Edith Layton (4 page)

“I was visiting my father. His seat’s to the north. I was halfway home to London, it was a glorious day, I wandered off the road. And into ambush.”

“Be that as it may,” the doctor said, “your mind’s working. Now let’s have a look at your body. Unbutton your shirt, if you please, my lord.”

Once he’d surveyed Drum’s bruises, he drew the covers back to look at his splinted leg. He prodded and poked, asked questions, and then stepped back from the bed. “You’re sound,” he said. “At least, mostly, excepting your leg and head. Still, don’t put on your walking shoes, and don’t call for crutches. I don’t know what’s going on in that head.”

“I assure you I’ve returned to my senses,” Drum said. “I doubt I’ve rattled my brains. I’ve a hard head.”

The doctor waved him to silence. “Aye, hard as stone, but even stone can be cracked. And your leg’s broken in two places. It was a blessing you were out when I came to call. Setting it would have been a hard
thing to do with you awake.
I’m
not made of stone. As it is, because I had time to linger without guilt, I did the job extra fine. I expect it will heal straight—in six weeks, at the least. With no jostling about.”

“A bit of jostling can’t be avoided,” Drum said. “Obviously I can’t ride, but I can send for my carriage. I must leave.”

“Must?”
the doctor asked. “You’re a stoic, my lord, but you’re in considerable pain even now, unless I miss my guess.”

“It doesn’t signify,” Drum lied.

“Indeed.” The doctor nodded. “Maybe not. But your life
is
my concern. In sum, my lord, a carriage ride such as you suggest would unhinge more than your leg. I deem it a matter of life and limb—literally. And since as I understand it you’re halfway betwixt your ancestral seat and your London home, and both are equally far from here, there’s nothing for it but for you to stay on here until you’re more on the mend.”

“Yes,” Drum said wryly, “of course. There’s plenty of room for me here, why not? Doctor, the poor lady of the house is sleeping in the eaves, or so the lads tell me. There’s scarcely room to turn around in this place as it is. I haven’t seen more than this room, true. But this is a cottage, and I have seen others. A family of wrens would be crowded in here. I need to send for my valet so I’m no longer a burden on the boys. Where is he going to sleep? In the stable? I understand it’s filled to capacity with my horse and theirs.”

The doctor shook his head. “Arrangements can be made. Alexandria is willing to make them. I caution you, my lord. Remove yourself at your own risk.” His brows lowered. “And since you met with an accident
on your way here, I don’t suggest going out to look for more now. What was that about, eh? Someone taking shots at you? Had they any cause?”

Drum concentrated on the buttons he was doing up. “Oh, good cause, I’m sure,” he murmured. The doctor eyed him sharply. Drum shrugged. “At least, there may still be some who think so. I worked with the War Office until the peace—and after, for a while.”

The doctor relaxed. “I doubt it would be anyone from here. The war’s been over for years, and it never affected us much. Little Combe is a sleepy village, my lord, known more for its spring brew than its politics. Mark my words, it was probably some lad trying his hand with his father’s gun that he took on the sly. The lads here think that’s it. They have their eyes on a sneaky fellow they despise, and they’re likely right.”

“I’ll have to talk to them,” Drum said with a frown. “It may be so. Still, hasty conclusions can be lethal.”

“So you’re staying?”

Drum gave a deep sigh. “If you won’t let me go today, then only long enough to send a message and get my valet here to help me dress and go.”

“Only a valet? Not family or friends?” the doctor asked, his eyebrows going up.

Drum lay back on his pillows. “I’ve both, but I won’t summon either. Oh, my father’s fond. Too fond,” he muttered almost to himself. “He worries about me too much. I can hardly add to those worries with this, can I? There’s no need, anyway. I’ll survive. As to friends”—he gave a crooked smile—“I’ve many. But like any sane man, only a few I really care for. By some strange stroke of fortune, most of them are either family men now, with babes on their knees or on the
way, or else they’re newly wedded. I won’t sound the alarm and have them drop everything to come pelting here. Trust me, doctor, they’d come running if they thought I was in trouble.”

“So if you’ve no one waiting for you, why not stay on until you heal?”

“Apart from inconveniencing my hostess?” Drum asked. He turned a mild but searching gaze on the doctor. “By the way, how well do you know her?”

“Alexandria?” The doctor raised his eyebrows again. “I’ve known her since she was a child. A delightful girl. Pretty as she can stare, as you can see.”

“No,” Drum said thoughtfully, “not pretty. She’s lovely.”

“Aye,” the doctor agreed readily. “You’re right. Clever, capable, and charming. And loyal. Took care of her brothers like a mother hen when she wasn’t much older than them. Been taking care of them single-handed since Gascoyne died three years back, too.”

“I see,” Drum mused. “A young woman of sterling reputation too, of course?”

The doctor looked puzzled. “Of course. Well, there was talk when she left for a few weeks a few years ago, but when Gascoyne died, she came rocketing back. But you know small town gossip.”

“Indeed,” Drum said, his smile freezing, “I do. And so do you.” His voice grew silky. “And so perhaps you’ve thought she’s also lonely here in this little village famous only for its spring brew? Perhaps in need of a husband too?”

“Why, yes,” the doctor said, “she was so busy with the lads, she never gave courtship a thought.”

“Doctor,” Drum said, “I thank you for your care, but
I refuse to pay such an exorbitant fee for your services.”

“But that’s nonsense,’ the doctor said, flustered. “My fee is very reasonable.”

“You know what I mean,” Drum said sternly. “I’ll pay in gold, sir. Not in blood.”

The doctor frowned and put out a hand to feel Drum’s forehead.

Drum turned his head away. “I’m alarmed, not feverish,” he snapped. “My dear sir, I know you’re well meaning. But charming as she may be, I’ve no desire to marry Miss Gascoyne. Actually, I’ve a friend who found his wife through just such a circumstance. That worked out well, as it happened. It wouldn’t in this case, not for me. My father’s a proud man. I’ve promised him a daughter-in-law of equal rank, name, and fortune to ours. Miss Gascoyne is lovely. And accomplished, I’m sure. But as she doesn’t meet those requirements, she’s not a candidate for my hand, I’m afraid.”

They both heard the gasp before they saw Alexandria standing in the doorway, her expression an illustration of outrage.

“I took you in!” she said, rounding on Drum. She came to the side of his bed and shook a trembling finger at him. “I nearly ruptured myself dragging you here! I gave you my bed, I sat up all night so you wouldn’t die, I
worried
about you. I’d have done the same for a b-badger!” She stumbled over her words in her fury. “Or an owl or a fox cub, and I
have
done. I wouldn’t marry you for love nor money, you conceited, dreadful, horrible man! I asked you to stay on out of charity, not any idea of matrimony!”

“Indeed?” Drum asked calmly. “And the fact that you’d have a single gentleman staying under your roof, with no chaperone, never occurred to you? Or the consequences of such a thing? The first day or so even the strictest critic would agree was unfortunate but unavoidable. But a bachelor of some note, staying here alone with an unchaperoned female of any reputation, for longer than that? You’d be compromised. I’d be in a pretty predicament. You didn’t know that? Really?” He laughed, not nicely. “This may be a remote place, my dear. But I had no idea it was on the moon.”

Alexandria’s flushed face turned white. She turned to the doctor, who stared back at her with matching surprise and dismay.

“Oh, my!” she said, sinking to a chair. “I never, ever…Doctor,” she cried, looking at him with horror, “help me get this fellow out of here right now!”

T
HE PAIN IN HIS LEG WAS SICKENING, BUT HE REFUSED
to take the doctor’s powders until his fate was resolved. So Drum was pleased by the distraction, even if it caused some discomfort too.

His bedchamber was on the second floor of the little cottage, but he’d already worked out the fact that it was right above the kitchen, and its chimney—which acted like a speaking tube through the hearth to the one in his room. He could hear all the voices below, where everyone in the cottage had congregated. He lay back, exhausted by pain, his nerves jangling with frustration at his impotent state, listening to his hostess argue with the doctor about his immediate fate. It made him feel like a child again—but not a loved and cosseted one.

“I will
not
leave this house, it’s where I
live
, and you know what trouble the boys can get into,” his hostess cried in vexation.

“I’ll keep them in line,” Drum heard one of the older lads say.

“And cook for them?” she shot back. “And see that they wash and do their studies, and take care of their chores too? As well as taking care of that—that—
ingrate
upstairs? No, this house and everything in it
is
my responsibility, Vincent. I don’t see why we can’t just put him on a hurdle or rip the dratted door from the hinges again and drag him to your place, doctor!”

Drum could picture her waving her arms and pacing. She obviously paused for breath and control, and then went on in pleading tones, “He must go! He may be an insufferably proud and conceited oaf. But he also may be right—at least in the eyes of the world. So take him away, there’s the solution.”

“We’ll help,” Drum heard one boyish voice volunteer.

“You can leave his horse here,” another lad said. “We’ll take care of it, it will be no extra trouble.”

Drum grimaced. Hard to think his horse was more welcome that he was. He supposed he had sounded unbearably pompous. But
oaf
? He’d been called many things in his time, but never that. Still, there was no help for it. He might have sounded like an arrogant ass and a boor, but he had spoken only truth. There was no conceit in it.

It had nothing to do with personal appeal. He
was
a prime target for marriage-minded females. The sad truth was that single men of his class were hunted by women. Men of his class, title, and money were positively stalked. A popular joke was that the London Season was aptly named, since it meant it was open season on bachelors. If a fellow couldn’t be caught by flirtation or got by hard bargaining with the lady’s father, he was too often trapped into marriage by fair means or
foul. An unwary fellow could be caught by a kiss or a cuddle—if there was someone else watching. And there usually was someone else watching.

There were so many ploys. Get the gent drunk, arrange a private meeting, turn an ankle so that he had to help. The point was to get him close, then close in on him—in a private encounter that could be made public. It was cold, it was crass, it was undoubtedly cruel. But it usually worked. A gentleman’s name was all important, a young woman’s reputation even more so. Both could be ruined if marriage didn’t follow folly.

Usually such marriages were cursed from the start. Invented by desperate females, they boded nothing but lifelong ill will for all concerned. Such was not for him.

It was also true that his good friend Rafe had been compromised by chance. But the marriage he’d had to make had been the making of him. That was rare. Maybe it was because the woman his friend had married was extraordinary. Maybe because Rafe had been ripe for wedlock himself. He’d been at loose ends, heartsick about losing the woman he’d thought had been the love of his life, willing to throw his bachelorhood away because he simply didn’t care anymore.

But Drum cared—a lot. He’d been a bachelor too long to marry simply for the sake of propriety now. If he couldn’t wed for love—and it seemed he could not—he’d marry for advantage, and he could see no better one than pleasing his father. And so a poor unknown from the middle of nowhere was simply not acceptable as a wife for him, no matter how lovely or charming she might be.

And, as lovely as his reluctant hostess was, Drum had known more beautiful women, much wealthier ones, and many more with better breeding and station. He hadn’t succumbed to any of them. But even if Alexandria Gascoyne were leagues above them in everything, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be damned if he’d be finessed into matrimony just because he was flat on his back, helpless, and in mortal pain.

He was willing to grant she might not be angling for his name. But he couldn’t take any chances. Let them drag him off on a hurdle. Let them strap him to his horse, smack it on the rump, and send it home. He’d be willing to let them put him on that damned door and strap it on the roof of the Royal Mail coach, for that matter. Whatever it took. He couldn’t stay here any longer under these conditions. He wouldn’t. He’d escaped before from enemies when he’d been wounded. He’d do it again, even if it turned out to be an enemy of a different sort that had him now.

“Move him? Fine. And so maybe kill him,” he heard the doctor say. The other voices downstairs stilled. “Who knows if his skull hasn’t been as damaged as his leg?” the doctor went on. “I’ve seen such cases. The patient feels and looks sound, rises from bed, and keels over dead. Bleeding, swelling, shards of bone in the brain—there are too many variables, and the slightest movement might shake something loose. He won’t be out of danger for a month. As it is? Every time I leave him I wonder if I’ll see him alive again.”

Drum’s eyes opened wide. He felt a cold chill slide down his back and lodge in his stomach. He shivered. It was an exaggeration, surely. Calculated to get them to agree to keep him here. But why should the doctor
care about that? His head still hurt like blazes, true. His vision was still a bit blurred….

Drum stared up at the ceiling, trying to tamp down terror, cast out fear. He’d done it before. He’d do it again. If a fellow was afraid of death he couldn’t go on living at all. Death could come to any man at any time. There was nothing he could do if it were true. He refused to fret about it.

“Let him send for his valet, as he wishes,” the doctor went on. “The fellow can stay here, or with me and ride over every day to care for him. As for you, Ally, we can have some respectable female stay on here with you till he leaves.”

“Some respectable
miniature
female,” his hostess said bitterly.

Drum chuckled. It was just what he was thinking.

“Where would she stay?” Alexandria asked angrily. “There’s hardly room for an extra hen in the coop…What am I saying?
Hen?
With us and the valet and his puffed-up nincompoop of a master living here, there’ll hardly be room for a pot of chicken soup! And what sort of woman would be willing to come live so close to complete strangers?”

“Mrs. Tooke, from over Appleton way,” the doctor said promptly. “A nice woman, a widow, very respectable. She lives with her daughter and
her
three daughters. She’d be happy to come here, even if it means she had to sleep on the roost with the chickens. She’ll say it’s for charity’s sake, but the poor creature will be glad of a rest. They run her off her feet there.”

“Doctor,” Alexandria wailed, “if I have to put another cot in this house, there’ll be no floor for her feet to walk on!”

“You’ll like living with her,” the doctor said with decision. “You’ll like it even more if you consider the consequences of turning the earl out. For God’s sake, woman! He might not live to get as far as the garden gate!”

There was a moment of shock, followed by a long, thoughtful silence in the kitchen—and in the upstairs bedchamber.

“Here it is,” Alexandria said, stepping aside and pressing back against the doorjamb so her visitor could look into the tiny attic room. “Rob’s with his brothers. I’ll be in his room. The doctor is persuasive, but you can change your mind, you know. This room is scarcely big enough to turn around in.”

Mrs. Tooke was of middle years, neat and trim, if a bit weary looking. Her brown hair was spiced by silver, bringing light to a gentle, pleasant face. She peered beyond Alexandria’s shoulder and looked around the room with pleasure.

“My dear,” Mrs. Tooke said softly, “this room will be mine, alone.” She sighed. “I haven’t had my own room for many years. I shared one with my sister until I met my dear Leon. Then I shared one with him, and now I share with my granddaughters. It will be an adventure to be by myself. I know the house is crowded to the roof. But believe me, I haven’t had such solitude for years. Now, tell me, how may I best help you?”

“You’re doing it right now. The fact is that you’re a device.” Alexandria grinned at Mrs. Tooke’s expression. “You are to be an ornament, Mrs. Tooke. You see, since my guest reminded us that convention says a single young woman shouldn’t stay in a house with an el
igible bachelor, we must have a respectable woman with us. Now, forget I’d rather take up with a snake than the eligible bachelor who’s here. And that I’d never, ever even think of marriage with him. But remember that he thinks I would!”

“Is he so repugnant to you?” Mrs. Tooke asked, alarmed.

“I can’t say, I don’t know him. But he is that arrogant. So all you have to do is be here. Relax and enjoy yourself however you can. You’re doing me a great service. Because now that you’re here, I can stay on in my own house without fear of being considered a fortune hunter.” She smiled to take the tinge of bitterness from her voice. “So thank you, but your presence is your only job.”

“Well, but I like being of use. I know how to deal with invalids. I also can cook, and do enjoy it,” Mrs. Tooke said. “I can feed chickens, garden, sew, and clean, and I don’t mind doing that either.” Now she smiled at Alexandria’s expression. “I love my grandchildren, but they arrived one, two, three, and are all under the age of five. Just having so little to do would be a real vacation, believe me.”

“I’d never ask you to work for me,” Alexandria protested.

“No work at all would be too dull,” Mrs. Tooke said. She shook her head. “You should know that after all these years, my dear. We’ve often wondered how you got on here by yourself. It’s a pity the cottage is so far from town, or we’d have lent a hand. In our defense, Mr. Gascoyne wasn’t the friendliest of men, was he? At least not to us womenfolk. He had his cronies, all bachelors, schoolmasters like himself. And it seemed
he had little use for our husbands as well. He acted as though everyone in the village was beneath him, and I suppose we were, in scholarship. And so, though we worried about you after he died, we thought his friends would provide.”

She seemed embarrassed. Alexandria was too, because one look around the cottage showed how little any of those friends had helped. “And you seemed so self-sufficient we didn’t dare impose on you either,” Mrs. Tooke added. “For that, I’m sorry, because you were only a girl, weren’t you? It was wrong of us.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Alexandria said. “You did offer to help, I remember.” She remembered more. How shocked and distraught she’d been. How anxious to keep the family together. How frightened and suspicious of everyone else. With good cause. Hadn’t they been raised that way? “I suppose I had too much pride to accept,” she said briskly. “At any rate, I’m grateful you’re here now. So settle in, and do as you wish. I have to see what my reluctant patient is up to now. Come down later if you want, I’ll introduce you. The boys say he’s in his right head today. I think he’d rather he wasn’t. Between his leg and his head and his pride, it’s hard to say which pains him worse. I’d almost pity him—if he were at all pitiable.”

She laughed, and stepped down the stair. But she paused to straighten her gown and smooth her hair back before she entered the earl’s room.
My room,
she reminded herself. It had taken her years to establish the place as her own after Mr. Gascoyne had gone.

She’d painted the walls and put pretty samplers on them, brought in a rag rug, stripped the great bed, sewn new sheets and fashioned a flowery comforter for it.
She’d dragged out the heavy chair and desk, and used her entire legacy to buy the spindly chair and delicate table that were there now to replace them. She’d hung lace curtains, and scented the air with her own dearly bought and carefully hoarded honeysuckle soap. Finally, she felt the room was hers, and hers alone.

The earl dominated it now. She could hardly believe how easily he’d done it. He had few possessions, but he filled the room with his personality.

She stepped into the room. It was the first time she’d done so since she’d begged the doctor to throw him out. He looked up. It was not a pretty sight. One side of his angular face was scraped and had turned an ugly shade of purple and yellow. If he were handsome it would have ruined his looks and would have seemed a pity. As it was, his battered face did nothing to destroy his dignity. Pity was out of the question. He was still regal, distant, and full of banked power. He sat up against his pillows and watched her warily with those unnaturally lovely, uncomfortably acute azure eyes of his. She felt like bowing, but refused to scrape.

“Good morning,” she said stiffly. “Are you ready for luncheon?” She carefully avoided addressing him as “my lord,” as the doctor delighted in doing. It was her room. She was fighting for her rights as mistress of it and her house.

“Why, thank you, yes, I am,” he said. “The doctor said I can have more than gruel and I confess I’m looking forward to it. If you can restrain yourself from adding rat poison. Look, Miss Gascoyne, I didn’t mean to sound like an…the way I did. I only spoke truth. If I could, I’d leave on the instant. But I can’t. Believe
me, you also can’t know how sorry I am to impose on you like this.”

“It’s nothing,” she lied. “Now Mrs. Tooke’s here, we can both relax. I’ll introduce her to you soon.” She forced herself to meet those knowing eyes. “She’s very respectable. In fact, she comes from a fine family. You should have much in common, actually. She’s only in this little village because she married beneath herself, they say. Doubtless you can commiserate about having to tolerate lesser beings. Now. Some soup and a wing of chicken?”