Jeremy grabbed for Daniel, who lost his own footing in the gin-soaked, vegetable-strewn alley. Soon they were rolling on the filthy ground, with Daniel having to hold Babcocks knife hand and avoid his knee, while trying to catch hold of the mans throat. The dastard bit him! Now, that was dirty fighting.
So Daniel stopped playing fair. He bent Jeremys hand with the knife backward until he heard bone snap.
Jeremy screamed, but still tried to claw at Daniels face with his other hand, until Daniel could throw his weight behind a solid punch to the chin for cheating Clarence, then another to the mans ugly nose for insulting Corie. And one to the jaw for his ruined coat.
Hocking was standing nearby, with his cudgel and a towel.
Daniel took the towel, but didnt know where to start; he had so many cuts and scrapes starting to be felt now that the fight was over. Why the hell didnt you help, dash it?
And spoil your fun? You was doing fine. And Im not paid to keep the alley clean. Ill put the crates on your tab, though.
Harrison was there, too, watching. Youre getting soft and careless, Stamfield. Harry taught you better than to fight fair. He and Hocking dragged Jeremy off to a locked storeroom behind the kitchen. They agreed to keep him until a ship was ready to sail.
The tut-tutting cook cleaned Daniel up as best she could. She nimbly set a couple of stitches to the back of his head, as capable as any sawbones from all her years at the club. She dabbed the bite mark and the lesser cuts on his arm and his neck with brandy, which would likely go on his account, too, so he drank the rest of it to dull the pain. His coat was nothing but rags, his tattered neckcloth was torn to bind the back of his head, and his trousers were covered in the muck from the alley, and blood. What was left of his clothing reeked of gin and the gutter.
That was what he looked and smelled like when he half fell to the pavement getting out of the hackney coach at Royce House. That was what the ladies saw as they descended their own carriage after their evening out. That was what caused enough shrieking and shouting to roust everyone on Grosvenor Square.
His mother started weeping. His sister swooned into Clarences arms. Dobbson came running with a blunderbuss, yelling for the footmen to lock all the doors and windows. And Miss Corisande Abbott stepped around Daniel, pulling her skirts aside, and said, I will not be riding out with you in the morning. Or ever again.
That was what hurt worst of all.
Chapter Sixteen
T
here was pain, and more pain. And there were tears.
First came Deauville, when he helped Daniel into a bath, and then into a nightshirt, one that must have been his fathers, because Daniel never owned one of the voluminous shrouds. He hurt too much to complain about the fabric encompassing him. But the valets sniveling was too much to bear with a headache.
Dash it, man, if you are going to blubber like a baby every time I get a scrape or a cut, youre no good to me.
You? No, monsieur. It is the coat. That beautiful coat that Deauville pressed this very afternoon. A work of art, a masterpiece, ruined.
His arm ached too much to lift to point at the door, but Daniel managed to shout, Get out.
Then his sister arrived at his bedchamber, along with Clarence. Daniel had explained as much as they needed to hear before he dragged himself up the stairs. Now they wanted to thank him.
Not necessary, he tried to say, hoping theyd leave, but Susanna threw herself against his chest, exactly where the corner of a wooden crate had left a massive bruise. Then she hugged his neck, right where that bastard Babcock had bitten him. Then she wept all over the dratted nightshirt.
Even Clarence had tears in his eyes when he tried to express his gratitude. He was free of debt, and free of having to confront Jeremy. He was exonerated of being a fall-down drunken gambler, too. How can I repay you?
Daniel groaned. Marry the brat and get her off me.
Clarence tugged at Susannas shoulder. Come on, Sukey, he must be concussed if he wants us to get hitched.
That brought a giggle from Susanna, at least. It brought another groan from Daniel when she climbed off the wide mattress and jostled his aching head.
His mother was still mopping at her tears from before when she came in to assure herself that her baby boy was not at deaths door. Are you certain I should not call a physician? A surgeon? The Watch?
Lud, no. We want to keep this as quiet as possible for Lord Morgans niece and her mother. Ill be fine after a nights rest. Ive survived far worse, you know. In fact, he was almost embarrassed that such a weakling as Jeremy Babcock had done so much damage. He really was getting too old for this nonsense.
Lady Cora insisted, between blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, on staying the night with him. In case you need anything, dear.
Hed drown before he asked his mother for the chamber pot. Thats Deauvilles job.
The man told me youd just dismissed him.
For the night, blast it, not permanently. Hes good with a neckcloth. Lud knows Id never be able to tie one right. Go offer him a raise in salary. And more if he stops caring for the clothes more than the man in them.
Are you certain, dear? I wouldnt mind sleeping in the chair, here. I used to do it when you had the measles. And that time you broke your arm after stealing those apples. But we wont speak of that, will we, dear, how a mothers love is stronger than any sacrifice?
Now he felt like a child again, a particularly troublesome urchin who caused his mother pain. He sighed. I really do not need anything except rest, Mother, but thank you for the concern.
She headed for the door, but first said, Your father was the same way, until he died from not letting me send for the doctor.
He died from falling off his horse. The doctor could not have saved him.
She wept some more. But I would have tried.
There were more tears at the opposite end of the corridor.
Corie was huddled in her bed, curled with all the blankets she could pile on top, and still felt cold; she still saw that broken, bloody body in the street, in her mind.
She cursed him soundly, employing words hed used when a thief tried to pick his pocket at the British Museum. The would-be bandit ran off before Daniel could catch him, because he had to stay with the ladies rather than give chase.
Corie did not know what half of the words meant, but she was sure Daniel Stamfield deserved them all. Lady Coras son was no hero, as his family and Clarence were proclaiming. They put him on a pedestal, like some marble statue of an all-powerful god to be worshipped and adored. Bah. The man had the proverbial feet of clay. He was nothing but a man, and a sorry excuse for one at that. He was a drunkard, a brawler, a man who took the law into his own ridiculously large hands and twisted it to please himself. Certes, he had solved Clarences problem, but hed done so like the uncivilized ape he was.
And this was the man who was rejecting her suitors. That alone was worth crying over. Corie was currently dependent upon the goodwill of an overgrown ape whod set himself up as the arbiter of her future. He was a bully, a tyrant, a menace. He was like her father.
Susanna said he was brave. Corie thought he was a fool.
Lady Cora said he was loyal. Corie decided obstinate was a more fitting word.
To Clarence, Daniel Stamfield was a lifesaver. To Corie, he was a stumbling block. She wouldnt even trust him with her diamonds after tonight. He was just as liable to lose them in a hand of cards as get her a fair price. A woman could not rely on a man in his cups.
The worst part of all was she was coming to like the big baboon. He could be pleasant company when he forgot to be shy and awkward. He laughed a lot, and at himself sometimes, too. He was intelligent enough to know where his knowledge was scant, and he sought advice and information from those better-informed. He was honest. And handsome, with his extraordinary black-rimmed blue eyes. Dressed right, he was turning into the gentleman his mother always said he could be.
Unfortunately, Corie reminded herself, he had all the faults of the worst London gentlemen, the town bucks and dandies and rakes: wine, women, and so what if people were counting on you?
So she cried there in her bed, alone with her despair and disappointment, and the pain of losing something she never had.
Pain, and more pain. It came to Daniel in waves, from his chest to his skull to his neck and arm, and everywhere else hed been kicked or shoved or struck by falling crates. And that female thought hed be able to go riding in the morning? What did she think, that he was made of marble that never got a headache? He had the devil of one now, enough to keep him awake.
He wasnt sorry hed refused the sleeping powders his mother offered. Hed seen enough poor souls addicted to the stuff. He was sorry he hadnt asked for some lemonade, or some ice for his bruised knuckles, a cool cloth for his head . . . and a soft, gentle hand to place it there, not Deauvilles heavy fist. And not his mothers hand, either.
He thought about tugging the bellpull, but the servants were all asleep by now and he saw no reason to bother them, not when his own stupidity had let him walk into a trap. He considered going down to the kitchens himself. A bit of cheese and a slice of beef might make him feel more the thing, to go along with the lemonade for his dry throat, but his sore muscles protested the idea of getting out of the bed. And what if anyone saw him stumbling around like a rum-soaked sailor?
He ought to get up in the morningno, at dawnand have a hearty gallop in the park, just to show the woman he was neither jug-bitten, dissolute, nor pining for her company. Then he worried his head would crack open with Gideons first hoofbeat and what was left of his brains would fall out. Hell, she might laugh at the sight.
He could still see that look on her face when she walked over him. She didnt believe he wasnt drunk or that he hadnt picked the fight with Babcock, or enjoyed it. Well, he might have gotten satisfaction in seeing the mans nose gushing blood, but who could blame him after being ambushed in an alleyway? Miss Corisande Abbott could blame him, that was who. She did not believe for an instant hed carefully considered the best way to handle the cheat without resorting to violence. The mayhem was of Jeremys making, but she did not accept that.
She didnt think he had any business dealing with her suitors, either. Fine, hed let every fortune hunter in Town fall at her feet. Hed give every libertine leave to seduce her. And good riddance to a responsibility hed never wanted nor asked for. Why, he should have let Babcock ask for her hand. They could both have sailed to the Indies, for all he cared.
The worst thing was, he did care. He wanted her to like him. He admitted to himself, here in his dark, pain-filled misery, that his efforts to look and act like a gentlemanall that cultural blather, the dance practice, exercise, and primpingthey were for her. Oh, hed convinced himself he was being a dutiful son and brother, but he was trying to impress Corie. He acknowledged it now, when it was too late.
She was beautiful, so beautiful he wished he could paint a picture to keep forever. Shed be smiling in the portrait, and hed have to smile back every time he passed by. No painting could capture her prickly, standoffish nature that thawed when she relaxed, nor that lilac scent that stayed in his memory.
And in his body. Corie had all the right curves, at just the right height. Just thinking about her gowns, so temptingly revealing in front, so temptingly clinging in back, made him wish he had spent the night with one of the females at McCanns after all. So what if a much younger Coried given herself to that muckworm Snelling? No female was perfect. Hell, he was the last man on earth to demand perfection from a woman. Besides, she acted with the utmost circumspection these days, playing the role of prim and proper lady for all of society to see.
She was a lady, with one blot on her copybook. Well, he had a few himself.
But she hated him, and there wasnt a damn thing he could do about it. A grown man, a real man, a true British gentleman, did not cry.
He was not worth crying over. Corie gave herself a mental shake and got out of bed. She laid more coal on the fire and found a warm woolen shawl. She thought about fixing herself some hot tea to take away the chill. Then she thought about seeing if Daniel needed anything. That was only polite.
What if his head wound had opened and he was bleeding to death? Or if one of the cuts had become infected and he became feverish? She knew the sap-skull had sent his mother and his valet off to their own beds, out of some ridiculous stoicism, which she felt was nothing but misplaced male pride. He most likely agreed with his doting mothers belief he was some kind of lesser god, an invincible hero. He was not.
Hed be unattended and possibly too weak to reach the bellpull, or too ill to call out for help. Besides, his room was down the farthest corridor and no one would hear him. If she was already going down to the kitchens, she might as well ask if he needed anything. For all his faults, she supposed Daniels intentions were good: rescuing Clarence, trying to protect her and his sister from fortune hunters and adventurers. The least she could do was see if he was still breathing. She tied a knot in the shawl and opened her door as quietly as possible so no one else was disturbed.
