Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  George’s condition worried him. The child was warm and restless, even in sleep. He’d have to get the village surgeon to look in on him. Emily—if she was home—would be sent a note, telling her to stay away until his illness was diagnosed. She was fond of the boy and might come by unannounced.

  He longed to see her. After stealing a kiss in the recesses of a dimly lit terrace, most gentlemen would call on the lady the next day. He had not. While Emily’s response had given him hope, her immediate withdrawal told him she might have regretted responding to his kiss.

  Just when I thought our friendship could be repaired, I had to endanger it.

  And of course the old gossip was revived. Ralston had heard it at his club. Two thoroughly foxed gentlemen snorted over seeing Emily Sinclair waltzing with the man who’d thrown her over for that minx, Caroline Woodley. Had the chit learned nothing?

  Women would be even worse.

  At the moment, he must not think of anything but the child’s health. When they reached the Hall, cook could prepare a medicinal tisane for the boy. He’d never liked seeing anyone in distress, and he’d seen much suffering after Waterloo. For some reason, the boy’s condition made him feel even worse.

  They finally reached the long driveway into the estate. Both George and his nanny were fast asleep. The groom who had accompanied them opened the door when they arrived and then took Andrew’s horse to the stable.

  Andrew carried the boy into the house and up flights of stairs to the nursery. The lad didn’t weigh much and had not been eating well. Laying him down, he covered the boy and sat by his bed until Mrs. Townsend appeared.

  “I’ll have someone bring up a bowl of broth for the boy and a pot of tea for you,” he said.

  “Thank you, my lord. Can you send up Matilda as well? I may need help.”

  “Of course.”

  Andrew left the door ajar, having spotted the cat on the stairs. He stooped to scratch the beast’s head. “Your friend needs you, madam. Make haste.” As if she understood every word, the cat bounded up the stairs and disappeared through the nursery door.

  Lester awaited him in his chamber, the bottle of laudanum in hand. Andrew took his dose and changed out of his traveling clothes.

  “Your steward is below wishing to speak with you, my lord.”

  “Tell him I’ll join him in the library in half an hour.”

  After Lester departed, Andrew grabbed his medicine and took another swig straight from the bottle. Sighing, he flopped into his favorite chair until the pain disappeared and he could focus. When George recovered, he would have to hire a tutor for him. Mrs. Townsend was capable of seeing to the boy’s personal needs, but if he was to be sent to school at a later date, he needed to be up to snuff in his learning.

  Christ. Am I really going to keep him here?

  He was surprised to learn the idea wasn’t abhorrent. It would be cruel to uproot the boy again, especially now that he had accepted Mrs. Townsend and even had a pet.

  The housekeeper said, when needed, Lady Emily occasionally assisted the teacher at the village school. Perhaps she would be willing to help the boy with lessons until a tutor could be hired.

  After all these years, he still depended on Emily. Although he was older than she was, growing up, he’d been the one full of anger and she’d been the one with the cool head. On days of extreme melancholy, she’d talked him out of his mood, pointing out all he had that others lacked.

  She had a way of making him feel humble. She’d take his hand and stroke his palm in a soothing way as her low tones calmed the tension in his body and quieted his bruised soul. And then she’d tell some tale demonstrating her own failings, with both of them laughing in the end.

  Or sharing a kiss. Those were the afternoons he’d loved best. The softness of her face under his palms, the look of desire in her half-closed eyes, the murmurs she’d made at the back of her throat as their kisses deepened. Even the light floral scent that was uniquely her seemed to calm him.

  He jumped up from his chair and strode to the window, aware of an uncomfortable pressure in his trousers.

  Why did I even go to the ill-fated house party? And why did I drink so much I barely stumbled my way into my room?

  His nose pressed to the cold glass, he watched raindrops slide down the outside of the panes. His mood was never good during rain, and this year had been wetter than others. He took several deep breaths, his body beginning to relax, and remembered that he had business to attend to. His steward awaited him in the library.

  As he passed his bedroom mirror, he stopped to push back a lock of dark hair that had fallen onto his forehead, and frowned at what he saw reflected in the glass. He’d lost weight and hadn’t even realized it. And were those new lines next to his eyes? Surely his pain wasn’t related to some wasting disease.

  He turned away and let himself out of the room, choosing to set aside thoughts about his health for the moment. When he entered the library, Drake stood in front of the fire, his hands behind his back.

  “You’ve returned, and I daresay I’m glad, my lord. I fear we may have flooding soon if the rain does not stop.”

  “Please sit. While I’ve changed my wet clothes, I fear the chill has taken up permanent residence in my bones.” But the pain in his shoulder was quiet now, and his senses seemed keen. The two sometimes went hand in hand after a dose of his medication.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of moving one of the tenants into a vacant cottage,” said Drake. “The former occupant of this home died recently, and his wife moved back in with her family. The relocated farmer lived in one of the cottages needing a new roof. This makes it easier to do repairs.”

  “Wise move on your part. You’ll have the funds soon for the roof if the weather clears.”

  Drake nodded, his gaze directed at the blazing log in the hearth. “There is one other matter, sir. As instructed, I dealt with the post in your absence. This was among the letters.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

  Andrew studied it, recalling he’d seen something similar quite recently. Unfolding it, he read the message.

  You will repent.

  He wrinkled his nose in distaste and tossed the missive on the table. “I received another message recently. Same hand, same paper I believe.”

  “When your man of business ordered me to close the house, I had to let a number of people go—many who had served the family for two generations. Not everyone found work elsewhere. While I hope it is untrue, this could have been sent by someone who resented their dismissal. Do you wish to notify anyone? The magistrate?”

  “No. Words on a piece of paper are harmless. We’re hiring more staff. Who knows? We may bring this person back.”

  “Then you think it is meaningless?”

  “I do. Think nothing more of it, and thank you for taking care of my correspondence. Some of my acquaintances have secretaries, but I don’t expect to ever have the need. Once I am feeling myself, I plan to get more involved in the estate. I’d appreciate you giving me those bits of education my late father overlooked.”

  “Happy to oblige, my lord.”

  “Good. Now let me call for tea or, if you prefer, a bit of brandy to help eradicate the chill.”

  Drake rose. “I must take my leave. I’m monitoring the water level rushing under the stone bridge. If the bridge fails, we’ll have a bigger problem than cottage roofs.” He bowed and left the room as the butler returned.

  “My lord. Lady Emily Sinclair is in the visitor’s drawing room. I believe she has been in some kind of accident.”

  Andrew’s heart took a leap in his chest as he hurried down stairs to the ground floor. Bursting through the door, he spied a bedraggled Emily holding a mud-spattered cloak and ruined bonnet.

  “Emily. What’s happened?”r />
  She smiled ruefully. “I do make a frightful sight, but I am uninjured. The carriage I was in got stuck in the mud on my way to the village school. I shouldn’t have attempted the trip in this rain, but I was sure it must stop. Yours was the closest house.”

  “You walked here?”

  “I did. I directed the coachman to unhook the horse and ride it home to tell Aunt Lily what happened and where I am.” She shook her head. “I am usually more levelheaded, but I promised to hear students read their Christmas essays at the school and award the prize for the best one. I couldn’t disappoint the children. The vicar’s invitation said they’d worked very hard.”

  He led the way upstairs to the library. After ringing for tea, he seated her in the chair directly in front of the fire. “You can stay here as long as you like. In fact, if the storm gets worse, you can stay the night. We have dozens of empty guest rooms. I know at least one is habitable since Ralston was here recently.”

  “That would be most inappropriate, my lord, even though under the circumstances it might be necessary.”

  “Would it?” He softened is voice. “We have many females in residence now. Mrs. Townsend and Mrs. Evans are respectable widows. Surely they count as appropriate chaperones.”

  “They do not, and you know it. But we are far from the waspish tongues of the ton. I shall risk a blemish on my reputation if I do not have to repeat the experience I just endured.” She paused. “But there’s still a chance the rain will subside, and I know you have a perfectly adequate coach. Right now, as long as I am here, I would like to visit George if it’s all right.”

  He should have known her priority would be the child. He didn’t want to see her disappointment when he told her the lad was ailing and shouldn’t have visitors, but he had no choice.

  “I fear George is sick.”

  “Have you called the village surgeon? I have no faith in the apothecary, although he has attended some of our retainers.”

  “I have. But if the roads are as bad as you described, I suspect he may not be able to get through.”

  Emily frowned. “I’ll go to the child at once.”

  Andrew put his hand on her arm. “Is that wise? We don’t know what he has. You don’t want to put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Nonsense. I’m healthy as a horse and beginning to dry, except for these boots.” She looked down at her muddy footwear. “I can find my way as I have dozens of times when we were children.” She pulled free and strode toward the stairs. Andrew followed, knowing she would be dismayed at what she’d see. The child couldn’t have improved in the few hours since he’d last seen him. He only hoped George wasn’t worse.

  Andrew stopped to instruct a footman regarding refreshments. When he entered the bedchamber off the nursery, he found Mrs. Townsend wringing her hands and Emily sitting at the child’s bedside. She looked up as he entered, her eyes anguished.

  “He’s burning up, Cardmore. We must cool him off at once. Send someone up with a basin of cold water and a pile of cloths. And bring me your laudanum. A tiny dose will quiet him and let him sleep.”

  Andrew loped down the staircase and gave instructions in the kitchen. On his return, he stopped off in his chamber to get his medicine, taking it upstairs to the nursery.

  “Here.” He handed it to Emily.

  She lifted the child and took the spoon from the uneaten broth, giving the child a tot of the medicine. He whimpered and lay back down, his eyes bright.

  “There now, you’ll be able to sleep, Master George. And while you are asleep, cool cloths will be on your forehead, making you feel better.”

  “Will you stay with me?” he asked.

  “I will, and I shall read you a story until you fall asleep.”

  When Matilda arrived with the basin, Emily dipped a cloth in the water and squeezed it almost dry. She placed it on the child’s head. Her gaze found Andrew’s.

  “Any word from the surgeon?”

  “None yet.”

  “Then Mrs. Townsend and I will continue to keep George comfortable. If the man is not here by dinnertime, I feel I will have to remain. As much as I hate to send anyone out on horseback in this downpour, my aunt will have to be informed.”

  “Of course. I’ll take care of it and make sure the guest chamber is prepared for you.” He rose. “And let me know what I can do to help.”

  She turned and gave him a smile. A warm feeling engulfed him as he picked up the cat and left the room.

  “You, madam, are too warm by half,” he said to the cat. “Your young master needs to be cooled off. You are banished for now.”

  He entered the library and set the cat in the other chair near the fire. The cat turned three times, then settled on the seat and proceeded to bathe.

  “I believe you have a wonderful idea, Madam Cat.”

  In his bones, he knew it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 20

  “I’ll take the first watch, milady. You go down and have your dinner and a rest.”

  “If you’re sure, Mrs. Townsend. But please wake me at midnight. I’m often a restless sleeper and up all hours of the night anyway.”

  The footman had brought up a dinner tray for the nursemaid and another bowl of broth for the child. They’d been able to get him to swallow several spoonsful before he fell asleep again. Emily staggered down the stairs into the room prepared for her. Someone had filled the pitcher with water and left a bar of lemon-scented soap. After washing her face and hands, she straightened her day dress and followed succulent aromas to the dining room. The smell of roast beef and spices made her mouth water. She’d foregone a midday meal and hadn’t even noticed.

  Andrew was in the formal dining room and stood as she entered. Looking handsome and refreshed, he came over to her and took her hands. “You must be famished. I’m glad Mrs. Townsend persuaded you to dine with me.”

  He led her to the table and seated her to his right. Odd to be sitting at a dining table with places for nearly two dozen guests, but honestly she was so tired she didn’t care. She lifted the glass of wine at her place and took a healthy swallow, amazed at how good it tasted after such a grueling day. But then the old earl had always indulged himself when it came to his cellar.

  “How is he?” Andrew had been to the nursery several times throughout the day, once to report on the local surgeon who was staying at a farm. The woman expected her first child, and it promised to be a difficult birth. The second time, he’d relayed a message. Her aunt had been informed of her need to remain and had sent a small valise with nightwear and a change of clothes.

  “He’s much cooler and sleeping better. I put my head to his chest, and his breathing does not seem labored. I think he’ll recover once his fever breaks.” She took another sip of wine as the first course arrived. “I must apologize for my attire, Cardmore. I prefer to save my fresh gown for tomorrow.”

  He laughed. “Only the prim, proper Miss Sinclair would worry about her attire at a time like this. In case you haven’t noticed, there are only the two of us dining tonight. And I think you look beautiful.”

  “No need for false compliments, Andrew. I look a proper fright. But you are correct. Attire is of no consequence.” Appalled to hear her voice falter, she covered her lapse with another sip of wine. Worry gnawed at her insides. Her only nursing experience had been during a month’s stay with her brother’s family before they left for Canada. One of her nieces had similar symptoms to George’s, and she had helped her sister-in-law with bedside duties during a few days of heart-wrenching concern.

  George’s illness was not accompanied by a wracking cough—a good sign.

  They ate in silence, and Emily savored each dish. When dessert came, she waved it away, sure she’d roll off her chair if she ate another bite.

  After dinner, they moved to the
library, the warmest room. Emily collapsed into a comfortable chair and looked around. “I always loved this room. It smells of leather with all the books. I like seeing shelves reaching the ceiling on all four walls. The library at the Grange seems meager by comparison.”

  They’d played hide and seek in this room while their mothers took tea and visited in Lady Cardmore’s private drawing room. She and Andrew would steal away and chase each other through the halls, ending in the library, breathing in the smell of old books. His father had been absent on those days, or they would have been confined to the nursery.

  Andrew grinned. “Do you remember the day you challenged me to retrieve a book on the uppermost shelf? I climbed up, shelf by shelf, until I reached the top, and as I grabbed the book, the wood splintered beneath my feet and I nearly fell.”

  “I ran for our mothers.”

  “Not at first. You laughed.”

  “It was funny seeing your legs dangling, and books falling off the shelf, but if you are looking for an apology, you have it. Fortunately a tall footman was around to grab your legs while another stood on a chair to gradually lower you to the ground.” She managed a tired smile. “Were you punished? I cannot remember.”

  “No. Mama was relieved I was uninjured. If Father had been home, it would have been a different matter.” He shuddered, and Emily reached over and took his hand, just as she had when they were children. Giving it a reassuring squeeze, she put hers back in her lap as the tea tray arrived.

  She poured for them both, and they sat back in front of the warming flames. How different her life would have been if only he hadn’t betrayed her. Even so, she was very much in charity with him tonight. Her fatigue and the wine she’d consumed at dinner lowered her defenses and allowed her to relax. Stealing a glance, she watched Andrew’s eyes close while a soft smile played on his lips. A vague hunger tingled through her body as she recalled another occasion, a day when they’d lain in each other’s arms in the hayloft of the barn, warmed by the heat of desire. Mama had returned from a visit to Cardmore Hall where she’d learned Andrew’s father had shot his son’s pet, one of the hunting dogs Andrew had made his own. It had been a scrawny mutt, more interested in sniffing the other dogs’ hindquarters than chasing quarry. Left behind on most forays, Andrew had taken an interest in the pup until he became a constant companion.