The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two

by Farmer, Merry

  Flossie was expecting the worst when they arrived at Jason’s hotel. Polly took her bag as Flossie hopped down from the carriage and stormed the lobby.

  “Which is Jason Throckmorton’s room?” she asked the man behind the desk.

  The man, whose name she knew from her dealings with Jason’s other hotels was Robert, frowned at her as though she’d attempted to bet money on a horse race and had mistaken him for the bookie. “Mr. Throckmorton is not to be disturbed,” he said.

  “I’m Florence Stowe,” she said, not bothering to be polite. There wasn’t time for it. “Which room is he in?”

  Robert’s eyes went wide. “You’re Miss Stowe?” He raked her with a gaze. “I expected someone far more—”

  “Which room?” she demanded.

  “I’ll show you,” Polly said, coming in with her bag at last.

  Flossie gave Robert one last, stern look, then followed Polly to the elevator.

  It was Flossie’s first ride in an elevator. She was certain she would have been delighted by it on any other day. But as soon as the operator pulled open the grate, letting them off on the hotel’s top floor, Flossie shot out like a bullet. Polly directed her to the door at the end of the hall, and she marched toward it and burst through without knocking.

  She’d expected to see Jason pacing at the very least. She expected his room to be in disarray and his clothes and hair a mess. Instead, she was faced with a pristine, tidy room, Lady E seated on a sofa facing a huge window, a book in hand, and no Jason to be seen.

  “Thank God you’ve come,” Lady E said, throwing her book aside and leaping up. She was the one who was unusually disheveled. Her skin was even more pale than usual, and her eyes were glassy with fear. “I’ve been so anxious. I haven’t left his side since he fell into distress. It came as such a shock, and I realized I’ve been—” She stopped her whirlwind of words and bit her lip, looking surprisingly contrite. “None of that is important. Jason,” she called over her shoulder. “Flossie is here.”

  It took Flossie a moment to realize she was addressing her comment to a closed door. Assuming there was another room to the suite, Flossie marched toward it and pulled it open.

  She stumbled to a stop when the room she thought she was about to enter turned out to be a tiny, cluttered closet. The faint, familiar scent of Jason’s unwashed body hit her, but it took another second to realize the blanket-covered lump on the floor of the closet was her beloved.

  “Flossie?” Jason’s faint, weak voice sounded from under the blankets. A moment later, the lump writhed and a corner of the blankets folded back, revealing Jason’s pale, wan, unshaven face. “Flossie! Thank God,” he gulped, then burst into tears, hiding his face from her.

  A sob bubbled up from Flossie’s soul, but she clenched her teeth and swallowed it. Her heart was breaking into a thousand painful pieces, but she couldn’t let Jason see that. She couldn’t let him see that all she wanted to do was drop to her knees and hug him, never letting go. Lady E’s pleas and her own imagination hadn’t done justice to the emergency in front of her, but she couldn’t fall apart with him. She had to be the strong one and handle the situation the way she knew Jason needed her to.

  “It’s time to come out of there,” she said, keeping her voice calm and firm. She did lower herself to her knees so that she could peel back the blankets Jason had made into a cocoon, and she did close her arms around him, but only for support, not out of her own grief.

  “I’ve been miserable without you,” Jason said, twisting his body so that he could hug her. “I can’t stand it here. I want to go home.”

  “I’m here to take you home,” Flossie said, her voice wavering in spite of her determination to remain strong. “But first you have to come out of there and clean up.” She turned to Lady E and Polly, who stood holding each other and watching her with frightened eyes. “Does this suite have a bath?”

  “Yes,” Polly answered, breaking away from Lady E. “I’ll run one right away.”

  Relieved that that much was taken care of, Flossie shifted her efforts to helping Jason climb out of the closet. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him and terrifyingly weak.

  “Look at the state of you,” she said, her tone light and her arms firm around him as she practically pulled him to his feet. He wobbled and leaned against the doorframe, blinking and squinting. Flossie brushed his shirt—the only thing he was wearing save for his underthings. She stopped when she noticed splatters of dried blood all down his front. “What on earth?”

  Jason lowered his head, holding up his closed right hand. Flossie gasped when he opened it to reveal her watch brooch, the pin stuck deep in his palm.

  “What have you done?” she demanded, steering him toward a chair near the room’s fireplace.

  Jason sank heavily into the chair, trembling slightly. “I didn’t want anyone to take it away from me.”

  Flossie’s heart gave another, painful lurch, and her eyes stung, but she hid it all with a frown. “Handkerchief,” she snapped at Lady E, who jumped to fetch one for her.

  As soon as she had it, Flossie held Jason’s hand, palm up, and pulled the watch out of his flesh. The resistance as she pulled made her queasy, but she pressed on. As soon as the watch was removed, she staunched the fresh flow of blood with the handkerchief.

  “That was a very foolish thing to do,” she scolded Jason, holding his hand in both of hers. “You could have hurt yourself badly.”

  “I deserve to hurt,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I’m broken. I’m a disgrace.”

  “What utter nonsense,” she said.

  “I’m a pathetic excuse for a man,” he went on, without energy.

  “You are Jason Throckmorton,” she said, raising her voice. “You’re one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in England.”

  He glanced up at her with baleful eyes ringed by dark circles, his skin pale and clammy, his shoulders stooped, wearing nothing but a bloodstained shirt and drawers that looked like they needed a good washing. But something about him had changed in the short minutes since she’d arrived. He was calmer by far.

  “I’m not having this from you,” Flossie went on in her best schoolteacher voice. “As soon as Polly finishes drawing your bath, I want you to get up, march into that bathroom and clean up. Then I want you to dress in something nice and clean and eat the supper that Lady E will have sent up to this room.”

  “Yes, right away,” Lady E said, rushing to the door and disappearing into the hall.

  Flossie couldn’t help but grin at the way Lady E rushed to do her bidding. “That was enjoyable,” she said, her grin growing.

  For the briefest of moments, Jason shared her grin. All too soon, he wilted and covered his face with his free hand as his tears flowed. “I missed you so much, Flossie. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve gone mad.”

  “You haven’t gone mad,” Flossie said, stepping close enough to hug him where he sat, although she wasn’t as sure as she wanted to be.

  Jason wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head against her breasts. “I’m disturbed,” he wept. “I should be locked in Bedlam.”

  “You should not,” she said as if the idea were utter foolishness. She stroked his dirty hair all the same, roiling with worry. Perhaps he did belong under a doctor’s care, if not in an institution.

  As soon as the thought came to her, she rejected it. Jason was fine when he was in Brynthwaite. Well, not fine, but reasonable. It was London that had caused the change in him. He’d fled London before, and now she understood why. He’d known returning to the scene of so much madness in his life would make him mad, but he’d gone anyhow. He’d gone for Marshall’s sake. He’d put himself through hell out of love for his friend. That wasn’t madness, as far as she was concerned. That was nobility.

  “The bath is ready,” Polly called from the other room.

  “Up you get,” Flossie told Jason, trying to sound far more confident and positive than she felt. />
  “You won’t leave me, will you?” Jason asked, rising shakily to his feet.

  Flossie wasn’t ignorant enough to think the question was meant only for that moment. She raised her hands to hold his face. “You listen to me, Jason Throckmorton. I will never leave you. You are mine to love and care for, and I am yours. This is temporary. We’ll get you cleaned up and on the next train to Brynthwaite, and you never have to come to London again.”

  “Thank you,” he said, weeping freely. He found the strength to pull her into a tight embrace. “Thank you, thank you. I would die without you.”

  Flossie was certain beyond doubt he was serious. He would die without her, and it would happen fast.

  “Come on, then.” She sniffled, wiping away her own tears, and steered him toward the bathroom. “I’ll scrub your back and wash your hair for you.”

  Jason nodded and let her lead him into the bathroom. He stripped off the last of his clothes without caring that Polly was peeking through the doorway, which was as alarming a sign of his state of mind as anything. Polly yelped at the first sight of what she shouldn’t see and darted away.

  “Polly, could you pick out something suitable for Jason to wear?” Flossie called after her.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Flossie’s mouth twitched at the way her old friend addressed her, then turned her full attention to helping Jason sink into the tub. She needed a bath herself after all the frantic traveling she’d done, but there would be time for that later. For the moment, she concentrated on scrubbing Jason clean, shaving him, washing his hair, then getting him out of the tub to dry him off.

  Polly had disappeared by the time Flossie shuffled Jason into the main part of the suite and dressed him.

  “I don’t know why I’m making you dress in day clothes instead of your nightshirt,” she said as she buttoned his waistcoat while he watched her hands, his head lowered. “You’re clearly exhausted.”

  “I can’t sleep without you next to me,” he admitted in a drowsy voice.

  “Then you’ll sleep like a log tonight,” she answered. “But first, supper. When was the last time you ate?”

  His brow knit slightly. “I honestly can’t remember.”

  Flossie made a tksing sound. “I don’t ever want to see you in this condition again, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “When Lady E brings your supper, you’ll eat every bite.”

  “If I can,” he said.

  Flossie rested her hands on his chest and gazed into his weary, defeated eyes. “You’ll eat slowly. If it really has been days, gobbling supper down might not be good for you.”

  “I’m more thirsty than hungry,” he said.

  “Understandable. Sit down and I’ll get you some water.”

  There was slightly more life and purpose in Jason’s stride as he moved to the small table near one of the room’s windows and sat. Flossie poured him a glass of water from the pitcher resting on the table, and he drank.

  “Careful,” she said when he nearly choked in his haste.

  He nodded and took another gulp before setting the glass aside. “I’m so embarrassed,” he admitted, lowering his head and looking utterly flattened.

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Flossie said, sinking into the chair across from him and reaching for the hand she’d bandaged after his bath. “None of this is your fault.”

  He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Isn’t it? Madness is a glaring lack of character.”

  “It is not,” Flossie argued. “You didn’t fall apart because you wanted to or because you were careless.”

  “Then why did I?” he asked a hint of frustration in his tone.

  “I don’t know,” Flossie admitted. “I don’t know why these things happen. Maybe Marshall does.”

  A spark of happiness lit his eyes. “Marshall won his girls back,” he said.

  “Yes, I know.” Flossie shared his smile. “Alex told me. I bet they’re all safe and sound at home together by now.”

  “God, I can’t wait to go home,” Jason groaned, sounding more like himself by the moment. “I hate it here, Flossie,” he went on. “I hate everything about it, from the people to the bad air to the noise and the insanity.” He paled at his last word, but recovered by grasping her hand with his good one. “I just want to go home and stay there. I don’t care what Lady E says, I’m never coming back here again.”

  “Do I feel my ears burning?” Lady E asked as she opened the door and swept into the room. A porter carried a tray behind her. Flossie’s stomach growled with hunger as the scent of meat and herbs and deliciousness hit her nose.

  “We’re going home,” Jason said, following the porter and the tray with interest as the man crossed the room. “And I don’t care what you think about it.”

  “I think we should go home,” Lady E said.

  Flossie sat straighter, blinking in surprise. Jason looked surprised as well, but hunger drew his eyes back to the tray as the porter removed the cover, revealing lamb, potatoes, vegetables, and Yorkshire pudding.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Lady E said, staying near the doorway and wringing her hands anxiously. “London isn’t any fun in the winter. I’ll wait until spring to return. Flossie, could I speak to you for a moment?”

  More surprised than ever, Flossie glanced from Lady E to Jason.

  “I promise to be on my best behavior,” Jason said, already helping himself to a thick slice of lamb. He paused to add, “But hurry back.”

  He was downplaying his distress, pretending everything was all right the same way she was, but Flossie could see he was serious in his need for her to stay with him. She nodded and rose, following Lady E out to the hallway.

  “Mr. Bligh is downstairs,” Lady E whispered when they were in the hall.

  “Mr. Bligh?” Flossie repeated, her jaw clenched. “What does that man want?”

  “You know he’s suing Jason for assault,” Lady E said.

  “Oh yes. I know all about it.” Flossie started toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

  Lady E scurried after her. Polly—who had been waiting in the hall just outside the door—rushed along with her. “He’s downstairs carrying on about missed court dates and consequences.”

  “Is he?” Flossie asked in a flat tone. The last thing they needed was a menace like Mr. Bligh causing more trouble.

  She tapped her foot impatiently as they waited for the elevator, then crossed her arms through the whole trip down. When the operator opened the door to the lobby, Flossie spotted Mr. Bligh immediately. She marched out of the elevator like an avenging angel, refusing to be intimidated by the man who had once struck her in public.

  “What do you want, sir?” she demanded before she’d reached him.

  Mr. Bligh had been facing the other way, staring out the windows at the nighttime street. He jumped and spun to face Flossie, his eyes going wide. “You.”

  “Yes, me,” Flossie said. “And I’m asking you what you want.” She crossed her arms and stared daggers at the man for good measure.

  In an instant, they had an audience. Everyone from the hotel staff to its guests stopped what they were doing to watch the confrontation.

  Mr. Bligh stood where he was, his jaw flapping for a moment. “I’ve come to demand Mr. Throckmorton appear in court to answer the charges I have against him.”

  “Mr. Throckmorton is indisposed at the moment,” Flossie snapped, glaring at the man.

  Mr. Bligh’s face splotched with color, though Flossie couldn't tell if his look was one of indignation or intimidation. “Is it true that the man’s gone mad?” he asked.

  Flossie lost some of her bluster. It seemed that gossip in London was even swifter than gossip in the north. “No, he is not,” she answered.

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” Mr. Bligh said with a smirk. “Word about town is that his behavior has been odd. And a man would have to be mad to send his mistress to do his work for h
im.”

  Flossie ignored the comment and the gasps from both staff and guests. “A man would also have to be mad to address the woman he assaulted in such a manner.” If Mr. Bligh wanted to play the gossip game, she would beat him at it.

  Sure enough, the attention of their spectators shifted to him. Mr. Bligh stammered and turned an even deeper shade of red. “Have you ever heard such insolence?” he appealed to the crowd.

  “My cheek still bears the scars,” Flossie said, turning her head to him as though the bright red mark were still there. With any luck, the startled onlookers would see what wasn’t there and draw their own conclusions. Indeed, more of them were muttering and gaping at Mr. Bligh than at her, so she added, “What sort of man strikes a pregnant woman in front of a crowd?”

  She knew she’d won the point when more gasps surrounded them.

  “I did not…I didn’t know you were pregnant,” Mr. Bligh stammered.

  “But you do admit to striking me, then?” Flossie crossed her arms. After the day she’d had and the state she’d found Jason in, she was in no mood to play the role society said her sex and her station should play.

  “You were insolent,” Mr. Bligh insisted, on the defensive.

  “And that is reason to strike me?”

  Mr. Bligh’s jaw quivered, but he didn’t answer. He glanced around at their audience. The look on his face said he knew he’d lost.

  Flossie stepped closer to him, and lowered her voice. “I’ll give you five hundred pounds to leave this place and drop your lawsuit immediately.”

  Mr. Bligh gaped at her. “You can’t just—”

  “A thousand.”

  “Money won’t—”

  “Fifteen hundred, but I go no higher than that.”

  The man stood there quivering with rage and shock, but the light of avarice danced in his eyes. “Fine,” he said in a tight voice. “If you think you have the power to—”

  “Robert,” Flossie snapped, marching toward the desk.

  Robert had watched the argument with as much shock as anyone else. He stammered, “Yes, Miss Stowe,” as Flossie approached.

  “How much cash does the hotel have on hand?” Flossie asked, brooking no argument.