Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) (30 page)

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“On my command, lift, and don’t move that shoulder.”

The doctor, a small wiry man with an arm of command, supervised Jack’s transfer from the make-shift shift stretcher into the waiting carriage.

“You’ve done well, Miss.” Mounting the footplate, the doctor glanced at Eulogy. “Leave him with me now.”

“Oh no. I’m staying. Where he goes, I go.” With the fierceness of a she-wolf, she stood her ground. The doctor shrugged.

“Very well, if he survives the journey, he’ll need a good nurse.”

It was an agonizing ride, taken in silence, for the unspoken thoughts of those on board was that they were watching a man die. The grim-faced party arrived at Bedford Square and Jack was taken to his bedchamber, a near-dead body borne by pall bearers.

Tight-lipped, the doctor set to work.

“Hmm, the shot entered low by the left shoulder. Extensive damage to the underlying muscle.”

Never had Eulogy felt so afraid, her future happiness ebbing away with Jack’s life blood. She gripped his hand, lips moving in silent prayer. The doctor raised a brow.

“Go now, Miss. I’m going to remove the shot. It could get messy.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“I haven’t the time to argue. Don’t say you weren’t warned.” He snorted.

White faced, Eulogy nodded. “What can I do?”

“Not pass out for one thing,” then the medical man seemed to relent. “Talk to him. If he can hear you, it may help.”

The surgeon unrolled his instruments, dipping them in boiling water and set to work. For the first time, Eulogy felt glad Jack remained unconscious as the doctor probed the ugly wound. Fortunately, he was skilled and within minutes the shot was extracted, the wound lavaged and tissues repaired the best as any mortal man could. After rinsing his bloodied hands, the doctor turned to Eulogy.

“I’ll show you how to poultice the wound. Redress it twice a day…and pray infection doesn’t set in. If he’s still alive tomorrow, I’ll call in.”

Then the dreadful wait began.

 Jack drifted between the living and the dead; Eulogy sat in vigil, sleeping fitfully at his bedside. The following morning sweat beaded his brow and, calling on Dr. Foster’s knowledge, she debrided the fresh necrotic tissue, applied a clean poultice and then cooled his brow with damp flannels. She lost track of time, day blended into night and the pattern repeated and when, three days later, the fever finally abated and Jack’s eyes flickered open, Eulogy was too exhausted to feel anything but relief.

With the crisis over, day by day, Jack grew stronger. It seemed he would live and need all his strength to face fresh challenge: Eulogy’s anger.

Jack woke, disturbed by the rattle of rain against the window. In an instant, Eulogy was at his side.

“What time is it?” he asked, groggy and disorientated.

“Just gone noon.”

“Damn, I fell asleep again, didn’t I?”

Eulogy settled on the edge of his bed, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “It will do you good. How are you feeling?”

“All the better for seeing you.” Jack reached for her hand, but Eulogy pulled away. The disappointment on his face made a small part of her glad.

“Now, just because you’re feeling better, doesn’t mean that I’ve forgiven you.” She gave him her best governess stare and turned away to hide a smile. She’d come so close to losing Jack, the emotion still too raw to let him off the hook just yet. “Time for a dressing change.”

Jack wriggled upright, pushing himself up on his right elbow, grimacing as he turned his left shoulder toward Eulogy. “Have I told you recently what a fool I’ve been?”

“Yes.” Eulogy arranged the bandages in a neat line on the bedside table. “And if you say it often enough I may start to believe you.”

“Please, tell me, what you are thinking?”

Eulogy counted on her fingers. “Well, firstly, how pig headed you are…”

“I meant to protect you, not cause you to suffer.” Jack watched her with a chastened expression.

“Well you did!” She rounded on him, her large brown eyes glinting. “Did you think I prefer my reputation to a live husband? No, you didn’t think at all! Typical man, act first, think second! If Tristan hadn’t found out and your second hadn’t the foresight to send for a doctor, well you wouldn’t be here now.”

Her anger dissolved, leaving a quivering mess in its place. She sniffed. She’d meant to be cool, detached, not snivel like a girl, but there had been so much loss in her life.

“Eulogy, I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an idiot.”

“Yes you have! How could you? After I was robbed of my mother’s love...” A tear trickled unchecked down her cheek and she started to rock.

Jack spoke quietly. “I understand that now. It was the last thing I wished to do, to distress you so, only…”

“Only?” Eulogy shook her head. “I trusted you with my heart and this happens. I’m not sure if I truly know you at all.”

Tears blurred her vision. Her heart plummeted, a leaden weight in her chest. To trust this man would be to suffer torments, to open herself up to pain and hurt and perhaps it was better to armor herself against love now, never to weaken again.

“Eulogy no one regrets what happened more than me, but it wasn’t about my social position. I lost my temper, pure and simple. Devlin called you a whore, said you were using me and after last time I snapped. I can’t defend my actions, other than I love you so much.”

Eulogy sat very still. “So every time someone speaks ill of me, you challenge them to a duel?”

“No, dearest, of course not. I’ve learnt my lesson, and if he taunted me again, I’d walk away.”

“Hmmm.” She sucked her cheek. “I suppose if I was a man, and the woman I loved was maligned I might have done the same thing.”

“Does that mean,” Jack reached again for her hand, “that I am forgiven?”

A slow smile spread across her face. It was hard to stay cross at Jack for long. “I think we understand each other. As long as you promise to stay out of trouble.” She leaned forward and placed a fluttering kiss on his cheek. Jack groaned.

“Oh how I have missed your touch.”

“Hmm, then let me indulge you.” She winked, coquettishly.

Jack’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, I must see your body.”

Jack swallowed hard. “Well I am feeling stronger, but…”

“It’s time to change your dressing.”

“Oh.”

“U-uh. Now. Be a good patient and lean forward.”

Gently she unwound the bandage, caging her racing heart as she revealed Jack’s damaged shoulder. Inspecting the wound she gave a grunt of satisfaction.

“You’ve been lucky. I’ve seen stronger men than you die.”

“I am indeed fortunate to have such a dedicated nurse.”

She grinned back. “All right, you can stop that submissiveness now. I’ve decided to forgive you, so you can start being obnoxious again.”

The joy in Jack’s eye made her heart glad.

“For one thing,” she added softly, “I know of no other gentleman who has a painting of me in his dressing room.”

“Oh,” Jack’s pale cheeks found some color. “You saw it.”

“Farrell’s first portrait? Yes. He said an anonymous buyer had paid a ridiculous amount of money for it and it was you all along! Why?”

Jack’s color deepened. “Can’t you guess?”

Eulogy’s heart thudded against her ribs. “An investment to encourage Farrell?”

Jack laughed softly. “No, Eulogy my dear, because I loved you from the first moment I saw you only I was too cowardly to admit it, even to myself. I thought that by possessing your likeness, familiarity would blunt the searing emotion. Whereas in fact, it served to torture me.”

It was Eulogy’s turn to blush. Leaning forward she cradled her chin in her cupped hand, brushed a kiss across his lips. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

With his good arm he tried to pull her close, but with a grin she slipped away. “And another thing. Didn’t you consider that had you actually killed Devlin you’d hang for murder?”

“I thought we were letting the subject drop? Or do I need to distract you?” Jack regarded her with smoldering intensity. The heat in his gaze flustered her as with shaking hands she tidied away the bandages, conscious of the weight of Jack’s stare against her skin. Eulogy sensed he was only too happy to have her ranting at him like a fishwife, for, she realized with a start, it meant she cared. And cared very deeply she did. A wave of compassion washed away the anger. In a softer voice she continued.

“The irony is that the man I thought my father, Doctor Foster, taught me the skills to save your life. While my true father, Lord Devlin, treated life with contempt. So you throwing your life away to protect a name I no longer wish to claim, is…stupid…such a waste.”

“I understand that now and I’m sorry. What news of Lucien?”

Eulogy grew still. “The ton is alive with gossip. Word got out about the duel being over my parentage.”

“Did it now?”

“The ton was in shock when it realized the lengths Devlin had gone to just to hide the fact and people began to ask why.”

“And they concluded?”

“Just as you said, that he was in debt and an utter scoundrel. All his creditors called in his IOUs at once, and since he was unable to pay he has been ruined. Blackballed from his club, spurned by his so-called friends and banned from polite society. Oh, and Miss Washington cut him, made quite a show of it she did, so his hopes of marrying money are dashed. His only option is to flee abroad to avoid arrest for debt. I doubt we shall see him again in a very long time.”

Looking thoughtful, Jack settled back against the pillows. “So his scheming backfired?”

“Yes, but it also means...” Fidgeting, she toyed with her skirt. “We ought to postpone the wedding.”

“Why on earth!” Jack sat up, but grimaced with pain and collapsed back.

“People know of your involvement in the duel and it would be wise to keep a low profile.”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “I won’t wait. I want you for my wife as soon as I leave this bed. I want you acknowledged, to have the wedding of the season.”

 Eulogy took his hand. “The thought of a big wedding frightens me. All I want is you.”

“So.” A look of comprehension dawned on his face. “What would you like?”

She whispered, “I want you to be happy. But what I would really like is to marry at Easterhope, near the people I grew up with and care about.”

Jack’s eyes glistened. “My dearest love, then as soon as I can travel, that is exactly what we shall do.”

She chewed her lip. “I should like that. I should like that very much.…”

Jack patted the bed. “Come. Let me show you how much better I’m feeling.”

Their eyes locked and Eulogy felt as if she were falling under the spell of an invisible force pushing her to him. Gently he steered her chin, guiding her lips softly against his.

“I love you, Eulogy Foster.”

He fluttered a soft caress against her lower lip.

“And I love you, Jack Huntley.”

Jack reached up and ran a knuckle softly down her cheek. A pulse throbbed at the base of her neck as he cupped her face, drawing her down into his embrace.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she murmured.

“You could never hurt me.”

Drunk on his closeness, it seemed the most natural thing to fold back the covers and climb in beside him.

Chapter 23

A full hour before the service was due to begin, Jack strolled along the country lane towards the church, too restless to wait he needed to be active. His heart soared and tipping back his head, with uncharacteristic aplomb, he started to whistle. All around nature burst into life. The hawthorn dressed with snowy blossom, cherry trees cloaked in pink and the bright thrust of daffodils nodding in the verge. A breeze stirred the apple tree, which shed fluttering petals onto the path as he passed.

It had been Eulogy’s idea to marry at Easterhope, to be near her childhood friends, instead of being scrutinized by society. As usual, she was right. Theirs was a love match, not a show for the ton. Besides, Jack reflected, there was symmetry to her return. She’d left looking for a brother and returned with a husband.

With wings on his heart Jack entered the churchyard and saluted the blackbird trilling atop the porch roof. The lichen-stained church, part Norman, sat on the landscape like a cat on a cushion, the churchyard rising around it. Here rested the generations who had lived and died in Easterhope, peacefully resting amongst crocuses, daffodils and dandelions.

“My dear brother, there you are!” Gravel skittered as a well-built man in an immaculately cut jacket, strode through the lynch gate.

“Charles.” Jack gripped his brother’s hand. “When did you arrive?”