Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1 - Louise Allen, Christine Merrill - Страница 67

Her body and mind still spellbound by the earl’s simple gesture, not until the squire offered a bluff greeting did Laura notice her host striding out.

“Come in, come in, my lord, Mrs. Martin! We’ve guests for you to meet. Lady Elspeth and her daughter, Lady Catherine, have just arrived.”

Another stranger. Rattled as she felt at the moment, Laura was tempted to avoid the introduction. However, she swiftly realized that if she excused herself now, she might be pressed to join the party in the drawing room later. Better to brush through this quickly and avoid a more protracted conversation over biscuits and tea.

The arrival of his lordship’s sister, however, meant she would soon be able to return home. An unexpected ambivalence dampened the surge of relief she’d anticipated at that reprieve.

Swallowing her protests over windblown hair and grubby gown, she followed the squire to the south parlor.

She refused to glance at Lord Beaulieu during the short walk. Drat, how the man unsettled her! Just when she’d thought they’d developed a comfortable rapport, nurse to patient’s elder brother, he had to intrude again upon her senses with his tantalizing, dangerous appeal.

That so small a gesture as his lips brushing her palm could evoke so agitated a response only underscored she was a fool to believe she could remain a detached acquaintance. His very presence stirred both memories she’d rather suppress and longings she could scarcely put a name to.

She’d do better to follow her original plan of avoiding him.

By the time she reached that conclusion, the squire had ushered them into the parlor. A beautiful, raven-haired lady with the earl’s dark eyes rose as they entered.

“Beau!” She held out her arms.

The earl strode over to envelop his sister in a hug. “How glad I am to see you, Ellie! But you’re so pale. A difficult journey? Or did this scamp worry you to death?”

He turned to catch a child who hurtled into the room at him. “Uncle Beau! Do not tease Mama! She’s been sick, so I’ve been ever so good. Did Uncle Kit really get his arm—eeh!” The rest of her sentence ended in a squeal as Beau tossed her into the air.

Laura looked at the small face, rosy-cheeked with excitement, the plump arms clasped about Lord Beaulieu’s neck, and a painful contraction squeezed her chest. My Jennie, she thought, helpless to stop the wave of grief that swept over her.

By the time Lord Beaulieu deposited the girl on the sofa, she’d managed to form her lips into a smile.

“Stay still, imp!” his lordship ordered, and turned to the ladies. “Ellie, I have the honor to present Mrs. Martin, the lady whose skillful hands kept our graceless brother from a premature demise. Mrs. Martin, this is my sister, Lady Elspeth, and her daughter, Lady Catherine.”

Laura rose from her curtsey to find his lordship’s sister gesturing to her. “Come, Mrs. Martin, sit beside me. How can I ever thank you for saving Kit?”

“His lordship’s physician deserves the credit, my lady. I merely kept watch,” Laura said, reluctantly taking the seat indicated.

“’Twas much more than that, I’m told! But I must apologize for taking so long to arrive. As Catherine mentioned, I haven’t been … well, and was forced to take the journey in much shorter stages than I should have liked.”

The earl’s face clouded. “What is it, Ellie?”

She patted his hand. “Nothing alarming, so you may lose that worried look! Though I fear I shall not be as much help to you as I’d hoped. I’m … I’m breeding again, you see.” A smile of rapturous delight lit her face.

Lord Beaulieu leaned over to kiss her.’ ‘I know how happy that makes you. But after the difficulties you’ve had since Catherine’s birth, was it wise to travel? I’m delighted to see you, of course, but I’m also astounded, given your condition, that Wentworth allowed you to come.”

Lady Elspeth’s smile turned impish. “He didn’t. He was in London preparing for another tiresome diplomatic mission when your message arrived. I expect he’ll be furious when he gets my note, but … oh, Beau, useless as I may be, I couldn’t bear to remain away with Kit so ill!”

She turned appealing eyes to Laura. “We’re hopelessly clannish, Mrs. Martin. And so, having barely met you, I must beg a favor. I’ve suffered two … disappointments since Catherine, and much as I want to care for Kit I know I must rest and conserve my strength. Can I prevail upon you to remain until Dr. Mac feels he no longer needs constant nursing?”

A whirlwind of surprise, consternation, fear—and a guilty gladness disordered Laura’s thoughts. From the confusion, only one conclusion surfaced clearly. As a healer, she could not abandon her patient until her services were no longer needed. She would not be leaving.

She curtsied once more. “My hearty congratulations at your good news, my lady. Of course, if Dr. MacDonovan, his lordship, and you all think it best, I shall remain.”

“I’m sure the doctor will add his pleas to Ellie’s,” Lord Beaulieu said. “You know how much I myself value your skill, Mrs. Martin.”

The warmth of his tone, the compelling gaze he focused briefly on her before turning to the child pulling impatiently at his coat sleeve, left her stomach churning even as the protective part of her brain warned that remaining was a very bad idea.

“I want to see Uncle Kit! I want to see his shotted arm. You have the bullet?”

“Catherine, please!” the child’s mother protested, but Lord Beaulieu merely laughed. “Bloodthirsty chit. If the doctor says Kit is up to the visit, you may see him. But no probing his wounds! It will hurt him too much, poppet.”

The girl’s bright eyes dimmed briefly, but she nodded. “I won’t hurt Uncle Kit. Take me now?”

“If you’ll permit, I should withdraw and rest,” Laura inserted quickly and rose to her feet. “Lady Elspeth, Lady Catherine, a pleasure to meet you. My lord.” She curtsied, eager to quit the room before he could protest.

“I must rest, as well,” Lady Elspeth said. “Indeed, I only returned to the parlor after our arrival because I wished to meet you, Mrs. Martin, at the first possible instant. Shall you be down for tea? I should very much like to become better acquainted.”

Not if I can help it, Laura thought. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I must rest if I am to watch through the night.”

“Of course. Perhaps you can visit with me tomorrow? I have not yet begun to thank you! And as my brothers will warn you, once I determine upon something, I’m most horribly persistent.” The engaging smile which accompanied those dire words belied their threat.

“As you wish, my lady. Good day. And thank you again, my lord, for driving me to the garden.”

That summary of their afternoon together should put the interlude in proper perspective, Laura thought as she escaped from the salon.

“Beau, escort me to my chamber, please?”

“Ride me on your shoulder, Uncle Beau!”

Grinning, Beau bowed. “As my ladies command.” After inducing a series of giggles by throwing Catherine up to her post, he offered Ellie an arm. “Are you truly ‘fine'? Wentworth would never forgive me were something to happen to you while under my care. Nor should I forgive myself.”

“You know I want this too badly to take any risks. It nearly drove me mad to progress so slowly, but I forced myself to call a halt as soon as I tired or,” she added with a rueful grimace, “when the motion of the carriage overcame me.”

“Marna casts up her accounts,” Catherine informed him. “Mostly every day. It’s nasty.” She wrinkled her small straight nose.

“Nasty indeed,” her mama agreed with a sigh. “I shall be just as comfortable here as at home, and easier of mind, since I can see myself how Kit progresses. So if … something should happen, you cannot be blaming yourself.”

Beau grimaced. “Is it so obvious?”

Lady Elspeth squeezed the arm she held. “Mac told me you had a cot placed so near Kit’s bed, his every restless breath woke you. And that you scarcely slept or left his side the whole first week, as if you would hold him to life by strength of will alone.” She paused, then added softly, “You cannot keep us from all harm, Beau.”

The sound of a horse’s scream, the smash of impact and shriek of shattering wood echoed out of memory. Forcefully he shut them out. “You are my charge, El-lie.”

“I pray daily that all will go well, but what happens is in other hands. You might do well to remember that.”

Beau nodded at the rebuke. “I shall, Madam Confessor. Now, scamp—” he eased his niece down “—here’s Mary to take you to the nursery.”

The girl clung to his arm. “Please, don’t make me go! I want to ride with you!”

“It’s too late today for a ride, poppet. But if you’re a good girl and go without teasing your mama, I’ll come up later and have tea with you.”

The small hands at his shirt cuff stilled. “With rasp’ry jam and macaroons?”

He nodded solemnly. “Devon cream, too.”

Lady Catherine sighed deeply. “And a ride tomorrow?”

“If the weather is fine.”

“And I get to see Uncle Kit?”

“If the doctor says you may.”

The pointed chin nodded agreement. With quaint dignity she dipped him a perfect curtsey, back straight, skirts spread gracefully. “As you wish, Uncle Beau. Good day, Mama. I shall go with you now, Mary.”

Hiding a smile, the maid took the hand Lady Catherine offered. “Very good, miss.”

Her mother stood looking after her, affection and despair mingled in her face. “She’s such a scamp! One moment she’s climbing trees, her petticoats in tatters, and the next she makes a curtsey that would not cause a blush at the queen’s drawing room.”

“Ah, the hearts she will break,” Beau said with a chuckle.’ ‘I shall have to have all my unmarried friends transported the year she debuts.”

“Thank heavens that won’t be for a decade! Now, come sit with me a moment.”

“Should you not better rest?”

Elspeth slanted him a knowing look. “As the lady managed to slip away, you must come in yourself and tell me all about Mrs. Martin.”

Since his sister possessed an intuition superior to his own and powers of observation only scarcely less acute, Beau knew he’d not be able to avoid her questions without raising suspicion. Better to answer directly—but with care. He wanted no well-meaning “assistance” in the delicate matter of Mrs. Martin.

“She’s been a godsend,” he admitted as they took their seats. “Her quick action saved Kit’s life the day he was wounded, as I’m sure Mac’s informed you. She’s been the mainstay of caring for him through this difficult first week. Her remedies were most effective with fever, and the infusions seemed to calm Kit’s restlessness.”

“She’s a widow, the squire told me.”

“Yes.”

“And lives here alone, without other family?”

“Her aunt, who bequeathed her their cottage, died only recently, I understand.”

“She’s not nearly the old crone I was imagining.”

Beau smiled. “No.”

“In her mid-twenties, I would say. Hideous gown, which totally disguises her form, but her complexion is lovely and that auburn hair, what little I could see beneath that awful cap, is striking.” She paused.

Grinning inwardly, Beau schooled his face to polite interest. “Yes, I agree. She is rather younger than I’d expected and quite attractive. As you’ll doubtless see, our host has strong proclivities in that direction.”

“Indeed!”

“It would not be so unusual a match.”

Elspeth studied him a long moment. He maintained a face of bland innocence. “Perhaps he would do, if there are no younger contenders to hand. Or perhaps—she is of gentle birth, the squire said—I shall take her to London with me next season. So young and lovely a widow should have more choice in settling her future than is available in this country outpost.”

“Is it so essential that she remarry?”

Elspeth gave him an exasperated look. “Certainly! What else is a woman to do? If what you say is true, she has no family to assist her. Who is to protect her if she falls ill or someone threatens her? Besides, she has no children, and she’s certainly young enough to hope for some. No woman would wish to be deprived of that joy.”

The bittersweetness in her voice made his chest ache. Poor Ellie had suffered much for her babes. To lighten her mood he replied, “Does Mrs. Martin have any say in this?”

Elspeth blushed. “Of course. But our family owes her an enormous debt, you must allow. I’m merely considering how we might best go about repaying it.”

“Perhaps Mrs. Martin has plans of her own which will obviate your needing to intervene on her behalf.” Or mayhap someone else does, he added mentally.

“Perhaps. But if not … I shall certainly do my possible. Now I really must rest. Don’t let my minx of a daughter tire you out. She can be exhausting!”

Beau leaned to kiss his sister’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Ellie. I’ve missed you.”

She gave him a quick hug. “And I you, big brother.”

Beau’s smile faded as soon as he exited his sister’s chamber. Having the determined Elspeth play matchmaker for Mrs. Martin was a complication he certainly didn’t need. The mere idea of that lady giving herself to any other man, even in marriage, roused in him immediate and violent objections, though he would hardly voice them to Ellie.

For one, Mrs. Martin responded to him as she did to no other man in Merriville. True, he was hardly a disinterested observer any longer, but in his most professional assessment she’d displayed no such attraction to the squire, nor had her behavior indicated she harbored marital intentions.

Remarriage was certainly one remedy to her current insecurity, the most conventional remedy, but not the only one. He had the power and resources to make her permanently safer and more comfortable than any prospective husband Ellie could bring up to snuff, particularly the aging and only modestly well-to-do squire.

And Beau would make her happier. As lovers, partners and friends, they would please each other. He would stake his last shilling on it.

When—if—eventually they parted, Mrs. Martin would still have the option of remarriage. Only by then, their liaison would have left her socially and financially secure enough to take such a step out of desire, not necessity.

The vague discomfort occasioned by the very idea of Ellie marrying off Mrs. Martin faded, and Beau’s mood brightened. He was delighted to have his sister here—he much preferred having all his family about. Especially since—a double blessing—Ellie’s condition meant that her arrival no longer signaled the departure of Mrs. Martin.

Ellie would certainly attempt to befriend the widow, who was more likely to confide in his sister than in him. Through cautious questioning of his sibling, he’d probably discover more of Mrs. Martin’s circumstances. Even better, Ellie might be able to coax her to join them at dinner or for tea. His spirits quickened at the thought of spending more time with her, even in company.

Of course, if Ellie did get her matrimonial plans in train, it would be the lady’s choice whether she preferred a discrete and long-term liaison with Beau, or marriage to some beau of Ellie’s choosing.

He’d just have to make sure her choice fell on him.

Later that evening another caller joined them. The vicar, Reverend Eric Blackthorne, had stopped by daily with prayers and encouragement during the crisis. Upon learning Lady Elspeth had arrived, he felt obliged to come by at once and pay his regards, he informed Beau’s sister as they sipped tea, his own mama having been a good friend of her mother, the late Lady Beaulieu.

In virtually the next breath, Mr. Blackthorne requested that Mrs. Martin be bid to join them. Perhaps prompted by his recent conversation with Ellie, Beau was suddenly struck by suspicions he had not previously entertained concerning the reverend.

Beau’s initial satisfaction when the footman returned to report Mrs. Martin begged their pardon for declining the invitation, as she was already on her way to relieve Dr. MacDonovan, turned to irritation when the reverend announced he would visit them both in Kit’s chamber.

Best to determine the nature of this unexpected complication immediately, Beau decided. With brisk efficiency he eluded the squire and Ellie in the salon and insinuated himself into the sickroom call.

“Your mother, Mrs. Blackthorne, was a friend of my mama’s?” Beau asked as the two men took the stairs.

“My mother, Lady Islington, was her friend,” the vicar corrected. “My father is Viscount Islington.”

Blackthorne of Islington. Of course. Annoyed with himself for not picking up the family connection upon their first introduction, Beau continued, “Richard, Baron Islington, is your brother? We were college mates.”

The reverend slanted him a glance. “My eldest brother, yes.”

Netted at that dig about his age, Beau nodded. So the vicar wasn’t a country nobody, but scion of an important family. A detail that would surely be noted by his scheming sister.

“Do you intend to stay much longer, my lord?” the vicar asked. “I understand Kit is quite improved.”

Beau’s instinctive wariness deepened. Wanted him out of the way, did the vicar?

“That depends on Kit. Of course, I have pressing business in London, but I cannot depart until I am sure my brother is well and truly out of danger.”

The vicar nodded in turn and the two men continued to the sickroom without further conversation, frosty awareness settling between them. During their previous meetings Beau had been too preoccupied by worry over Kit to take much notice of the vicar. It now appeared the man cherished as little enthusiasm for his presence here as Beau felt at this moment for the clergyman. An unsettling realization.

The frostiness, on Beau’s part, grew chillier as he analyzed the vicar’s behavior toward Mrs. Martin. The reverend was too well bred to single her out, instead conversing easily with Mac, encouraging Kit, and exchanging no more than a few polite sentences with Mrs. Martin.

Even so, Beau had no trouble determining from the warmth of the vicar’s tone toward her, the glances that periodically strayed to the lady’s downcast face even as he conversed with the doctor and Kit, that the reverend held Mrs. Martin in more than a pastoral regard.

Mac left to seek his dinner, the other two men walking with him. But when the vicar halted at the doorway, Beau stopped, as well. With Kit having dozed off again, Beau would be damned if he’d give the insolent fellow the opportunity for a private chat with Mrs. Martin.

Clearly as irritated by Beau’s persistent presence as Beau was by his, the vicar said, “You’ll wish to dine with the doctor. Please, my lord, feel free to do so. There is no impropriety in my remaining here with Mrs. Martin.”

Was that a subtle rebuke? Beau’s temper stirred. “I know you would never overstep the bounds of your calling,” he replied. “But having lived for a week in constant anxiety over Kit, it still soothes me to be near him.”

Counter that, he thought, watching the vicar struggle for another argument to urge Beau’s departure. Obviously failing, Mr. Blackthorne replied, “As you wish, my lord.” Walking to the chair where the widow sat beside her dozing patient, he said in low tones, “How are you, Mrs. Martin? I trust you are watching after your own health.”

She did not look up, nor was there a shade of flirtatiousness in her tone. “I am well, thank you, sir.”

“In any case, with Lady Elspeth here, you should now be able to return home.”

Before she could reply, Beau intruded into the conversation. “My sister is in a delicate condition and must conserve her strength. Mrs. Martin has consented to remain here and continue to nurse Kit in her stead.”

Barely concealed annoyance colored the brief glance the vicar shot to the earl. “Indeed.”

“A true compassionate, Christian lady is our Mrs. Martin,” Beau said, nodding to her. “All of us at Everett Hall value her highly, Reverend Blackthorne.”

“So I should hope. Though I must confess, having you remain under such … crowded conditions does trouble me, Mrs. Martin. Should you choose to return to your cottage, I would be happy to insure that you are escorted to the hall as required.”

“A kind offer, Mr. Blackthorne, but unnecessary,” Beau again answered. “Mrs. Martin would never slight the squire by inferring that his hospitality is less than adequate. And it is more convenient having her close.”

The vicar looked him full in the face. “I’m sure it is—for you. ‘Tis the lady’s well-being that concerns me.”

“The squire’s accommodations are quite satisfactory, Mr. Blackthorne, though you are kind to be concerned,” Mrs. Martin broke in at last, a hint of exasperation in her tone. “If I require assistance, I shall certainly let you know. But now, gentlemen, your discussion seems to be disturbing Mr. Bradsleigh. Why don’t you continue it elsewhere and visit him again later.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Martin,” Beau replied, amused and impressed. She’d just managed to banish the vicar—and himself, as well, unfortunately—with both tact and dispatch. “Mr. Blackthorne, I believe we’ve been dismissed.”

His only consolation was that the lady seemed no more encouraging of the vicar than she was of the squire.

After the obligatory exchange of compliments, the two men left. Falling into step beside the vicar, Beau said, “You need not worry about Mrs. Martin. I shall personally insure she takes proper care of herself.”

“That is precisely what worries me, my lord.”

Beau halted and pinned the vicar with an icy glare that had daunted many a subordinate. “You will explain that remark, please.”

The vicar, to Beau’s grudgingly accorded credit, did not flinch.’ ‘I am concerned with the welfare of all my parishioners, Lord Beaulieu. You are a stranger, and may not understand the … harm you could do Mrs. Martin, however unintentionally, if it becomes known she is much in your company. Folk here do not approve of loose London ways.”

By gad, was the vicar maligning his honor by suggesting he’d give Mrs. Martin a slip on the shoulder under the very nose of the injured brother whose life she’d just saved? Had it been anyone other than a man of the cloth, Beau would have called him out on the spot.

Instead, controlling his outrage with an effort, Beau replied, “You overstep yourself, sir. I am fully conscious of the magnitude of the service Mrs. Martin has done my family. I would never cause her harm.”

The vicar held his ground. “I should hope not. But you should be aware, sir, that Mrs. Martin is not as defenseless as she might appear.”

“No, she is not,” Beau shot back. “She has the full protection of the Bradsleigh family. See that you remember that.” Having reached the entry landing, Beau made a stiff bow. “I will rejoin them now. Your servant, sir.”

“My lord.” Face impassive, the vicar nodded and walked back toward the entry.

Beau watched him depart, struggling to master his anger. As if Beau would force his attentions on any lady, much less one to whom he owed such a debt of gratitude! Still, he noted, the vicar could have done nothing more revealing of his feelings toward Mrs. Martin than practically accuse Beau of intending to seduce her.

Given the judgment-impairing effects of such partiality—effects Beau had suffered himself—he would attempt to excuse the vicar’s insulting innuendo.

That Beau entertained hopes of winning the lady’s favor he would not deny. And though those hopes might not veer toward matrimony, Mrs. Martin was not a young virgin whose reputation could be ruined by a discreet affair.

Except … the vicar might be correct in asserting the rural folk of this neighborhood might take a less enlightened view of such a relationship. Perhaps Elspeth’s idea of relocating Mrs. Martin had merit.

A circumspect liaison conducted elsewhere would, if anything, enhance her stature. In addition to the financial protection he was eager to offer, she’d meet prominent individuals whose influence could ease her way the rest of her life, as well as becoming acquainted with all the gentlemen of birth and status Ellie could hope for.

Should they later part company, most of these gentlemen would not consider her relationship with Beau disqualified her as a possible wife. Indeed, though her birth seemed merely respectable and her current position was less than modest, he wouldn’t rule out the possibility of wedding Laura Martin himself. Especially since he found the notion of her going to any other man extremely distasteful.

The spark of an idea caught fire in his heart and head. Beau had already absented himself from his work about as long as he could afford. Returning to visit Mrs. Martin at this remote area on a regular basis might well be difficult. Having her established somewhere close enough for daily visits would be much more satisfactory—so satisfying, in fact, that Beau could almost forgive the vicar his temerity in broaching the issue.

That decided it. As soon as Kit had sufficiently recovered, Beau would have to persuade her to come to London.