Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (17 page)

"It'll have to wait."

They looked at Tibbie, who stood at the window. Summoning strength from somewhere, Lord Winn got to his feet and joined him.

"He's not wasting a moment," Winn said as he removed his overcoat, wincing at the exertion. He reached into the pocket for the marriage lines, and held out his hand for Roxanna. "On your feet, my dear. Let's not forget our manners. Helen, I want you and Lissy to go upstairs and stay there with Meggie and Mrs. Winslow until your uncle leaves. Give me no grief, please."

There was something of firm command in his tired voice that stopped any argument the girls might have offered. He helped Roxanna out of her cloak and sweater, slowly unwinding the muffler from her face, and then leaned against her, forehead to forehead, as Lord Whitcomb's carriage drew to a stop in front of the dower house. He straightened up as Lord Whitcomb rapped sharply on the knocker.

"Open it, Tibbie," he said, very much the colonel commanding.

Lord Whitcomb came in, followed by the sheriff. He stopped in the open door, staring from Lord Winn to Roxanna.

"I told you he was still here," the sheriff murmured to Lord Whitcomb.

Marshall Drew came forward. He removed his coat, looked around for someone to take it, then shrugged and draped it over a chair. He walked farther into the room, past Lord Winn, until he stood before Roxanna, who dug her toes into the carpet and refused to step back.

"Where are they? I have come to claim your daughters, Roxanna." He paused and then coughed delicately into the back of his hand. "Of course, you may accompany them, if you choose, but they are mine now by consent of law."

"No, they're not," Lord Winn said. "And I'd like you to leave."

With a nod. Lord Whitcomb indicated the sheriff to come closer. "This may be your property, Lord Winn, but you can have nothing to say about this matter. It is between Mrs. Drew and me."

Lord Winn limped from the window to stand beside Roxanna. His arm went around her waist. "I have every right to speak, sir." He smiled at her and handed her the marriage lines. "Perhaps you'd like to have the honor, my dear."

"With pleasure," she said, her voice low but carrying an intensity that filled her whole body, driving out the exhaustion and the pain and the worry of the last few days. She slapped the document into her brother-in-law's outstretched hand. "I have a writ of my own, Marshall."

His eyes widened as he read once through the brief paper, then again. "This is not possible," he said, throwing it down.

"Pick it up before I break your neck," Lord Winn ordered.

Whitcomb pushed it aside with his foot, "It can't be official," he protested, his voice rising even as his face turned red.

"Ask any magistrate. Take it to the House of Lords, if you choose," Winn replied, biting off each word. "At least we will not fool you and diddle you and frighten you with an unanswerable writ delivered the day before Christmas! Lord Whitcomb, how dare you terrorize this woman like that?"

His words hung in the air between them, the loathing unmistakable. Roxanna trembled at the fervor of the exhausted man who stood beside her. I do not know why you are fighting my battle, she thought as she looked from him to Lord Whitcomb, but thank you. I can never repay you, Lord Winn, not if I live a thousand years.

"You're really married?" Whitcomb asked, as though he could not believe the paper still at his feet.

"It was the only road you left open to your sister-in-law!" Winn shouted. "She and her daughters are my chattel now and if you do not leave this house at once, I will ask this sheriff to arrest you!" He came forward and took Lord Whitcomb by the neckcloth, jerking him off his feet. "They are my property now!" he snapped, each word distinct.

With a gesture of revulsion, he released Lord Whitcomb. "You offend me, sir," he said finally. "I don't ever want to see you again."

Whitcomb made no reply. He picked up the marriage license and read it again, shaking his head. He handed it to Roxanna. "I hope you have no cause to regret this piece of folly, Roxanna," he said at last, his voice heavy with disdain.

"I agree!
Not
one thing, Marshall," she said, hoping she sounded as determined as Lord Winn. "Please leave."

He stared at her another long moment and she gazed back, her spine straight, her shoulders squared. You will have to blink first, for I will never do it, she thought. Never.

He looked away finally, and groped for his overcoat, as though he could not see it. She let her breath out slowly as he pulled on the coat and walked to the door. He turned back suddenly and she held her breath again.

"What do you know of this man?" he asked. "I could tell you things."

Roxanna reached for Lord Winn's hand, grasping it to her stomach. "I know he will never let me down, or scare me, or threaten me, or take what is mine, or violate my mind, as you have tried to do." Her voice trembled with emotion. "Go, Marshall. We can have nothing more to say."

Without a word he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving the door wide open. In another moment, the carriage was retreating down the lane. Tibbie closed the front door. "Some people have no manners," he murmured.

Lord Winn raised Roxanna's hand to his lips, kissed it, then rubbed her fingers against his two-day-old beard as she laughed and tried to pull away. "Now who is humbugged?" he said as he released her.

Roxanna sat down in relief, holding the marriage lines tight in her hand. She wanted to say something else to Lord Winn, but her eyes insisted on closing. In just a moment T will open them, she thought as she fell asleep sitting on the sofa.

She vaguely remembered a warm bath in front of the kitchen fireplace, with Meggie scrubbing her back and scolding her for taking such chances, even as the old nursemaid cried with relief that "her girls" were safe. She dimly recalled the smell of lavender shampoo, and then the delicious feel of a rough towel on her skin, and the pleasure of sliding between flannel sheets with a footwarmer at the bottom of the bed.

She slept solidly for the rest of the day and then all night, waking in the morning only with the arrival of Dr. Clyde, who had come at Lord Winn's insistence. He thumped her soundly, listened to her breathe in and out, and scrutinized her fingers and toes.

"You'll do, Mrs. Drew—no, no, Lady Winn," he corrected himself. "Nothing wrong with you that a good rest won't cure, and some of Mrs. Howell's cooking. She's back, by the way, with her sister to help cook." He tucked the blankets up to her chin again. "Of course, I assured Lord Winn that you were stronger than a French pony and more fit than most crofters, but he insisted I put you through your paces."

She rose up on her elbow. "Is Lord Winn all right?" she asked.

"Well, he lost a toe, madam. Told me not to tell you."

"No!" she exclaimed, feeling a wave of extraordinary guilt. "Nothing else?"

"No. You were both lucky, in my estimation." He replaced his listening tube and closed his black satchel. "I can't see why the hurry, but then, I never argue with the aristocracy."

And I'll never tell you, she thought. Lord Whitcomb may be a scoundrel of the first water, but that Drew name still means something to me. "You are sure he is all right?" she asked.

"He's already up and using a cane. Says he's leaving in a day or two for Winnfield." He shook his head, as if questioning the wisdom of the entire peerage. "I almost don't doubt him. Good day, my dear. Stay out of snowdrifts, mind."

She lay back as Meggie fluffed the pillows behind her. "Where are the girls?" she asked, when the house seemed too quiet.

"Helen is riding with Tibbie, and Lissy is jumping from one foot to the other outside the door, waiting for me to let her in."

Roxanna held out her arms. "Lissy! Come here at once, my love. I need a hug!"

As she hugged Lissy, she noticed that her wedding ring was gone. "Meggie, did I lose my ring?" she asked in sudden alarm. "I thought it was on my thumb when we arrived here."

"It was," Meggie assured her. "Lord Winn removed it before Tibbie took him back to the manor. He said he would have it sized."

Lissy napped with her that afternoon until Meggie carried the sleeping child to her own bed with the whispered announcement that Lord Winn was coming up the stairs.

Oh, dear, she thought as she reached for a brush, wondering what her hair looked like. He should not be climbing stairs, with his foot so uncomfortable. She brushed the tangles from her hair and listened to his slow tread on the stairs. In another moment, he rapped on the door with a cane.

"Come in, please," she said, setting down the brush and wishing she had on something more attractive than faded flannel. Don't be a goose, Roxie, she scolded herself. He couldn't possibly care.

He opened the door and leaned on his cane, wincing as he crossed the threshold. He stopped to admire her. "Mrs. Rand, you look as fine as five pence," he said. "How do you do it?"

"At least I have all my parts," she replied. "Do sit down, Fletch."

He ignored the chair she indicated and sat heavily on her bed. "I suppose the doctor told you," he grumbled, "Did you really think he would not?" she questioned. "Will you be all right?"

"Certainly! It was only a toe," he assured her. "And don't look so wide-eyed! Well, do, actually. I like your expression. Seriously, Roxie, at Waterloo I spent the better part of a long afternoon in the middle of a square, holding my insides in. I think I can suffer the loss of my little toe without getting too worked up." He leaned closer. "Anyway, I should know better than to wear socks with holes in them."

She touched his arm. "You're pretty tough, Lord Winn," she said.

"So are you, Roxie. I can't fathom any other woman going through all that and then sitting here looking so pleasant." He chuckled. "And the doctor assured me downstairs that you are right as a trivet." He considered a moment, then plunged on. "He also assured me that no one has babies as nicely as you do, and he wished me happy."

Roxanna grasped the blankets and slid down in the bed until her face was covered. She started to laugh then, despite her embarrassment. In another minute she sat up again. "You'll have to forgive Dr. Clyde," she said, apologizing for the doctor, and unable to look him in the eye. "Only think how glad you will be to leave in a few days. This neighborhood could become unbearable."

"Yes, only think," he agreed, sounding anything but cheerful.

She watched his expression. "Does your foot pain you?" she asked, forgetting her own discomfort.

"I suppose," he agreed, his thoughts obviously concentrated somewhere besides his little toe. After a moment he reached into his pocket and took out her ring. "Hold out your hand, my dear."

She did as he said, and he slid her wedding ring on her finger, where it belonged.

"Perfect," she said, holding her hand up to the light. She clasped her hands in her lap. "I truly do wish I knew how to thank you for all you have done." She shook her finger at him. "And even you are not so brazen as to tell me it's part of the rental agreement!"

He twinkled his eyes at her then, his momentary melancholy forgotten. "Happen there is something you can do, Lady Winn," he said as he reached into his pocket again and pulled out a letter. "Read that."

She eyed the letter while he rested on the bedcovers. "It's not from Lord Whitcomb, is it?" she asked with suspicion.

"Oh, no! Nothing like that. Apparently since we suffered your relative yesterday, it's my turn tomorrow. Read it, Roxie."

She picked up the letter and read it through once and then again, her eyes wide. "Does this mean ..."

He nodded and laughed at the look on her face. "Most assuredly, my dear wife. My sisters, husbands, and children are descending on us here tomorrow."

"Oh, no," she said in dismay.

"Oh, yes! And you thought a trip over the Pennines was bad!"

She gulped and twisted the ring on her finger.

"Happy New Year, wife," he said as he winked and kissed her fingers. "You are in for a real scrutiny."

Lord Winn propped his aching foot on the chair next to Roxie's bed. What he really wanted to do was lie down beside her, breathe deep of her lavender fragrance, work up his nerve to kiss her, and see where it led. She looked so adorable sitting there,
staring
at the letter, her mind already going a thousand miles an hour.

"You could have warned me this might happen," she accused.

He wanted to laugh. Have you any idea how very married you sound right now? he asked himself as he shook his head and looked serious. “I really had no clue they would do this, my dear," he replied, remembering contrition as a useful tool from his first marriage. Not that it ever worked for long with Cynthia, he thought as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"I am sure you did not," she replied, to his intense gratification. "Please do not think that I am blaming you. These things happen, don't they?"

Oh, excellent. No blame, and does she appear concerned at
my
discomfort? As he tried to look casual and admire her at the same time, Lord Winn was struck all over again that Roxanna Rand was a distinct cut above any woman he had ever known before. He wondered if he dared rest his hand upon her leg, which had produced such a shapely outline under the blanket. After a moment's reflection, he concluded that his credit was not that high yet, despite this promising beginning. He would attempt something else.

"Roxie, you'll have to excuse me if I lean back," he said. The wince was genuine, he was sure of it.

His cup nearly ran over when she helped him lie back at the foot of the bed, and tucked one of her heavenly lavender-scented pillows under his head. Surely it wasn't his imagination that her hands lingered a moment longer than necessary on his neck as she positioned the pillow. Since his long legs dangled off the bed, she leaped up and pulled the chair closer, resting his wounded foot in the seat again. He had never seen such an attractive flannel nightgown. It was worn from many washings, and the fabric was thin enough now to exhibit the outline of her hips to great advantage.

"Much better," he managed.

"I should scold you, of course," she said, trying to look stern, and failing utterly because her face was not constructed upon stern lines. She went to the bureau and rummaged around until she found a pencil and paper. She plumped herself back in bed while he watched appreciatively, then crossed her legs Indian-fashion. She poised the pencil over the paper.

"All right now," she said. "What do you want me to do to get ready for this onslaught?"

Roxie, you are amazing, he thought as he put his hands behind his head. He took a deep breath, wondering how far he would get.

"Roxie, they think we are happily married newlyweds, and not, you know, pursuing this as an arrangement of convenience."

She pursed her lips and regarded him, and he fought the urge to take her in his arms and damn the pain in his former toe. "The girls and I will move to Moreland at once to perpetuate this notion," she said, and wrote on the page. "There are six bedrooms there, one of which is in the depths of renovation and not suitable for anything." She looked up and blushed. "The girls will take one room." She hesitated. "And I suppose I will have to share your chamber to accomplish this subterfuge."

Better and better. Roxie, you are a sensible woman. "I suppose," he replied, keeping his voice offhand. "There is a cot in the dressing room which I can use for the duration of the vis—"

"I won't consider that!" she interrupted, indignant. "I will take the cot and you can have the bed!"

"Wrong, Roxie. I'll take the cot," he said, grateful right down to his bandage that she was still consenting to sharing the bedroom.

"I insist," she said. "After all, I have all my parts."

He laughed. "Roxie, it's only a toe! I still have nine others, plus all my fingers."

She looked at the paper. "Well, I suppose we can fight this out tomorrow night."

Oh, God, Roxie. "I am sure we can."

She wrote on the paper. "That will free up the dower house. Who do you want the farthest away?" She grinned at him over the paper and his heart seemed to change rhythm.

"Amabel, without question," he said with no hesitation as she wrote. "Clarice and Frederick and their children will occupy two more bedrooms at the manor, and that will leave—"

"One bedroom for Lettice," she said. "Did you not say she was a widow?"

"Yes. Edwin, her only child, is my heir. I do not believe he will be coming."

"Well, it's a good thing," Roxie said. She unlimbered herself from the covers and flopped down next to him on her stomach, pointing to the paper. "See here? That fills the bedrooms. Their servants can go below stairs. Amabel and hers will be in the dower house and I'll sleep in your dressing room!"

"Roxie!" he declared as he turned sideways to face her. He surrendered to her good-natured expression. "Oh, very well. Have it your way."

To his delight, she leaned her head on his arm for a moment.

"Good for you, Fletch. Didn't that blacksmith advise you to always do what I want?"

He groaned and ruffled her hair before she could move away. "I suppose you will remind me of that now and then!"

To his dismay, she grew quiet. She left his side and returned to her own pillow. "There won't be much opportunity for that. Didn't the doctor tell me you were leaving in a couple of days?"

"Yes, I am," he said, forced to agree. "I have a mound of correspondence at Winnfield, and most of it concerning these pesky deeds of title to all my land. Was ever a man so cursed with wealth?" He chuckled and put his hand over his heart. "So if you want to get anything out of me in the next few days, that will be your golden opportunity."

She regarded him with an expression he was unfamiliar with. "You know, I will miss you," she said frankly.

He raised up on his elbow, unable to allow that to pass unanswered. A thousand witty things came to mind, but none of them were fine enough to say to this woman he loved. "Thank you," he said simply, cursing himself for the lameness of his delivery. "I don't know when anyone has ever missed me before."

To his further amazement, tears came to her eyes. She reached out and touched his arm, then sat back. "Now you'll have to leave," she said firmly as his heart sank. "I have a lot to do before your sisters gel here, and I need to get dressed."

"Oh, very well," he replied, relieved that she was
not
ejecting him forever. "You'll have to help me up."

He didn't need any help. He remembered a time after the battle of Bussaco when he had sewn up his own arm because the surgeons were too busy. But, Roxie, you don't know that, he thought as he allowed her to help him to his feet. He leaned on her, breaking into a sweat as his fingers just brushed her breast. It was almost more than he could bear when she came closer and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead.

"Oh, you are in pain!" she said, her voice filled with remorse. "I wish you had not climbed the stairs!"

He should have been ashamed of himself, but he was having too much fun to feel any remorse of his own. "I'll be all right," he managed, trying to sound gallant, and grateful that none of his former comrades in arms were around to hoot at him and make rude noises.

"I'll be fine," he assured her, feeling just a twinge of guilt at his performance. "If you can arrange affairs here, I can have Tibbie marshal his forces to move your things next door anytime you say."

"Very well," she agreed. "I can put Meggie on it right now, and I'll be at your house in a moment." She turned him around and gave him a push toward the door. "Is Mrs. Howell about? She and I will need to discuss menus and make beds. Go along, now, Fletch. I'll see you soon enough."

He descended the stairs carefully, a smile on his face. He stopped halfway down and looked back at the closed door. I am married to that magnificent creature, he marveled. The impossible has happened, and I really can't thank Lord Whitcomb enough for his perfidy. My stars, life is strange.

True to her word, he soon found Roxie at Moreland, deep in consultation with Mrs. Howell and her sister, Mrs. Hamilton. He peeked in on them in the kitchen and was shooed away by all three ladies. It may have been wishful thinking, but he thought Roxie winked at him. He was content to limp to the sitting room and play through Haydn's Second Piano Sonata, the perfect antidote for a disordered mind. Cadence and calm, Fletcher, he told himself as he followed the score. Spain wasn't won in a day; neither will Roxie be.

"Take your time, Fletch," he heard from the doorway and stopped, startled, wondering if she could read his mind. Please no, he thought. In another moment Roxie stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her other arm full of sheets.

He continued, almost overwhelmed by her lovely presence as she looked at the music then sat down beside him on the piano bench, the sheets clutched in front of her now. "You need a metronome," she said, then glanced at him, her brown eyes merry. "What's the hurry?"

I am thirty-eight and deep in love, he thought. That's the hurry, my dear. "I always seem to rush Haydn," he temporized, racing one-handed through the rest of the page as she laughed. "There! Can I help you now?"

They made beds until Meggie and Tibbie brought over the clothes from the dower house, Lissy and Helen trailing behind, their arms full of possessions.

"You will be in here," he said to Roxie's daughters as he opened the door to the room next to his. "Will this do?"

Helen gazed around the room, open-mouthed. "It is so large!" she declared. "Oh, Mama, I do like this wallpaper you chose."

Roxie was already putting clothes away in the bureau. "Actually, I think Winn picked that out in Darlington. Oh, and the bed is so soft, Lissy. You'll find that most agreeable."

But Lissy was already sitting in the window seat, looking out as dusk tinged the Plain of York far below. "Is this the whole world?" she asked in awe of the view.

He limped over to sit beside her. She patted his arm, looking up at him for an answer. "I think it must be," he replied as he looked into her brown eyes and fought an absurd urge to cry.

"Then I am glad we are all here," she said, leaping up to jump on the bed before he disgraced himself with tears. He sat there a moment longer, trying to regain some measure of control.

But Roxie was watching him, a frown on her face. She told the girls to carry their boxes into the dressing room, then joined him at the window. "That look on your face tells me that we are already too much trouble," she said, the anxiety evident in her voice. "I am sorry. Sometimes Lissy is rambunctious. I'll remind them to be a little calmer while you are still here."

"It's not that," he said, wanting to spill out his heart to her.

She touched his forehead. "Oh, it's your foot, isn't it? I think you should lie down until dinner."

He nodded. "Yes, I am sure that is it." He rose and she took him around the waist, as though she had done this a hundred times before. "Lean on me and I'll get you to your room."

He did as she said, marveling at her resilience. I suppose you have done this often with Anthony, he thought as she helped him into his room and off with his shoes. Mrs. Rand, I am no invalid, except that my heart has been pierced through and through as never before.

He did sleep, which surprised him, and gave him some slight justification in his own eyes that perhaps his foot was partly the culprit. To his delight, Roxie and the girls brought their dinner upstairs and ate with him in his room. When they finished, Lissy tucked herself under his arm and insisted that he tell them all about his nieces and nephews who were coming to visit. He remembered as many names as he could, wishing that he had paid closer attention to his sisters' various birthings. Roxie rescued him finally.

"Have a heart, Lissy!" she scolded and sat down beside him, gathering her daughter in her arms. "He was away in Spain for eight years fighting Napoleon. Perhaps Lord Winn needs to become reacquainted with his own relatives!"

Lissy considered that and nodded. "Do you think they will like us?" she asked.

"I like you," he replied. "Who cares what they think?"

"We do, Fletch," Roxie said, her voice firm. "And I think you should, too. Come along, girls, let's go home for our last night in the dower house."

Lissy blew him a kiss as Roxie led her out of the room. Helen remained behind, sitting quietly in the chair beside the bed. She began to gather up the dishes, then set them down and came closer. He watched her, again struck by her quiet dignity, and afraid to break into her silence. He took his. chances and held out his hand to her.

He smiled when she took his hand. Still she was silent.

"It's difficult, isn't it, Helen?" he asked at last. "Please don't think that I will ever try to take your father's place. That will never be my intention."

She was still silent, but as he held his breath, she sat on the edge of the bed, and for the briefest moment, touched her cheek to his hand. It might never have happened; he could have dreamed it, except that her eyelashes brushed the back of his hand and he knew he would never forget the feeling. In another second she was darting to the door. But she paused and raised her hand to him in a gesture of friendship.