by Hatch, Donna
Still, if he took half the women for lovers that rumor suggested, he was a philanderer of the worst kind. His kiss meant nothing. He hadn’t instigated it. Even that second time could be explained away by pure instinct. It meant nothing to him. It should mean nothing to her.
So why did she keep recalling the silky, sensual gentleness of his lips? Why did her body spring to life each time she remembered it as much as it had when their lips had met for that briefest of instants? A dull ache built in her stomach each time she relived it. A current swept her away, too strong to fight. She must at least keep her head above water.
All she wanted to do was run back there and kiss him again.
No, that path led to heartache. If she kissed Tristan again, she ran the risk of caring for him beyond their comfortable friendship. She’d best avoid all temptations regarding Tristan.
Perhaps her reaction sprang from her concern over his wellbeing. After all, seeing him in that terrible accident stirred up her emotions. Surely she ought not to trust any sort of passion until she’d recovered from the trauma of Tristan almost dying. Once that happened, all would return to normal and their association would once again be mere friendship.
With her maid’s help, she changed into a pale pink walking gown and sat while the maid did her hair. She reached for her favorite blue pelisse, then remembered it had been ruined when Tristan had bled on it. The memory of his limp body, his closed eyes, the pallor of his skin, made her stomach lurch. She pressed a fist into her abdomen.
Calm down. He’d awoken, well, and with his wit intact…and with the softest lips she’d ever imagined.
She let out a growl. She should not think of Tristan this way. Lord Bradbury, a fine man who offered much, including a sterling reputation, ought to occupy her thoughts. She turned her mind to finding a pelisse to put on over her walking dress.
“The purple one, miss?” asked the maid.
“Yes, the purple one will do.”
She buttoned the rich plum pelisse trimmed with gold cord that Aunt Alice had insisted on buying for her. After selecting a simple, understated bonnet, and picking up her kid gloves and reticule, she glanced in the mirror one last time. Her cheeks bloomed with more color than usual, as if she were feverish. Who would have thought kissing Tristan would have thrown her into such a state?
A footman appeared. “Lord Bradbury to see you, miss.”
“Tell him I’ll be right down.”
She took a steadying breath, shutting out all thoughts of Tristan. Instead, she brought to mind Lord Bradbury’s handsome face, the blueness of his eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. With a regal carriage that would have pleased Aunt Alice, Leticia descended the stairs, gliding one hand along the railing.
Lord Bradbury waited in the foyer, examining a painting. His tall, lean form, so fashionable in the clothing styles of the day, brought a smile to her lips. It was odd, really, how things had progressed between them in so short a time. She’d seen him every day this week. If that didn’t qualify as courting, what did? Courted by a viscount. She almost laughed. Who would have thought that it would happen to a simple country miss? Her parents would be in raptures.
Leticia reached the bottom step and crossed the floor to him. “Lord Bradbury.”
He turned with a smile that softened imposing features. “Miss Wentworth, you are a bright spot in my day.”
She curtsied. With an impish playfulness she asked, “Oh? Difficult day at the House?”
“Not at all. However, the day has notably improved.” He lifted her hand to his lips.
Startled that he’d kissed her hand before she’d had a chance to put her gloves on, she withdrew from his touch. Gentlemen didn’t usually go around kissing ladies’ hands unless they had some sort of understanding…unless, of course, people did things differently in London than in the country. Though Lord Bradbury hadn’t done anything shockingly wrong, it still seemed improper. Forward. Shallow. When Tristan had kissed her hand and held it to his cheek, there had been such sincerity, such need.
Of course, he suffered from a blow to his head, so she’d be a fool to read more into that than existed. There she went again, thinking of the wrong man.
After pulling on her gloves and bonnet, she took Lord Bradbury’s arm and let him lead her to his waiting coach. A fine family crest adorned the door of the older but beautifully maintained landau.
“It’s a lovely day for having the hood down.” She smiled up at him.
“Yes, fortunately for us, there have been a few rare sunny days despite these strange, cold temperatures. I wished to take advantage of today’s fine weather.” He helped her in and swung up beside her with practiced ease. The liveried driver snapped the reins and they were off.
They chatted like old friends and she had the distinct impression that she’d known him for years—perhaps it sprang from his resemblance in manner to Richard.
Inside Cleveland House, they read about exhibits and Lord Bradbury told her about the ones on loan from Egypt, his animated expression endearing. He hadn’t shown that much spark about anything else. As she strolled along on his arm, she caught several admiring glances cast by other women nearby. She wanted to smile smugly and walk a little taller. Still, his handsome looks and charm and title were all superficial reasons to want to be with him. She liked him. He was kind and attentive. She imagined marrying him and spending her days with him, cozying up by a fire reading or talking. A life of safety and comfort lay down that path. He’d even shown support for the school, so her cause didn’t seem to bother him. Could she really educate the children and have a home and family of her own, too?
After a few hours, they found a bench and rested. He turned to her. “I’ve made arrangements to have that pianoforte shipped to your school but it may be a few weeks before it arrives.”
“Oh! That’s so very generous of you. How can I ever thank you?”
“Your smile is thanks enough.”
She looked down. How could such a perfect man have come into her life?
“Is anything on your mind, Miss Wentworth?”
She looked up into his kind face in surprise. “Am I poor company?”
“Not at all but you’re not quite as lively as usual.” He paused. “I heard about the mishap with Mr. Barrett. Is that what ails you?”
The terror that had paralyzed her as she’d watched him fly over the horses and land in a broken heap overcame her again. She fisted her hands. “A frightening experience, to be sure, but he’s conscious now.”
“You’re close friends, as I understand?”
“Yes, I’ve known him all my life. We played together as children.” She winced. Discussing Tristan with Lord Bradbury felt wrong somehow, as if it were too intimate a subject.
“Is there anything more?”
“Between us? Oh, no. We’re friends.” Her face heated as their accidental kiss, and their not-so-accidental kiss, invaded her mind. Shockwaves shot straight down to her toes from the memory.
“He seems to hover around you, acting rather like a jealous lover.”
Uneasy, Leticia waved off his words and huffed a forced-sounding laugh. “No, he’s playing matchmaker. He has it in his head that I won’t be happy until I’m married.”
“You don’t agree?”
“Well, of course I’d like a husband and a home and a family, but I can be happy without those, too. Not everyone marries, you know.”
“True. I have an unwed sister and she’s happy enough, I suppose. She sometimes laments children she never had.”
“I’m planning to love all the children in our school.”
He turned to her in surprise. “You’ll be the teacher?”
“No, of course not, but I plan to be involved enough to become acquainted with them. Perhaps I’ll teach them to play the pianoforte.”
He nodded and fell silent for a moment. “So, you and Barrett don’t have any sort of relationship beyond friendship.”
“No, he�
�s like a brother to me.” Her cheeks heated again as she recalled his kiss and the strange rush that flooded her body and soul. “Besides, I could never love a libertine. I want a husband who will be faithful. Is that selfish?” She watched his reaction. Most gentlemen of the ton seemed to view it as acceptable to keep a mistress even after marriage.
Without removing his focus from her face, he shook his head. “Not at all.” He placed her hand against his, lining up their fingers as if measuring the difference. “Your hands are small.” He curled his fingers around hers.
She should not hope a fine man like him had plans for a future with a girl like her. Her words came out in a rush. “My lord. I’m an outspoken person and I’ve never been very good at holding my tongue. The truth is, I very much fear to continue spending time with you if there’s no future for us. I’m not asking for any promises, but if you would never consider marrying the daughter of a gentleman farmer from the country, I beseech you to stop calling on me.”
He said nothing.
She continued, “It’s not for my sake, alone, that I speak. If people see us together, they will draw conclusions and think you’ve raised my expectations. Then, if nothing comes of it, our reputations might be called into question, and that might also adversely affect my sister’s prospects.” Finally, she snuck a look up into his face.
He smiled, the kind of indulgent expression people often wear when they watch children at play. “My dear Miss Wentworth, if I were that shallow, I would never have called upon you in the first place. I spend time with you because I enjoy your company. I do not yet know if we have a future together, but I’m willing to explore that option. If our path lies down that road, marriage would be the ultimate destination.”
“Oh.” Chastened, she looked down at their hands. “I didn’t mean to besmirch your honor by implying your intensions were, well, dishonorable but our difference in rank—”
“I’m well aware of our differences, and while my family hopes I’ll make an advantageous match, I seek the kind of love my parents had. I’m willing to overlook an inferior status. Besides, your aunt’s status may be enough to please them.”
Overlook an inferior status ? He acknowledged her lower rank, yet accepted her, a country bumpkin with a paltry dowry, if he decided they would suit. Her cheeks burned at his reminder. At least he didn’t balk at her forwardness. And he did give her a candid answer.
“Forgive me for being so direct, my lord.”
“Not at all, Miss Wentworth. I find it refreshing. I find everything about you refreshing.” He smiled with unmistakable fondness.
Her embarrassment faded. They spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and sharing memories, hopes, dreams, and even a few fears. A new layer of intimacy opened between them. By the time he took her home, she had already mentally composed the letter she’d write to her mother about her diverting afternoon.
Inside the foyer of her aunt’s house, Lord Bradbury bowed. “A pleasure as always, Miss Wentworth.”
A footman hurried up to Leticia and held out a note. “Miss Wentworth, the messenger said it was urgent.”
She took the note. The seal bore the Averston family crest and she recognized Elizabeth’s graceful handwriting. Tristan! She glanced at Lord Bradbury, torn between wanting to read the message and not wishing to be rude.
Bradbury gestured to it and took a few steps back to allow her privacy. “Please.” He turned away and pretended to study the view out the window.
Her heart thumping, she broke the seal and read.
Leticia,
I need you most urgently. Tristan is feverish and delirious and calling for you. Please come post haste.
Yours,
Elizabeth
“Oh, heavens. Tristan has developed a fever. Elizabeth wants me. I must go at once.”
“Elizabeth Averston?”
“Yes.” She turned to the footman. “Call the carriage.”
“I’ll take you,” Lord Bradbury said.
“Thank you.” To the footman, she said, “Please inform my aunt I’ve gone to Averston House.”
In the ride over, she sat in the open landau with clenched hands and racing heart. Lord Bradbury slid both of his hands around hers. His touch should have comforted her but instead added to her jitters. When they arrived, he saw her in and waited while the footman summoned the lady of the home.
Elizabeth rushed in. “At last! Oh, forgive me, Lord Bradbury. I fear we’re in a state here.”
“Fever due to injury?” he asked.
“Yes, the doctor wanted to bleed him, but I rejected that.” Elizabeth twisted her hands. “His injuries bled so much already that I couldn’t stand the thought of him losing more. The doctor thinks I’m mad.”
“If I may,” Lord Bradbury said. “I know of a doctor who’s a bit unconventional. He uses herbs, much like healers of old, and has had great success. He saved my sister’s life last year.”
Elizabeth glanced at Leticia as if seeking her counsel. Leticia nodded. She could never abide the practice of bleeding a sick patient, either.
“Very well,” Elizabeth said. “Send for him, if you will.”
Lord Bradbury nodded. “Right away.”
Leticia bade him a good day and accompanied Elizabeth upstairs. As she pushed open the door to Tristan’s room, a blast of heat met her. Tristan lay moaning and writhing on the bed. Running the last few steps to him, Leticia tore off her gloves and touched his face. The dry heat of his fever nearly burned her skin. He mumbled something but his words were intelligible.
“Oh, no. This is bad.” After removing her bonnet and pelisse, she poured water into a bowl and bathed his face with a towel. “Elizabeth, have someone put out the fire and open a window.”
Elizabeth put a hand to her face. “The doctor told me to keep it warm in here to burn out the fever.”
“That’s an old-fashioned practice.” Leticia immersed the cloth and squeezed it out. “When Isabella had influenza two years ago, our doctor said we had to cool her, to bring down the fever, or it would keep burning. It worked. She improved right away. Trust me, this is better.”
Elizabeth rang for a servant and opened a window near the bed. The cool evening air blew in, cooling the perspiration on her face. Tristan babbled in delirium. Leticia bathed his face and rinsed the cloth over and over. Then she bathed his neck and chest, as far open as she could push the open neckline of his nightshirt, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to reach his arms and hands. The cloth dried quickly under the heat of his fever.
“This isn’t going to do enough for him.”
A gentle knock at the door admitted the young Mrs. Harper.
Surprised to see the soon-to-be-school teacher, Leticia straightened. “What is it?
“I beg your pardon, but I heard my lord’s brother is very ill.”
“Yes, he is,” Elizabeth said, her face pinched.
“May I help in some way?”
“That’s kind of you to offer, but there’s nothing anyone can do. We’re trying to cool him, and we’ve sent for a different doctor. I don’t see how you can help.”
The petite young woman took another few steps into the room, her gaze moving to the bed. She faltered. “Oh, my, he’s very handsome. He looks much like my lord Averston.” An expression of horror crossed her face, and she shot a frantic look toward Elizabeth. “Forgive me, my lady. I meant no disrespect.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You’re right; my husband is a very handsome man. So is his brother.”
The young teacher drew a breath. “My mother was something of a healer back home. In the old days, people would have called her a witch. Anyway, the whole village came down with scarlet fever. She saved them with a combination of herbs, and immersing their bodies in cool water. She learned that if the water is too cold, like that of a river, they sometimes die on the spot—I suppose it’s too much of a shock. If she put them in a warm bath and then added cold water at little at a time, it brought down the fever.”
&nb
sp; Leticia stared at the girl. She’d said more in that explanation than she had during her interview. “Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d bet my life on it. She saved nearly everyone in the village. I don’t know what herbs she used, but I do know the cool water made a difference.”
Leticia looked to Elizabeth who had already strode to the door. She summoned a servant and barked out orders. “Have a bath brought up and filled with tepid water. Then send in Tristan’s valet and Cooper. You return, too. You’re going to bathe an unconscious man.” She eyed the large, capable-looking footman.
The footman paused, nodded, and ran to obey. Within minutes and after a flurry of movement and explained instructions, Elizabeth, Leticia, and Mrs. Harper stepped out of the room to allow the men to work. Mrs. Harper slipped away but Leticia sat with her hands clenched in the same chair she’d used the night she had waited for the other doctor to examine Tristan as he lay unconscious. Elizabeth paced. The minutes dragged on, and each tick of the clock in the corridor seemed to echo in her head. Elizabeth sank into a chair, folded her hands, and closed her eyes as if praying.
The head housekeeper approached carrying a tray. “I brought you some tea and bread, my lady, Miss Wentworth.” She placed the tray on a table nearby and dragged a few chairs lining the walls to the table.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured.
They sat but Leticia had no appetite.
“I wish the doctor would hurry,” Elizabeth said.
“I hope the cool bath helps.”
Cooper came out then. “’e’s cooler now. I don’t know ‘ow long it’ll last, though. We took off th’ bandages afore we put ’im in th’ water.” He paused, then added. “Th’ wounds are sickenin’.”
Icy pinpricks stabbed Leticia’s skin.
Elizabeth stood. “They’re septic?”
“Don’t look good, milady.”
Elizabeth paled. In a faint voice, she said, “Thank you for your assistance.”
Leticia went cold all over. One by one, the men left the room. Leticia ran to Tristan and touched his face. Though cooler and no longer ranting, he lay so still and pale that she had to touch his chest to reassure herself that he still breathed. With the bandages off, the exposed gash on his forehead turned her stomach. With black stitches holding the open skin together and thick green liquid oozing from between the black threads, it looked ghastly. Leticia wanted to tear open the stitches and clean out the green sickness. But that might make him worse. They kept their vigil, bathing his face, praying for his recovery. What delayed the doctor?
