by Rose Pearson
Chapter Fifteen
Philip was thinking hard. He was due to pen a letter to Miss Weston, as had become their habit of late, but he could not quite think what to say. His heart was so filled with such a great depth of emotion for her that to try to put it into words seemed almost impossible.
If only he had been able to propose to her yesterday afternoon, then mayhap the words would come more easily! As it stood, he was caught between memory and regret, truly delighted with just how open she had been to receiving his attentions and how frustrated he was that he had not been able to continue with them, due to the arrival of the other visitors in the gallery. Goodness, she had been practically begging him to kiss her again so that she might respond accordingly! That particular thought sent a shock of heat straight through him, leaving him a little breathless. He knew he was quite unable to turn from her and would have taken her in his arms again and kissed her until both of them were gasping for breath, had it not been that they had been interrupted. He felt so many things for her, but the truth was slowly becoming apparent to him the longer he dwelt on it: he cared for Miss Weston.
It was not just a fondness, it was not just an affection, but rather there was something a good deal more profound filling his heart. He could not remove his thoughts from her, found himself longing to be in her company again, when he had only bid her goodbye a few short hours ago. There was no-one like Miss Weston, he was quite sure of it. She brought such joy, such happiness to his life that he could not imagine what his life would entail were she to step away from him. How glad he was to know that their betrothal was something they were both beginning to appreciate. To propose to her would mean the banns would be called, the preparations begun and in three short weeks, they would be man and wife.
Philip could think of nothing better.
Picking up his quill, he considered for another moment before beginning to write, letting his heart speak through his words.
And then, there came a knock at the door, interrupting him entirely. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Philip called for the butler to enter, rather surprised to see him entering with a card in his hand.
“It is rather late for visitors, is it not?” he murmured as the butler held the card out to him, appearing to be a little perplexed himself.
“Indeed it is, my lord,” the butler agreed with a shake of his head. “But the gentleman is quite insistent. He states that it is of the greatest urgency and no matter how much I tried to tell him that you were busy and not to be disturbed, he would not leave the house.”
Philip frowned, turning the card over in his hand and wondering what on earth had possessed Lord Henry to come to his home so late in the evening. There was no particular urgency, he was quite sure, even though that was what the gentleman himself had stated.
“What should I do, my lord?” the butler asked, waiting for Philip’s guidance.
Letting out a long, heavy sigh, Philip waved a hand. “I will see him, although it will be brief,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to see Lord Henry, even though he did not much want to. “Do not bring up a tray or any sort of refreshments. That will not be required.”
The butler inclined his head. “Of course, my lord. Do excuse me.”
Philip watched him go before setting down his quill and removing the letter he was in the middle of writing to Miss Weston. He set it carefully into his desk drawer, thinking to finish it off once Lord Henry had left. His twist of nervousness left him in no doubt that he was feeling rather anxious about the gentleman’s strange appearance at his home. He knew from talking to Miss Weston, that whilst she had always appreciated Lord Henry’s company, she did not feel anything particular for him. That had come as something of a relief, for he had feared, at one time, that he was removing Miss Weston from the gentleman she loved. To know that it was not so and that Miss Weston simply saw Lord Henry as a close acquaintance brought Philip ongoing relief.
“Lord Henry Redmond.”
Philip rose from his seat as the man came inside, displeased to see the arrogant smile on the gentleman’s face as he greeted Philip. There was no expression of concern or worry, which meant that the story about having some sort of news to share with Philip had been nothing more than a fabrication, which he had impressed upon Philip’s butler repeatedly until the poor man had no choice but to go to his master and mention Lord Henry’s presence.
“What can I do for you, Lord Henry?” Philip asked, sitting back down and feeling himself growing eager to bring this conversation to as swift an end as he could.
Lord Henry remained standing, folding his arms over his chest. “You are not going to ask me to sit?”
“No,” Philip replied at once, not feeling so much as a stab of guilt at his rudeness. “This conversation must be a short one, Lord Henry, for I have much to get on with.”
Lord Henry chuckled. “Of course. You will soon be beginning preparations for your wedding, I imagine.”
Something in his tone made Philip bristle and he did not immediately reply.
Still laughing, Lord Henry let his gaze travel around the room before resting it again on Philip.
“What is it that you came here for, Lord Henry?” Philip asked, determined to get the truth from the gentleman and more than eager for the man to stop wasting Philip’s precious time. The letter to Miss Weston was still unfinished and he wanted to send it to her just as soon as he could.
“Well,” Lord Henry began, looking quite at his ease. “I’m afraid, Galsworthy, that I come with some rather disappointing news. I am sure you will understand in time, of course, but I’m afraid it will sting initially.”
Philip resisted the urge to roll his eyes, choosing to lean back in his chair and fold his hands in his lap.
“You think me foolish, I can see,” Lord Henry continued airily, “but it is all quite true, I assure you.”
“What is true?” Philip asked, sighing heavily with irritation. “What is it you are talking about, Redmond?”
Lord Henry grinned, his eyes glinting darkly. “I have just come from Lord Bridgestone’s home, Lord Galsworthy.” He paused again and Philip had to resist the urge to rise from his chair, grasp Lord Henry by the collar and shake him until he decided to speak a good deal more quickly.
“You are not interested as to why I was at Lord Bridgestone’s home?” Lord Henry asked softly. “Either that or you are determined not to appear interested. You ought to be, you know, particularly as it concerns Marianne.”
Every muscle in Philip’s body tightened at once, his hands twisting together as he forced himself to contain the anger that burned like a fire deep within him.
“Her name is Miss Weston,” he said firmly through clenched teeth. “And no, Lord Henry, it does not interest me in any way as to why you visited Lord Bridgestone. I do not care in the least.”
“Oh, but you should,” Lord Henry replied with a broad smile. “Especially since her father has given me permission to court the girl.”
Philip laughed, despite the pain that sliced through him at this news. “I do not care what Lord Bridgestone has done,” he replied, all too aware that he had given the gentleman a rather unfavourable impression of himself ever since he had returned from England. “There is nothing that concerns me in this.” He trusted Marianne, knew that she was not interested in Lord Henry’s attentions in any way. Sitting back in his chair, he forced himself to take on a nonchalant appearance, seeing the way that Lord Henry’s eyes flickered, the smile beginning to fade from his face. It was quite obvious that he had convinced the gentleman that there was nothing in his news that frightened him nor set him back from his course of proposing to Miss Weston. No, nothing Lord Henry could say or do would ever prevent him from –
“What a shame, then, that I left Miss Marianne Weston in a state of distress,” Lord Henry murmured, tilting his head just a little. “After all, knowing that you are to return to your estate without a word to her must be, at this very moment, breaking her he
art asunder.”
Philip frowned deeply. He wanted to ask, of course, what Lord Henry was talking about, but felt the urge to remain entirely silent overwhelm him. He would not give the gentleman what he so evidently desired.
“It was rather easy to send one of my messenger boys into your home,” Lord Henry continued with a slight shrug. “To find the letter which you had every intention of sending to your steward was a boon that I cannot ever express my gratitude.”
Sitting up straight, Philip’s breath caught as he began to search for the letter he had not yet sent, having intended to do so by the end of the week once he had proposed to Miss Weston.
“You need not search for it,” Lord Henry chuckled as though it was all some sort of wonderful joke. “I have it in my possession, as proof of your intentions, should Miss Weston question it.”
“How dare you?” Philip breathed, getting to his feet, and feeling an almost murderous rage come over him. “You break into my home and steal –”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Lord Henry interrupted with a dark look. “It was just by chance that this letter fell into my hands, I assure you.” His lips curved into a menacing smile and Philip felt his gut twist with rage.
“On top of which,” Lord Henry continued, almost airily, “I have quite convinced Lord Bridgestone that you have not proposed to Miss Weston as yet, simply because you are quite unwell. Therefore, he considers you no longer suitable to be his daughter’s husband.”
“Unwell?” Philip repeated harshly. “What are you talking about, Lord Henry?”
The gentleman shrugged. “You know how it is,” he replied with a smile. “One spends too much time in the sun, then one can become quite unstable for a time. Indeed, Lord Galsworthy, it is not your fault that you have become so poorly and I insist that you look after yourself.” His smile spread and Philip found himself moving around his desk towards the gentleman, his intention solely fixed on removing that dreadful smile from his face.
“Now, now,” Lord Henry said at once, putting up both his hands in a gesture of defense. “What would your dear lady think if I was to appear at her door, battered and bruised by your hand?”
Philip stopped dead, his breathing heavy. “You are nothing but a liar and a charlatan,” he stated angrily. “What makes you think that I will not simply go to Miss Weston’s side and explain everything to her?”
Lord Henry chuckled, lowering his hands. “Because, my dear fellow, the game is won. Lord Bridgestone has decided against you. I am to be Miss Weston’s husband, just as I have always intended.”
“But why her?” Philip asked, his hands curling into fists. “Why must you try for Miss Weston when you know she is already engaged?”
A slow smile spread across Lord Henry’s face. “Because, old boy,” he began as though they were very old friends discussing something quite trivial, “I always get what I want, no matter what I have to do to gain it. I have set my sights on Miss Weston and therefore, regardless of whether or not she is already betrothed, I will have her. She is witty, bright, clever, beautiful and a rich daughter of a Viscount. I hear she comes with a hefty dowry and that only adds to my regard for her.” He laughed aloud, the sound becoming menacing, galling Philip all the more.
“You do not care one jot for Miss Weston,” he shouted, advancing towards Lord Henry again. “And nor does she care for you. I will explain everything to her. I will not remove myself from her presence until she finally understands and accepts me. Do you hear me, Redmond? You will not win in this. Miss Weston is mine and mine alone. I love her. You cannot take her from me. You will not succeed.”
“Oh, but I will,” Lord Henry replied lazily, as though he had not heard any of Philip’s passionate speech. “You, however, will be quite unable to do anything about it. You will not be able to write to her, to speak to her, or even to remove yourself from this place. The deed will be done before you can rise from your bed.”
“You are talking rot!” Philip roared, making to grab at Lord Henry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of something metallic which caught the light and, in that moment, the truth of what Lord Henry intended to do became clear to him. He twisted away, just as the report of the gun filled the room. Pain lanced him and he staggered back, only to see Lord Henry hide the pistol back within his coat.
“Do excuse me, Lord Galsworthy,” Lord Henry murmured, making his way to the door. Philip tried to call out, tried to go after him, but found he could not even speak a single word. The pain was increasing with every moment, a soft moaning coming from his lips as he tried to move from where he lay.
“Your master does not wish to be disturbed,” he heard Lord Henry say loudly as the sound of a key turning in the lock met his ears. “He has had some distressing news and wishes to be left alone for the rest of the evening.”
No! Philip tried to say, hearing the word echo only in his mind as he rolled to one side, feeling warm blood begin to stream down his arm. Help me.
The sound of Lord Henry’s footsteps began to echo down the corridor, followed by the butler’s, who was evidently making sure that the gentleman found his way back towards the front door. Philip felt blackness begin to creep towards him, attempting to take him away from the present. Squeezing his eyes closed, he gritted his teeth and tried to find some sort of strength. The shock of what had occurred was filling him with weakness, dragging him down into the depths, but Philip was determined not to give in.
“Marianne.”
Finally, he was able to speak. Even if her name was whispered through dry, heavy lips. Turning over onto his side, he forced himself to push up onto his knees with his one good hand, the other hanging uselessly by his side. The pain intensified but Philip did not give into it, his mind filling with thoughts of Marianne. She was the only thing he could hold onto whilst the rest of his world swirled in a haze of pain.
Somehow, he managed to grasp onto the arm of a chair and pull himself up to standing, although he almost toppled right into the chair itself such was the weakness in his limbs. Drawing in a breath, he tried to shout for help, feeling his head begin to spin with the effort of it.
“My lord?” Philip let out a groan of relief, feeling the last of his strength begin to die away. “My lord!” The butler rattled the door handle, only to find it locked. “Can you unlock the door, my lord?” he called, but Philip could see no key.
“I don’t have it,” he managed to say, although he could not tell whether or not the butler heard him. Looking down at his arm with heavy-lidded eyes, he took in the dark red stain that was making its way down his sleeve, realizing just how badly he had been shot. Had he not seen the pistol, had he not twisted to one side when he did, then would the bullet have pierced his heart rather than his shoulder? There was a lot of blood coming from the wound which was perhaps the reason he felt so faint.
Unable to hold himself upright any longer, Philip let himself collapse into the chair, his head lolling back against it. There was, by this time, the sound of shouting and scuffling at the door, but it all seemed to be so very far away, growing all the more distant with almost every moment. Philip felt his eyes close, letting out a heavy sigh as he finally gave himself up to the pain, the distress that Lord Henry had caused burning through him. Somehow, he had to find the strength to write to her, to go to her, to tell her that everything Lord Henry had done was nothing more than a lie – but with each passing second, Philip felt himself grow weaker.
You, however, will be quite unable to do anything about it. You will not be able to write to her, to speak to her, or even to remove yourself from this place. The deed will be done before you can rise from your bed.
The words Lord Henry had sneered at him just before he’d shot Philip now made sense. This was Redmond’s aim. To remove Philip’s strength, and mayhap his very life, before he could reach out to Marianne. Try as he might, Philip could not even move himself from his chair, could not even open his eyes as the door to his study opened with a loud cracking sou
nd, followed swiftly by hurried feet.
“Good gracious, he has been shot!”
Philip heard his butler speaking but found that he could say nothing in response. He could not move, he could not open his eyes, he could do absolutely nothing.
“Send for the doctor,” the butler continued in a voice filled with anxiety. “Then we must get the master to his bedchamber. Hurry now.”
Philip tried to speak, wanted to tell the butler to fetch Miss Weston, or to at least inform her of what had occurred, but his strength was gone. The blackness came for him again and this time Philip gave himself up to it entirely, unable to do anything else but sink into its welcoming embrace.
Chapter Sixteen
Opening his eyes was impossible, Philip was sure of it.
“Come now, my lord,” a brusque voice stated firmly. “You must do so at once. Your poor mother is quite distraught.”
“Galsworthy?”
His mother was here, Philip could tell. Her voice was cracked and broken, evidencing her concern. He wanted to reach for her, to take her hand and tell her that he was quite all right, but he could not.
“Try again, my lord,” the gruff voice insisted. “Come now, you were only shot in the shoulder! Yes, you may have lost a good deal of blood but a hearty young gentleman like yourself ought to be able to deal with it quite easily. Make an effort, my lord!”
Philip wanted to shout that he was making an effort, that he was doing all he could to prove to his mother that he was recovering, but the strength it took to do such a simple thing seemed almost beyond him. Finally, he managed to crack open one eye, much to the delight of the doctor, who was the man Philip presumed was now bending over him. Opening both eyes, he blinked to clear his vision, seeing his mother rush towards him and take his hand.
