Chasing the Heiress (31 page)

“Thank you, Judith. That helps a great deal.” Sophia turned back to the towel, spreading out the decoction to see its larger ingredients.

“What is it, Sophia?” Colin's words were clipped and hard.

“I have never seen it—what I think it is—but I have read about it. I believe it is a cooked form of hashish called dawamesk, but laced with opium and—from the label—belladonna.”

“Sophia,” Colin growled. “Tell me. Will she recover?”

“She has not craved it. That was my confusion. Some of her behaviors pointed to opium, but not all.” Sophia looked at the ceiling, talking through the various options. “I think Judith is right: this is a mixture of various drugs, along with fruits and spices to make it palatable. But how much of each drug and how much she has consumed over the last month and what other drugs might be present in it . . .”

“Sophia, darling.” Aidan placed his hand on her shoulder. “He knows you will be making a guess, but he needs an answer.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Sophia straightened and looked directly into Colin's eyes. “All of the drugs we mentioned in small enough doses work their way out of the body over time. She has been without this mess for several days, and we see no ill effects, or at least not in her body. As for her mind . . . I cannot say. I am sorry.”

Colin's body slumped into the news.

“If she shows no improvement in the next week, I will find a home where she will be cared for,” Aidan offered gently. “And of course her maintenance will come from the ducal accounts. She will not be abandoned.”

“No.” Colin straightened. “I will find another way.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Each morning, he sat beside her bed, asking her to speak again, but each day, she simply clung to his hand.

At a knock at the door, she held his hand more tightly. He might not be real, but if she let go, this particular sweet dream might escape her. The door opened and closed behind him, and she heard a whisper.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Your cousins are very convincing, but I would have come for her in any case.”

“She's been sleeping heavily for several days, but before that, she'd been drugged. We don't know for how long, but months likely. She doesn't trust us—I don't think she trusts anyone right now.”

“Perhaps she'll trust me.”

Another face moved into her view. Nell.

Lucy began to cry, tears streaming silently down her face. Now she knew she was mad: everyone who'd cared for her after her great-aunt's death was in the same room. That could only happen in a dream.

“Let him go, girl.” Nell brushed her hand across Lucy's forehead, smoothing her hair. “We have a bath ready to be brought in. Let us wash your hair and get you some clean clothes. Then we'll take a walk around the room.”

“I'll be right outside the door,” he promised.

She let go of his hand, reluctantly.

* * *

When Colin returned, the shades had been drawn back to let in the sunlight. Nell sat at the side of the bed, talking of the events at the inn since Lucy had been gone.

“I swear my Mark has grown four inches since you were last with us. He's all arms and legs that one. Not a shirt reaches his wrists or trousers his ankles.” Nell smiled at Colin and reached out her hand. “Your man is back, Lucy.”

Nell stood, smoothing her skirts, then she picked up the tray. “I'll take this down to the kitchen, and look in on you a bit later.”

As Nell passed, he whispered, “Thank you.”

Lucy was pale, wearing a shift of laced cotton with sleeves that extended only to her elbows. Her fingers kept rubbing the scar at her wrist as if it hurt and she wished to comfort it. When she saw him looking at her bruises, she tucked her arm under the coverlet.

“No, don't hide it.” He took her hand in his. She watched him with wide eyes. And he kissed each finger then turned her wrist upward and kissed the scars.

“Have the effects of the drug receded?”

She nodded, but tentatively, as if any answer might be wrong. What could have happened to make a woman who'd lived through the camps so cautious?

“Can you tell me where you have been? I looked for you, down every street and road, stopped at every inn and wasn't satisfied until I'd seen all the scullery maids. For weeks, Seth and I looked, until Seth had to return to Sophia's estate. But you had vanished, disappeared.” He kissed her hand again and put the back of it to his cheek. “I had only just returned to London when Sophia insisted I go to Marner's ball. But I almost didn't go. I would have missed you.”

She lifted her hand and brushed his hair back from his forehead, but did not speak.

“You stayed with me when I was wounded, sat beside my bed, and I'll be here for you, Lucy . . . until you wish to speak again.”

* * *

Lucy was sitting in the sunshine, her chair close enough to the open balcony that she could feel the warmth, but far enough back that no one could see her from the garden. The dream hadn't ended yet: she was still with him, with those who loved her, and she was very careful not to do anything that would make her wake up.

She heard sounds behind her, then a biggish black dog, still a puppy, but bigger, ran to her and nuzzled her legs. She reached down to pet its head, but it pulled back, and sat looking at her, its tail wagging back and forth on the floor.

She held her hand out, and the pup came to her and nuzzled her hand. She began to pet it again, and it wriggled its body until her hand was between his shoulder blades. She scratched the spot, and the dog's tail wagged some more.

Then, without warning, he jumped up, put his paws on her knees, and licked her face.

She felt the wetness, the uncomfortable wetness, a sticky sensation she had only felt one other time before—when Boatswain had licked her face. But Boatswain was a puppy. This animal was almost a dog.

If she were mad, Boatswain would surely be still a puppy, or perhaps she would imagine him like Bess. She couldn't have imagined this, this nipping, growling, barking, tail-wagging half-grown ball of fur.

The dog must be real. But if Boatswain were real, then Colin would be real.

She stood and tried to catch the dog, but he kept jumping close by then away from her, forcing her to chase him around the room.

She tripped and fell, and her hand burned with pain. And she felt it. Not the cushioned, tempered ache of the drugs but real pain. And suddenly the dog was crawling on her, and she felt real dog kisses. And she began to laugh. Then cry, then laugh again.

And then Colin was there, and Em, and Nell, until all of Colin's family had gathered in her room.

And she knew she was not mad.

* * *

In the safety of the ducal mansion, protected by Colin and his brothers, Lucy began the slow path back to herself. Sophia had researched each of the drugs they suspected Lucy had been given, then explained to her the effects of each one, and how long it might take for each drug's influence to dissipate. Sophia had also insisted that her susceptibility to the drugs had been aided by her lack of healthful food, and that to recover she would have to eat again, but slowly, her stomach having adjusted to the small portions she'd been allowed to eat.

Each day, then, Cook made small portions of her favorite foods, and Colin sat with her while she ate, fulfilling his promise not to leave her side until she was well again. She realized that one of the ways that the matron had asserted her oppressive rule was by limiting her lodgers' food. Hard work, little food, inadequate sleep, and the threat of punishment—all contributed to keep her lodgers submissive and afraid. Unfortunately, Lucy could not tell Aidan or Walgrave anything about the location of the private asylum. The only accents that could provide any help—the cook's, Smith's, and Matron's—had all come from different parts of England.

She finally felt more observant, more resilient, more capable, more like her old self. But the irony of the situation did not escape her. Hiding from her cousin and his men, she had moved from one confinement to another: she could not venture from the ducal estate, or even walk in the garden without an escort. But she was not confined in any other sense, and she was not denied any need or desire. If she had said she wished to see the lion at the Royal Menagerie, she was certain that the lion tamer would have been paid handsomely to allow a private audience or would have put his lion in a cage and brought it to her. She was free to remain in her room or not, to play with Boatswain, to draw, or embroider, or do none of those things.

And with her freedom came a returning confidence in her observations and in her responses. At dinner, when one of the Somerville men teased her, she teased in return. And when the duke scowled at some frustration or annoyance, she treated him as any other scowling man in her past. She did not assume she was the cause; she simply ignored him. When Aidan came to her—accompanied by Walgrave—with questions about her inheritance and her cousin, she did not hesitate to answer. And when they offered her their resources and their aid, she accepted. She would not again make the mistake of believing she could oppose Marner's power alone.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

On the lawn below the terrace, Hallett seemed never to tire of throwing a ball for Boatswain to fetch. Lucy, her lap covered by a blanket, sat on the terrace steps, watching the two with pleasure. The boy and the dog were always close at hand if she needed them, and she was grateful for their care. But she was growing tired of being the invalid. Another week, she told herself, and she would be fully recovered.

Colin approached the terrace from the garden. Boatswain ran to Colin, and Hallett threw Colin the ball. For several minutes, Colin played the game, and Lucy watched him, admiring the economy and elegance of his movements, the line of his arm, the power of his throws. Colin could pitch the ball farther than Hallett, and the dog had to run farther and faster to catch it. It was a picturesque scene, two men, a dog, and a ball. She could easily imagine it painted by George Stubbs or John Constable. Soon, however, Colin made his way toward her seat on the stairs, and she felt his approach as a spreading warmth in the center of her chest. She smiled as he stood at the foot of the stairs before her.

“I was hoping to find you alone.”

“I'm alone enough. In addition to surveilling my visitors, Hallett is wearing out my dog before dinner.” She motioned to the top of the stair beside her. “Would you like to sit?”

He took the seat, then leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “He's a beautiful dog. I'm glad you have him.”

“Em taught him an amazing set of skills. I'm surprised every day at something he already knows how to do.” Lucy paused, watching Colin twist his hands before him, rubbing one palm with the opposite thumb. “You're upset.”

“I need to speak with you. I have been waiting until you were well, and . . .”

“And now I'm well.” She examined his face, but he did not look at her, only stared at Hallett and Boatswain.

“I want you to know that, when you did not meet me at the British Museum, I searched for you, for weeks I searched.” He looked at his hands. “But . . .”

“I would have met you, Colin, except my cousin's men found me first. But I loved you, love you. I'll never love anyone else. Only you.” She put her hand on his knee, but he did not acknowledge it, only kept twisting his hands. She withdrew her hand.

She looked at him closely, at the dejected way he held his shoulders, at the hang of his head. “Something happened when we were apart. Are you married? Is that why they look away sometimes when I ask where you are?”

“No, not married.”

She breathed out in relief.

“But I'm engaged. The banns were already read before I found you. And the wedding is next week. The household leaves tomorrow.”

She couldn't catch her breath. She felt immobile, her chest caught mid-breath, her heart frozen. “Who? How?”

“After weeks of searching, I returned to Hartshorn Hall. I needed Em's friendship and consolation. But there was a party. Everyone from the town was there, her family, and she'd waited for me for years.” His voice drifted away. Then so softly that she almost didn't hear it. “I believed you didn't want me.”

She remembered Em's graciousness, her kindness, and Colin's strength, honesty, integrity. At the least she could do the noble thing, even if it broke her heart a million ways.

“No, Colin, you did right. Em had a prior claim.” She shifted her body to face him. “I should have told you from the beginning who I was, my troubles. I should have taken you with me when I was in London. But even though I knew in my heart what kind of man you were, I didn't trust you enough. I was too used to relying on my own ingenuity. But in the end, you saved me. You found a way to free me, to convince me I was not mad, to give me powerful friends. If I have the possibility of a useful life now, I have that possibility because of you.”

“I've lain awake every night since I found you, trying to imagine how to set it right, how to break the engagement. If it were any other woman, I would, but . . .” He looked at his hands, the glint of tears in his eyes.

“But it's Em.”

“Yes, it's Em.” His voice held the finality of his decision. “For my whole life, she's been my constant friend, and I'll care for her until I die.”

She put her hand on his and left it there for a long time before she spoke again. “Whenever we are in the same company, I will greet your wife as a dear friend and you as her loving husband. We will sit through meals and dances, and remind ourselves of our obligations. And one day we'll wake up and find that the longing has faded. And sometime after that, we will find it has disappeared entirely.”

“Never!”

“Yes, Colin. It will fade. Because it's Em. Because we cannot hurt her.”

He rose and offered her his hand. She took it, savoring the feel of his hand in hers.

“You are of course invited to the wedding. But Aidan has arranged a house guard for you, if you wish to remain here.”

“Thank you. That's very considerate.” She could hear their language becoming more distant.

“I have made some arrangements. I will be gone for some weeks after the wedding. Em wishes to see her father in France, and after that, we will return to Hartshorn Hall. I will not be much in London in the future, but I will, of course, always be at your service. In my stead, Aidan and Walgrave have agreed to act on your behalf, to protect you and resolve the situation with your inheritance. I regret I will be unable to do more.”

“Thank you, but you have done more than anyone could expect, particularly under the circumstances.”

“You have friends here, Lucy. Real friends. Let them care for you, for my sake.”

He took one last look at her face and returned to the house.

She sat back on the stairs, wiping away tears and watching Hallett throw a ball to Boatswain.