He crossed to the window. The master’s bedchamber where Charlie had been placed afforded a view of the drive below. He knew the fine traveling coach and Kielder heraldry on the instant. His family, it seemed, had chosen to return to Falstone Castle by way of Shropshire.
An unexpected surge of bone-deep relief swelled inside. Persephone would know what to do.
He offered a quick excuse to the surgeon, glanced at Charlie sleeping fretfully, then rushed from the room, along the corridor, and to the main staircase. His family’s voices floated up to him, pulling him down toward them.
They had all stepped inside, filling the small entryway. Servants scrambled to gather trunks and divest the travelers of their coats and hats. Oliver sat in his mother’s arms, clearly a bit unsure of this latest excursion.
Linus met his older sister’s eye. The smile of excitement that lit her face turned immediately to concern. “What’s happened? You look distressed.”
Adam’s gaze was on him now as well, and Artemis’s.
“There’s been an accident. Charlie was injured.”
“Badly?” Persephone asked.
Linus nodded. “He’s broken both his legs and an arm. Cracked several ribs.”
“Good heavens.”
“I’ve sent word to his mother, obviously. The physician has been here. A surgeon is here now.”
Persephone nodded her approval. “Did you write to Daphne?”
“Of course.” The tension that had grown since Charlie’s fall increased tenfold as he stood there.
Persephone handed Oliver to Adam, then moved with purpose to where Linus stood. She took Linus’s hand and pulled him back around the corner and to the stairs. “How perilous is his situation?”
“The physician and surgeon both believe his injuries will heal given enough time.” That had been a relief yet not a true comfort. The panic Linus had felt at the sight of Charlie unresponsive on the ground had not subsided despite the passage of more than twenty-four hours.
“You mentioned leg, arm, and rib injuries. Does his mind seem intact?” Persephone had always been one for maintaining her calm in a crisis. Linus usually was as well, but his composure had fled.
“Charlie’s in a great deal of pain, which makes him less conversant than he would likely be otherwise, but he has been able to speak, and what he has said is sensible.”
They’d reached the top of the stairs. “Where has he been placed?”
“Father’s roo—My room.”
She slipped her arm free of his and faced him directly. “I will see to his care for the next while. You need a respite.”
Linus shook his head. “I have a responsibility.”
“Yes, you do. You are charged with running this estate, looking after all your guests—including those who only just arrived—and making certain you do not render yourself so exhausted that you cannot see to any of those tasks.” She patted his cheek the way she’d done when he was a small boy. “Let me be your big sister again, Linus, and look after you for a change.”
Relief warred with guilt at the escape, however temporary, she offered. “I spent far too much of my life when we were young letting you carry my burdens. I’m a grown man now; I cannot continue doing that.”
She arched a single eyebrow. “I am a duchess now; I can do whatever I want.”
He could actually smile at that, something he didn’t think he’d done even once the last day and a half. “You sound like Adam.”
“Good.” She nodded crisply and turned toward the corridor. “Go see to it the others are settled. I will look after Charlie.”
He remained in the corridor for a long moment after she’d disappeared inside the sickroom. Seeing Charlie so badly injured, so bent and broken, had shaken Linus deeply.
He rubbed at his weary face, trying to regain his lieutenant’s demeanor. There was a great deal to be done: settling the rest of the family, sending the surgeon’s instructions to the apothecary, bracing himself to face the dowager when she inevitably arrived.
Adam appeared in the corridor, Oliver in his arms, Artemis in his wake. Linus assumed a neutral expression, one he’d been taught to manufacture as he’d sailed toward battle.
His brother-in-law’s mouth pulled in a stern slash across his face. “What happened to Mr. Jonquil?” Adam was nothing if not direct.
“He fell off a roof.”
“He fell off a roof?” Artemis responded before Adam could. To her credit, she sounded sincerely concerned despite her unfriendly association with Charlie. “Will he recover?”
“The medical men I have consulted expect him to.”
“Thank the heavens.”
The opportunity to tease his sister proved too much to pass up. He needed a moment of levity. “Thank the heavens? I assumed you had been praying to them for something like this.”
She angled her chin at him. “I would never wish harm on a person, no matter how aggravating and contrary he might be.”
Linus looked at Adam. “That must be a relief to you, in particular.”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
Artemis shook her head in obvious annoyance. “The men in this family are impossible.”
Adam set Oliver on his feet. “Go with your aunt. She’ll take you to the nursery.”
“I’m not afraid of her either, Papa,” the little boy said.
“Thank you very much, Adam.” Artemis held her hand out to Oliver even as she turned her back on the two of them.
“You’re in her black books now,” Linus said.
“Right next to you.”
“And Charlie,” Linus added.
“And half the population.” Adam pushed out a breath that sounded a great deal like a growl. “She is going to be the death of me; I’m certain of it.”
“Better you than me,” Linus said.
“You look after the boy who fell off the roof,” Adam said. “I’ll look after the girl who likely would have pushed him if she’d been here.”
Linus’s amusement dissipated quickly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever told you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for my family. You’ve taken on responsibilities that ought not to have fallen to you. I’m their brother. I should have done more.”
“For one thing,” Adam said, “you were a child. For another, I didn’t do any of it for you.”
Linus knew his brother-in-law too well to be offended by the frank and gruff explanation. “I think you rather like Persephone.”
“There is not anything in this world I wouldn’t do for her. I endured Athena’s miserable Season, Daphne’s departure, and Artemis’s drama because they are her family, and their happiness is crucial to hers.”
“Is mine?” He’d intended the question to be a jest, but somehow the two words emerged with a ring of desperation to them.
“Why do you think I dragged you to that house party?” Adam didn’t manage to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I can endure Lampton, and Harry was distraction enough when necessary. But Persephone was worried about you being alone and unhappy.” Adam shrugged. “I made certain you came along so she could see for herself that you were well.”
“And you diverted your return to the Castle all this way so she could see her family home.”
Adam didn’t smile often, but he did in that moment, a soft, tender smile, one that somehow managed to soften the deforming impact of the web of scars on his face. “There is no undertaking so miserable that it isn’t made endurable by having her with me. She makes my life worth living.”
No undertaking so miserable. Linus was undertaking a few miserable things himself, things he wasn’t certain he could endure. “I suspect I ought to find a Persephone of my own—one I’m not related to, of course.”
Adam’s gaze darted around the corridor. “I don’t intend to stand about here whil
e you make that search. Simply tell me where my wife is.”
Linus motioned to the nearest bedchamber. He received a quick nod before Adam slipped inside.
Persephone eased Adam’s burdens. He did the same for her. To have that kind of support and strength . . . Linus couldn’t imagine Mrs. Blackbourne or Lady Belinda crossing the kingdom for him or enduring the company of a difficult family member for his sake. Miss Napper hadn’t seemed willing to countenance the inconvenience of a conversation. If he were being entirely honest, he would not have happily upended his life for any of them either.
Unbidden into his thoughts came Arabella, as had happened often over the past fortnight. She had rescued Oliver, visited the children when they were ill, talked with him at length about his worries and difficulties. He’d gladly spent hours each day visiting her when she’d felt unwell, had listened to her struggles, and had wished he could do more to help. In the midst of it all, they had laughed and smiled. There’d been such joy between them.
Even with counties separating them, he thought about her, wondered how she was, wished she were nearby. She tugged at his heart in ways no one else had.
And by now, she knew that Charlie, whom she cared about, who belonged to a family that considered her one of their own, had nearly died while in Linus’s care. Would she hold that against him? Blame him?
Would she forgive him when he was struggling to forgive himself?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Lampton carriage pulled up to the house thirty-six hours after the Kielder carriage. Linus was watching over Charlie. Adam peeked inside the bedchamber.
“I’ll sit with the boy,” he said. “You had best go greet his mother. She deserves to hear what happened, and she deserves to hear it from you.”
Adam wasn’t wrong. Linus didn’t shirk responsibilities, no matter how unpleasant, and he certainly didn’t mean to start now. He rose, offered a nod of thanks, and made his way downstairs.
The dowager stepped inside just as Linus arrived in the entryway. Her heavy, worried gaze settled on him, not wavering in the least. “How is Charlie? I will have the truth, with no softening.”
Linus took her hands in his. “He is in a great deal of pain. His wits are fully intact, even if the same cannot be said for all of his bones.”
The dowager, though clearly concerned, showed no signs of faintness. “Your letter mentioned his legs in particular.”
He nodded. “Both broken, as well as his left arm.”
“Oh, my poor boy.”
“His head, neck, and back were all spared,” Linus quickly added. “Considering the height from which he fell, that is nothing short of a miracle.”
“He will recover?” she pressed.
“Yes. My sister was impressed with how well he is doing already.”
“Your sister?”
“The duchess,” he explained. “They came here on their way home from your house party.”
Some of the dowager’s tension eased. “You haven’t been left to look after him on your own, then.”
“Another miracle.”
“Let us go have a look at my boy,” the dowager said.
Linus offered her his arm and walked with her to the stairs.
He did not have many memories of his mother, but in that moment, one flooded his mind. He could see so clearly his father and mother walking up those same steps, Persephone and Athena flanking them, Evander lingering a bit behind.
He missed his brother.
Persephone appeared on the landing above. “Lady Lampton,” she greeted gently. “Your son will be so pleased you are here.”
“He is sensible enough to realize who is present?” Worry laced the question.
“Quite.” Persephone held out her hand. “I’ll walk with you. Linus can see to your trunks and such.”
The dowager accepted the change of plans without comment. Indeed, Persephone’s presence seemed to bring her some measure of comfort. Persephone had that gift. Linus was ever more grateful for it and for her.
He returned to the entryway, determined to be helpful. The butler was directing a footman carrying a small traveling trunk. The housekeeper, ever dutiful, directed its placement.
She saw Linus and addressed him. “Where ought we to place the dowager? All the furnished bedchambers are occupied.”
“She can use the room I moved to.” It was not an entirely accurate statement. With Charlie in the master’s bedchamber, Linus had been reassigned to the room he’d once shared with Evander. He hadn’t made the switch though. He couldn’t bear it. Instead, he’d slept in the armchair in the study, not telling anyone.
“We still don’t have enough beds,” Mrs. Tuttle said.
“I’ll make do,” he reassured her. “I did so enough at sea.”
“Begging your pardon, sir. It wasn’t your accommodations I was concerned over.”
Linus quickly counted. Even with the addition of the dowager and one bedchamber lacking sufficient furniture, with Linus taking up residency in the study, they had enough room. “I believe we have—”
But someone stepped inside, someone who stopped his words. His thoughts. Very nearly his heart.
Arabella.
She stood in the spill of sunlight from the open door. The air around her danced with bits of dust rendered golden by the light. She slipped her bonnet from her head.
Her gaze fell on him in the very next instant, and she smiled, not in the practiced way Mrs. Blackbourne had, the indulgent way his sisters did, or the obligatory way the Misses Napper had. Hers was genuine, pleased, and, at least it seemed to him, personal. Seeing him in particular had brought her pleasure. He hoped so. Seeing her in particular had brought him a rush of unexpected emotion. Relief. Anticipation. Hopefulness.
“Welcome.” Only after the word had slipped from his lips did he realize how inane he sounded. She had not come on a visit. This was a worry-filled time and warranted greater focus. “I can show you to Charlie’s room. The dowager is there already.”
She paused a moment in thought. Her hair glowed under the sun’s amber influence. She stood alone, unsupported and unattended, yet she did not look defeated. Was she, too, beginning to find her place in this world? Had life been treating her better?
Mrs. Tuttle interjected apologetically. “Where should I put the dowager’s companion? She’s the one I hadn’t found a place for.”
Embarrassment flushed Arabella’s cheeks. Her gaze dropped.
“Pose the question to Her Grace,” Linus told Mrs. Tuttle. “Make certain she knows that Miss Hampton’s accommodations are a priority.”
Mrs. Tuttle curtsied. “Of course, Mr. Lancaster.” She hurried away.
“Would you like to look in on Charlie?” he offered again. “Or would you prefer to rest from your journey?”
She didn’t answer but met his gaze once more. Those blue eyes focused on him in that way that set his heart to hammering.
“How is Charlie?” she asked. “And do not think to spare my sensibilities. I am made of sterner stuff than that.”
“The dowager said almost exactly the same thing.”
“She has clearly had a good influence on me,” Arabella said. “Before long, I will be dressing in all black and expressly forbidding unpleasant visitors from calling on me.”
That was intriguing. “Who has she forbidden from calling?”
“My aunt,” she said, “which has been quite a relief. She was making my life rather miserable.”
He stepped closer, simultaneously fighting and mentally indulging the urge to take her hand. She, however, stepped a bit away, maintaining the distance between them.
“Your missive mentioned only a fall and broken legs, with no more detail than that.” Nothing in her voice indicated she was as upended by their reunion as he was.
He kept his own voice e
ven, hiding the effect she had on him. “I scribbled that note out in haste. I felt speed in that moment was more crucial than details.”
She nodded. “Your methodology sounds to me like a naval one.”
Her light tone kept his own thoughts from delving too deep. “How odd that I would behave like a navy man.”
He motioned her toward the stairs. She, no doubt, would wish to look in on Charlie.
“How was he injured?” she asked.
“We were helping mend the roof of the vicarage, and he slipped.”
Linus could still see that horrifying moment in his mind. Charlie had been on the other side of the roof’s point. He’d turned. His face had registered a moment’s panic, then he’d slipped downward and out of sight.
She glanced at him as they took the first of the stairs. “You were both on the roof of the vicarage?”
Linus rolled his shoulders against the tension there. “We’ve done a lot of manual work these past weeks. It is good for the body and mind. He’s been lost, a little purposeless. The effort had been helping. Helping quite a lot, in fact.”
Helping. The young man was lying in a bed, in pain and misery. How was that helping him?
“But he is expected to recover?” Arabella asked.
Linus nodded. “I’ve consulted a physician and surgeon, who both feel he will, in time, be quite whole. And this morning, I received very detailed instructions on tonics and tisanes from my sister Daphne, which will help tremendously, I’m sure.”
“You further thought to send for his mother. It sounds to me as though you’ve done all you can for him.”
“That might be comforting if I weren’t responsible for his current condition.” Guilt had hung heavy around his neck the past two days. He’d not felt able to speak about it with anyone else.
“You pushed him off the roof, did you?”
The unexpected comment caught him up short. He paused with one foot on the landing and one on the uppermost stair. A gentle amusement sat lightly upon her features. She was offering a way of relinquishing some of the heaviness he felt. For the moment, at least, he meant to accept the escape. “I am kin to the Duke of Kielder,” he said. “Throwing people off roofs is a favorite pastime of ours. In fact, the family crest is nothing but an empty housetop.”
Loving Lieutenant Lancaster Page 21
