“I’ll ask,” Javan said softly. He was standing by the bed again, leaning down to stroke her hair, and she couldn’t help smiling through the waves of sleepiness. “When you’re awake and well. Now, before you fall asleep, where exactly does your family live?”
She blurted out the direction, just as she finally recalled the odd taste in the water. “Laudanum!” she exclaimed, “You gave me laudanum…”
“You need to sleep,” he said softly. “So, sleep.”
She did.
*
Javan crossed into Scotland before nightfall and rode straight through Gretna Green, travelling a few miles east, off the main Edinburgh road, to the Rose and Thistle. This was a smaller inn he’d been told about by the landlord he’d just left. The two innkeepers were apparently related, and the English one was very proud of his Scottish cousin, who apparently had a business on the side, marrying people according to peculiar Scots law. More to Javan’s immediate purpose, the inn was closer to the village of Ecclerigg, where resided Caroline’s mother, sister, and nephew.
Although the taproom was busy, the innkeeper gave him a choice of bedchambers for the night and brought him a hearty dinner.
After a disturbed night—he worried too much about Caroline to sleep well—he ate an early breakfast and rode on to Ecclerigg. This turned out to be a small, picturesque village at the foot of two hills. The blacksmith was happy to direct him to Mrs. Grey’s cottage.
The cottage was not large, but it looked well-cared for and had a neat garden. A child of around four played in the garden while a maid hung up washing and hummed to herself.
Javan dismounted and looped the reins around the fence before he opened the gate and closed it again behind him.
“Good morning,” he said civilly to the maid. “Is Mrs. Grey at home?”
The maid, her humming cut off, showed a tendency to stare with her jaw dropped. It was the child who stopped galloping around the garden to say, “Yes, she is. Is that your horse, sir?”
“Yes. You can stroke him if you like. He’s very well mannered.”
Grinning, the boy ran at the horse, who eyed him disdainfully across the fence.
“Give him this,” Javan advised, taking a lump of sugar from his pocket. “Flat on your palm like so. He will love you forever. Are you Peter, by any chance?”
The boy nodded absently, watching with awe as the horse lipped the sugar gently from his hand.
“And who might you be?” the maid demanded with a hint of aggression that might have been her way of protecting the child from a stranger.
Javan gave her a slightly crumpled card. He hadn’t had any printed for some time. “Be so good as to take this to Mrs. Grey. She will know my name as her daughter’s employer.”
The maid’s eyes widened. “Peter, come in,” she ordered, seizing the boy by the hand. “You’d better come too, sir.”
She showed him through the narrow hallway and into a pleasant parlor, then, taking Peter with her, she left him. He heard the clumping of her footsteps on the stairs.
Peter, clearly, was not at death’s door. He was doubly glad he’d left Caroline on the other side of the border.
After several minutes, when he could hear voices upstairs, a flurry of feet coming down heralded the arrival in the parlor of a middle-aged lady in a cap, and a young and very beautiful lady who held Peter by the hand.
“Mr. Benedict,” the elder lady said, curtseying. “I am Mrs. Grey. This is my daughter, Mrs. Dauntry.”
Javan bowed civilly.
“How can we possibly help you?” Mrs. Grey asked anxiously. “Caroline is not here.”
“I know. I came on her behalf because she seemed to believe Peter here to be…very ill.”
“He has had such a terrible chill,” the beautiful Mrs. Dauntry said a shade nervously.
“But that was weeks ago,” her mother said. “He has been fine since. I wrote to Caroline and told her so.” She frowned. “Though, do you know, I may have sent it to Braithwaite Castle! I am so scatter-brained…perhaps she never received it?”
“Oh, no, she received that letter. It was sent over from the castle. No, this was a later one, from Mrs. Dauntry. I believe monies were required to pay the doctor? Because Peter had relapsed.”
Mrs. Dauntry cast a glance at her mother, half-imploring, half-frightened. “Oh no…that is, I was afraid he might…” As though recollecting herself, she cast a dazzling smile at Javan. “But sir, you are amazingly kind to take up my sister’s cause and come here in her stead. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”
Mrs. Grey didn’t look grateful. She looked confused and not a little put-out.
Javan inclined his head slightly and waited.
“Please, sit down,” Mrs. Dauntry urged. “Will you have tea?”
He met her gaze and read there the confidence of a beautiful woman who knew she could bamboozle and win whichever man she liked. What was it she’d wanted the money for? Another new gown with which to seduce the local gentlemen? Or just a better class of dinners? Clearly, it had never been for Peter. The mother knew it and was not best pleased. Which said something for her. Just not enough in Javan’s opinion.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I won’t have tea. I came really, to bring you news of Miss Grey. Since neither of you have asked, it is my duty to inform you that she is not currently well. She left my house in desperate haste to see Peter and was injured on the journey. She currently lies at an inn near Carlisle, in the care of my sister. The direction is written on the back of my card, should you need it. Good morning.”
“Wait!” moaned Mrs. Grey. “Sir, what has happened to Caroline? You must tell me!”
“She was shot,” Javan said brutally, and was only slightly mollified to see the sister whiten as she sat down too quickly.
“Shot!” the mother exclaimed. “Dear God!”
“Will she die?” Mrs. Dauntry whispered.
Javan relented. “No, I don’t believe so. I have some experience of gunshot wounds and providing we can avoid corruption, I believe she will recover well. But I am glad to be able to relieve her mind over Peter.”
“What were you thinking of, Eliza?” the mother burst out. “Do you think a governess earns so much—?”
“I was selfish,” Mrs. Dauntry whispered, bowing her head. “You know I have been dull since I returned from Edinburgh and…and I so wish I hadn’t written that stupid letter. Truly, I did not think it would matter. This is all my fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Grey snapped. “Go and pack your bag and Peter’s—one bag, Eliza! Sir, might we request your escort to my daughter? If you are returning there.”
“I am. And I would be happy to escort you. I believe we can hire a chaise for you at the Rose and Thistle.”
“Then we shall meet you there,” Mrs. Grey said decisively. “We can borrow a conveyance that far at least and I know you are riding.”
He bowed again, and began to walk away, but to his surprise, she caught his arm. “Sir, I thank you for your care of my daughter.”
“It is the least I can do, ma’am. Her condition is more my fault than yours.”
A frown flickered across her face at that. “I don’t know how that may be. But you must find us selfish and neglectful. In truth, we have grown to rely too much on Caroline. She was always our strength, and Eliza has always been too indulged…that is my fault, for I imagined she would make a splendid marriage which would save us from penury when my husband died. But in truth, there is no excuse for her writing such a lie to Caroline.”
“I do not judge either of you, ma’am,” Javan said, not entirely truthfully.
“Thank you, for Eliza is not truly bad-natured. Just impulsive and inclined to selfishness, as are we all.”
“As are we all,” he agreed. He smiled faintly. “Except for Caroline.”
Chapter Eighteen
Alone in the inn’s coffee room, Javan wished he had never agreed to escort Caroline’s family. By four o’
clock, they still had not arrived at the Rose and Thistle. It would be too late to start out now, especially with the child. He almost went alone, for his need to see Caroline all but overwhelmed him. However, being a man of his word, he resolved to leave it until evening and then send over a note to the effect that he would leave at first light, with or without them.
The matter was no sooner decided than he heard the rumble of a vehicle entering the inn yard. Rising to his feet, he walked to the window.
Not one carriage, but two were crossing the yard. Moreover, the first was only too familiar and driven by Williams, who jumped down as soon as the horses came to a standstill. Leaving them to the ostlers hurrying toward them, he opened the carriage door and let down the steps.
Swearing beneath his breath, Javan all but ran across the room and out into the yard, where it was beginning to rain. Caroline had emerged from the carriage, leaning on Williams’ arm while Marjorie and Rosa jumped down beside her.
Rosa ran to him, and he caught her in one arm while striding toward Caroline with furious anxiety. His gaze lashed Richard who emerged from the other carriage with their captured assassin.
Refusing to be distracted for long, he searched Caroline’s pale face as he took the final few paces to her.
She smiled at him, melting his heart all over again. “Don’t be angry. I felt perfectly well and I’m afraid I insisted.”
“She slept well all night,” Marjorie added, as proud as if it had been her own achievement. “And had breakfast in bed, though she insisted on rising for luncheon and then felt so well that we gave in and brought her.”
“We thought the journey would do her less harm than continued anxiety,” Richard put in.
Caroline cast him a glance of respect, and suddenly Javan wanted to laugh because they were all trying to manage him and the truth was, despite his fear for her, his heart sang just because she was here in front of him.
He took her good hand from Williams, elbowing his old sergeant aside. “Then you’d better come inside and sit. Let me say at once that Peter is perfectly well. So are your mother and sister. In fact, they are expected here imminently.”
The relief seemed to make her sag slightly. He flung one arm about her waist to support her and swept her inside, barking orders at the innkeeper and his wife as he went.
In no time, Caroline was ensconced in the best armchair before the coffee room fire, a soft cushion under her injured arm, and a cup of tea on the small table at her other side. Javan had pulled one of the large tables nearer her, and the rest of them—including Miller, who was tied to his chair—sat around it, drinking tea and ale and consuming a pleasant repast, tasty morsels of which were passed to Caroline.
Her wound did not appear to have reopened when Javan examined her dressing. In fact, she seemed none the worse for her journey, according to his close and continuous scrutiny. Which allowed him, finally, to concentrate on other things.
“What is he doing here?” he asked, jerking his head across the table to Miller, who was attempting to eat and drink with his hands bound together.
Richard swallowed his cold meat and reached for his ale. “Didn’t know what else to do with him. He seems amiable enough when disarmed. And happy to daub Swayle in it. Expect he wants us to let him go if he does.”
Miller gave what he probably imagined was an engaging smile. “Happy to help. Don’t hold with killing women, certainly not gentlewomen, which anyone can see she is, governess or no.”
“Didn’t stop you, though, did it?” Javan retorted.
“Well, she ain’t dead,” Miller said incontrovertibly. “Is she?”
Whatever Javan might have replied became lost in a furor by the door.
“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed a strident female voice, “but this is a public coffee room and I insist on being allowed inside!”
“But I have quality in there, and a sick guest who needs quiet,” insisted Archie the innkeeper. “Allow me to have your dinner brought to your room. It will be much more pleasant and private.”
“My wife said the coffee room!” roared a male voice. There was a scuffle, as if poor Archie had been thrust aside, and then a man barreled into the coffee room, closely followed by his wife, two daughters, and a slightly stringy young man who might have been their son. The family halted and stared with dislike at Javan’s party.
Miller got to his feet with the chair still tied to him and bared his teeth.
Led by the father, the family fled in silence. Grinning, Miller sat back down again and nodded at Javan. “You’re welcome.”
“Finally,” Javan observed flippantly. “A man more frightening than me.”
*
It was odd, but Caroline found the time at the inn curiously comforting and exciting at the same time. Apart from the pain in her arm, she truly felt well, and quite blissful in Javan’s company. He sat close to her, leaning one elbow on the big table, the other occasionally brushing against her good shoulder. His nearness, of course, was the source of her excitement, adding to the pleasure of the other Benedicts’ company. She was unspeakably touched by the way they all looked after her. That even Marjorie had followed and stayed with her…That Javan had gone to her mother just to relieve her mind of worry…That Rosa was happy to have them all reunited.
When her mother and sister finally arrived, Caroline and her companions were in the midst of an amusing and spirited discussion. She and Marjorie each had a ladylike glass of sherry wine, while the Benedict gentlemen had a bottle of brandy which was almost as good, apparently, as that found in Blackhaven. Rosa was playing cards with Miller.
Warned in advance, the innkeeper merely ushered his newest patrons into the coffee room. Caroline was smiling at Javan’s laughter, because he laughed so much more easily now, when, over Richard’s shoulder, she saw her mother enter.
“Forgive our tardiness, Mr. Benedict,” her mother began. “The only available conveyance was a cart pulled by a very old donkey and it took forever just to—Caroline!”
“Mama!” She tried to rise, but Javan and Marjorie both pressed her back into her seat. As the gentlemen rose to greet the newcomers, Peter flew past everyone and threw himself onto Caroline’s lap.
“Aunt Caro! Aunt Caro! You’ll never guess! I saw the biggest, finest horse in the world and I gave it sugar! It was his,” he added, grinning at Javan while Caroline hugged him in her good arm.
By then, Eliza too was kneeling at her feet. “You’re here, Caro! Oh, thank God, I was afraid we’d find you wilting in bed, quite at death’s door!”
Inevitably, there was a hint of accusation in among Eliza’s genuine relief.
“Like Peter?” Caroline said before she could help herself.
Eliza had the grace to blush. “Well, I am sorry about that letter. It was a great mistake and I am thoroughly ashamed, but how was I to know you would gallop up here and get shot? Which Mr. Benedict said was not my fault.”
“No, it was his,” Richard drawled, waving one hand at Miller, who hung his head.
“Is that why he’s tied up?” Peter asked, sliding off Caroline’s knee to allow his grandmother to embrace her.
“Exactly,” said Javan. “Ladies, allow me to present my sister, Miss Benedict, my cousin Mr. Richard Benedict, and my daughter Rosa. And Mr. Miller, of course,” he added, apparently for pure devilment. “Known to his friends as Killer.”
“Good Lord,” Caroline’s mother murmured. “Do you trust him?”
“God, no. Not unless he’s tied up and has something to gain by cooperating. Please, sit down. A glass of sherry, perhaps? We’re expecting dinner at any moment.”
This was the time Caroline had been secretly dreading. She liked her sister to shine, but she didn’t want to see the light of admiration in Javan’s eyes when he looked at her. Her smile could dazzle the coldest hearted princes… Or at least it had dazzled Theo Dauntry. But she wouldn’t think about him. She would only think of her pleasure in seeing her family. There was nothing she
could do about anything else.
She knew she was quieter, more subdued at dinner, as she always was in her sister’s company. And Eliza was in form, spreading her smile indiscriminately. “How handsome Mr. Richard is, Caro,” she whispered. “And heir to a baronet, you say? Of course, the other is more romantic, but just a little frightening. Perhaps it is the scar.”
She seemed to imagine she had her choice of them. Certainly, it never entered her head that either could be interested in Caroline. And of course, they indulged her. It took Caroline some time to realize that indulgence was all it was, like humoring a child by listening to her prattle. They both addressed frequent remarks to Caroline by name and gradually, Caroline began to reply more naturally until she realized it was Eliza who had grown subdued, stunned by the attention paid to her older, plainer sister the governess.
She chided herself for ill nature, but after Theo, it was sweet to see Javan’s attention rarely straying from herself. She wanted to preen.
Since the inn only had three bedchambers, it was decided that Caroline would share one with Marjorie and Rosa. Her mother, sister, and Peter would have the second bedchamber, and the Benedicts the third. Williams undertook to watch Miller in the stables.
Javan conducted Caroline upstairs behind Marjorie and Rosa. Because it was sweet, she leaned on him just a little more than she needed to. And when Marjorie and Rosa went inside with their candle, Javan quietly closed the door on them, set his candle in the window embrasure, and there in the passage, took Caroline into his arms. She melted.
“Tell me now, Caroline Grey,” he whispered into her hair. “Will you marry me?”
She inhaled the scent of his skin, let her lips open against his warm, rough cheek. “Do you love me?”
His mouth found hers. His kiss was long and tender and left her devastated.
“More than life,” he murmured against her lips. “Never doubt it, for I shan’t. It seems as if I’ve always loved you. I always will.”
Never had she expected such a comprehensive declaration from Javan Benedict. She smiled without letting her lips leave his. “Then yes, I will gladly marry you. So very gladly.”
Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8) Page 40
