his face was still a study of anguish as he looked at Marcus. “He didn’t deserve any of this.”

  “No one deserves this,” Lilian said forcefully. “But Munroe is in jail and will no doubt pay for his crimes.” Lilian couldn’t help but wonder if Theresa would somehow be tied to her husband’s murder. She prayed not. “You look exhausted, Stephen. Go to bed and visit in the morning.”

  “Good night.” He stood there a long moment, looking down at Marcus, his eyes tormented, before turning and leaving the room.

  * * *

  The next morning, Lilian awoke to the sound of a goldcrest outside the window, its high-pitched trill making her smile. Beside her was the warm, masculine body of her husband, and her mouth turned up even more. Thank God he’s alive, she thought, and was surprised to see his golden eyes looking at her.

  “Good morning,” he said, and she hurt to hear how weak he sounded.

  “Good morning.” She was close enough that she could see the golden hairs of his beard, the light lines near his eyes that showed he had been in the sun. “How are you feeling?”

  “As if a murderous maniac stabbed me with a very large knife.”

  “That’s about right,” she said. “We’ve got him, you know. Munroe. Your father held him at gunpoint and tied him up.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. They put him in the wine cellar until Constable Conroy could come fetch him. He’s in jail and safely put away.”

  “Wonderful news,” Marcus said. “Adam?”

  “Recovering nicely but suffering from a terrible headache. Dr. Landsdowne said he had a concussion. And Mr. Ashton, I’m afraid, was killed.”

  Marcus let out a curse. “Three men, he killed. Three. My God.”

  Lilian snuggled a bit closer, not wanting to think it might have been four men killed if Marcus hadn’t been very lucky. Lilian felt tears burn in her eyes and she swiped them away and laid a hand on his cheek, rough with stubble. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I should never have let you go. I feel I’m to blame over what has happened.”

  “No.” She could hardly recognize his voice, so thin and raspy did it sound.

  “I shouldn’t have let you leave,” she said in a rush. “What if you had died, Marcus, and I never got the chance to tell you I was sorry?”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. And I should not have left. Not as I did, at any rate.”

  He took a deep breath and turned his head so she could no longer see his eyes. “I need to say something to you, Lilian.”

  A feeling of calm stole over Lilian. Nothing had truly been resolved between them, and Lilian was afraid of what he might say. For a moment, she wondered if she should tell him how very much she loved him, simply to stop him from tearing them apart. “Go on,” she said, sounding calm even though her heart was pounding, pounding in her breast.

  “I know that this marriage was not by choice.” He stopped, his eyes still on the ceiling above them, while Lilian’s eyes were on him. He was being so serious, it was scaring her. She didn’t want to think of their troubles, of Mabel, of the fact he had left her. She had a terrible feeling he was going to say good-bye. “Which is why I don’t understand what has happened.”

  Lilian furrowed her brow; he’d confused her completely. What didn’t he understand?

  He let out a humorless laugh, and turned his head toward her, the effort to do so obvious in his strained expression. “Do you realize we’ve only known one another for less than one month?”

  Lilian nodded uncertainly.

  “Then perhaps you can explain this, because I certainly cannot. When I left you here, I thought I was leaving forever. I was hurt and angry, and I didn’t think I could bear to see Mabel again. And then, in a remarkably short time, I realized what I truly could not bear was being apart from you. Or Mabel.”

  Lilian placed one shaking hand over her mouth, her eyes immediately filling with tears. For a woman who took pride in not crying in front of others, she seemed to be doing quite a bit of it lately. It wasn’t a proclamation of love, but it was as close as one could get, and Lilian couldn’t stop the surge of hope that nearly staggered her.

&nb
sp; He found the ceiling fascinating once again. “I apologize if this proclamation makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?” Lilian asked on a small laugh. “Uncomfortable? No, Marcus, it does not make me uncomfortable in the least.”

  He closed his eyes briefly and took a bracing breath. “I’ll never leave you again, Lilian. I swear it.”

  “Good. And I shall never let you leave.”

  “Tie me up, will you?”

  She let out a watery laugh. “With heavy chains.”

  * * *

  It was on the third day of his bedrest that Dr. Landsdowne finally pronounced that Lord Marcus Granton would live. There was much cheering throughout the house, and it seemed as if the dark cloud that hovered over Hallstead Manor and all its inhabitants was whisked away. The doctor left, admonishing Marcus to stay abed for several more days and to be patient with his recovery.

  “You are not to travel for another two weeks at least or get out of bed for another week,” he said before snapping his bag closed.

  Marcus settled back into his pillow and frowned. Seven more days of lounging about was not particularly enticing.

  The only benefit of bedrest was that Lilian was in the habit of curling up beside him and reading him The Times or a periodical or a book, or simply entertaining him with stories from her childhood or the goings-on of the house. Waking up with her beside him was quite nice. He decided after the third day that his wife could use her own room as an overlarge wardrobe; she was sleeping with him from now on.

  On the seventh morning, he woke to a tickle on his lips and smiled. How many mornings had he woken up with a smile on his face? Lilian was painting his lips with the tip of her braid, and when he turned to whisper good morning, she kissed him softly.

  “Today we go for a stroll about your room,” she said, as if they were planning a grand adventure for the day.

  “How invigorating. Do you think I can make it all the way to the window?”

  Lilian looked at the window, which, to be honest, looked to Marcus to be miles away. He still felt uncommonly weak, something the doctor had told him to expect. It would take some time for his body to recover from the loss of blood, but he hadn’t counted on feeling so weak for so long.

  Mr. Courtland knocked and walked in, and Lilian took the entry of his valet as her cue to leave Marcus to take care of his private matters. Marcus made a mental note to have a talk with his valet. Walking into his room in the early morning was fine for as long as Marcus was incapacitated, but it would not be seemly when Marcus had recovered his strength, not when he was waking up to his beautiful wife and her enticing body. But for this day, he allowed her to leave so that Courtland could help him to use the chamber pot. It was humiliating, but necessary.

  “You’ll be well and strong soon, sir,” Courtland said when Marcus was finished. Just pissing in a pot had completely drained him, leaving him light-headed. How would he ever manage to walk?

  “I hope so, Mr. Courtland. I still feel as weak as a babe.”

  Lilian returned, followed by a footman carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods. One thing that had definitely recovered was his appetite, and his stomach rumbled appreciatively at the smell of sausages.

  Once they were settled, Lilian said, “I saw Stephen in the breakfast room.”

  “I thought once he realized I wasn’t going to die he would have departed for London. What is he still doing here?”

  Marcus could tell Lilian did not like his reply, for she pressed her lips together in displeasure. “I think you should speak with him. You cannot refuse to see him forever.”

  “We have nothing to say to one another, Lilian. Let it be.”

  She sighed and dropped the subject, for which Marcus was vastly relieved. It seemed everyone in the household felt sorry for poor Stephen, who was suffering mightily from some well-placed guilt and regret. Let him suffer, Marcus thought, just a bit more. He still was not at a place where he could even contemplate forgiving his brother; the betrayal was too raw.

  A light knock on the door distracted him from thoughts of his brother. “Enter.”

  Mabel, followed by the children’s nanny, peeked through the door. “Her ladyship thought you might be up for a visit this morning,” the nanny said shyly.

  Mabel stood there, looking so small and sad, staring at him with her big, hazel eyes, as if she knew how difficult this moment might be for Marcus. But it wasn’t difficult at all, not even a smidgeon, damn his soft heart. God, he felt like weeping, so happy was he to see her. Lilian had thought it best that Mabel not see him when he was so very ill, and Marcus had agreed.

  “Of course. Mabel, come here. Thank you, Nanny.”

  Mabel hurried to the bed and scrambled up, her eyes on the bandage on his chest. “Are you better?”

  “Much. Still a tiny bit sick, but I’m getting better.”

  “Did it hurt terribly?”

  “Awfully. Very nearly as much as pricking one’s finger on a thorn. A very big thorn.”

  For some reason, that made Mabel smile, as if she knew just how much he was downplaying his injury. Then her brows furrowed. “They said you might go to heaven.”

  Marcus put on a look of shock. “Who said? Someone was telling tall tales, Mabel. The only place I’m going is over to that window there to look out and watch you play with your cousins.”

  That seemed to satisfy her, and when Marcus looked over the girl’s head, he found Lilian looking at him as if he’d just given Mabel the moon and stars. Really, she ought to stop looking at him so every time he did even the smallest kindness. Made a man think he could give away the moon and stars.

  * * *

  “By God, did someone come in overnight and double the size of my room?” Marcus glared at the window, his legs shaking, his forehead bathed with sweat, his breath labored as if he’d just run to Cannock and back. Lilian hovered next to him, and he wondered if she thought she’d be able to catch him when he collapsed to the floor. The window was open, and he could hear the sound of the children playing. For some reason, it was imperative that he get to that window and call down to Mabel.

  “Are you . . . are you unable to . . . ?”

  Marcus shot his wife a look and she stopped speaking, but she was clearly frustrated with his refusal to abort their mission. He would get to that window if he had to crawl. “I can make it.” Strong words from a man who felt weak as a kitten. One shuffling step after another, he made slow progress, stunned by how he felt. Perhaps this trip had been a bit ambitious after all, he thought as the room began to swirl a bit, his vision darkening slightly.

  Suddenly, a strong arm was wrapped around his waist and a shoulder was thrust under his arm, steadying him.

  “Get the hell out, Stephen,” Marcus snapped, just as he felt his knees buckling beneath him.

  “Whoa, there you go,” his baby brother said, standing him up and strengthening his grip on him. “I’m not leaving, Marcus, and you’re too damned weak to do anything about it.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone, shall I?” asked Lilian, sounding overly bright.

  “Do not dare leave,” Marcus said, and Lilian promptly ignored him and left, giving him a cheerful wave as she closed the door. Had he lost all control of everything? “Hell, since you’re here, help me to the window.”

  With Stephen’s help, the way was much smoother and in a few moments, Marcus was at the window, looking down at the children in the garden playing some game with Nanny. “Hello, Mabel,” he called, and was gratified to see Mabel stop immediately what she was doing to run beneath the window and wave wildly, as if he couldn’t see her at all. “What are you playing?”

  “Duck, Duck, Goose. You have to run really fast and if you get caught, you’re the duck.”

  “The goose,” her cousin called.

  “The goose,” Mabel corrected.

  “Go on and play now. I’ll watch from here.”

  Marcus stood at the window for several minutes, resting heavily on
his hands, his legs hardly holding his weight. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to get back to bed, even with Stephen’s help. To his credit, Stephen hadn’t said a word, just stood silently behind him as he watched Mabel play. Every once in a while, she’d look up and wave and he’d wave back.

  “She’s a good girl,” Marcus said.

  “Yes.”

  Marcus clenched his jaw because it hurt so much to know Mabel was his brother’s daughter in blood. But she was his daughter in heart.

  “She’s your daughter, Marcus,” Stephen said as if reading his thoughts.

  Marcus nodded. “Help me back to bed before I collapse, will you?”

  Without another word, Stephen positioned himself to help Marcus walk back to his bed and stood silently while he settled against the pillow and drew up a blanket.

  “Thank you,” Marcus said, keeping his tone neutral.

  Stephen’s head jerked slightly, as if Marcus had struck him or wounded him with a harsh word instead of expressing his gratitude. His brother’s eyes filled with tears and Marcus had to look away. “If you had died, I never would have forgiven myself. I’m asking you now for your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. I know that, but I’m asking anyway.”

  “What you did, Stephen—”

  “I know. God, I know, Marcus.”

  “I will try.”

  Stephen let out a long breath. “That is all I ask.” He hesitated a moment. “Can I get you anything?”

  “My wife.”

  * * *

  Lilian gave Stephen a curious look when he found her in the library just as she pulled Frankenstein off the shelves to read to Marcus. He did enjoy the macabre, nearly as much as she did. Stephen looked slightly more at ease, and though he didn’t say anything in particular, Lilian sensed that the brothers had made up a bit.

  “Marcus would like to see you.”

  “Is everything well?”

  “As well as could be,” Stephen said, giving her a weak smile.

  Lilian tucked the book in her skirt and hurried up the stairs. Constable Conroy had stopped by briefly and given her news of Theresa, and Lilian was excited to tell Marcus. When she entered the room, he was abed, looking tired but pleased to see her.