Barely a Lady (13 page)

She had just settled onto a bench beneath the broad limbs of a linden tree when she heard voices nearby.

“I’m telling you it’s absurd. What would Gracechurch be doing in Brussels?”

Grace went perfectly still. The speaker was Lord Thornton. It was hard to mistake that petulant voice.

“
You
must know, Hilliard,” someone else said. “You’re in the government.”

“I haven’t the least clue,” Mr. Hilliard replied. “Last I heard, he was sharing rum punch with the natives in the West Indies somewhere.”

Their voices were coming closer.

“Heard he was seen on the battlefield with a weapon.”

“Well I imagine if he was actually on a battlefield,” Mr. Hilliard drawled, “a weapon would have come in handy.”

“But nobody at headquarters seems to have heard of him,” Mr. Armiston protested.

“Dear boy,” Mr. Hilliard protested. “Right now, headquarters can’t be relied on to count their own toes. I wouldn’t rely on them to do any serious detective work. And why is it so vital you find out?”

“Why, he’s family. Can’t just ignore him.”

Grace knew she should leave. Olivia needed to hear this.

She lurched to her feet so fast that her bad leg screeched in protest. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the bench for balance and held on to her knee, afraid it would give out. She must have made a noise, because suddenly she heard footsteps.

“Why, if it isn’t my Boadicea,” Diccan Hilliard said, sauntering down the path toward her.

Grace blushed with shame. Of all times for him to come across her. She couldn’t make a polite retreat. Her leg was still too seized up to function. And there, behind him, followed Gervaise Armiston and the florid, overstuffed Lord Thornton.

Grace didn’t know which one she liked less. Thornton was an ass, and Armiston too.

There was no question who intimidated her more. One look at Diccan Hilliard had her heart stuttering around like one of Whinyate’s rockets. She was sure she was already blushing like a child caught in a misdeed, just as she did every time she met Mr. Hilliard.

It wasn’t just that she found him handsome. Most of her father’s officers were handsome. It wasn’t that she wished he would look on her with approval. Grace never expected that from any man. She knew exactly what she was and was comfortable with it.

Diccan Hilliard, though, had an unnerving ability to remind her of just what she wasn’t. He strolled up to her like a suave god, clad in impeccable black, his curly brim beaver tilted just so, a gold-headed walking stick in hand, the epitome of elegance.

Reaching her, he bowed. “You present me the perfect opportunity to fulfill a most necessary duty, ma’am.”

Grace felt a blush spread across her chest like a rash. “Indeed?”

Without waiting for her permission, he set her hand on his arm and held it with the other, concealing his support of her dicey leg. And suddenly he was looking at her. Really looking, his icy gray eyes oddly warm. “May I speak with you, Miss Fairchild? These jobberknolls will wait a moment for us.”

“I don’t think we will,” Gervaise protested with a grin.

Mr. Hilliard stared him down. “But of course you will.”

Before Grace could protest, he guided her a few steps away.

Grace had the most disconcerting feeling he was as uncomfortable as she. She was shriveling with embarrassment.

“Miss Fairchild,” he said, tilting his head close so as to exclude the others. “Would you accept my sincere apologies? I had no idea your father had died when I made my thoughtless remarks yesterday. He was a gentleman and a fine soldier.”

Grace felt as if she’d stumbled into a dream. Could he be sincere? Or was he merely setting her up to be the brunt of another joke?

His eyes lit with a wry smile. “I quite understand if you cannot completely believe me. I am not precisely known for any of the finer virtues. But I am serious. It was unconscionable of me to make sport like that.”

She had never seen him look serious. But he did now, offering a half-smile that curled through her like smoke. And he was waiting for an answer.

“I will, gladly,” she said, and found herself softening. “Thank you.”

His smile reached his eyes, if only for a moment, before he lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on it. Blinking like a dolt, Grace could think of nothing to do but nod.

“Please consider me at your service,” he told her, and oddly, she thought him sincere. “Now,” he said, leaning even closer. “Would you help me protect my reputation?”

She thought she said yes. Winking, he returned her to where the others waited.

“Ah, fair Boadicea,” he said, his voice once again languid. “It would please me, pon rep it would, if you’d accept my apologies.”

Grace barely prevented herself from gaping. It was as if he felt it necessary to camouflage his thoughtfulness with a veneer of artifice. And oddly, she understood.

“If you will desist in calling me Boadicea,” she retorted.

His smile was wicked. “But who more resembles that redoubtable woman?”

“Indeed? Boadicea stood six feet in her stockings and had a deformed leg?”

Could she actually be bantering with Diccan Hilliard?

“Don’t know about the leg. Must have been about your size, though. Vanquished Rome, after all.” He gave her a slow perusal that made her weak-kneed. “Or would you rather be an Amazon?”

“Thank you, no.” She knew her face was flaming. “I see no need to sacrifice a breast just to chuck a javelin at someone.”

Lord Thornton flushed. “Here, I say!”

Mr. Hilliard stilled, and Grace saw his surprise. Then, abruptly, he threw back his head and laughed. “Odious wench.”

She grinned. “Toplofty snob.”

“I say,” Thornton whispered to Armiston. “Did he apologize or not?”

Mr. Hilliard leveled his glass on them. “You owe me a monkey, Thornton. And now, Miss Fairchild, it would please me to accompany you on your walk.”

Was he being kind? Did he realize how badly her leg hurt?

“Oh, I say, Hilliard,” Thornton protested. “You can’t mean to waste my afternoon babysitting a companion?”

Mr. Hilliard’s smile slowly froze. “Sometimes, Thorny, I wonder why I waste my time with you. Good day.”

Grace didn’t know what to say. At that moment, it was all she could seem to do to put one foot in front of the other.

And it wasn’t to be her only surprise of the afternoon. They had reached the gate almost across from Lady Kate’s house, when Grace was hailed from across the street.

“Gracie!” A gentleman in the buff and blue jacket of the 11th Light Bobs was waving from Lady Kate’s doorstep.

Grace came to an ungainly halt, only Mr. Hilliard’s arm keeping her upright. “Kit!” she called back, delighted.

Major Christopher Braxton ran to intercept her. As he loped across the busy street, one noticed that his left sleeve was empty and his face scarred from burns.

“Gracie!” he greeted her, pulling her away from Diccan with his good arm and giving her a twirl. “I tried to get here sooner, but I was all the way to Paris before I heard about the general. You know I would have seen him off if I could.”

Grace hugged him back. “Of course I do. I didn’t even know you were back. I thought you’d sold out after Toulouse.”

His grimace was telling. “Quartermaster Corps. No one trusts a one-armed dragoon.”

She shook her head. “Fools.” And she meant it. Kit was one of the most daring soldiers she’d ever known.

It was at that point she suddenly remembered Mr. Hilliard. Giving way to another furious blush, she presented him.

Mr. Hilliard bowed. “You are acquainted with this lady?”

Kit returned the gesture, his expression cautious. “Charter member of Gracie’s Grenadiers.”

Mr. Hilliard became his most supercilious, quizzing glass lifted. “Egad, that sounds perfectly martial.”

“And so it is,” Kit assured him. “It is our sworn duty to always protect and be of service to our magnificent Grace.”

“Excellent. Then I may safely leave her in your care. I must catch up with my friends.” And with that devilish grin, Mr. Hilliard tipped his hat and sauntered away.

Grace turned to Kit, embarrassed. “That was not well done, my dear.”

“Of course it was,” Kit disagreed with a grin. “Don’t want the bounder thinkin’ our Grace is unprotected.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Kit, your Grace has been protecting herself since she was ten, when Harry Lidge tried to run her over with an elephant. Shall you join me for tea?”

“Can’t.” He scowled. “Maybe tomorrow?”

She smiled, suddenly happy. “You know where I’m staying.”

He tipped his head. “Flying high, my girl.”

Grace frowned. “Her Grace has been all that is kind. I think she knew I would not have done well alone right now.”

“Point taken. You’ll call if you need anything.”

And not thinking how quickly she might have to do that very thing, she bid him good-bye.

It was when she entered the house to find Lady Kate, Lady Bea, and Olivia waiting to leave that she remembered just what news she had to impart.

“The word is out,” she said baldly. “Someone spotted Lord Gracechurch and knows he’s in Brussels.”

Olivia immediately began stripping off her gloves. “Then we need to help him remember the truth before he’s discovered.”

Grace completely forgot she was standing in the middle of Lady Kate’s foyer. “We can’t,” she said. “It would kill him.”

Chapter 11

O
livia froze in place, her glove hanging from her fingers.

“Do you still feel like a walk, Olivia?” Lady Kate asked.

“We might want to stay here,” Grace said, stepping completely inside and closing the door. “You’d be surprised what can be overheard in the Parc.”

Lady Kate immediately handed off her bonnet. “Finney, we’ll be in the garden.”

Adding Olivia’s garments to Finney’s pile, Lady Kate steered everyone toward the back of the house. Olivia almost balked when she realized they would pass through a room that held three of their wounded.

“Don’t get up, lads,” Lady Kate trilled as she stopped on her way through the library to grab the sherry decanter and pass three glasses to Olivia. “We’re just off to see the flowers.”

“A pleasure to have you in our humble barracks, Your Grace,” one of the soldiers assured her from his cot by the bookcases.

“And smell you,” the blind lieutenant next to him said with a grin. “You are flowers yourselves when you waft through. Especially you, Lady Bea.”

Lady Bea stopped to kiss each man on the top of the head on the way by. One of the men had lost his sight, another his leg. Another had been caught beneath his fatally stricken charger and suffered broken ribs. Olivia saw them as an indictment on her own actions. They had fought honorably and suffered terribly. And yet, she protected Jack at their expense.

“Now,” Lady Kate said after they had successfully escaped to the quiet of the tiny garden and sherry was handed around. “Spill your budget, Grace.”

Grace eased down next to Lady Bea on one of the wrought-iron benches as if her leg was bothering her, making Olivia feel even worse. But she couldn’t wait for her friend to get comfortable.

“What do you mean we can’t tell him?” she demanded.

“I’ve spoken to Dr. Hume,” Grace said, staring down at her sherry as if for advice. “And he told me that we simply can’t force the earl’s memories on him.”

“But why?”

“Because Dr. Hume fears it could bring on brain fever. The earl’s condition is called
amnesia.
It is common after head injuries to briefly forget some time before the trauma.”

“Briefly?” Lady Kate demanded.

“He will most likely recover all but the hours before the injury. But there is no way to predict how much of the memory will return. Or when. And there might always be gaps.”

Olivia stared at nothing for a moment, unable to comprehend the scope of the disaster. For some reason, she got caught on one fact. “He could have married again and not know it.”

Grace nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Most men’s fantasy,” Lady Kate quipped.

“Not his.” Olivia shook her head, then whispered, “Not the Jack I knew.”

Lady Kate frowned. “I’m not sure the Jack in there
is
the one you knew.”

Olivia opened her mouth to disagree but stopped. Lady Kate was right. Jack was different. Darker, harder, more complex. Her Jack was still there. But he had gained layers she didn’t recognize.

“Caterpillar,” Lady Bea blurted out.

“Indeed,” Lady Kate answered. “But I’m not perfectly certain he means to come out a butterfly, Bea.”

“Then we need to find out,” Olivia said. “You’re certain we can’t ask him about his lost time?”

Grace did not look happy, but she shook her head. “It could prove fatal. Headaches are a symptom, and he has had some.”

Lady Kate snorted unkindly. “I’d have a headache, too, if I just told my wife about my mistress.”

Olivia felt panic climb her throat. “But then what do I do?”

“Family!” Lady Bea snapped.

Lady Kate nodded. “What do
we
do?”

“Offer support,” Grace said. “We can acknowledge returned memories, but that is all. But”—Grace stopped, and Olivia looked up to see that her friend hated to continue—“he must not under any circumstances be reminded of traumatic events.”

“He already knows he fought in a battle,” Lady Kate said. “What could be more traumatic than that?”

Olivia just stared at her.

“Oh,” Lady Kate responded sheepishly. “Of course.”

“He must rediscover those memories on his own,” Grace said.

Olivia felt the impact of Grace’s words sink like a rock in her chest. “So I’m to continue pretending we’re still married.”

Grace looked distressed. “Yes.”

That brought her to her feet. “No.” She knew she sounded shrill. “I won’t. I
can’t.
”

“You have no choice,” Lady Kate said very quietly. “Whatever else has happened, we must be able to prove his innocence.”

“No, we don’t,” Olivia snapped. “He doesn’t deserve my loyalty or my help. He certainly doesn’t deserve my sympathy.”

Lady Kate lifted a wry eyebrow. “Then why did you save him at all?”

Olivia closed her eyes against a fresh surge of impotent resentment. There was no good answer to that question, and she knew it. “He’s going to keep asking questions,” she protested.

Lady Kate nodded. “Hopefully he’ll remember the rest soon.”

It took a moment, but Olivia finally shook her head. “No. We can’t wait. We have to find another way.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Grace said. “When I was in the Parc just now, I heard Mr. Hilliard speaking with Lord Thornton and Mr. Armiston. They’re looking for Lord Gracechurch.”

“Well, we can’t move him,” Lady Kate protested.

“We can’t keep him here either,” Olivia retorted, beginning to pace. “Our patients are about to be shipped home.”

Which meant Jack would lose his camouflage. They would lose their excuse for staying behind in Brussels where they could keep him sequestered.

She tipped up her glass and drained her sherry. “Jack and I need to leave.”

Lady Kate scowled. “And refuse me my adventure? Don’t be a looby. Give us another answer. Who else knows about Jack?”

“Chambers,” Olivia said before thinking of it.

Lady Kate lifted an eyebrow. “Gervaise’s valet?”

Olivia looked up, shocked that she hadn’t thought ofit before. “He used to be Jack’s valet. He’s the one who found him at Hougoumont. Said he got a message from him.”

“Turncoat,” Lady Bea snorted.

Lady Kate turned to her. “Chambers? Yes. But a handy turncoat, dear.” Rising, she began to gather glasses. “I’ll send him a note.”

“No.” Olivia protested, grabbing her arm. “I told you. Gervaise can’t know.”

Everyone turned toward her. Olivia knew how shrill she sounded.

“Are you finally going to tell me why you have such a particular aversion to him?” Lady Kate asked. “It is more than just a loathing to mix with Jack’s family I think.”

This was moving too fast. Olivia wasn’t sure she had the courage for it. “Will you believe me?”

Lady Kate lifted a languid hand. “Gervaise is a charming dinner companion. But you will remember that I braved a thunderstorm to pry you out of his hands.”

Olivia stared at her. “You knew he was there?”

The little woman shrugged. “Someone might have mentioned how quick he was to get Mrs. Bottomly out of town. I thought it… exceptional. Especially when he went back for you himself.”

So Lady Kate’s offer of sanctuary hadn’t been as capricious as Olivia had thought.

Lady Kate sat back down and poured another round of sherry. Pulling in an unsteady breath, Olivia joined her.

After all this time, the words were so difficult. “Gervaise,” she said finally, her hand clenched around her glass, “is singularly focused on what he wants. For him, the ends always justify the means.”

“What was it he wanted?” Grace asked.

“What Jack had.”

Lady Kate frowned. “But he could never inherit.”

“Truly? That never seemed to matter. But I think he saw Jack’s advantages as shiny new toys. Money. Talent. Power.”

“You?”

Olivia was picking at her dress now. “Please understand. It isn’t that I am so desirable. My looks are at most middling and my talents few. But I think Gervaise saw that Jack was smitten” —she shrugged—“and suddenly I was the shiny new toy.”

For a moment, there was stark silence.

“Are you telling me that Gervaise orchestrated all that nonsense five years ago?” Lady Kate demanded.

Olivia almost laughed out loud. Only Lady Kate would define a divorce, a duel, and a death as “nonsense.” “Gervaise was very persuasive. And Jack and I were so young. Maybe if we’d had more time together. Maybe—”

The duchess snorted. “Maybe nothing. Jack was always the golden child. He’d never been truly challenged in his life.” She shook her head. “I’m just sorry he failed at his first fence.”

Olivia shook her head, almost amused that suddenly she was the one defending Jack. “Gervaise did present a convincing case.”

“Willingly aided by the Wyndhams, I assume?”

“Spiders,” Lady Bea muttered.

“Can you blame them?” Olivia asked. “I am hardly what they expected for the next marchioness.”

“Certainly not,” Kate said. “You have spirit, wit, and compassion.”

Olivia sighed. “And a former husband who might be hanged as a traitor. Which would absolutely delight Gervaise.”

Lady Kate got to her feet. “Then he shall never know.”

Olivia blinked. “It’s that simple?”

Lady Kate’s smile was rapacious. “Indeed it is. In fact, I believe I shall enjoy the game of confounding him.”

Olivia jumped up again. “This is no game, Kate. Gervaise is dangerous.”

“Oh, now, Olivia.”

At that moment, Olivia had a choice. She could be honest, or she could be expedient. She considered telling Kate the truth. All of it. Even the most dangerous, the most awful truth of all.

But the moment passed. She didn’t have the right.

“How do you think I lost my child?” she asked instead, for it, too, was a truth.

For the first time, she saw honest astonishment on Lady Kate’s face. “You can’t possibly mean…”

“Don’t you see? Gervaise convinced Jack that the baby wasn’t his. But one look at Jamie would have revealed the truth. Gervaise couldn’t chance that.”

“Oh, Olivia…”

“He poisoned a nine-month-old baby!” Olivia cried. “He found us where we were hiding and slipped henbane into my baby’s pap.”

She could see it on their faces. The charge was one too many, the idea too inconceivable. Even Lady Bea looked skeptical.

“How can you be certain?” Grace asked.

Olivia sat back down, suddenly unbearably weary.

“He told me. He made it a point to when he came to pay his condolences. I’ve been on the run ever since.”

Lady Kate spent some long moments considering the bloodred roses that lined the garden wall. Olivia held her breath, terrified that her friends, like everyone else, would find it too hard to believe Gervaise could be such a monster.

But Lady Kate, one hand up to massage the bridge of her nose, began to shake her head. “All right, then,” she said, coming to her feet in what Olivia thought of as her duchess pose. “I can set Finney to contacting Chambers without Gervaise finding out. What else?”

Olivia felt light-headed with relief. It was her turn to show courage. “It’s time to trust someone else,” she said, and stood, as if that would give her extra courage. “We need to speak to your cousin Diccan.”

* * *

They lost four of their patients the next day, sent off on rumbling carts with smiles and hampers of food. By the time the move was accomplished, noon had come and gone, and Olivia still hadn’t seen Jack again. She knew she was avoiding him, but each visit took more outof her. Each moment of opening that door, of hearing his voice, of seeing him catch sight of her and break into that wide, boyish grin. Of steeling herself against the inevitable shock of contact when she finally had to touch him.

She was losing her hard-won distance. Her precious control. She knew that there would be an afterward to this brief rift in her life. She knew she would have to walk away alone. It had taken her five years to learn how to do so with equanimity. After only a few days, she would have to start all over again.

The church bells were striking one by the time she collected enough courage to present herself. Her body had begun to sing the minute she’d climbed the first step. Her heart had begun to speed up, her hands gone clammy. She was afraid. She was excited. She was so churned up with ambivalence that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to rest again.

He was seated in a wingback chair by the window, playing cards with Thrasher. Harper must have lent him clothing, because he wore an oversized shirt and trousers. Thrasher had obviously lent his wig, which sat perched atop Jack’s head like a furry beret, his thick sable hair curling ludicrously beneath it. Olivia found herself fighting a smile at the sight.

“That, sir,” Jack accused his small challenger, “is cheating.”

Thrasher looked up from his discard. “ ’Course it is,” he admitted brightly. “Only way to win against toffs.”