Читать книгу The Captain and the Wallflower - Lyn Stone - Страница 10

“Fetch a doctor!” shouted Caine. He felt her wrist for a pulse and found one. It seemed steady enough and only a trifle weak.

No one came forward to help. Highly unlikely that a mere physician would be present at the assembly, so he scooped her up in his arms and strode out, barking an order to have his carriage brought round on the instant.

“Where do you think you’re going with her?” Wardfelton demanded loudly. He followed them out the front entrance and scampered around to hamper Caine’s progress.

“She needs a doctor. I know one. Stand aside. She’s mine now.”

“She is not yours!” The man’s outrage seemed real enough. “I forbid this!” he shouted. “Put her down, I say!”

“Come with us if you’re worried about her. Otherwise, stand clear!”

Half the attendees had followed them out to the steps and stood transfixed. Better than a horse race or a boxing match, Caine figured. More food for gossip at any rate. He needed the audience, so he didn’t mind.

“Someone call the watch! This is abduction!” Wardfelton cried, wheeling right and left, searching for someone to interfere.

Caine faced him down, the lady’s inert form between them. “Lord Trent is my witness. He spoke for me and you did not deny my asking for her hand. I have done, and with intentions most honorable. She is of age to accept without your consent. Lady Grace will be properly chaperoned by my aunt, the countess of Hadley, until she recovers and then we shall be married.”

“This is absurd!” Wardfelton announced, still looking around for support amongst his peers.

“Is it? What is your objection, sir?” Caine noticed the carriage making way along the thoroughfare to where they stood at the edge of the steps. “I marry her not for money or property, for you and she both swear she has none. I admire her enormously and find her delightful.”

He appealed to the crowd, whose female members had just uttered a sigh and were looking rather dreamy eyed. “Beauty is as beauty does, you know. And she does beautifully so far as I am concerned.”

Another collective sigh and numerous eager nods of approval. As he meant them to, the women present were eating this up with a spoon.

His carriage now awaited with the door open. Caine turned sideways and stepped into it with his featherlight fiancée still in his arms, her head resting on his chest.

She had revived on the steps. He had felt the tension in her thin body the moment he had faced down Wardfelton, but she continued to feign unconsciousness. He didn’t blame her in the least, and it did suit his purpose of keeping crowd sympathy.

“Don’t come round yet,” he warned her in a whisper as he waited for the footman to close the door. “Your lady friends are sighing at the romance of it all. Add that to their relief that I’m no longer in the market for a bride and we two could become legend.”

“Thank you for a moment I shall never forget,” she whispered back. “Even should you dump me in the nearest ditch, I would still feel beholden. The look on his face was priceless. I peeked.”

He grunted in response as he shifted her more comfortably on his lap. “You are guaranteed more than a moment. Can you survive all this or do you plan to faint on me regularly?”

She shook her head. “No, it was merely the exercise. I’ve not danced in ages. Or eaten of late. Is there food where we’re going?”

Caine relaxed. “I believe we can find something.”

The carriage was well away from the crowd now. Grace sat up, moved off his lap and onto the opposite seat. She leaned forward and clasped her hands on her knees. “So we are going to your home now?”

“My uncle’s house here in Mayfair, where you’ll be properly chaperoned, as I promised.”

She nodded. “All right. This is no jest, is it? You truly were not in collusion with him.”

“With Wardfelton? You heard our exchange.”

With a heartfelt sigh, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Thank God.”

“I’ll send someone round for your things tomorrow,” he said. He reached up and started to shift the patch from his eye, then stopped himself.

“Oh, go ahead. The binding must be dreadfully uncomfortable,” she said with a flap of one hand. “My father was a doctor and I assisted with patients. I shan’t be shocked by an empty socket.”

Still he didn’t remove the patch. He merely studied her in the carriage light. “You seem a different sort from the lot I’ve known.”

“Truer than you could ever guess,” she admitted, then stifled a yawn with her hand.

“Are you ill, Grace?” he asked, then seemed to realize his impertinence. “Sorry. May I call you Grace in private?”

“Address me as you like. I suppose you have a given name?”

“Caine,” he replied, looking a trifle uncomfortable.

He had a strong face and very fine skin where it wasn’t scarred. His hair was rather too long, but a lovely shade of brown and with a slight wave to it.

She imagined he had been far too handsome for his own good before his injury. In fact, he was even now, though he would never believe it should anyone say as much. “How were you wounded?” she asked.

For a full moment, he remained silent and she thought he would refuse to answer. Then he did. “Artillery fire.” He gestured to his face. “A shell exploded nearby and I was struck by fragments. Killed my horse.”

“But you survived,” she said, fascinated and wishing he would tell more. “That’s the important thing.”

“So I thought at the time. Wouldn’t you like to lie down? I’ll make a pillow of my coat.” He began to take it off.

“No, don’t bother. Is it very far?”

He glanced out the window. “Almost there. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted, if you must know,” Grace admitted. “But I shan’t need a doctor. A good night’s rest should put me right. And food, as I said before. I’m famished.”

“Good God! Has he been starving you?” Caine demanded.

She laughed, giddy and a bit light-headed. “No. I’ve done it to myself.”

His worried expression said what tact prevented. He thought she was the mad one. And given her present situation, perhaps he was right.

Caine would not second-guess his choice. That was not his way. He made decisions and lived with them. If one proved wrong, he worked it to his advantage as best he could. Never vacillate, never look back on what might have been. And now he had chosen a wife. Granted, this decision had been made more impulsively than most any other in his life, but he would stand by it.

He would stand by her. For some uncanny reason, he felt an odd kinship with the little Lady Grace and had from the moment he had first seen her across the ballroom. Odd.

Trent had followed them home and stood in the foyer behind him as he introduced Grace to his uncle’s housekeeper, Mrs. Oliver. The older women curtsied even as she frowned at the newcomer. Caine could sense her disapproval, or perhaps it was only concern. The earl might mirror that when he met Grace, since she did not possess the appearance of a healthy breeder. No matter.

“Mrs. Oliver, could you arrange something to feed us?”

“The three of you, milord?”

“Yes, but nothing fancy. A simple tray in the breakfast room will do nicely. And a pot of strong tea for the lady.”

“Only brandy for me,” Trent supplied. He turned to Grace with a succinct bow. “I am Gavin Trent, friend of this nodcock you’re now attached to.”

“And his second this evening, so he tells me. Thank you for your assistance with the arrangements,” she said with a curtsy.

“My pleasure.”

“This way,” Caine said, ushering Grace down the corridor.

“A lovely residence,” Grace observed, sounding a bit breathless. “Your uncle is …?”

“Earl of Hadley.”

She turned to him. “And you are his—?”

“His heir. Yes, you will one day be a countess. I understand your father was an earl, so perhaps you won’t mind the station.” Caine hoped she wouldn’t faint again and took her arm in case she did.

“My goodness!” she exclaimed, her hand clutching her bodice. “Why me?”

Caine might not know much of women’s minds, but he certainly knew better than to be completely honest in this instance. “You looked positively regal standing there. I was quite smitten.”

She laughed out loud, a full-throated, joyful sound he hadn’t expected. It was contagious and he laughed with her. Trent shot him a frown and, obviously not amused, went straight for the brandy decanter when the butler appeared with it.

They sat at one end of the breakfast-room table, Grace on his right, Trent to the left. “So, here we are,” Trent said on a sigh as he poured a draft into three snifters. “What now?”

“Would you see about getting the license?”

“If you like.” Trent gulped a swallow and winced at the burn. “But first I’ll need information you haven’t given me yet. Where will you marry?”

“Do you have a preference?” he asked Grace.

She gave a shrug and a small shake of her head. “Anywhere.”

“The chapel at Wildenhurst,” Caine stated. “It’s close enough that Uncle can attend comfortably, but not here in town where we might be plagued by hordes of the curious. Have you friends you wish to witness or attend?” he asked her.

Again, that small, disbelieving shake of her head. She knocked back the entire contents of her glass and coughed.

“Easy there. Are you quite all right?”

She nodded uncertainly as if the full impact of the evening’s events had suddenly hit her.

“No more plans tonight. You need to eat and then sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough for arrangements,” Caine declared. He looked meaningfully at Trent.

Trent set down his glass and stood. “I’ll just be off then.” He held out a hand to Caine. “Congratulations on your betrothal.” He bowed to Grace. “My lady, I wish you every happiness. And with that, a good night to you both.”

Grace exhaled audibly. “Thank you.”

Caine grinned at Trent’s wry expression. “See you in the morning.”

When they were alone, Caine sought to soothe Grace’s concerns, since she surely must have a few. “Everything will be done for you and you needn’t worry about anything.”

A kitchen maid arrived with a tray laden with cold meats, bread, sliced oranges and a pot of tea.

“You may leave it,” Caine told her. “I will serve the lady.” He proceeded to slather butter on a slice of bread for her.

She hurriedly rolled two slabs of ham and attacked the food without pause. Or anything resembling manners. Caine stopped what he was doing and watched with fascination as she ate. Eyes closed, she moaned softly and chewed rapidly.

After a few moments, she stopped and covered her mouth with her serviette.

“Too much, too fast?” he asked. “Perhaps you should rest a bit first.”

“She should and that’s a fact,” Mrs. Oliver declared. Caine turned to see her standing in the doorway Trent had just vacated. The heavyset retainer marched forward and virtually lifted her charge out of the chair. “You come right along, miss.”

He stood quickly to bid Grace good-night, noting that she plucked up the slice of bread he had buttered before being hauled away.

Caine sat down again when they were gone, eye fixed on the remnants of the cold supper without actually seeing it. Why would Grace admittedly starve herself, then gobble down food with such abandon? Had she lied about Wardfelton’s treatment? Had the man withheld sustenance? And if so, whyever would he do such a thing?

This would bear some investigation, but there was no rush. His little Grace would be perfectly safe now and hereafter. He would see to that.

For the first time since the morning of the battle that nearly blinded him, Caine felt a wave of calmness and well-being. He dearly hoped it would last.

The next morning, Caine awakened late, but fully alert and eager, for once, to face the day. He ascribed that to having a meaningful and interesting project other than the tedious business of straightening out his uncle’s affairs.

Grace must take second place, of course, immediately after their marriage. Once he had grown accustomed to the new duties he would assume and felt confident he could handle them, he would investigate Grace’s situation or have someone do it.

No sooner was he dressed and on his way downstairs than Trent arrived with news. Caine motioned him toward the library.

Trent began speaking before he even took a chair. “The archbishop will provide the special license to wed any place you wish,” he announced immediately. “However, Jarvis says that you will still have several weeks’ wait.”

“I thought we could wed at any time thereafter.” Caine made himself comfortable behind the earl’s desk and began rearranging the papers he had been working on the day before.

“Well, these days, a special license has become a status affair and everyone wants one. So why not have banns called at the Wildenhurst chapel and do things in the regular way?”

Caine steepled his fingers beneath his chin and thought about it. “I had hoped to have it done sooner, but I suppose there’s no great reason for haste.”

Trent nodded his agreement. “He also said it might be wise for either you or the lady to repair to the country for the duration in order to establish residence. Though, that could likely be waived, since it was your home before the war.”

Caine considered that for a moment. “Very well.” Truth was, he didn’t mind leaving London, but he would need to convince his uncle to accompany them. “Would you see to retrieving Lady Grace’s belongings from Wardfelton’s house for me?”

Trent sighed and threw up his hands. “I went by to accomplish that after I asked about the license. Her uncle refuses to part with a thread of hers, or to countenance what he’s calling her abduction. He swears he plans to bring charges against you, but I doubt it will come to anything. Too many witnesses heard her accept your offer.”

“I suppose the town’s abuzz with last night’s antics,” Caine said.

“If that was your intention, it was wildly successful.

Still, public approval of your little romance doesn’t help clothe the lady, does it?”

“No matter. I’ll send for a dressmaker. Grace will need a trousseau. But absolutely nothing in yellow,” he added with a shake of his head. “Atrocious.”

Trent was staring at the doorway and wincing. Caine turned to see Grace standing there, wearing the awful garment he had just referred to. “Sorry you heard that, but you must admit …”

She nodded thoughtfully, staring at the floor. “I am well aware of how I look. No need to mince words on my account.”

Caine wished he could call her beautiful, but he did not want to begin their relationship with lies. She was not beautiful. The poor little dear looked pitiful this morning, even worse than last evening. Her light brown hair hung from a middle parting in stick-straight strands, the ends uneven about her shoulders. Pale as death, her features seemed far too small for the large blue eyes. Remarkable eyes. His heart went out to her in that moment.

“It’s the color yellow that I object to, Grace. And only that,” he said with conviction.

Trent cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Yes, well, if you two will excuse me, I have errands of my own.”

Caine thanked him absently as he left.

“Mr. Trent is a good friend to do so much for you,” Grace said as she ventured farther into the library.

“It’s Lord Trent, Viscount Trent. His father’s Marquis of Alden. And yes, indeed he is my best friend.” Trent had been that since they were boys. “We schooled together and served under the same command in the army. I would scarcely know what to do without him,” Caine admitted.

She traced her fingers along a row of books before facing him with a sigh. “Would you grant me permission to go to the country alone while the banns are being called?” she asked.

“Not to Wardfelton’s estate. Unless you’ve changed your mind about the marriage.”

“Heavens no on both accounts,” she answered with a little huff of laughter. “I will go anywhere you say except there, but I would like some time to myself before the wedding if you wouldn’t mind.”

“If you would be willing to take a companion and the dressmaker I mentioned, you could go on to Wildenhurst. It’s one of Hadley’s minor properties, but well appointed. And I could remain here. I understand that my company is probably—”

“Oh, no!” She frowned and shook her head vehemently. “No, I swear, it isn’t anything to do with you at all!” For a moment, she looked at him with a plea evident in her expression. “You promised me freedom. I would like a taste of it.”

Yes, he had promised. He nodded.

“There you are!” Mrs. Oliver came marching in, hands on her hips. “You come with me now, miss. You’ve not had your chocolate and toast yet and aren’t even dressed proper for the morning, showing shoulders and such. Excuse us, sir, and go on with your business. I shall see to the little miss.”

In spite of himself, Caine liked the old lady, overbearing attitude and all. Everyone in the household, regardless of rank, obeyed her. Even Jenkins, the earl’s snobbish butler, didn’t dare oppose her. How she had gained so much power, he couldn’t guess, but she was one to reckon with. Still, he felt an urge to defend Grace. “Little Miss has a name, Mrs. Oliver.”

“Well, she’s Little Miss to me until she’s a married lady. Got to look after young misses, we all do, till they grow up and marry.”

Caine could see Grace hiding a smile behind her fingertips. So she understood and didn’t mind the heavy-handed martinet. Perhaps she would enjoy being fussed over and looked after. “Go with Mrs. Oliver then and have a good day. My aunt and uncle will want to meet you, but I think we should wait until tomorrow for that.”

“She’ll be ready,” Mrs. Oliver assured him. “Now, come along, luvvy, so I can put you to rights. A good feed and a hot bath should do the trick.”

“Could I have eggs?” he heard Grace ask her as they left.

“And black pudding. Good for strength and such,” Mrs. Oliver declared.

Caine smiled at Grace’s groan. A fair beginning. They had two dislikes in common. Black pudding and Wardfelton. He toyed with his pen as his gaze lingered on the doorway. He wondered idly whether they shared any likes. And then, why such a question should occur to him at all.