A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) (29 page)

"Thank you. I know you are doing your best." Sir Gordon spoke in a tone of apology. "You know I regret my outburst."

"Nonsense. Most of my patients are worse by far. Normal, you know, to be a bit crotchety when immersed in the hells of torture."

The doctor finished his exodus from the room, eyes taking on a worried cast as he went along the hall to his other patient.

* * * * *

During the next several days the house was turned upside down as Griffin and his parents arrived. Allie did not improve, though she grew less nauseated and her headaches subsided.

She sometimes lost her ability to speak and would search frantically for a word to express herself. It was pitiful to see the fear in her eyes and the occasional flash of embarrassment in her guarded look. At times her eyes took on a vagueness they feared might settle over her permanently.

The specialist came and went, shaking his head at the hopelessness of his craft, or lack of a craft. He did suggest a man in Vienna who might help, but he did not give much encouragement. The family immediately sent for the professor. They would do anything to get Allie back.

Sir Gordon was reluctant to call Rothburn and Alana from their wedding trip as they could do nothing that was not already being done. He weighed the chance that his aunt might be upset with him for withholding the information, against the thought of asking them to give up the precious first weeks of their new life together. He knew they would be in great demand once returned. It did not appear to be life or death, thus he would leave them to their happiness.

Sighing heavily at all the difficult decisions that had been thrust upon him, he was exasperated to learn that his grandmother was at the door. Hoping she had not heard about the marriage, he vowed to tell her nothing.

 "Lady Grace is in the small salon. Shall I serve her refreshments?" The look of disdain on March's face told its own story. It was certain the woman had put him out of countenance.

She was not a favorite with the servants, due to her cruel treatment of them, not to mention her infamous displays toward her family. The very fact that the servant had asked if he should serve her—a family member—refreshments, was telling as well.

"Yes, of course, March. And send for my parents. They will be with Allie, I'm sure." He rose from his desk with a resigned air and went slowly toward the small salon.

"Keep Griffin above stairs if you can. He has enough to worry about without meeting my grandmother at this point." He did not have to explain that comment to March, whose commiserating look said it all.

 "Grandmamma, how nice to see you." Sir Gordon, always the gentleman, sketched his relative a courtly bow and took her proffered hand, kissing it nicely. "What brings you to Pendleton House?"

 "Gordon, cut the rubbish. You and I both know you hate me, and I care not for your pretty speeches. I came because I got word—through the grapevine—that my granddaughter is ill. I thought to pay a sickroom visit, as is customary. Imagine my embarrassment," she looked at him with narrowed eyes, her lips pursing in anger, "when I had to learn of this through a friend."

 "What friend would that be, Grandmamma?  I have told no one about Allie's condition." He wanted to know how much gossip had spread and the nature of it. His question did not fool the old lady, who identified his motive immediately.

"Actually, it was my personal maid who told me. There is nothing that goes on that the servants do not know, but I'm sure you are aware of the lower classes inability to keep their damnable mouths shut."

"Allie is resting at this time, and though I know she would be happy for your visit, the doctor has strictly forbidden visitors." He held his breath, waiting for a temperamental outburst. He did not have to wait long.

"Oh, I suppose that your mother is allowed in there though?  Yes, I heard that my son and his wife had arrived in town, and not even a note to me, his own mother, much less paying a call to see me."

Her face had turned rather purple in her rage, though she was not as volatile as usual. Sir Gordon thought perhaps his hold on her purse strings and his threat of the loss of those funds might have given her second thoughts about agitating him too much.

"Grandmamma, I'm sure under the circumstances, even you can see they are not here for social purposes. Allie is gravely ill and they came straight here, to sit a bedside vigil, for we feared losing her."

"No one bothered to tell me that either. Am I so horrid that you would spurn my presence, even in times of family trouble?  Have I not always done my best for this miserable, ungrateful brood?"

"We had not thought to exclude you, only to spare you the worry that would surely be your fate were you to know our precious Allie were on the verge of expiring."

He lied smoothly, for it was his job to
perpetuate
 diplomacy in the family, and he'd always done so. She knew that he lied, and he could see it in her eyes, though she did not refute him.

The tea cart arrived at that moment and both parties were given a reprieve from this conversation for the space of a few minutes, while the footman placed the tray, March overseeing his task.

"Will you have some of cook's seed cake?  It is exceptionally good today." Sir Gordon lifted his cup and waited, knowing Lady Grace would not be gotten rid of so easily. "I have sent for my parents, as I'm sure you would wish to see them."

 "Ha! And why should I when they have made no effort to see me?" She sipped as well and greedily reached for a large slice of seed cake. Around a mouth full of food, she continued her diatribe. "I'd just as soon see my granddaughter to satisfy myself that she is doing well."

 "I'm afraid that won't be possible today, mother." Nigel Pendleton stepped across the threshold, a mirror image of his son, right down to his military bearing. His face was a study in determination, and his voice brooked no insolence.

The worry and heartbreak over his fragile young daughter had changed him, overnight it would seem. He needed to vent, and the perfect opportunity had arrived in the form of his mother.

Sir Gordon nearly smiled, so surprised was he to see his mild and unprepossessing father so staunchly gainsaying Lady Grace. Nigel, never proof against her deviousness and usually meek in her presence, did not appear so at this moment. He said decisively, "The doctor has given strict orders."

 "And where is Marion, that simpering, foolish wife of yours?" The Countess of Champlay saw a target for her malice in her normally mild mannered son, yet mistaken he was still her whipping post. She realized her error when he replied with some heat, coming further into the room.

Nigel fixed her with a cold glare, turning the subject. "You have been notified of the possible changes to your allowance? If you persist in your filthy insults, I will take steps, even if my son is reluctant."           

"I am not reluctant, father. Actually, until this moment, Lady Grace has left us quite alone, and since my threat was to undo her only on sufferance of her behavior, I have not seen a need."

"Don't speak of me as though I were not here. And you, Gordon, may call me Countess Champlay, or even grandmamma, but never use my given name. Where are your manners, boy?"

She was beginning to see that the whole family had rebelled against her, and her old ways would no longer be tolerated. Still, she was not one to give up easily and had an ace up her sleeve. She drew the card now, her face a study in self satisfaction.

"Have you heard the rumors going about? It seems that one Knight of the Realm has threatened to beggar his poor elderly grandparents in order to finance one of his projects. Imagine, dispossessing the elderly for financial gain. Why, if my children ever did such a thing to me, it would be a scandal. A very large scandal."

As she now had their full attention, she continued while studying her fingernails in a casual way. "His majesty called me to court to advise me of this rumor. It has not pleased him and he wanted to reassure me that he will do all to aid me. Such a nice fellow, our King."

"George the IV is a fool and an ingrate. He owes the Pendleton Foundation a vast sum. We loaned Parliament a goodly portion of funds to pay off his debts. He would not be so imprudent as to incur anger in that quarter by attempting to align himself with you."

Sir Gordon, standing now, paced the room, his arms flying about as he spoke in a harsh voice. "Truth be known, I cannot imagine him taking any interest in your paltry affairs, for he has long disliked you, ever since you took the side of his Queen and refused to attend the coronation."

The Countess lowered her gaze as both son and grandson glared at her with sneering countenances—so much alike at this moment that there could be no doubt of their relationship. She thought furiously for a way to extract herself from this corner she had painted herself into. None of it was true and she had only thought to use the example of Rothburn's comments as a guideline to regain some semblance of power.

While it was true she had avoided the coronation, she had not done it for Caroline, she had done it for herself. No one here knew that she had been Prinny's mistress. He had rejected her in a horrible manner just before his wedding, calling her names she would not deign to remember, for it still hurt her pride.

Realizing there was no way out for her, she seemed to fold in upon herself—her mission here was done. She stood, grasping the cane looking very old and defeated.

"If I cannot see Allie, then I will just go along to my lonely existence." Her comment drew a derisive snort from Nigel and a shout of laughter from his son. She lifted her head in a final display of haughty grandeur and quit the room. Lady Grace could see that she would need to find other methods to defuse their threat to her income.

Gordon watched his father begin to pace.  He was truly worried about his parent—knew just how attached he was to Allie and how much joy she'd brought into his life. If she died, the knight knew instinctively it would destroy his father. He consulted his watch and wondered how long they must wait for the specialist that had been sent for a week prior.

"Your sister has not improved and your mother, I fear, is nearly in        collapse." Nigel sat in the nearest chair and looked at Gordon, his brown eyes pleading. "What can we do?  She is fading. Today she does not know what a spoon is for. Tomorrow, I fear she will have to be diapered."

Nigel Pendleton wiped his tear-filled eyes with trembling hands. "It is as though she were regressing to a baby. When will that damnable specialist from Vienna be here?"

"He is due to arrive any moment Dearest Papa." Sir Gordon used the childhood endearment and was gratified to see his father give a weak smile, tears forcibly banished.

"Sorry, Gordon. Just lost my head a minute. Don't know what I'd do without you. You are a son to be proud of." He went on, as though speaking to himself, but Gordon knew his habit, and listened carefully, as was expected.

"Had a note from my sister. Alana wants to visit on their way back from Cheshire. I assume she and her husband do not know about Allie, for there was no mention. She spoke of a woman in the village who had performed a miracle on a blind child, getting the boy to see again.

"I, of course, put no faith in such. If a miracle it was, then it was God's doing, not some village witch." He looked uncertain. "Am I right? It would be foolish, I suppose, to call in an herbalist. We have the best minds in Europe seeing the child. Surely if they cannot do the deed, no one can."

"Father, we're at the point of grasping at straws. If the specialist can do nothing, then we shall have to try other—less conventional—methods. If bringing in a village witch is what it takes, we shall do so."

At that moment, Griffin came into the room, looking incredulous. "Village witch? To see my Allie? Are you mad?"

The young man colored up as he heard his own disrespectful tone. "I say, I am sorry. It is all just so horrid."

He went to the drinks tray, his hand hovering over the brandy bottle, but changed his mind. Griffin went to sit near Nigel, hoping the man would not be angry with him.