Читать книгу A Rose At Midnight - Jacqueline Navin - Страница 10

When the earl’s phaeton dropped her at the door of the Barrister’s Ordinary, Caroline headed straight through the common room and up the stairs. She knew her mother and brother would be anxious for her return.

The Earl of Rutherford had arranged for a suite of rooms for Caroline’s use. The parlor and two bedrooms were welcoming and infinitely pleasant after the crowded place where they had been living in London’s meanest section.

Inside the room, Caroline only glanced at the small, thin woman by the window before moving quickly to the bed. James was sitting up, propped with a half-dozen goose down pillows behind him. His blue eyes sparkled with ex- citement. The splash of color from his auburn curls was beautiful against the crisp white linen. Every tense line of his small body spoke of his anticipation, as did the brilliant smile he gave her when she entered. From her spot by the window, Caroline’s mother took a step forward, as if to intercept her daughter, then stopped. Her hands grasped one another under her breasts as she looked her over.

Avoiding her mother’s assessing gaze, Caroline sat on the bed. “Well, how are you doing?” she said cheerfully as she took the seven-year-old’s hands in hers. “You look wonderful. Did you eat today?”

“I felt grand today. I ate a whole bowl of porridge and even some cheese,” James answered. He was exuberant, a state which delighted Caroline. His small face had a flush of color and the dark circles under his eyes had faded considerably. “I think it was all the excitement. It made me hungry. Now, please Cara, tell me what happened. Are you going to be a countess?”

Feigning a lighthearted laugh, Caroline gave her brother’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “It went well, James.” She darted a glance up at her mother, who still stood motionless, before she continued. “Very well indeed. The earl said he wanted to examine our family and contact the references I gave him, but otherwise I believe he was favorably impressed.”

Audrae Wembly gasped and turned away, her short steps clicking loudly on the bare floor. James glanced over, then leveled a wizened look at his sister. “She doesn’t know if she should be happy or sad,” he explained solemnly. “She doesn’t want you to have to marry him, but we need the money.”

A feeling so powerful it was almost blinding came over Caroline—pure love, exquisitely bittersweet. It actually hurt.

They often teased James about being an “old soul,” for he had wisdom and perception beyond his years. Perhaps it came from so many years of illness, or from the unhappiness in their home when Father was alive. However he had accomplished such uncanny maturity, it never ceased to amaze and humble his sister. It frightened her as well, for she could not help but think—only at night and when she was feeling particularly anxious—that a child as unique and wondrous as James was too unearthly, too perfect, too precious to dwell long in this world.

“Yes, perhaps,” she replied, “but had you seen Hawking Park, James, you would know there is no cause for any such reservation.”

“Is it very beautiful?” he asked excitedly. “More beautiful than here?”

“Yes, it is. It is the most grand place I have ever seen. Why, it is like a palace.” She told him all about it, the towering columns and marble floors and beautiful objets d’art wherever you looked. She even told him about the unclothed nymphs, which made him gasp in shock and clamp a small hand over his mouth. Delighted giggles escaped just the same, warming Caroline’s heart.

If she had any misgivings about today’s business, they were gone now that she was in the company of her brother. He listened with rapt attention, asking only the occasional question as he digested all of the details as if it were some fantastic fairy tale come true.

Caroline noticed he was most keenly interested in the character of the earl himself.

“I wonder why he does not appear ill,” he mused, his brow furrowed. “You did not discuss his sickness?”

With a start, Caroline realized she did not even know the nature of the malady which afflicted the earl. “You know, I didn’t think to. I suspect I was a bit overwhelmed. It is a good thing I have you to remind me. I shall ask him the next time we meet.”

His little chest puffed up, so pleased was he that he had been of service. “When will that be?” he inquired.

She could see from the heaviness of his eyelids James was starting to tire. She tousled his hair. “He told me he will review my references, and I suppose there is the family to be looked into. When these things are accomplished, he will send for me.”

“Oh, Cara! How can you wait? I wish to know right now if we are going to live in a palace!”

Caroline glanced nervously at her mother, who looked away. She had not mentioned James to the earl, and with very good reason. In order to make the best appearance possible, she had decided that the earl should not know about him. Oh, certainly his inquiries would reveal that she had a brother, but it was almost impossible for him to learn of James’ consumption. It was imperative that he not know of it. Not only did she fear that if her possible future husband thought her encumbered with such a heavy family obligation as a sick child, he would look disfavorably on her, thinking perhaps that she would not be able to devote herself completely to her own child, but there was also the question of James’ illness tainting the purity of her heredity.

“You are tiring,” Caroline said. “I’ll wager you did not nap all day, did you? Now, rest, my darling, and when you wake, we’ll talk more.”

Yawning, James protested. “But I’m not tired at all.”

“No? Hmm. Perhaps I was wrong then. Well, settle back and I shall tell you more.” Caroline smiled, softly speaking of the sleek phaeton and the other wonders of the day as she rubbed gentle circles at his temple. It was an old trick discovered when James was a babe. He could never seem to keep his eyes open for long when sleepy and the featherlight touch was applied to the side of his face. Within minutes, his eyes drifted shut and his breathing slowed, deepened, as he slipped into sleep.

“Thank goodness,” Audrae whispered beside her. “He refused to rest. He was so determined to be awake when you returned.”

“I’m glad he was able to do it. They are so important to him, these little victories.”

The two women exchanged a long look. Without speaking, Audrae turned to leave. Caroline lingered, gazing at the angelic face of her brother. His cheeks were flushed, his small mouth like a tiny rosebud. His lashes were dark where they lay like small fans against his cheek. She frowned as she fingered his red-gold curls. His hair was too long. She must see about cutting it for him.

Her fingers froze and she withdrew her hand. A pain that was jagged and familiar lanced through her body. Her eyes blurred, obscuring the vision of James cradled in slumber, such an innocent, so very precious and fragile-she had to marry the earl. They needed the money so desperately!

Blinking away the moisture from her eyes, Caroline followed her mother into the other room.

“Now,” Audrae said definitively as she closed the door, “tell me about him.”

Caroline drew in a deep breath. Her mother was a good five inches shorter, and slight of frame, yet she held herself with an air of uncompromising authority that brooked no hesitation. She had been a beauty of renown in her day, whose looks had weathered a disastrous marriage well, but not unscathed. Her once fiery hair was now almost gray and lines of worry had been etched across her brow and around her mouth. Still a handsome woman, strong and sharp, she nevertheless wore the burdens of her unhappy life.

“He was very forthright, Mother. He conducted the interview like any for a position for hire, asking me pertinent questions and offering some explanations as to his own character.” She recalled some of those questions, then went on quickly, “He explained his need to foster an heir, as he has had no issue. He was polite overall, if a bit challenging at times. I have no idea how many women he has interviewed, but I believe I did well. He even said so.”

Her mother’s shrewd eyes missed nothing. “Why did you blush just now?”

Caroline silently groaned. By nature a private person, she could however never keep a thing from her mother. Except one secret. The darkest secret of all she had kept in utter solitude for ten years.

“I am afraid the position of wife—or more precisely mother of his future heir—did necessitate some unorthodox topics of conversation.”

Her mother’s eyes snapped wide. “Did he make untoward suggestions?”

“No, no, nothing like that, Mother. He did ask some. unconventional questions regarding.well, my virtue.” At her mother’s incensed look, Caroline rushed, “Which was completely understandable, given I could be a woman who found herself in an inconvenient condition, and saw this as an excellent way to salvage her name and bring legitimacy to her unborn babe.”

Audrae narrowed her eyes. “What other improprieties did he commit?”

Caroline waved her hand ineffectually in the air, trying to appear casual. “He wanted to know about my hips.”

“You. your. he. hips?”

“You know, for birthing the babe,” Caroline explained, attempting for all the world to sound as if this were the most natural curiosity for any prospective husband.

Her mother was still sputtering when Caroline let her shoulders slump and gave up. “Oh, all right, if you must know it was wretched. But Mother, what does it matter? It could have been far worse, and still I cannot regret it. We have been given a marvelous opportunity. And the earl was not bad, not at all. A tad arrogant, perhaps, and more than a little imperious, but had he been a demon I would still wed him and gladly.”

Audrae controlled her trembling lip with a quick sniff. She held her hands out for her daughter. Caroline moved into the embrace. It was familiar and soothing. She lay her head upon the slight shoulder, remembering the comfort that coveted place had afforded her through the years. Yet, now it seemed so small.

Audrae smoothed the silken strands of Caroline’s hair and sighed. “Ah, my beautiful child. I wanted so much for you, so much more than this.”

“Hush, Mother,” Caroline said bravely, pulling away with back straight and chin held high. “We are blessed to have this chance to save James. So, don’t think of it as any hardship for me. Think upon how wonderful it all is.”

Her mother gazed at her with eyes shining. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and simply smiled, nodding, then turning away. “I have waited luncheon for you, Cara.”

“Very good.” In truth, Caroline was not the least bit desirous of food. What she wanted more than anything was to be by herself. To think. To ingest what had happened this morning at Hawking Park, let it settle in her brain. To reflect on the enigmatic and incorrigible man who just might become her husband.

Hawking Park was dark when the midnight hour struck, save for a miserly gas lamp in the library which was turned way down low. Magnus prowled among the shadows, traveling the length of the book-lined shelves, rounding, then heading back to his desk. The remains of his meal were littered among an untidy scatter of papers. He picked up a particular document, brushed off some crumbs and fingered it thoughtfully. Miss Wembly’s preliminary history, he saw. He had read it already, twice in fact. Tossing it back onto the desk, he watched dispassionately as it fluttered onto the mess of documents like a feather settling after a brisk ride on the wind.

He sighed, turned away and refilled his glass with three fingers of whiskey. It burned its way down to his stomach, warming him.

Miss Wembly. Just a girl, really. Only twenty and two, she had said. Not so very young, then, but making him feel, at three and thirty, like he was robbing the cradle.

Well, he thought as he threw back the last drops of his drink, turnabout is fair play. After all, she is robbing the grave!

God, he was in a foul mood tonight. He sat down at his desk and shuffled through the papers, thinking the work would distract him. It didn’t.

Why was he feeling like smashing every priceless object in the house? He should be delighted! The report on Miss Wembly was promising. He had been given a thorough review of her background—quite august—her family-blessedly small, and her character. Everything had shown her to advantage. This was a tremendous relief after the two applicants he had interviewed so far. Completely unacceptable, both of them. One, a thin wisp of a woman who looked as if the sight of her own shadow would send her into fits, and the other a strange, quirky girl of good breeding who had the annoying habit of twisting her nose, as if she were smelling something foul. Miss Wembly was far and away the best candidate.

Not only that, but he was favorably impressed with the woman herself. Perhaps too much so. He might as well admit it. Might as well also admit he had known she was the one from the first.

Well maybe not from the very first. When he had caught her gazing at her own reflection, he assumed she was some vapid, inadequately-bred chit. What he found on subsequent acquaintance was a woman who could match his wit. A woman who wanted his money, but was brave enough to say so directly. She had not breached propriety, yet neither had she fainted when he had laid his hands on her, showing herself able to handle herself in difficult situations.

And she could set his blood on fire.

That was what had him on edge tonight. Miss Wembly.

Lovely Miss Wembly, who dressed like a siren, acted the prig and yet looked at him with such challenge. An excellent choice to bear his child.

Miss Wembly who could tempt a saint with her pouting mouth and flashing eyes and who was—damn her—making him feel a new and terrible dread of leaving this world.

He pushed the thought away, crossed quickly to the decanter and splashed more whiskey in his glass. He downed it in a single swallow.

He must not think of dying. He would lose his focus, his mission. He would lose himself.

Glancing at the stack of papers on his desk, he swiped them off with a growl. Dishes and scraps of food scattered onto the floor, ruining the documents.

It made no difference. Caroline Wembly would be his wife. Waiting had merely been a formality, and his investigation of her halfhearted. It did not matter if a dozen fullblooded princesses wanted the position. He had decided. Miss Wembly’s mother could sport a cockney accent and her dead father turn out to be a fishmonger, and still Magnus knew he would have no other.

Impatiently, he unfastened the studs at his collar, opening the fine lawn shirt to midchest. He was growing warm. Perhaps he had drunk too much. Even as he thought it, he knew otherwise.

His suspicion was borne out when he began to sweat and his stomach curled gently, a teasing premonition of what was to come.

This is how it always started. His pulse quickened, as if his blood had grown thick and unwieldy in his veins. His heart felt ready to burst out of his chest, he struggled to his feet. He needed to call Arthur. Assessing his position quickly, he saw he was closer to the door than to the bell-. pull.

He made his way to the hallway, advancing only a few steps before he was able to go no farther. Cursing himself for waiting too long to summon help, he stumbled as his legs began to buckle. He was falling. Reaching out, he grabbed at a marble pedestal, knocking it askew and bringing the Chinese vase which had been set upon it down with him. The sound of it breaking into countless shards was satisfying, and sufficient to wake the entire house. He smiled wryly. He had been wanting to break something all night.

A young parlor-maid, Wendy, was the first to arrive. Arthur was fast on her heels, barking for her to return to her room. The manservant called for two burly footmen who hurried out of the attics in their nightshirts. With the efficiency and care of much practice, they hauled Magnus to his feet and bore him to his rooms.

“Get me the chamber pot,” Magnus managed to say. Arthur cleared the room, locked the door and brought his master the basin, holding it as Magnus retched in violent spasms. He was on fire, feeling as if his skin were suddenly too small for his organs. It was a nasty attack, one of the worst. How many more would he endure? When he felt well, he could scarcely fathom the fact that he was ill, but in these moments when his whole being screamed in torment, he knew with certainty he would not survive long.

Arthur gave him his paltry measure of laudanum. The beneficial effects set in immediately. The valet was summoned and undressed his master, laying Magnus carefully on the bed. Cool cloths were placed on his feverish skin. He slept, occasionally waking to vomit and shiver and wait until it was safe to administer another dose of soothing medication.

It went on like this throughout the night and most of the next day. In his waking moments, Magnus could think only of the woman who had sat with him in the grand salon. He feared he would never have the chance to act on the carnal desires which she stirred in his blood, making him crave a lifetime of such pleasures as she offered. Worse, if he died now, he would not be given the opportunity to lay his seed in her belly to take root and bring forth his redemption.