A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) (28 page)

 "After all, you do look quite healthy my boy, and I forgot for a moment that you are in dire straits." She then returned her attention to the door, enjoying her role as watchdog, though in truth she did not harrumph one time when Griffin knelt by the bed and kissed the girl. She heard the sob in his voice as he spoke with her and knew that the fellow truly loved Allie and would bring her to no harm.

Countess Rothburn was so sure of it, she closed the door all the way and went to sit in the large comfortable chair in the anteroom, dozing for all she was worth.

* * * * *

Though still subject to dizziness, and feeling occasionally faint and nauseous, Allie insisted she could travel. She wanted quit of this place and so they departed the very next morning. The doctor agreed that she could go, as long as she saw her own physician promptly.

Griffin went to London with them and saw her home and safely tucked into her bed then lingered for two more days, spending the time studying furiously while she slept. They took their meals together in her sitting room. He stayed until he could not put it off longer due to finals being imminent. It was time to go back to school.

Promising to return at the end of the month, he took his leave and went to hire a coach. He stepped onto the Pendleton's front stoop, seeing a brand new carriage and pair at the curb with his initials embossed on the door. Sir Gordon, waiting for him on the stoop, took the young man by an arm and guided him to the vehicle.

"All yours, M'boy. No more riding in hired carriages—or borrowing another man's horse." He grinned and put up both hands to stop Griffin's refusal, his eyes turning grave as he explained. "All of my executives have vehicles paid for by the company. It keeps them prompt and it is a bonus. Also, since you will be a member of the family, you'll be coming here more often so this will save you a few groats in transportation."

 "I don't know what to say sir, for I'm not even working for you yet." Griffin stood suddenly taller and looked the other man in the eye, his jaw squaring with determination. "I will accept your kindness as it was well meant, but please do not deign to give me anything that you would not give another employee. I shall earn my keep."

 "Of course. I know well your principals, and would never insult you in such a manner." Pausing to let his words sink in, Sir Gordon patted Griffin's shoulder. "I also know that without those principals, you would not be allowed to marry my sister, so be certain I shall expect great things from you, my boy."

 "Sir, can I ask you something without offending you?" Griffin chose his words carefully. "Could you call me something other than 'my boy'? It smacks of childhood and I'm an adult, don'tcha know?  You always call Rothburn old fellow, so something like it would do, I'm sure."

Laughing heartily, and giving his new brother a fond hug, he agreed. "Well, then Griffin, I shall call you old-something-or-other, not sure what. But never again will I call you a boy in any form."

He then stepped back and watched the eager young man climb into the buggy, whistling at the fine leather seats and even more at the blooded cattle in harness. "But you must do me a favor as well, old chap."

"Yes sir, anything you want." Griffin smiled happily.

 "Stop calling me sir. Gordon will do. No one in the family calls me sir. Even Rothburn, who is notorious for his quips and sometimes indelicate speech, does not call me sir."

When Griffin agreed heartily, Sir Gordon stepped back from the curb and waved him off, calling, "There is ample grain and a full complement of accessories waiting for you at Caruthers Stables. All is taken care of."

Griffin halted the buggy and looked around, his face taking on that stubborn look and suspicion clouded his eyes. "And just how is that to be paid for?" He did not mean to sound ungrateful, but in accepting the gift he had not thought about the maintenance involved and was ready to return it.

 "It will come out of your salary, of course. Just a few groats at a time, never fear. You are paying for everything from this point on." Sir Gordon had no intention of charging him, but knew if he did not appease his pride, the youngster would refuse the carriage, so he lied adroitly.

Satisfied with the answer, Griffin took up the reins once more and glancing up to Allie standing in the window, blew her a kiss and was off, handling the reins with deftness, just as his cousin had taught him.

* * * * *

Allie stood swaying, head pounding as the blood rushed through her ears. Had Griffin looked for a longer moment he would have seen her sink from sight as she fainted. Tillie ran to and lifted the girl—hers the strong muscular arms of a farm girl—and moved her quickly to the bed.

She then ran shouting for help. Hearing her distressed cries from the street, Sir Gordon took the steps as quickly as his ribs would allow and met her as she slid to a stop in the foyer, cap askew, eyes round with fear.

 "Fainted dead away, she 'as. Told her not to get outer bed, but she'd not 'arken to me warning." Breathless, she asked, "Should I be callin' for the doctor, Milord?"

 "Yes, please. I'll see to her. Come back when you've sent Hobbs." He hurried along the hall and opened the door to her suite, crossed the small anteroom to the bed. Allie was stirring, but her face was waxen and her eyes looked vague as they wandered around the room.

 "Where am I? What is this place?" Her voice was puzzled and frightened, and when she looked at her brother she drew back from his outstretched hand. "Who are you?  What do you want?"

 "Allie, don't you know me? It's Gordon, sweet. It's your brother." He could not bend to her, but wanted to find out if she were feverish, and so made the effort by leaning forward and stretching out his long arm, touching her brow and finding it hot and dry.

"You seem to have a fever, Allie. I shall fetch a cloth and cool you down." Knowing the effort was beyond him, he hurried to the door and shouted for Beakson, who appeared so quickly it was obvious he had been hovering once again. "Get some ice, she is feverish—"

Beakson began moving before his master had finished speaking. "Just sending along Mrs. Quincy, Milord. She is quite helpful in these matters."

Mrs. Quincy was up the stairs in a trice, her beloved charge the only thing on her mind, so that she failed to notice how ill her master looked. In fact, no one noticed him at all in the frenzy to help the young mistress.

No one, of course, except Beakson, who finally took note of Sir Gordon's growing pallor and sweating brow as he stood by the bed, worry creasing his face and pain in every line there.

 "And it's back to bed with you, Milord. Won't help anybody if you don't recover quick. Those bones won't knit properly with you gadding about." With that, he summoned Hobbs and together they half carried, half walked the sick man to his bed.

"And just what were you thinking of, Milord? You can't be running around. Doctor said to keep you down, and keep you down I will." Beakson was a master at handling his employer, for he had served as his batman in the Napoleon wars and his loyalty was beyond anything—his audacity as well.

Once in his four poster, propped up against the sturdy headboard, Sir Gordon began to direct operations. "Beakson, be sure the doctor comes in here as soon as he's seen to my sister. I don't want to get any information second hand. Understood?"

When his servant nodded assent, he went on, "Have someone standby to go after Master George, he's just left in the new carriage, heading for Cambridge. Hobbs will be the best bet for that errand. Also, stand ready to send someone to Cheshire to find my aunt and Rothburn, if it is necessary.

"My parents, of course, should be summoned at any rate, even if there is nothing urgently wrong."

He knew that his mother would never forgive him if he did not bring them at once, and in view of Allie's relapse he felt it was a priority. He waved Beakson to his side and they moved toward the door.

"On second thought, have Jenks from the stable take a horse and go after Master George, and send Hobbs for my parents. Tell him to borrow the large travel barouche from Countess Rothburn. I should appraise her of events as well, for she is quite fond of Allie. Bring pen and paper and I shall write them all a note."

As Beakson hurried to do his bidding, Sir Gordon reclined, allowing his aching ribs to overcome him for a few  minutes. If he gave in to it now, he would be better prepared to ignore it later. Though there was no rational reason for it, this method had worked for him in the past.

In addition to his recent injuries, it seemed all the old wounds from his army days were acting up. Brought forth like a dish of bitters, to top off his already overflowing plate. The pistol wound in his leg burned—though it had healed long ago—and the ribs on his left side where he had once deflected a sword point were painful as well.

The fresh injuries—blended with old ones—into the medley of aches and pains. It made him sorry he could not, for once, use the laudanum he normally declined, having a horror of the stuff and fearing addiction. He had seen many a brave man fall before the opiate.

He dozed for a few minutes and when he awoke the physician was standing over his bed, holding his wrist while taking his pulse. He pulled his hand away, startling the gentleman with the vehemence of his tone. "I'm not the one to see. Go to my sister at once. She has suffered another fainting spell and runs a fever."

"I've already been there, Sir Gordon. I've seen to her, as I was called to do just that." The doctor tugged his patient's hand back and began counting his pulse once more, his mouth pursed in concentration.

"Nothing wrong there. Let's get a listen to the ticker, shall we?" Though Sir Gordon was an ungracious, disobliging  patient, he allowed the man his examination as a sop to his bad behavior. He obediently held up his arms as the doctor probed his ribs.

"Hurts a deal, does it not?" The doctor murmured unnecessarily. "Well, nothing appears broken. Most likely a small fracture—nothing completely separated there."

He went on, recounting his findings as he poked and prodded. "Know you don't want the opiate, but I have some mild sleeping powders that will help you. And don't tell me you won't take them, for I shall just instruct Beakson here to slip some in your food. You need the rest and like most stubborn men, you are foolishly inclined to believe you are invincible."

 "Doctor, tell me what's about with Allie." Sir Gordon, resigned to the physician's methodical ways, tried not to sound impatient. "I
know
how
I
feel, but she has a head injury. I'm truly worried. Sent for my parents."

He looked at Beakson as the valet stepped forward. "I have taken the liberty of writing your notes, knowing your mind on the matter. Hobbs has gone off to fetch the barouche and inform the Countess of Rothburn as instructed. Tillman stands ready to go to Cheshire and will go to Cambridge on the way, unless you want a different plan."

At his employer's nod of approval, the valet stepped back and allowed the doctor to have his say.

 "Mr. Pendleton—Sir Gordon. I have no real clue as to the depth of her injuries. Head injuries are so damnably unpredictable, and—" The good doctor sighed, rubbing his face in agitation, "—and we just don't know enough. It may be a blood clot has formed from the wound. No way to tell, really, but if this is the case, the pressure is causing the problem."

"And what do we do about it?  What is the cure?"

"Nothing at the moment. With your assumed permission, I have called in a colleague who is a specialist in these types of injuries. He is originally from Glasgow, but has been visiting me. He is coming from Hamilton House as we speak. Been looking in on His Majesty, you know.

"Of course, when the King heard of your sorrow, he sped the fellow on his way, according to my footman. He did need to stop off at my house to get his instruments—the special ones he uses for this kind of thing. My footman is here, awaiting further instructions, so if you are in need of an extra messenger, let me know.

Moving away from the bed, the portly physician adjusted his glasses. "In the meantime, I'll just pop back in and sit with Allie, see if there is anything new I can learn just by looking at her, for I fear that is all I can do at the moment."