Her Husband’s Lover (35 page)

Darleston wondered idly how many of Hill’s servants it’d taken to pin her down in order to administer the dose. ‘And?’ He had no time for niceties at the present. He wanted straight answers without any dither. There’d be plenty of time to wallow in misapprehensions during the dark of the night. He straightened his shoulders, bracing himself for a blunt, hard shock.

‘There is a growth in her belly, part way down on the right side.’

Darleston sagged a little, releasing a sigh. The news was far better than he’d hoped for, though obviously not good. ‘Not a child?’

‘No.’ Waddingthorpe hesitated long enough to wipe his kerchief over his mouth. The action didn’t seem to suggest uncertainty about his answer, but rather about the response he’d received. ‘I don’t believe so, milord, though it’s hard to say for certain. There are cases where the embryo grows external to its proper abode, but such a body is unlikely to come to fruition, and hence ought not to be considered a child but rather an imp. However, in Lady Darleston’s case it is more likely the lump is a cancerous growth. I was able to palpate it quite thoroughly through the abdominal wall. The tumour is quite large for one so petite.’

‘How large?’

The doctor made an imprecise gesture with his hands, and then turned about, looking for something of a representative size. He seized a fruit bowl and emptied the oranges out of it into Neddy’s hands before holding the vessel aloft for them to see. The whole of her abdomen had to be riddled with it, if Waddingthorpe were not exaggerating. ‘It likely extends into her liver and spleen and some other organs. Most likely it started within her lady parts and spread.’

Part of him wanted to laugh at Waddingthorpe’s attempt at delicacy. Could the man not manage slang, or even anatomical terms, for such organs? Then again, he suspected Waddingthorpe had rather enjoyed his exploration of Lucy’s abdomen.

‘Curable?’ he asked, though he already guessed the answer. He concentrated on the doctor, rather than on his brother’s ashen face, while Waddingthorpe put aside the fruit bowl. Neddy was taking all this harder than him. For himself, he wanted nothing more than to see Lyle and know he was well. To the devil with Lucy.

Waddingthorpe gave his head another solemn shake. ‘If it were earlier in the process I’d normally recommend extraction. It’d make her barren, but there’d be a chance of recovery. In this case, that would necessitate too much cutting. However, there are some tinctures and medicines I can prescribe to ease the burden and which may help reduce the load. If she’d seen me sooner … Well, there’s a penetrative ointment too that might work. I’ve had some success with it in the past. It’s rubbed into the skin over the afflicted area four times a day. I’m sorry I can’t give you better news than that.’

‘No, I thank you for your honesty.’ At least the good man hadn’t tried to string him along with some assurance of recovery. He could read it in the man’s posture, in his subdued, stoic sense of calm. He wouldn’t be Lucy’s physician long enough for the endeavour to be profitable, so he was saving himself the burden of having to lie.

‘Rob?’ Ned asked, reducing his multitude of questions to that one word. Darleston waved both his brother and the doctor away. He left the drawing room and went straight to find Hill.

That gentleman sat behind his desk in his study. He looked particularly gaunt this evening, his eye sockets hollowed by the grey smudges around them. His irises were a watered-down shade of Emma’s blue. ‘What can I do for you, Darleston?’ He looked up, flicking away powdery snuff stains from his waistcoat.

Darleston ignored the impolite address. In the circumstances, it was hard to find offence. ‘I’ve spoken with Waddingthorpe regarding my wife.’

Hill took another pinch of snuff before putting aside his little silver box and giving Darleston his full attention. He sneezed violently, but remained in a defensive pose, his arms crossed and resting on the blotter before him. ‘He concludes that her ladyship is ill, and not of sound mind, is that right?’

No mention had been made of Lucy’s mental functioning, only of her physical symptoms. Regardless, Darleston nodded in affirmation.

‘I trust you understand that I cannot allow you to remain here with her. I’m willing to keep this matter quiet between us. I’ve no wish to involve the justice service in my affairs. I think we can agree that it was an accident amidst the crowd at the prize-fight that resulted in Lyle’s injuries.’

‘Absolutely,’ Darleston agreed. Given the recent scandals that had hounded his person, discretion was in everyone’s best interests.

‘I’m sure you understand that I cannot extend you any further hospitality. You may depart this evening or with my other houseguests on the morrow, but you must remove yourself and your lady wife from my property.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He had no wish to deal with Lucy, but couldn’t shirk his responsibility in that regard. He’d married her, for better or worse. That made it his job to deal with her. Ned had already sent word ahead that they’d be arriving at the family estate in Shropshire imminently. Once there, they’d have Lucy confined to her rooms. The situation wasn’t ideal, but would hopefully prevent the worst of the tattlemongers’ speculations.

Of course, it would mean leaving Lyle and Emma behind at the very time he wanted to be with them the most. ‘I’ll arrange for us to depart right away. I would like to see Mr Langley before I depart, if that’s possible. I feel I owe him a grave apology.’

Hill scraped back his chair and rose at once, shaking his head of thinning grey hair. ‘I’ll pass on your sentiments when and if he wakes.’ He poked out his chin and his words emerged in a flat tone, squeezed through his gritted teeth. ‘Lyle’s condition is much too grave for visitors. Lady Darleston’s actions may yet deprive him of his life and my daughter of her husband. I think you’ll agree, given those facts, that your presence will only aggravate an already volatile situation.’

Did he imagine Emma would run at him and beat her fists against his chest, or that Lyle would wake and bellow at him in outrage? He might deserve both, even if he expected neither. ‘I needn’t disturb him.’ He only wanted to say goodbye and explain his departure. ‘Lyle needn’t be roused. If I could just speak with Emma, so she could pass my words on.’

Hill gave a more vigorous shake of his head. ‘I will pass them on. What did you wish to say?’

Darleston stammered for a moment. He was not about to whisper ‘I love you’ to Hill to pass on. ‘Just that I am sorry, and that I hope he mends, and that I hope this will not sever our friendship.’

Somehow he doubted Hill would even pass on that much. His whole demeanour had changed. Darleston almost said as much. He bowed instead and backed away. Regardless of what Hill wished, he’d pay his respects to both Emma and Lyle before he left.

‘I’m not blind to what goes on around me, sir.’ Hill’s voice snaked its way across the carpet towards him. ‘I know what part you played in this. Don’t think to go against my wishes and aggravate the trouble you’ve already caused.’

Had his intentions been so plainly written on his face? Darleston tried to readopt the mask he wore in town, but found he could not smile, even thinly. ‘Sir.’

‘Milord. Both my daughters have made suspect decisions of late. I cannot find those choices acceptable. Do I make myself clear? Don’t increase the trouble you’ve already caused. In fact, I’d henceforth advise you to sever all contact with the Langleys.’

Darleston steadied himself against the back of a chair that stood by the doorway. The soft leather moulded to the shape of his grip. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’

‘No, Lord Darleston. I am not. Provided you do as I suggest I have no cause for complaint.’

Which meant that the man suspected certain things but had no evidence to back them up. Darleston met Hill’s eyes and saw the truth staring back at him – coldness and hatred, and not because of any damage Lucy had done, but because Hill knew that he and Lyle’s relationship had encompassed more than friendship. Heaven knows when he’d begun to suspect. Hell knows what he thought of his daughter’s involvement. Maybe he still questioned it. Certainly he’d dismissed the notion of Emma engaging in any sort of physical contact when Lucy had hinted at the affair that morning.

‘The servants have their instructions. Leave, milord. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.’

Darleston turned on his heels and left without bidding his host goodnight.

* * *

Emma woke to daylight with cramp slicing into the side of her neck. Lyle still lay in the bed, swaddled within a thick layer of blankets. Someone had stoked up the fire so that the room was stifling and grey wisps of smoke belched from the sooty chimney.

Emma eased herself out of the chair in which she’d slept, stiff muscles protesting at the effort, and leaned over Lyle’s prone form. Having satisfied herself that he was still breathing, albeit with an uneven rhythm, she hobbled over to the window and cast open the door onto the balcony. The fresh breeze rushed in to greet her, lifting her skirts and freeing her skin from the clammy grip of her clothes. The sky stretched out before her, bright blue, with not even a wisp of cloud. The day would be glorious, perfect for idling away picking blackberries or splashing her feet in the stream. They might have taken a picnic hamper packed with Beattie’s pickles and freshly cooked pies. The three of them could have sat together, learning who they were. Darleston knew so much more about her than she’d ever told Lyle, but he knew more about Lyle too. The two men shared a past she wanted to unravel. She wanted to listen to their stories and laugh with them over ancient misdeeds. Instead – Emma glanced back at the bed and a sense of foreboding made her hug her arms to her chest – she didn’t know if Lyle would make it through the day.

Perspiration peppered his brow and the bridge of his nose when she returned from the window to perform a more thorough inspection. His blond hair hung in damp curls that stuck to his skin. Emma combed one away from his cheek. It sprang back into place like an unwound coil.

He’d always been well dressed. Lyle turned heads, but he’d never turned hers. She’d never appreciated him in that way until this last week, when Darleston had made her see Lyle differently.

Darleston loved him.

He loved her too, at least she thought so. She shook a little as she reached out to trace a fingertip over Lyle’s cracked lips. They were bleached almost to the tone of his skin. Why hadn’t Darleston come to see them? She understood that he had Lucy to deal with but, once she was securely locked away, she’d expected Darleston to sit beside her and wait for Lyle to wake.

Her husband lay so still that Emma thought nothing of extending her touch across the rest of his face, then down his neck into the collar of his nightshirt. The wound in his arm had been bound with strip upon strip of clean white linen. Drummond had removed the sleeve from one of Lyle’s nightshirts to accommodate the injury.

Emma touched the bandages lightly, counting the lines down from his shoulder to his elbow. The linen was wet.

Alarmed, she drew back. Drummond had closed the wound. She’d held Lyle’s arm and watched the seams of the hole being drawn together by the thread. The bandages ought not to be wet.

She looked at Lyle anew, and saw the sweat beaded on his skin and his deathly pallor. Fever. ‘No, Lyle,’ she told him. ‘I cannot lose you.’

Emma rang the bell for assistance, but didn’t wait for it to arrive. Instead she poured tepid water from the jug on the nightstand into the basin and bore that over to the bed. Lyle groaned a little as she pressed a damp cloth to his skin. She cleaned his face and upper torso, delving into the open collar of his shirt. His eyelids fluttered once or twice but never fully opened. Instead, his stillness mocked her. This is how she’d asked Darleston to be – still, almost lifeless. She no longer wanted that. She wished Lyle to be as he had always been. They had a future together, an uncertain one, yes, but a more positive and fulfilling one now that Darleston had come into their lives. She didn’t fool herself into thinking they’d ever be intimate in a conventional sense, but they’d forged a bond over the last week more meaningful than their hollow wedding vows.

‘Wake up, Lyle. Please.’

Amelia arrived in answer to the bell, instead of a maid. She’d brought up a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of broth. ‘You’re touching him,’ she observed, before sinking into the chair Emma had recently vacated. She looked almost as wan as Lyle, with her bright-blue eyes red-ringed.

Emma nodded. ‘It’s hard to bathe someone without doing so. Where’s the maid?’

‘Must I be ill for you to touch me?’

A rebuke sat on Emma’s lips, but something in Amelia’s expression stopped her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised instead. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a dreadful sister to you. I never looked after you as I should have. You deserved my affection and I never gave it.’

‘I understand why,’ Amelia replied. ‘At least I do now that certain things have been made plain. Aunt Maude tried to explain it once, but I didn’t understand how you could hold all those dead things dear and not me. You never comforted me, not even when I scuffed my knees.’

It seemed strange to talk of such things with Lyle lying between them, yet somehow appropriate. ‘I couldn’t. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault. You survived, Amelia, like me. We survived and none of the others did. I never expected that to happen. I always believed I’d have to give you up too. So I was determined not to love you too much.’

Amelia held out her hand. Emma hesitated, but then took it. Her sister’s hands were slender and cool, utterly unlike the pudgy sibling fists she’d held before.

‘How is Lyle?’

Emma shook her head. ‘Not good. I think Drummond ought to look at him again.’

‘Not Dr Waddingthorpe?’

‘I trust Drummond over him.’

Amelia nodded. ‘Father’s sent him away. He’s dismissed Harry too, and sent all the guests home.’

It took a moment for the full extent of Amelia’s news to sink in. ‘All of them? Whatever for? Harry had nothing to do with this, and Drummond saved Lyle.’ Their father’s actions made no sense at all. ‘All of the guests?’ Her stomach seemed to drop into her feet, which suddenly seemed so heavy she could hardly move them enough to guide herself into the chair on the opposite side of the bed to Amelia.