Bared to the Viscount (The Rites of May Book 1) (26 page)

And John had quite probably saved his life, staunching the flow of blood from his wound.

He’d stepped in front of Donald Evans’
gun
, for pity’s sake.

Oh, Lord. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push John down the stairs, or pull him into her arms.

So lost was she in these thoughts, when Dr. Ausland laid a hand on her shoulder, she jumped nearly a foot.

“Your brother should rest, now,” the doctor said. “Lord Parkhurst prevented the worst of the blood loss, so I shouldn’t worry for him through the night. We must expect fever of course, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning to check on him, and I expect I’ll remove his bandage then and let the wound drain—that should lessen the chance of serious infection. Meanwhile, keep the fire built up in here, and have someone with him to be sure he keeps still, but otherwise leave him alone.”

He held out his arm to Rosamund Lawton in offer to escort her from the room.

But Rosamund shook her head. “I can sit up with him,” she insisted. “He has only his sister here, and she can’t be expected to stay up all night alone.”

When the doctor blinked at her in surprise, Rosamund blushed. “Laudanum,” she said, “is as good as a chaperone.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said the doctor, chuckling. “The vicar’s not likely to wake at all before morning. And Miss Wilkins could use the help.”

“I would be thankful for it,” Mary said, smiling at Rosamund. “I’ll just see all the gentlemen out, and make some tea for the two of us, then come back and sit with you, Miss Lawton.”

“No need, Miss Wilkins,” insisted Rosamund kindly. “Please get some rest, at least for an hour or two. I shan’t be able to sleep tonight in any case. I promise to wake you if there’s the slightest trouble.”

The poor girl. Tear streaks were still visible on her cheeks, which looked dreadfully pale with worry. Blood covered the bodice of her dress and spattered her skirts. They’d all washed up a bit using water Mary heated over the fireplace grate, but Rosamund’s once-pretty dress was a lost cause. “First let me find a clean frock for you,” said Mary. “You shouldn’t sit in those clothes any longer.”

Rosamund glanced down as though she just now realized what a mess she was. Her cheeks went even more pale at the sight. “Thank you, Miss Wilkins. I’d be grateful for that.”

“Though I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything near as fine as your own clothes.”

Rosamund blushed again. “I promise I shall not mind.”

“All’s well, then,” said Dr. Ausland cheerily. “Two ministering angels for your minister, and all the gentlemen get to sleep.” He offered Mary a courtly bow. “Your brother really should come through this nicely, Miss Wilkins. You’re lucky the viscount was a veteran of battle. He did well in staunching the wound.”

She glanced at John, who gave her a dark, unreadable look.

What was going through his mind right now?

She couldn’t very well speak to him with other people in the room, and he couldn’t remain in the house with her and Rosamund after the other men left. Mary’s reputation was in tatters as it was.

Though she could hardly let him leave without acknowledging what he’d done for Thomas.

Stiffly, she walked over to him, stopping a more than respectable distance away. “Thank you, Lord Parkhurst. I’m so grateful for all your help today.”

The look in his eye only become darker and more unreadable. “I do have my skills,” he answered in a soft, sardonic tone. “Believe it or not, I’m not always the useless prat you think me.”

Now that was puzzling. “I’ve never thought that. I’ve never thought any such thing.”

“No?”

“No, of course not.” What on earth was he talking about?

Some further gesture seemed required, but she had no idea what would be appropriate, or what would suffice. Embracing him would be wrong, surely. A dreadful mistake in every way. So she reached out her hand instead and clasped his. Something more than a polite handshake, but not a gesture of romantic love. A gesture of...respect. Of gratitude. It would have to be enough.

The muscles of his face relaxed, not quite into a smile, but into something less distant than before. But all he said was, “Good evening, Miss Wilkins. I can show the other gentlemen out for you.” And then he released her hand, and headed down the hall towards the staircase.

A pang went through Mary as he went, and she clenched her fists to ward it off.

Dr. Ausland followed the viscount, but Sam paused before leaving and leaned in close. “Don’t you worry, Mary Wilkins,” he whispered low. “All will be right as rain before morning, I feel it in my bones.” And he winked.

Now
him
she did embrace. “Thank you, Sam. For everything, these past few days. You’ve been so much more generous than anyone could ask.”

He squeezed her hard against him, then set her back on her feet. “You can count on me. Whatever you need. Whatever you choose. And if anyone in this town breathes a word against you, they’ll take it back, or meet with my fists, I swear it. Man or woman.”

She hadn’t expected to laugh anytime soon, but she laughed now, with a rush of tenderness for Sam’s kindness. “I don’t deserve you. You’re the very best of friends.”

“I’d gladly be more, and you know it,” he said, and for a moment he brushed the edge of his thumb along her collarbone, where her seed pearl necklace had hung. “But I see which way the wind blows.”

“What wind?”

“You’re a lovely girl, Mary Wilkins, and you deserve every happiness,” he said, and gave her a wistful smile. “Whatever happens, I thank you for the memory of May Day night.” With one last wink, he too turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Mary felt herself flush.

If only she returned Sam’s feelings, her life would be so much simpler. But her heart didn’t bend that way. She sighed, listening to the men’s footsteps as they went downstairs, to their deep voices in the foyer, to the front door as it slammed shut.

John was gone.

She had no idea when she would see him again, or what on earth they would ever manage to say to one another. It was more than her mind could take in just now.

She was rather grateful for the interruption when Rosamund came up behind her and said, “About that dress you offered, Miss Wilkins? This one’s became rather...stiff. I should be glad to be out of it.”

So she busied herself helping the Lawton girl, fetching more water to warm in the pot on the hob and taking it to her in Mary’s own bedroom, so she could take off her dress and scrub her skin where the sticky blood had soaked through. Mary found fresh clothing for them both, though it shamed her a bit to see how awkwardly her drab frock fit Rosamund’s far more fashionable form, squashing her fine bosom and erasing the elegant curve of her waist.

“Let me get that tea,” Mary said. “I’m sure we both could use it.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said the girl. “I don’t think I could manage to drink or eat just now, anyway. I’ll just sit with him. You should take some supper, if you can, Miss Wilkins, and then try to sleep. I’ll wake you in the night if I find myself nodding off.” At the moment, Rosamund hardly looked or sounded like the heiress she was. In truth, she looked quite sweet and innocent in the simple, borrowed gown.

Impulsively as she’d hugged Sam Brickley, Mary threw her arms around Rosamund and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Rosamund. Dr. Ausland was right—you are a ministering angel.”

Rosamund pulled back shyly, and pink color stole over her cheeks once more. “Don’t say so, Miss Wilkins. I—I owe you an apology, really. For...for everything with Annabel. What she implied about you and Lord Parkhurst…. I know she didn’t say it to hurt you.”

“You shouldn’t apologize. All this must have caused her a great deal of—”

“No, Miss Wilkins,” the girl insisted. Her mouth twisted, and she seemed to be rallying herself to say something difficult. “I must confess something to you now. Just so you know the exact truth. So you can throw me out of your house if you wish.
I’m
the one who told Annabel to keep an eye on you and the viscount. That’s why she saw you go into the woods together, with the viscount. That’s why she was watching out for his return.”

“Oh,” said Mary. She wasn’t really sure what to think about that.

“I didn’t tell her out of malice, I swear that to you. I never meant to hurt you. Or—or anyone in your family.” Her blush deepened. “I just wanted Annie to know the viscount wasn’t in love with her. Before she waltzed herself blithely into a marriage that would have been a misery for her.” Rosamund’s bright blue eyes pleaded for understanding. “I just wanted to protect my sister.”

Mary nodded quietly. “I do understand,” she said, but her heart felt strange and aching and hollow. Had Rosamund not intervened, would Annabel and John be planning their wedding now? Whatever John’s feelings for Annabel, or lack thereof, would he ever have stopped that wedding on his own?

Rosamund seemed to sense Mary’s distress, and said, “I’ll just go sit with Thomas now—with Mr. Wilkins, I mean. If you don’t mind.”

Rosamund turned and left the room, leaving Mary standing dully in place, staring out the window at the sun setting in the darkening sky. She knew she ought to move, ought to find something to eat, ought to at least try to sleep, but all those options seemed impossibly hard at the moment.

But she couldn’t let her whole life stop.

She couldn’t let this defeat her.

She squared her shoulders. Perhaps she could at least manage making a pot of tea.

Finding her way downstairs in the last faint streaks of daylight, she went to the kitchen. The shadows of the house seemed far less comforting than they usually did. Would it even
be
her house much longer, if the town folk chose to believe the innuendo Annabel had voiced in the church?

Innuendo that was, of course, accurate in every detail.

Even if her neighbors simply
wondered
if the story might be true, even if Thomas managed to hold on to his position as vicar, how could she carry on her life here in Birchford, facing sidelong looks each day?

How could she be the upright, trustworthy Mary Wilkins everyone had always known?

Lost in that thought, she reached absently for the box of rush candles by the kitchen door, and was just preparing to light one when she nearly screamed.

A figure lurked in the shadows by the hearth, where only the low embers of the kitchen fire still glowed.

John
.

Chapter Eighteen

“Dear Lord!” she exclaimed, waving the flaming lucifer at him as though it were a fiery brand. A strange mix of fear and joy flowed through her, making her heart thump madly. “I thought you left with the doctor and Sam.”

“I did,” John said, shrugging. “Just far enough for Dr. Ausland to think I’d really left. I’ve put him up at the White Horse Inn for the night, by the way, so he’ll be nearby if you need him.”

She couldn’t seem to get her breathing under control.
John was here. He hadn’t left her
.

But he
couldn’t
be here.

He
shouldn’t
be.

“Why did you come back?” She touched the flame to the rush candle and held it before her as if the little halo of light would somehow reveal his thoughts to her. All it did was throw flickers of orange light and shadow across the handsome angles of his face, making him seem more a mystery than ever.

He ignored her question. “I meant to give Sam the slip too once we’d crossed the lane to the Brickley farm, and then double back here,” he said, “but Sam caught me by the arm the moment the doctor was gone and told me I’d better haul my arse back to talk with you.” John’s mouth pursed ruefully. “His precise words, not mine. He also told me he’d break both my legs, and quite possibly my neck, if I didn’t treat you honorably.” He gestured towards her candle. “Now blow that flame out, will you? If anyone walks past the house, they’ll see us, and then they’ll feel sure Annabel spoke the truth.”

“I want the light,” she said. “People will believe what they wish to believe, evidence or no.”

“Please, Mary. We can fix all this. You won’t be ruined if you marry me.”

She shook her head at him furiously. “I think we’ve had this conversation a few too many times already. I won’t discuss it again.”

“For pity’s sake, sweetheart,” he said, sighing. “Everything’s changed. The whole village has heard we’ve been together. In the carnal sense. And you can’t claim I have any obligation toward the Lawtons anymore—Annabel clearly wouldn’t have me even if I begged her. So you need not feel guilty marrying me. Not to mention that your life in Birchford will be nearly impossible now if I don’t make an honest woman of you. I can’t see what objection you could have to my proposal at this point.”

“Can’t see what objection?” she hissed at him. Buried anger surged out of her, and she wanted to kick him or bite him or throw a pot at him. “Can’t see what
objection
? You—you misled me! You—you
used
me! You may not have lied to me outright, but it was no better than lying! You thought you could marry Annabel for show and still have me as...as a sort of
side
dish. Like a...like a bowl of sugared carrots.”