by Julia Bennet
“I most certainly didn’t, but you’ve made it necessary with your waywardness. That nurse’s reports have never been encouraging, but your behavior in recent weeks has plumbed the depths of moral corruption.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Without knowing what I’m supposed to have done, how am I to answer?”
“I have no interest in anything you have to say.” He looked past her again. “Vaughn, get her out of here.”
The abrupt dismissal seemed to take the doctor by surprise. “Where am I to take her?”
“Throw her in the river for all I care, but get her out of my sight.”
“I don’t understand. You spoke of single care.”
“I spoke of no such thing.”
Vaughn frowned. “Your Grace—”
“Confound you, Vaughn. I told you I don’t care what you do with her.”
“Should I take her back to Blackwell?”
“If you do, I shan’t pay for it.”
Helen watched them volley back and forth. Their bickering would have amused her if she hadn’t been its subject and if her fate didn’t hang in the balance. Harcastle was even more querulous and illogical than she remembered. Old age had diminished his mind as well as his body.
“What about the other doctor?” Vaughn said. “The one who took an unhealthy interest? She seemed overly fond of him—”
The effect of Vaughn’s words was electric. The duke’s entire face changed, his eyes blazing with passion, his lip curling in disgust. “What? What’s that you said? Fond of him. Fond of who?”
“His name is Carter.”
Harcastle glared at Helen. “Is this the housekeeper’s son Fletcher warned me about? What have you been doing?”
Helen didn’t have a chance to answer.
“Get Nurse Fletcher in here!” the duke roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “Immediately.” The whole house must have heard him.
Fletch appeared almost instantly. No doubt she’d lingered in the hall, her ear to the door. She loved to eavesdrop. Helen recalled that creak on the stairs the day she and Will had discussed Lunacy Commissions. Did today’s mad flight to London have its origins in that incident?
“Restrain your patient!” Harcastle ordered.
Vaughn stood bemused as Fletcher seized Helen by both arms, positioning herself behind her. The duke reached for the walking stick next to his chair and slowly eased himself to his feet. As he leaned heavily on the arm of the chair and raised the cane, Helen realized what was coming.
Fletch’s hold on her was firm, but Helen ducked her head and leaned to one side. Perhaps the limited movement was enough or perhaps the duke’s aim was uncertain, but the next sound she heard was Fletch howling as the blow caught her in the face. The duke toppled forward and came crashing over a side table, his head hitting the floor with a sickening crunch.
Alerted by the noise, the butler appeared in the doorway. From that position, he couldn’t see his master sprawled on the floor. Vaughn stood frozen in place while Fletch wailed, her hands clutching her nose as blood poured through her fingers.
Helen heard her own voice ring out, calm and authoritative amid the chaos. “His Grace has been taken ill,” she told the butler. “Please send two strong footmen to assist him.”
This was just another performance, like Miranda or Ophelia or, for that matter, miscellaneous fairy number three. She’d seen her mother play enough grande dames to know what to say and how to say it. Yet how strange to see everyone jump to obey her.
The footmen arrived promptly, and from the deft way they manhandled the duke onto the brocaded sofa, Helen suspected they’d done this before. The butler oversaw their movements, a conductor confident in his orchestra’s prowess.
“Should we send for the doctor?” one footman asked.
“Dr. Vaughn is here. His Grace will be well cared for,” Helen said, even though she knew he hadn’t been addressing her.
Vaughn stepped forward uncertainly, as though he’d woken from a dream. “Oh. Oh, yes, of course.” He really was an appalling doctor.
“What are we going to do about Fletch?” she asked him. Her use of the plural pronoun was deliberate. She needed Vaughn to start thinking of the two of them as “we” and Fletcher as the outsider. “She’s bled all over the rug.”
“Can’t some woman see to her?” Vaughn stared with distaste at the reddish splatter disfiguring the cream and pale blue pattern. Perhaps he considered a patient of Fletch’s class beneath his dignity, because he turned his back on her and approached the duke. Withdrawing a pocket watch, he checked His Grace’s pulse.
Helen addressed the butler again. “Is there a housekeeper? A maid? Someone must help Mrs. Fletcher.” Not that she cared; she just wanted Fletch as far away from her and Vaughn as possible.
“I’ll take her downstairs, miss.”
“Excellent. Well done.” She waited until he’d helped Fletch to her feet before adding, “Do you think you could send up a pot of tea? Dr. Vaughn will need fortification during his vigil.” And I’m parched.
The butler bowed and withdrew, taking Fletch with him. Now Helen had only Vaughn to deal with, at least until the duke woke up again.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Don’t know. He’s had turns like this, but he’s never knocked himself out before.”
“You’ve treated him?”
He glared at her but said nothing.
“I wonder why you bother with me, then. Surely the Duke of Harcastle is a far more lucrative patient.”
“He might be if he’d admit his mind is failing,” he grumbled.
The irony of this inadvertent diagnosis wasn’t lost on Helen, but that was something to ponder later. “What do we do now?”
“We wait, we watch over him, we make sure he doesn’t choke.” He glanced at her. “Though I’m surprised you’re still here. One would think you’d have made a break for it by now.”
“I don’t have any money or anywhere to go. If I wait here, Dr. Carter will come for me.”
“I doubt that. By now, he’ll have found the note I left on your behalf. He won’t come looking after he reads it.” He smiled suddenly. “As for the story Tom Green will have relayed by now, no man could hear that and give a damn what happened to you afterward.”
“I’m quite certain you wouldn’t, but unlike you, Dr. Carter is a gentleman and a brilliant physician. Even if he has his doubts, he’ll come. He’ll want to make sure I’m safe.” And though she’d given him precious few reasons to trust her, she’d made him a promise. He wouldn’t let her down.
Vaughn shook his head. “I never took you for a romantic.”
Neither had she, but she was discovering that she liked this new optimistic side of herself. Will would come; she only hoped the duke stayed asleep until then.
Chapter Nineteen
Will stepped onto the platform at Charing Cross station like a sleepwalker who wakes to find himself somewhere new and strange, and the real world so much louder, so much harsher than his dreams.
He and Somerton had endured the long train journey in near silence, both too preoccupied with their fears to talk much. Will tried to concentrate on what needed to be done once they arrived, but were they even going to the right place? What would he find if Vaughn had indeed taken Helen to the duke?
“There’s my cousin,” Somerton said as they emerged onto the street. He gave a discreet nod in the direction of a man waiting by an enormous coach.
Will supposed the vehicle must be Somerton’s; though it bore no telltale coat of arms, it was the finest equipage he’d ever seen, certainly a far cry from a hack, Will’s usual transportation when he was in town.
“Thank you for meeting us,” Somerton said as they approached. “I trust both my telegrams arrived.”
“They did.” Somerton’s cousin—and therefore Helen’s, too—was dark like Somerton but less tall and imposing. A decidedly ordinary-looking individual. Will found his presence in this otherwise remar
kable family a relief. “I’ve also contacted Lord Shaftesbury as you instructed.”
Shaftesbury was chairman of the Lunacy Commission. Involving him had been Will’s idea, but he’d needed Somerton’s influence to make it a reality. Poor housekeepers’ sons, even Oxford-educated ones, did not simply summon a man of the Earl of Shaftesbury’s importance.
After Somerton performed a brief introduction—“Ellis, Carter. Carter, Ellis”—all three men climbed into the carriage. The bottle-green velvet upholstery gleamed, opulent in the lamplight, and Will found that even in desperate circumstances, displays of extreme wealth could overwhelm him and make him feel gauche and vulgar.
“Any news of my sister?” Somerton asked once they were underway.
Will held onto one of the leather straps as the coach rocked and swayed over the cobblestones. The violent jerking meant the driver was under orders to get them to their destination as quickly as possible, a fact that filled Will with grim satisfaction.
“It’s all but certain Miss Grey is with the duke,” Ellis said, “or if she isn’t, another unknown lady is installed in the blue room. The servants aren’t talking, except for the cook, and she hasn’t actually seen the woman herself.”
It had to be Helen. The Duke of Harcastle didn’t keep mistresses. By all reports, he lived so chaste and joyless a life that it was a wonder Helen had been born at all. No, the unknown female guest had to be her. Shaftesbury was an honest man. Once he saw her, and once he’d spoken with Somerton, he’d force the duke to submit to a lunacy trial. They’d worry about how to win later. For now, the important thing was to get her out of the duke’s—and Vaughn’s—power. Assuming she wanted to be out of Vaughn’s.
When the carriage drew to a halt, Will leapt out without waiting for a footman. As he charged up the front steps of Harcastle House, he sensed Somerton on his heels. While Somerton rapped on the door with his cane, Will shifted impatiently on his feet. Shouldn’t they be breaking the door down or something equally dramatic? After what felt like a century, the door opened. Will didn’t wait to be invited in. He shoved the butler aside and dashed up the stairs.
“First door on the right,” Somerton said from somewhere close behind. “My father always sits in that room in the evenings.”
Will pushed the designated door wide and stopped on the threshold, his vision shrinking to the place where Helen sat in a chair by the fire. She looked exactly the same as she had this morning, or had it been decades ago? Same clothes as yesterday, hair pinned in the exact same way. Intact, unharmed, whole, and apparently serene. Vaughn sat in a chair opposite.
In the split second that passed before they saw him, Will was paralyzed by indecision. Almost as strong as his need to sweep Helen into his arms was the urge to tear Vaughn apart. Then he noticed the pot of tea on the table between them, and all his fears came rushing back. She didn’t look like a woman under duress.
Helen looked up, and her eyes lit. “Will!” She hurtled across the room and almost knocked him over as she collided with him. “I knew you’d come.”
All thoughts of Vaughn disintegrated under the weight of his relief. He thought he might crush Helen, but he still couldn’t stop his arms clutching her convulsively.
“Thank you,” she whispered, holding him just as fiercely.
Somerton cleared his throat from the doorway. “It’s good to see you, sister. We thought— Good God!” Somerton rushed to a settee where an elderly man lay.
“He hit his head,” Helen said, the words stilted and cold. “He tried to strike me, but he overbalanced. Dr. Vaughn has been watching over him.”
Vaughn stood, and Will felt Helen’s hand on his arm. As much as he wanted to dash Vaughn’s brains out, he knew the small squeeze Helen gave him was her way of asking him to wait.
“His Grace had a violent outburst,” Vaughn said. “I’m sure you’ve witnessed them before, my lord. As Miss Grey said, he overbalanced and hit his head.”
“Will he be all right?” Somerton and the duke might not be close, but they were still father and son. Somerton’s concern was clear and heartfelt.
“He regained consciousness for a time. I suspect a concussion, but there’s nothing to do other than watch over him.”
Somerton sat, his gaze fixed on his father with a look Will couldn’t begin to interpret. “Obviously, he’s not in his right mind,” he said slowly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Carter?”
“Given his treatment of Helen, I should bloody well say not.”
“Vaughn?” Somerton said. “Do you agree with Dr. Carter’s assessment?”
“I…” Vaughn stared down at the duke. “Perhaps his mind is not so strong as it once was, but the duke’s rank—”
“I’m a marquess,” Somerton drawled. “I don’t give a rat’s arse for the duke’s rank.”
“But—”
“Let me put it this way, Vaughn. You have two options. You can persist in your persecution of my sister, in which case I’ll let my friend Dr. Carter beat you until you’re a bloody stain on the carpet before I use every ounce of my power to ruin you professionally. Or I can give you a job looking after an extremely prestigious patient. All you have to do is sign a paper giving your opinion that my father is of unsound mind.”
“Somerton, a word,” Will said.
Helen’s grip on his arm tightened, but he ignored her.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Will demanded once he’d drawn Somerton aside.
“Saving the day, obviously.”
“The duke’s solicitors—”
“The duke’s solicitors won’t interfere when I’ve made it clear I won’t meddle with the estate. They’ve been taking care of everything for years now, long may they continue.”
“Do you really intend to usurp your father while he lies unconscious?”
Somerton raised a hand to his chin in an exaggerated pose of deep contemplation. “Yes,” he said. “Things will be much simpler this way. You said it yourself, he’s not fit to make decisions about Helen. This is the only sure way to wrest her from his grasp.”
Will closed his eyes against the truth of Somerton’s words, but the entire business struck him as ugly and cold. In order to certify the duke legally insane, two medical opinions were needed. Will would have to add his signature to Vaughn’s.
“Vaughn can take care of him,” Somerton continued. “I’ll make sure he’s given every mark of respect and kindness, but I won’t permit him to terrorize Helen. He’ll be better off than she ever was. He’ll be here in his own home with a doctor watching over him. His life won’t change much, not really.”
Helen stood near the fire, her shoulders hunched. She’d been through so much.
“Every mark of respect and kindness?”
Somerton nodded. “I swear it, Carter. He’s still my father. I wouldn’t see him hurt.”
“All right,” Will said. “Let’s do it.”
…
When the duke began to stir, Helen let Will escort her out into the empty corridor.
“Vaughn is going to organize the footmen and have him taken upstairs,” he said. “It’s probably best he doesn’t see you.”
“What about Fletch?”
“She’s gone. Slipped out when the housekeeper wasn’t looking. I don’t know what she’ll do with no references, but I don’t much care.”
“Me neither.” Fletch had taken too much pleasure in Helen’s suffering to merit any consideration now.
“Somerton is going to take you to his Hertfordshire estate. You can look at the house he wants us to take, see if it’ll suit you. If you don’t like it, write to me and we’ll make other arrangements.”
If it’ll suit you, not us. Something wasn’t right. Will had barely met her gaze since their arrival. “About the letter Vaughn left—”
“You don’t need to say anything. I know he wrote it, not you.”
“Then you must know I didn’t go willingly.”
He hesitated. “Tom Green saw you in V
aughn’s arms.”
“I wasn’t willing then, either. He stuck a needle in my neck.” She pointed at the spot the needle had penetrated.
As Will’s gaze dipped to the puncture wound, his whole demeanor changed. Not since he’d found her in the cellar with Sterling had she seen him so furious. Helen lunged for the Blue Room door a second before he did, blocking it with her body.
“If you confront him, you risk everything. We need him to sign those papers.”
Will looked like he might lift her out of his way, so she touched his cheek, angling his face so that he had to look into her eyes. “I’m fine, Will. I’m here, and I’m fine.” His eyes flicked to the door again. “Look at me. Will, I’m all right.” Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the angry set of his jaw softened. “But I’d feel better if you’d tell me why I have to go to Hertfordshire without my husband.”
“I have to meet with Lord Shaftesbury. Vaughn, too.” His lips curled in disgust. “Even with Vaughn’s signature and Somerton’s backing, we need to be convincing.”
His words sounded logical enough, but she didn’t see why she should leave him here to settle matters without her. “I’d rather stay, too, then.”
“No, Helen. I want you away from the Lunacy Commission. You’ll be safer as the Marquess of Somerton’s sister than you’d be as a mere doctor’s wife.”
“Bastard half-sister.”
“Even so.”
I don’t want us to be separated.
She kept the words locked up inside, but not because she was ashamed or afraid to speak them. After what she’d done today, after all her struggles over the last ten years, she knew she could withstand almost anything. Even the doubt she saw in her husband’s eyes. Vaughn’s machinations had shaken his faith, but she understood. After all the lies she’d told in the beginning, it was a wonder he was here at all.
Will had been her strength and her solace for months, but perhaps they both needed time to think. She knew what she wanted, but her days of managing him were over.
“When will you come to Hertfordshire?”
“As soon as everything is settled here.” He tilted her chin up. “Be brave for a little while longer.”
