The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square: A Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

  Lady Markham chuckled. “I thank you,” she replied, her eyes bright with hope. “I hear there is to be a doctor visiting my brother this afternoon.”

  Deborah nodded, although the smile faded away at once. “Indeed,” she said, slowly. “It has been almost ten days since I have first started treating your brother but, whilst his wounds are healing, I cannot say that his eye has been showing any signs of recovery.”

  Lady Markham nodded, although Deborah noticed that she did not appear surprised at this news. “I quite understand,” she murmured, letting go of Deborah’s hands. “And this is the same doctor that treated him initially?”

  “Indeed,” Deborah replied, with a slightly rueful look. “I went to speak to him myself, for I knew that he had been…..turned away from Lord Abernathy’s service and wanted to reassure him that it would not be so again should he return.”

  Lady Markham sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “My brother has been remarkably angry of late.”

  “Which is understandable,” Deborah remarked, quickly. “He has been injured and feels as though he has lost so much. It will take time for him to accept that things have changed for him now and that can bring with it a good deal of fury.”

  Looking at her sharply, Lady Markham’s eyes narrowed just a touch. “You did not tell me of just how poorly he treated you at the first, Deborah.”

  Deborah winced. “No, I did not,” she said, wondering who had told Lady Markham what Lord Abernathy had done. “But I did not think it pertinent. As I say, Lord Abernathy had been allowing me to treat him these last ten days.”

  “He has not thrown anything at you since then?”

  Deborah shook her head, seeing the relief on Lady Markham’s face. “He has been silent, for the most part,” she said, slowly, feeling the same burning frustration within herself at that. “I have wanted to speak to him, to allow him to express his thoughts and struggles freely, but His Grace has not appeared willing to do so. Therefore, I have changed his bandages and dressed his wounds in silence. I have not spoken to him more than has been required.”

  A slight scratch at the door had Lady Markham turning around before she could answer Deborah. Upon hearing that the doctor had arrived and was waiting at Lord Abernathy’s door, both Lady Markham and Deborah hurried from the room.

  “I confess that I have had very little success also,” Lady Markham commented, as they walked towards Lord Abernathy’s rooms. “I have been grateful that he has wanted to see me, of course, but we have not spoken about his wounds or the like.” She glanced at Deborah and let out a small sigh. “Mayhap that will come in time. For the moment, let us hope that the doctor can bring my brother some good news.”

  Deborah’s lips flattened, her brows furrowed. “I fear that he will be told that his eye will never regain its sight,” she said, softly, her stomach twisting with a sudden, sharp anxiety. “I only hope that he will not return to the dark shadows that he surrounded himself with at the first.”

  Half an hour later and Deborah watched as the doctor finished unbandaging Lord Abernathy’s face, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. Lady Markham had taken a chair by her brother and was watching the scene with an obvious and palpable anxiety.

  Lord Abernathy had not moved since the doctor had begun. He had stared straight ahead at the beginning of the doctor’s ministrations and had not removed his gaze from the point on the wall just behind Deborah’s head. From the tightening of his jaw, Deborah recognized that the doctor’s actions, gentle though they were, must be painful for the Duke, and found her own anxiety rising.

  “Your hand has improved vastly,” the doctor commented, his voice steady and firm as he studied the Duke’s injured hand. “You must now begin to work the hand, bringing back as much use to it as you can.” The man glanced towards Deborah, his eyes sharp. “It must be greased in some way and then clenched and reopened, to make a fist. Then the fingers and thumb must be worked individually. This will restore a good deal of strength to it.”

  “I quite understand,” Deborah replied, with a jerky nod. “I will do so today.”

  The doctor – who was a thin, wiry man with a thick white beard and a small covering of grey hair across his head, nodded and then turned back to the Duke.

  “However,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly. “I fear, Your Grace, that your eye shall never recover.” There was a moment of hesitation as if the doctor was waiting for Lord Abernathy to erupt. “Might I ask what you can see from it if I cover your good eye?”

  Deborah pressed her fingers together tightly, going completely still as the Duke’s gaze moved to settle on her. His cloudy eye managed to fix on her but a low, frustrated growl came from the Duke’s throat.

  “Shadows,” he bit out, as the doctor lowered his hand. “That is all I see. Shadows. Nothing more.”

  The doctor nodded. “Your wounds are healing well,” he said, practically, not dwelling on the loss of the Duke’s sight. “You should be able to leave your rooms now, Your Grace, and resume some of your normal activities – although you will still need to rest a good deal.”

  The Duke muttered something under his breath, his head falling forward.

  “I shall leave you to dress the Duke’s wounds,” the doctor finished, turning away from Lord Abernathy and looking towards Deborah. “If you are able, that is.”

  Deborah nodded, hurrying forward. “But of course.”

  “May I commend you on your care thus far, Miss Harland,” the doctor commented, as she came near. “You have done remarkably well.”

  A slight flush rose in her cheeks as Lord Abernathy looked up at her sharply. “I thank you,” she said, with a slight inclination of her head. “I have learned from experience and I am glad that it has been of aid to Lord Abernathy.”

  “We are all grateful,” Lady Markham interrupted, her face a little pale as she rose from her chair. “Might I speak with you, doctor, whilst Deborah here tends to my brother?”

  The doctor bowed. “But of course, my lady.”

  Deborah watched as they walked towards the door together, feeling her heart quickening in her chest as she turned her gaze back to Lord Abernathy. She could not imagine what he was feeling, praying that he would not erupt with anger nor lash out at her with rage.

  “I have nothing to throw, Miss Harland.”

  She looked up from the bowl of hot water and the cloth in her hand to see Lord Abernathy’s good eye looking at her, a deep sadness held within it.

  “You are afraid of me,” he said, bluntly. “I can see it in you.”

  Reaching up to wipe his wounds gently, Deborah chose to be honest. “I am not afraid of you, Lord Abernathy, but rather what you might do. You do not contain your pain nor your anger but instead use it to lash out at others, to those who are only trying to help you.”

  Lord Abernathy winced. “You speak very plainly, Miss Harland.” His eyes closed as Deborah began to prepare her poultice, glad to see that some of the wounds were now nothing more than red marks that were close to being fully healed. They would leave scars, of course, but all in all, he was vastly improved.

  “I have no need to tie up my feelings with words of pretense or flattery, Your Grace,” she replied, honestly. “Perhaps it is because I am unused to being in society or because I do not know how one ought to behave particularly around a Duke but regardless, I feel no need to pretend.”

  The Duke opened his eyes and sighed heavily. “Then tell me, Miss Harland, if you will.” His gaze turned to her again but Deborah continued to focus on the binding of his wounds instead of giving him her full attention. “Tell me if I am truly grotesque.”

  She sighed and shook her head, her heart sinking to her toes. “Lord Abernathy, you are not grotesque,” she stated, firmly. “You are a gentleman injured in battle. You have had the best of care from the doctor and your sister. You are recovering. Already, you are able to begin to live your life as you once did. There is nothing grotesque about you, not as far as I
am concerned at least.”

  “Why should I believe you?” His tone had become harsh, covering his sadness and grief. “You tell me that you trust God – and yet God has allowed this to happen to me!” He gestured hopelessly with his good hand towards his face.

  “He has ensured that you live, Lord Abernathy,” Deborah replied, quietly. “He has kept you from death. Is that not something to be grateful for?” She finished bandaging his face and then set her attention to his hand. “There are many who have never returned from the battlefield.”

  Lord Abernathy snorted. “Would that I had any of your optimism, Miss Harland. I can see no good in this.”

  Deborah did not reply. Instead, she focused on what she was doing, not saying anything more in case Lord Abernathy’s temper should flare again.

  “Why do you want to be a nun?”

  Surprised, she looked up. Gone was the harshness of his tone, the anger that had been a part of his every word. Instead, there was a true interest, a real consideration for her answer.

  “I have never known anything except that life,” she said, honestly. “And I can see nothing better than serving God in that way.”

  Lord Abernathy said nothing but Deborah felt his gaze fixed on her face, even as she bent over his injured hand.

  “Your family do not mind you leaving them to become a nun?” he asked, a tinge of derision in his voice as though he had found a way to criticize her for her choices. “Your mother does not need you at home?”

  Deborah picked up her bandage and began to wrap his hand. “I have no mother,” she replied, gently, throwing him a quick glance and seeing how he looked away. “Nor do I have a father, brothers or sisters. I am an orphan.”

  A weighty silence grew between them.

  “I was placed in the abbey at birth,” she said after the tension became too much to bear. “I have been brought up by the nuns. The kindness, generosity, and tenderness I have seen in them is something that I wish to replicate in my own life.”

  The Duke sighed heavily. “And that is why you have come here, then, is it? To take care of a gentleman who is not grateful for your help? Who does his best to remove you from his house in any way he can?”

  Deborah looked up at him, seeing the grief in his expression and finding her heart twisting with sympathy for him.

  “You have endured a great deal, Lord Abernathy,” she said, honestly. “I can well understand your anger, your desire to be steeped in darkness – but it is for that very reason that I have been unable to turn my back on you. Your darkness needs to be expunged, chased away by the light. Your despondency needs to be thrown from you. Your dear sister is more than willing to aid you in such a thing, for she sees the sorrow and suffering you are enduring and is desperate to come alongside you, if only you will let her.”

  Her words seemed to be making some difference to Lord Abernathy, for his expression grew thoughtful and he looked away.

  “I know you have lost your sight in one eye and your hand will never be restored to what it once was, but you have a good many things to be grateful for,” she continued, gently, not wanting to push him towards guilt but instead reveal to him that there was some light within his darkness. “Pray, if you must. Rail and roar at the Almighty but allow His peace to come into your heart in the end. Find a contentment in the life you have now, in the family you have surrounding you.” A small, sad smile tugged at her lips. “I have never had a sister like Lady Markham, Your Grace, but should I have done, then I think her presence would have been a wonderful blessing to my life.”

  “Judith has always been the caring sort,” Lord Abernathy muttered, still not looking at her. “She has been quite distraught, did you say?”

  “I did,” Deborah replied, honestly, as Lord Abernathy let his gaze travel towards his sister who was finishing her conversation with the doctor. “All she wants is for you to recover, Lord Abernathy. She wants you to recover both in body and spirit.”

  Lord Abernathy shook his head. “I do not think I can do both.”

  “You can,” Deborah insisted, reaching out and settling her hand over his bandaged one. To her surprise, a ripple of warmth ran up her hand and into her chest as Lord Abernathy turned his head to look at her, his good eye gazing at her. “It will take time, effort and dedication but you can free yourself of this despondency, Your Grace. I know that Lady Markham will do all she can to aid you in this.”

  “As will you?” His question hung in the air between them, something in his expression making her heart quicken in her chest.

  “As will I,” she said at once, lifting her hand from his and seeing Lady Markham returning to them. “Now, if you will excuse me, Your Grace, I have some things to do. I shall leave you and Lady Markham to talk.”

  Lord Abernathy said nothing more but simply nodded. Deborah picked up the tray and, accepting Lady Markham’s murmur of thanks with a small smile, hurried to quit the room and leave Lord Abernathy and Lady Markham to talk. Lord Abernathy, she reflected, as she made her way below stairs, had finally opened up to her a little. There was sorrow in his soul, a good many questions that were wrapped around in his mind, but Deborah was quite certain that through discussion and prayer, Lord Abernathy might find his peace again. It would not come easily and he would have to be determined to remove from himself the depression that had overtaken him, but in time, she was certain he could emerge from it and walk back into the light.

  His life had not gone from him yet. He had so many things to be glad for, so much he could do. After all, he was a Duke and, regardless of his injuries, had more influence than she ever could! He could still marry and have a family of his own, married to a lady who saw his character instead of just his outward appearance. There was happiness to be had if only he could leave his darkness far behind him.

  “I shall pray for him,” Deborah murmured to herself, as she set the tray down on the kitchen table, dusting her hands as she straightened. Quietly, she hoped that there might be a few more discussions between herself and Lord Abernathy, although she did not want to linger on the strange reaction she had experienced when she had set her hand on his, when his gaze had held onto her own with such a vibrancy that it had caught her breath for a moment. That, whatever it had been, was nothing more than foolish and Deborah was determined not to consider it for even a moment. She had one task to do here and then, when Lord Abernathy was healed and restored, she could return to the abbey, where she belonged.

  Chapter Seven

  “I was courting a young lady.”

  Deborah looked up, surprised to hear Lord Abernathy speak so openly to her.

  “Indeed,” she commented, not quite certain what else to say.

  “My sister has not told you about her?”

  Hesitating, Deborah looked into Lord Abernathy’s face and saw a slight lift to his lips. It had been a fortnight now since the doctor’s visit and, with each day that had gone past, Deborah had found the Duke a little more open – although she had never expected him to speak of this to her!

  “I can see that she has,” the Duke continued when Deborah did not answer. “Of course she did.” He snorted and shook his head. “Dear Judith. What would I do without her?”

  “I am glad that you are grateful for her, Your Grace,” Deborah replied, lightly. “She is very kind.”

  “She is,” Lord Abernathy agreed, his expression softening. “although I must ask you what she said of Lady Cavendish?”

  Deborah, who had just begun wrap his hand, shook her head. “Very little, Your Grace,” she said, honestly. “She mentioned that you often enjoyed the excitement and thrill of society and that she had been a little surprised to hear that you had been courting a particular young lady.”

  The Duke laughed, the sound startling Deborah as she had not heard him laugh in all the time she had been within the house.

  “Good gracious, what must you think of me, Miss Harland?” the Duke asked, surprising her even more with his rueful words. “If my sister has told you
the truth about the gentleman I used to be, then I fear for what you must think!”

  “I think nothing,” she replied, wincing inwardly at the small mistruth. “As I have said before, Lord Abernathy, I know nothing of society or the like.”

  The Duke eyed her carefully, sending a flush of heat up Deborah’s spine which she was certain then immediately crept into her face. She dropped her head and attempted to focus on her task, not wanting to linger on what she was currently feeling under his scrutiny.

  “Being a Duke brings with it a good deal of delight,” Lord Abernathy murmured, after a few minutes of silence. “All of society wishes to know you. The young ladies are paraded in front of your face, as though simply by looking, you might be able to find your future bride.” He shook his head, a slightly rueful smile on his lips. “Everyone is excited when you are in attendance. Every word you say is listened to by all. It is a vice, I fear, Miss Harland.”

  Deborah managed a tight smile. “And yet, within that, you managed to find a young lady who captured your attentions, Your Grace,” she commented, aware of just how little she understood as regarded both society and matters of the heart. “That must say a good deal about your desire as a gentleman.”

  Lord Abernathy snorted. “Lady Cavendish was most persistent, Miss Harland. Do not think that I simply set eyes on her and was lost! No indeed!”

  Finished with her task but finding that she did not want to miss what Lord Abernathy was saying, Deborah sat back in her chair. “What then, if it is not too bold to ask, Your Grace?”

  Lord Abernathy hesitated, then shrugged. “She wore me down, I think,” he said, softly, a slight frown between his brows. “She made me realize that there was no good reason not to pursue her. After all, I need a wife and heir and she was everything that I required.”

  Deborah frowned, wondering if she was understanding what he meant. “There was no particular affection, then?”

  The Duke laughed and Deborah stiffened, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. She was revealing to him that she knew nothing of what he was saying and her mortification grew steadily.