by Darcy Burke
“You, Ellen,” he said gently. “I mean you.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting with shock. She did not attempt to speak, though, so he ploughed valiantly on, hoping desperately that she would not reject him without thinking it over, at least.
“From our very first meeting, I was struck by your kindness and your good nature; the way you treat others, especially servants, sets an example I wish more would follow. It is to my shame that I did not comprehend until now, when two other men saw at first sight your eminent good qualities and immediately desired to court you, just how empty my life would be if you married another. I love you, Ellen. I cannot imagine living my life without seeing you every day, without talking to you about the issues which trouble me, sharing with you my triumphs and tragedies.”
Ellen’s eyes welled with tears as she gazed at him, but still she did not speak. Thomas stumbled on.
“When I saw you lying on the floor with blood everywhere, my heart stopped. I would have done anything in that moment, given even my own life, for you to just look at me and smile.”
She smiled at him as a tear trickled down her cheek. Reaching to stroke it away gently, he begged “Forgive me for being slow to come to the understanding there is nobody else I could possibly love.” Hesitating briefly, he plunged on. “This may be the most inopportune moment I could possibly have chosen but… I love you quite desperately, you see, and if I do not ask you to marry me now, I may never pluck up the courage.”
Ellen could scarcely believe what Thomas was saying. It was every wistful daydream she ever had, all coming true at once. The only problem was that she could barely make a sound.
“Ask me again once I can speak,” she whispered through happy tears, “so that I may fully express all the joy I feel at this moment.”
At once, Thomas’ expression of trepidation changed to pure joy, and he lifted her hand to his mouth again and lavished kisses upon it. “Dearest love,” he said, over and over again, “my dearest, darling Ellen!”
She still wondered if she was in some sort of fever dream, but if it truly was a dream, she would be quite happy never to awaken. Thomas took out his handkerchief and dried her wet face before leaning in to press a respectful kiss on her cheek. Which did more than anything else to convince her it was real; surely if it was a dream, he would have been a little less respectful and addressed her lips, as she had daydreamed of so many times.
It was only then, when Thomas stood up and said she should rest, that he had to speak with Clarice, that Ellen realised they had never been alone. Susan had been sitting on a stool at the end of the bed the whole time.
“Are you hungry, Miss? The doctor recommended beef broth for you and I have some warm here, if you think you could sip a little,” Susan said, as Thomas departed the room.
Blushing furiously, Ellen nodded.
Susan smiled shyly at her as she came to stand at her side. “It isn’t my place to say, really, Miss, but congratulations,” the maid said, smiling broadly. “You and m’lord will be very happy together, I am sure! All the staff will be overjoyed to hear the news you are to be their new mistress!”
That was something she hadn’t even considered; in marrying Thomas, she would become the new Countess of Havers, which was a rather nerve-wracking proposition. She was reassured, however, that Thomas would not wish her to ape Clarice, with her haughty ways and dismissal of those who did not share her exalted rank.
Susan helped Ellen sip warm beef broth from a small cup with a spout, until at last she shook her head, indicating she could drink no more.
“The doctor left some laudanum for you,” Susan said, “he said you should have a drop tonight to help you sleep, with the pain in your arm.”
Ellen did not care much for laudanum, since she had seen the effects of overindulgence more than once in her work assisting her mother in parish duties. Considering the pain in her arm and her throat, though, she nodded acceptance. Poppy-induced oblivion would be welcome just now.
The bitter taste lingered on her tongue, but she soon found herself drifting off, numbness overwhelming her and washing away the pain. She was on the edge of sleep when Thomas sat down beside the bed again.
“Thomas,” she whispered his name, fumbling for his hand. Warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers.
“I’m here. Sleep, Ellen. You’re safe, I promise.”
She wanted to stay awake, to look on his dear, beloved face, but the poppy had her deep in its thrall. Her eyelids were so heavy. They drifted closed to the sound of Thomas humming a soft, soothing lullaby.
Ellen woke screaming, or trying to, hoarse croaks all that emitted from her bruised throat. Thomas was there at once, strong arms folding around her as he spoke, assuring her she was safe.
Leaning against Thomas’ strong chest, Ellen remembered the other reason why she did not care for laudanum. Her mother had given it to her when she was ten or so and had an infected tooth. The nightmares had woken her screaming five times that horrible night. What she had dreamed, she could not say; nameless horrors with sharp teeth and tearing claws teased the edges of her consciousness.
“It’s all right,” Thomas was whispering, stroking her hair, and she realised he had moved to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to comfort her. Daringly, she put her arm about his waist and leaned in closer, feeling to her amazement the way he placed kisses against her hair and brow.
The room was quite dark, lit only by the faint glow of the banked fire and a single candlestick on her dresser.
“What time is it?” she whispered finally.
“Sometime after midnight. I sent Susan to get some sleep; do you need anything?”
She shook her head against his chest. “It was just a nightmare.” Her eyelids were already beginning to droop again.
“Sleep,” Thomas told her softly. “You’re quite safe, I promise.” He kissed her hair again and drew her gently down to lie among the pillows. Comforted by his warmth, Ellen snuggled close to him and let herself drift off again.
“My lord, the doctor is here.”
Susan’s voice woke Ellen from slumber; she was warm and comfortable, and quite disinclined to move. Unfortunately, her bed seemed to have other ideas, as it shifted beneath her.
“What the… oh.” Opening her eyes, she discovered it was not her bed which was moving, but Thomas, upon whose chest she was currently reclining. He shot her a sheepish smile as he laid her back gently against the pillows, and she looked around the room, face flaming. Only Susan appeared to be witness to their very compromising situation, though, and the maid stood with face averted, firmly not looking at them.
“I’ll just go and make myself presentable,” Thomas told Susan quietly as she passed. “I’ll wait outside; please call me in once the doctor has completed his examination.”
Ellen was, for the first time, grateful for her sore throat, because it meant she had an excellent excuse not to try and explain away the unexplainable. Susan appeared quite happy to pretend she had seen nothing untoward, in any case, as she bustled about tidying the room and helping Ellen to sit up, re-brushing her hair and pulling it back into a loose braid.
“There you go, Miss.” Susan gave her a warm smile, patting her hand lightly. “I’ll bring the doctor in now, shall I?”
Ellen didn’t remember meeting Doctor Smithee the previous evening, but his quiet manner inspired confidence, and she lay back to allow him to inspect her throat with gentle fingers. He did not unwrap the bandage about her arm, but asked her how it was feeling and listened gravely to her whispered answer.
“Unless you begin to feel heat in it, or start running a fever, I think we shall leave that to itself for a few days yet,” he said finally. “The witch hazel compresses are doing their job to minimise the bruising on your throat, which frankly was my most immediate concern. Severe swelling there might restrict your breathing. Keep them up for two more days at least,” he instructed Susan, who nodded quick acceptance of the order.
�
�My voice?” Ellen whispered. She could barely get a sound out; even attempting to shout produced nothing more than a faint croak, and a painful one at that.
“Patience, my dear.” Doctor Smithee twinkled at her. “Nasty bruises take a few days to heal, don’t they? Well, in a few days I believe you will find your voice beginning to return. Plenty of soothing tea to drink and soup to drink until you feel able to take something firmer. I believe you should be your own best guide, as regards your return to health; I have no doubt Lord Havers will be keeping a close eye to ensure you do not do too much, at any rate.”
Ellen smiled shyly and ducked her head at the mention of Thomas’ name, and the doctor nodded, stepping back.
“Indeed, I have no doubt his Lordship is waiting outside the door at this very moment, agitating to be let back in so he may quiz me as to the progress of your recovery. Admit him, if you would, my good woman,” he addressed Susan, who hurried to the door to do his bidding.
Chapter 16
Once Doctor Smithee departed, Thomas lost no time in settling back down on the bed beside Ellen again, drawing her into his arms. With a shy glance at Susan, who studiously ignored them, Ellen settled her head on his chest. She had questions to ask, but for now, it felt so good just to be held close and safe in Thomas’ arms.
Finally, she whispered “What happens now?”
“For us?” Thomas asked, brushing a gentle kiss over her brow.
“Louisa, Clarice, too.” Though she had wracked her brain, Ellen could see no way out of the current situation without some sort of scandal enveloping the family, one Thomas did not deserve.
“Ah. Yes. Well, I have sent off an inquiry to the hospital the good doctor told me about on the Isle of Wight, and I hope to hear back from them in a few days. Should they be able to accept Louisa for treatment, I will have to escort her there. Clarice has expressed a desire to remain close to her daughter, so she will accompany us and I will find her a house, set her up with some servants and the like.”
Ellen squeezed his hand, glad of his consideration, but questions still remained. What would people say if Louisa and Clarice just up and vanished in the middle of the Little Season?
“As to what story we should put about, I had a thought on that subject I wished to run by you,” Thomas said, almost as though he had read her mind. “Obviously, letting it be known that Louisa is dangerously insane is… not ideal.”
She snorted at the understatement, though it made her cough.
“So I thought we could tell people she ran away with a footman.”
Ellen choked. Wide-eyed, she stared at Thomas, who chuckled at her reaction. He was absolutely serious, she realised as he spoke again.
“Clarice, obviously, will choose to retire from society in shame. She intends to live secluded on the Isle of Wight anyway, and anyone who might recognise her or Louisa while visiting relatives of their own at the asylum is unlikely to speak out.”
Though the idea seemed wild at first, Ellen soon saw the sense in it. She touched her throat, though, and looked at Thomas with questioning eyes.
“Yes, we shall have to remain in seclusion until your throat has healed,” Thomas agreed, “though a case of the influenza would explain both the doctor’s visits and our absence from Society for a few days at least. Easy enough to have Mr Henry tell anyone who calls that you, Clarice and I are all afflicted, and for Louisa to ‘take advantage’ of our illnesses to ‘run away’ with her lover.”
It was actually a very clever plan, Ellen thought as she ran through some of the issues in her mind. While it would certainly be a scandal, Louisa would hardly be the first heiress to disgrace herself with a lover from the servant classes, and Clarice retiring from society would be a perfectly natural reaction to her daughter’s fall from grace.
“The servants?” she asked hoarsely, glancing across at where Susan was now sitting by the window quietly sewing.
“Have no wish to see the Havers family as a whole disgraced by the madness of one member. You have endeared yourself to them greatly, Ellen; you should have heard the celebrating below stairs when Susan told them our news. I believe I have been congratulated by almost every member of the staff on my excellent choice of bride.”
She blushed at the compliment and cast her eyes down shyly. Thomas waited patiently for her to look back at him, at which point he took the opportunity to steal a kiss.
Ellen was even redder when he moved back, and he chuckled warmly. “You have to marry me now, anyway. You are hopelessly compromised, not that anyone who knows would ever breathe a word of it.”
She expressed her opinion of his poor humour with a light slap to his arm. Thomas smiled before continuing.
“And we have the perfect ally to help us sell the story. Your new friend Lady Jersey.”
Ellen gave him a wide-eyed look of dread. Lady Jersey’s reputation as a gossip was unparalleled; if she didn’t buy the story, they were doomed. She would undoubtedly dig until she uncovered the truth, and she had the resources and the contacts to root it out.
On the other hand, Lady Jersey had shown no particular liking for Louisa, or Clarice. If Ellen and Thomas offered her a salacious piece of gossip—delivered with suitable regret, of course, for a situation that could not be helped and a scandal that could not be hidden—why would she look any further?
“You seem to have thought it all through very well,” Ellen whispered at last.
“It is merely the bones of a plan, Ellen, and one I would not even think of executing without talking it over with you first. You know well that from the very first, I have valued your counsel above all others. Doing this without your approval is unthinkable.”
Ellen reached up to touch his face in gentle wonder. He’d obviously had his valet shave him while the doctor attended her, for his cheek was smooth, her fingertips skating lightly over his skin.
“I love you, Thomas,” she whispered.
The expression on Thomas’ face was one of pure joy and adoration as he pulled her closer and kissed her again, this time until she thought she might swoon from sheer delight.
“Ahem,” Susan said eventually, and Thomas let Ellen go with a quiet laugh.
“Do not fear, Susan, I do not intend to ravish Ellen before we have said our vows in a church.”
“I would never doubt you, my lord,” Susan replied, a thread of laughter in her voice.
“Excellent, Susan. Excellent. I believe you deserve a promotion for your loyal service, in fact; how does being the Countess of Havers’ personal maid sound to you?”
“As long as it is the future countess and not the present one, I shall be delighted and honoured, my lord,” Susan said gravely.
Laughing hurt too much, so Ellen swallowed it down and rested her head against Thomas’ shoulder again. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she realised sleep was approaching once more.
“Sleep,” Thomas whispered, kissing her cheek tenderly. “I will have more news once you wake up again. For now, I need you to rest, regain your strength. I will need your wise counsel when you wake, if we are to pull this off.”
The plan to remove Louisa and Clarice to the Isle of Wight went off without a hitch. Thomas had his secretary write polite refusals to all invitations they received, explaining that influenza had laid them all low, and the staff told anyone who asked the same. Doctor Smithee’s regular visits to the house only confirmed the fact in everyone’s minds.
Clarice came to see Ellen once before their departure. “I’m sorry,” was all she managed to say, through tears streaming down her cheeks. “I hope you and Thomas will be happy together, truly.” She could not look at Ellen directly as she spoke.
“I hope Louisa finds peace,” was all Ellen could think of to say. She pitied Clarice deeply, but the older woman’s decisions made to protect her daughter had almost caused Ellen’s demise, and even with Ellen’s forgiving nature she could not find it in herself to entirely absolve Clarice of guilt.
Thomas had to escort Clarice and
Louisa to their destination, of course. They slipped out of London in a closed carriage, one without the family crest emblazoned on it, late one night. Still weak and easily exhausted, Thomas made Ellen promise to remain in bed until he returned, charging the servants with her welfare. He hated leaving her, but there was nothing for it; she was not well enough to travel and he had to see Clarice and Louisa settled. Sending Mr Gallagher ahead to arrange Louisa’s residency at the psychiatric hospital and have a house arranged for Clarice would, Thomas hoped, minimise the amount of time he would need to spend on the island.
Doctor Smithee had prescribed herbs and teas which they had been using to keep Louisa calm ever since her attack on Ellen, and she spent the journey in a quiet, dreamlike haze. Once or twice she murmured something about ‘a honeymoon by the seaside’ and Thomas realised she thought they were married, or soon to be so. Not wishing to disrupt her calm state of mind, he said nothing to contradict her, but made sure to keep his distance, riding alongside the carriage rather than in it for most of the journey.
The hospital was in a large, elegantly appointed country house close to the centre of the island. Considering the fees they charged to enrol patients, the property should be well maintained, Thomas considered, and was pleased to note the exceptional cleanliness of every room. While the residents were permitted to mingle with each other, they did so only under supervision, and no resident was allowed to roam alone outside or to leave the estate’s grounds under any circumstances.
“You should go,” Clarice told Thomas quietly as Louisa inspected the large, well-appointed suite set aside for her personal use. Her ‘maid’ was a specially trained nurse, a large, no-nonsense countrywoman with a thick Hampshire accent who was well aware of Louisa’s occasional violent proclivities, and, she assured Thomas privately, well-equipped to handle them.
“You have not seen your house yet,” Thomas protested.
