“You will wake me if there is any change in his condition?” she requested.
“I will,” he agreed. “Goodnight, Miss Bolton.”
“Goodnight, Your Grace.” Eliza followed the maid upstairs to her room. She longed to crawl into bed and sleep, but as she walked away from the Duke of Durton and passed the room wherein lay the Duke of Rosenhill, two men who had shown her such kindness and compassion, she felt as if she were leaving pieces of herself behind. She prayed that all would be better come daybreak.
* * *
“The Duke of Rosenhill?” he asked the woman as he moved forward into the candlelight and placed a hand on Mr. White’s shoulder.
“Your Grace,” the butler murmured as he bowed out of the way.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the woman replied. “Please come quickly. He will die if we do not hurry.”
Duncan felt the blood drain from his face and his heart speed up in distress. Not Arthur!
Turning to Mr. White, he ordered, “Send a footman for the doctor immediately. I will need two grooms to follow us with the carriage now.” He exited the door and in one swift motion had mounted the waiting bay mare. He recognized the horse from Rosenhill and assumed it belonged to the dark-haired girl. He held his hand out for her to climb up behind him. “Show me where,” he commanded.
“Your coat, Your Grace,” his butler protested. Duncan ignored him and urged the mare into a gallop.
When he arrived at the site of the accident, Duncan could hardly believe the devastation of what he found there. He dismounted and went straight over to check the driver. As he approached the carriage, his boots became sodden in bloody mud. The smell of perforated bowel filled the air nearly making him gag. He knelt down and checked to make sure the man was dead and found that he was quite so. He could hear the horses in distress but ignored them in favor of finding Arthur.
He heard the girl come up behind him and wished to spare her the gory sight. He turned to block the body with his own. “He is dead,” he confirmed. She nodded her head as if she had already known. He wondered just how much she had seen before coming to find him for help. “Where is Arthur?”
“Follow me,” she answered. “I could not move him on my own.”
Duncan followed her down an embankment to the edge of the forest. “God in heaven!” he gasped when he saw his friend. “What has happened to you, my dear fellow?” The sight of his friend lying there, pale as death, with distorted limbs nearly caused him to lose his footing.
Somehow, he found the strength to move forward and examine Arthur’s injuries. “He has a head wound,” he informed the girl, feeling his friend’s scalp. His hand came away covered in blood.
Duncan swallowed hard at the sight. He was no stranger to blood, but it is different when it is someone you care about that is doing the bleeding.
He moved his hands down the length of Arthur’s body checking his neck, back, and torso for anything broken or out of place. “Dislocated shoulder, broken ribs.” He moved down to feel his friend’s legs, “Dislocated hip… I can’t tell if anything else is broken. I have seen accidents like this before. If his neck or back are broken, and we move him, we could kill him.”
“But if we don’t, he will surely die where he lays,” the girl argued.
“I am aware,” Duncan replied sharply. His friend was in agony, possibly dying, and Duncan’s fear was expressing itself as frustration. He attempted to gentle his voice knowing none of it was her fault. In fact, he was grateful that she had come along. “We have no choice, but we should proceed with caution.”
Duncan was interrupted by the sound of the carriage from Durton Manor. He shouted up for his men to descend the bank and to bring blankets. Two of his groomsmen came down and positioned themselves on either end of Arthur’s body.
Duncan gave careful directions on what needed to be done to move the body, and his men moved to do as bidden. They wrapped Arthur up in a blanket, and all four of them moved the body to his waiting carriage. He was pleased to see that his driver had taken care of the horse situation.
They placed Arthur inside the carriage and gently laid him down upon the floor. “What about the dead man, Your Grace?” his driver asked.
Duncan looked down at the disfigured corpse then back at his wounded friend. We cannot leave him, but we must hurry for Arthur’s sake. He moved toward the broken carriage and motioned for his men to assist him. Together they were able to free the dead body from the wreckage. Duncan ordered the body wrapped in a blanket and placed over the back of the bay mare he had ridden to get to Arthur.
Duncan helped the girl into his carriage, then sat down in the seat beside her. He yelled for the driver to go and the wheels started moving them back to Durton Manor. The carriage hit a bump in the road, and Arthur’s arm fell onto the girl’s feet. Duncan knew that Arthur would have been mortified at such a breach in etiquette were he conscious.
He reached down and wrapped his arm back in the blanket. The girl began to cry, and Duncan’s heart broke for her. He had never been very good with crying women. He always felt the need to comfort them and fix whatever had caused them to cry in the first place. He placed his hand on her shoulder and was surprised when she leaned against him and sobbed.
“Thank you,” the girl whispered after a few moments had passed and moved away from him. She had soaked his shirt through with her tears.
“Think nothing of it, Miss…” he inquired. It occurred to him that he had no idea what her name was. In fact, he had barely looked at her throughout the entire ordeal. He looked at her now taking in the long dark curls and deep brown eyes. She was quite lovely even when red and puffy from crying and covered in blood and dirt.
“Bolton, Eliza Bolton. I am the new governess at Rosenhill Manor.” She wiped her face and nose with the handkerchief he had pulled from a wooden box on the carriage floor. He was glad that his driver had the forethought of keeping such things around.
“Duncan Colborne, Duke of Durton,” he introduced himself.
The carriage pulled up in front of his house, and he exited the carriage then turned to assist Miss Bolton. Duncan and his groomsmen moved Arthur into the house, up the stairs into the room next to his own. He wished the doctor would hurry as he feared for his friend’s life.
As they waited, he and Miss Bolton did everything they could to make Arthur more comfortable, removing his clothes and cleaning his wounds.
“Ah, ye have prepared the body for me,” a Scottish voice said from the doorway. The man introduced himself as Dr. Burns and proceeded to take over. By the time he was done, Arthur’s dislocated limbs had been put back into place, and Miss Bolton had begun stitching him up. Duncan moved to assist her.
“Verra nice work, lass,” the doctor praised her. “Ye have experience.”
“Yes,” she confirmed. Duncan wondered what kind of experience she had had in such work.
“What is this cut here. It looks as if it has already been sewn once before?” Dr. Burns asked of the wound in Arthur’s side. The stitches had burst in the accident.
“A wound from a previous accident,” Duncan replied. He looked up at Miss Bolton and saw in her eyes that she had seen the wound before. “You know?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she answered quietly, giving a quick nod in confirmation. “Not everything, but some.”
Duncan nodded his head. He assisted her in reclosing the wound and bound his ribs. He did not like the way Arthur looked all wrapped up like that, but it couldn’t be helped.
The doctor took the first watch and shooed everyone else out of the room. Duncan did not want to leave his friend, but the doctor insisted, agreeing to notify him of any change.
I need a drink.
He led Miss Bolton down to the library and instructed her to write a list of everything she and the children might need. He sent missives to Rosenhill telling that the children be brought to Durton Manor upon the morrow, then poured he and Miss Bolton a drink of brandy.
Conversat
ion lulled, and Duncan stared absently into the fire. He liked the way it danced in the grate. He had seen the flames reflected in Eliza’s dark eyes and couldn’t look away. In spite of the horrors of the evening, or maybe because of them, he had felt drawn to her. She was beautiful, but it was more than that. She had a compassionate and brave quality about her that made him want to know her more.
They had sat and talked about what to do with the dead driver, how he and Arthur had met, and various other things about the day and their lives. Duncan gave her permission to call him by his Christian name because it seemed unnatural to have her use his full title after everything they had been through together that evening.
When her room was ready, and she rose to retire for the night, he found himself wishing he could keep her there with him. He did not want to be separated from her by walls and wished to have her near. He kept his thoughts to himself, but he sat in the library for a long time after she had gone thinking about her. She had a steady hand with a needle and a level head in a difficult situation.
He touched his shirt where she had soaked it with her tears and pressed the wetness to his heart.
Does Arthur know the gem he has in his governess? Were she a lady of noble birth, I would steal her for myself, not as a governess, but as a wife.
She had exhibited bravery, skill, and intelligence worthy of a duchess. Arthur would be a fool not to consider a woman of her caliber for himself.
Duncan knew that Arthur would never agree to such a match, as marriage to a woman of common birth would further taint his family’s name. The ever-present shadow of Arthur’s father hung over him with such weight that it affected every aspect of his life. Duncan’s own father had been a wonderful man of upstanding character and integrity who taught him the ways of an honorable nobleman from a very young age.
Mr. White entered the library disrupting his thoughts. “Dr. Burns has requested your presence, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Mr. White. I will attend him immediately.” He arose and mounted the stairs two at a time hurrying to Arthur’s bedside. “How is he, Doctor?”
“He has begun tae move about, but he is nae yet cognizant, Yer Grace. I fear he is goin’ tae injure himself further or at the very least burst his stitches open. Will ye assist me in tyin’ him down? ‘Tis only tae protect him ye ken and will nae be for verra long.”
“He will not be pleased when he awakens,” Duncan warned, and shook his head at the thought of his friend’s reaction to being tied down.
“I would nae ask it of ye ‘twere it nae absolutely necessary, Yer Grace,” Dr. Burns urged with an earnest look in his eyes.
“Very well.” Duncan assisted the doctor in tying Arthur to the bed. He was not at all comfortable with the idea but did not wish for his friend to die from having bled onto the floor either. He could not help but wonder what Miss Bolton would have thought of the notion.
“Careful, nae so tight, Yer Grace,” Dr. Burns instructed. Duncan had gotten distracted by the thought of Miss Bolton lying in the next room. “We want it tight enough tae keep him in his bed, but nae so much that he loses circulation.”
“Apologies, Dr. Burns. It has been a tiring last few hours,” the Duke explained.
“That it has, Yer Grace.” They finished the job at hand, then Dr. Burns turned to him and instructed him to go to bed. “Ye need rest, Yer Grace. It would behoove ye tae heed my words.”
“I will. Thank you for your concern and care. I will be in the room next to this one if you need me.” Duncan gestured toward the wall that separated his bedchamber from Arthur’s. “Miss Bolton is in the room opposite. I will sleep for a few hours then relieve you before the morning.”
Duncan left Arthur alone with the doctor once more and traversed the short distance to his own bedroom. He stripped out of his blood-spattered clothing and washed himself from the bowl and pitcher on a night-stand in his dressing room. He pulled on a clean shirt and trousers so that he would be ready if assistance was needed once more.
His valet, Mr. Henderson, appeared by his side and took the bloody pile of clothing from him. “Mr. Henderson, I will need you to wake me if I do not awaken of my own accord before the morn. I wish to relieve Dr. Burns.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will sleep here in the dressing room to be close,” Mr. Henderson agreed and exited the room with a bow.
Crawling into bed, the Duke allowed himself to relax against the cool of the sheets. Heaven be with you, Arthur.
His mind propelled the wish through the wall to his friend. He knew that he would not be able to help anyone if he did not get some rest. Staring up at the dark blue damask canopy above him, he sighed as the tension in his body melted away and the reassuring comfort of sleep claimed him.
A few hours later, he was awakened by his valet. “Your Grace. Your Grace.”
“Yes?” Duncan mumbled from beneath his pillow.
“It is time, Your Grace,” Mr. Henderson answered.
“Thank you, Mr. Henderson,” Duncan answered and groaned as he rolled out of bed. He splashed his face with some cold water, then went to check on Arthur.
“Ye will nae have had enough rest, Yer Grace,” Dr. Burns protested.
“It is best if he awakens to a friend and not a stranger, tied down as he is,” Duncan replied.
“Aye, I can see how such a thing would be wise indeed,” Dr. Burns agreed.
“I have had a room made up for you, Doctor,” Duncan informed him. “My valet, Mr. Henderson, is just outside. He can show where it is and see to your needs. My house is yours. Do not hesitate to speak your every need.”
“I thank ye, Yer Grace,” Dr. Burns stated with a slight bow in appreciation.
“It is I who owe you thanks,” Duncan responded, and sat down next to Arthur’s bed.
He settled himself into a chair and watched his friend’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Every intake of air was a reassuring balm to his soul. Duncan wondered what could have possibly made the carriage upend itself in such a fashion.
He had seen many carriage accidents over his lifespan, but none as frightful as the scene he had witnessed this night. Arthur’s stable servants were meticulous in their care of his equine possessions and all the required accoutrements. He could not imagine them allowing a less than fit conveyance upon the road, but Duncan could tell from the wreckage that something had gone terribly amiss. I will have my men examine the wreckage for an explanation.
A blood-curdling scream ripped the air, setting his teeth on edge and causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. “Miss Bolton,” Arthur murmured beside him. Duncan turned to see if his friend had awakened but found that he had not. Running from the room, he crashed through Miss Bolton’s door without a moment’s thought to proper decorum.
He found her sitting straight up in bed, drenched in sweat and tears, eyes wide open in terror.
“They’re dead. They are all dead,” she whispered.
Chapter 8
“Who? Who is dead?” Duncan asked. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder concerned.
“My parents, the Duke, the driver… everyone is dead,” she answered in hysterical sobs.
“No. Arthur is not dead. He lives, and is just in the room next to yours,” Duncan explained.
“No, they’re all dead,” she whispered staring straight ahead.
“She is still asleep,” Dr. Burn’s voice observed from the doorway.
“Her eyes are open,” Duncan protested.
“Aye, but she is still asleep. I have seen this afore in soldiers, a kind o’ fugue state,” he explained. “It is brought on by extreme trauma such as the violent death found on battlefields.”
“How do we wake her?” he asked.
“There are varyin’ opinions on the subject. Some believe that strikin’ or shakin’ the patient is the best way. While others believe that ‘tis best tae allow them tae waken on their own.” Dr. Burns moved forward and called out her name. “Miss Bolton! Miss Bolton!”
“My deepest apologies for disturbing you,” she said quietly, averting her eyes.
“Nae apologies needed, lass,” Dr. Burns soothed. “How long have ye suffered from night terrors?”
“From the time I was six years of age,” she replied.
“Do ye ken what brought them about?” Dr. Burns asked.
“I witnessed my parents’ murder,” she explained.
The Defiant Governess of Rosenhill Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9
