Lady Phillipa's Peril: Regency Romance Suspense Series ( Book 3) (Lords of Sussex 4) (17 page)

The dowager sat beside her son; her pretty face crumpled with grief, her small hand on his.  ‘Who would do this? He is so kind, so generous to everyone.’ She cried, gazing at Hector as he slept.

‘My ladyship, we will make sure no-one harms him here. I have my man Forbes, an old soldier and my valet to care for and protect him.

‘How is my dear son?’

‘He is strong, and has suffered flesh wounds, so he will recover well enough. It is just these next three days that we have to watch. I do not want him to take a fever. He needs complete rest and quiet.’

‘Do you think someone really shot him?’ Lily asked, her voice almost a whisper.

‘It looks like it does it not? Twice – once in the arm and then in the leg.’ Amelia said, looking with strained eyes at Phillipa. ‘That was no accident.’

‘Girls – girls.’ Her ladyship countered, ‘We will know more all in good time, now just speak softly, do not waken your brother.’

‘You say three days; the wedding is the day after tomorrow. Tis too soon.’ She said, looking up at Damien.

‘What will you do mama?’ Lily asked in a hushed voice.

‘I fear we must cancel the wedding. We cannot risk our darling’s health, nay his life. We must announce it to the guests. Oh dear, I fear some have travelled far to attend.’ She looked around to Phillipa, ‘My dear girl; I am so sorry; you must be overset with this. But take heart, the wedding is only postponed.’

‘I am just so relieved Hector will recover. I am sure you have the sympathy and support of the guests,’ Phillipa murmured, hating herself for her deceit, but somewhat mollified with the knowledge that she was saving the dowager from shame; her family’s reputation unimpeached from  the ignominy of the situation. She glanced over to Damien to see his frown. Was he too suffering from guilt?

He went over and felt his patient’s pulses. ‘All seems to be going well; his humours appear to be balanced; he is neither too hot nor cold. However, I think I should bleed and purge him tomorrow.  The bleed will improve his spirit of wellbeing.’

Rising, the dowager gave him her hand. ‘I am beholden to you, your grace. Please inform me if there is any change. I would like to speak with him when he is able.’

Damien bowled, ‘Of course your ladyship.’

As she left, a maid appeared to the door, ‘Message for Lady Phillipa, her parents and family are here and wish to speak with her.’

Phillipa leapt to her feet, but then looked at the dowager, ‘Shall I explain to them my lady?’

‘Yes of course my dear that would be most kind. I will give a general announcement shortly.’

As Phillipa left to visit with her family, she felt her stomach clench with anxiety. It would be most difficult, for she was so close to her mama, who read her every expression. Surely, she would know she was lying. Reaching their bedroom door, she straightened her spine, and tapped lightly.

Her youngest brother opened the door, a huge smile on his face, and beyond him were her family; she felt their love and their strength.  Why did she have to lie? Maybe she should come out with the truth. But then gazing at her mama, at the joy and pride on her lined but lovely face, she knew she could not; she must be strong and keep to their plan. Had not lady Amaryllis gone through the same thing?

Her mama clasped her in her arms. ‘Oh my darling girl, How is Hector? We hear he was shot in the hunt. What a terrible accident to happen and just before your wedding. Your brothers and sisters-in-law have gone to their rooms. We felt you would not want to be faced with such a crowd in this fracas. Come and sit down.’

Once seated, with her adoring young brother on the floor at her feet, she looked at her father. ‘I have just left him; he will recover.’

‘Good Lord in heaven. Shot. Where?’

‘Yes, in the arm and the upper thigh.  He was very lucky it did not hit the main artery, otherwise he would have bled to death.’

‘So who is attending him?’

Her heart jumped, 'Err, a physicker, actually it is the Duke of Denfordshire.’

‘Deuce, a duke – a physicker? ‘Her father appraised her with raised eyebrows, his ample moustache twitching. ‘Can’t be.’

‘Tis true papa.’

‘A duke resides in realms far above that of a menial physicker – even far above us indeed. Is he a  royal duke?’

‘No papa, neither is he sawbones, he is a physician, a worthy calling. He prefers to oversee the medical arrangements and is fighting to improve conditions.  As you know, the care of the wounded is pitiable. The French take far more care of their troops and the wounded.’

‘Hmm – strange fellow. Deuced strange. I supposed he’s from one of these tiny impoverished  estates.’

Phillipa felt her skin prickle, ‘I think not papa, indeed he does not stoop to the vulgar by bragging of his wealth. I am led to believe by others that he has unlimited blunt. Why he lived in Rome and Florence for some years studying under the masters, as well as researching ancient Greek medicine and philosophy?'’

‘Hmm, are you sure gal? Not hoodwinking you – what?’

‘Oh papa really. When he first presented himself to me, I took him to be a gallant officer and no more. I had a serious fall on the promenade, and he came to my rescue.’

‘Hmm – still a fishy business.’

‘Does it not say something of his station that he is free to choose what to do in the war effort? He is not alone in his vocation, a couple of his peers too practice medicine.’

Lady Frencham observed her daughter keenly; there was a flush to the girls face, a tension in her voice. She protested too ardently.  There was more afoot. Her daughter and this doctor must have discussed their affairs at length. However, it would not do to question Phillipa too closely, and especially not in front of company. She was a feisty young lady and would follow her own inclinations as far as propriety would allow and sometimes beyond that. She was secretly proud of her dear girl, in her confidence and her strength. In this modern generation, she would have need of both. Yet now and again, there was a streak of vulnerability, which was indeed quite endearing.

‘So how is our dear Hector now Phillipa?’

‘His grace has put him into an induced sleep.’

‘Oh dear, the wedding is so near. Will he recover in time?’

‘We fear not mama; the dowager has already informed me she is cancelling the wedding.  She will inform the guests later.’

‘Good lord, I am so sorry my dear; you must be distraught?’

‘Not about the wedding no.’ At least Phillipa could be truthful on that count. ‘I do feel sorry for the guests; some have made such a long journey, travelling over days to get here.’

‘Hmm, well it can’t be helped m’dear. We shall see what the dowager has to say later. I hope we may be allowed to see Hector?’

‘Well he will sleep overnight and then Damien will decide what to do.’

‘Damien?’ her father snorted. ‘This will not do young lady. Where are your manners? To address him by his familiar name is the height of impropriety. Pray how so intimate, so soon?’

‘Papa, we have known each other for some days and are good friends.’ Phillipa clenched her teeth, how could she make such a slip? Now papa would ruminate on such a lapse for days. It was obvious he was up in the boughs about it, and would take some time to come down from them.  

‘Doesn’t excuse such a breach in etiquette. I know not what this younger generation is coming to.’ He said in superior tones, crossing his arms over his ample chest.

Lady Frencham bit her lip; she had to break this up quickly, ‘Have you prayed for Hector yet?’

‘No, his grace, has been too busy tending to his needs.’

‘Well prayer is an important part of the healing process, just as important as medication, the best physicians practice it as part of their treatment. We shall be happy to oblige shall we not my lord?’ She glanced over to Lord Frencham, who still sat fuming with redden cheeks and twitching moustache. ‘Indeed,’ the baroness continued, I am inclined to think most of the guests will do the same.’

‘Thank you mama that will aid his recovery considerably. Dami … the duke does talk of bleeding him in the morning. He does have the best of leeches.’

‘Hmm, so the good doctor travels with all his equipment then?’

Phillip smiled; her mother was as ever very sharp and inquisitive.

‘Yes; at first, he did not intend staying here, as he has his quarters on the other side of Brighton, but Hector invited him, so he then sent for his clothes and medical supplies. He said he does not travel far without them; a doctor is often called out as an emergency.’

Her father was not ready to let the matter go. ‘So how does Hector feel about you addressing the duke by his familiar then?’

‘Papa, we are all friends together; he did not even notice, neither did I really.’

‘Good God, all this familiarity, Egad, if Hector is indisposed, then tis best you return home with us young lady.’

‘Oh papa, I am engaged to Hector; we are to be married as soon as possible.’ Phillipa tried not to colour up, as she lied. ‘The dowager and her family are ample chaperones. ‘

‘Hmm, well we’ll see about that.’

Phillipa looked at her mama, who subtly winked, reassuring her daughter that all would be well. She knew papa was in for a 'curtain lecture' in the privacy of their own home.  When Lady Frencham made up her mind on something, invariably she had her way. Phillipa knew her father could huff, puff and splutter as much as he might, in the end it was his lady wife’s decision. 

The dowager held her counsel, but the rumours were rife. People sought out the family members, questioned the servants, harangued the butler and the housekeeper and short of invading Hector’s room, were near to hysteria.

Summoning Phillipa to her boudoir, she said, ‘My dear, the opines of the guests are at fever point, I fear I must not delay in allaying their fears.  I wish you to accompany me to the landing, from where I can deliver the news, such as it is at present. I have already called upon the servants to usher the guests into the main hall.’

Phillipa looked down on the guests chattering amongst themselves. From the expressions on their faces, it appeared they feared the direst consequences of Hector’s shooting.  Fifty pairs of eyes looked up at the diminutive figure of the dowager, as the butler called for attention. Her voice rang out, echoing against the stone walls of the manor. ‘My Lords, ladies and gentlemen, earlier this afternoon, as you may have heard, Lord Hector suffered injuries from a shooting accident. However, the good news is that with care and rest, he will recover. Because of this, it is with deep regret that I have to inform you we are forced to cancel the wedding.’

Remarks flew through the air,

‘Oh poor, poor boy.’

‘Was it really an accident?’

‘Was it attempted murder.’

Reassuring her guests, with a strong emphasis on the word ‘accident’, she informed them that on the morrow, a sumptuous meal would be prepared before their departure. Some had already had the pleasure of staying a few days, so she fervently hoped they enjoyed a happy respite, but for those who had just arrived, then of course she would expect them to stay for as long as it took them to make their arrangements.

The dinner in the evening was a sombre affair with muted comments, as the guests were well aware that Lord Hector was in need of his rest, uninterrupted with any noise of merriment. After dinner, the guests repaired to the long drawing room, where Vicar Thomson addressed them, calling on them to join him in prayer for the recovery of Lord Hector. He assured them the Duke of Denfordshire would be eternally grateful for such a powerful aid to his treatment of the young lord. Happily tonight, Vicar Thomson was more interested in his port wine, than his usual loquacious and boringly long lecture, so he rapidly led them into prayer, ending with a short benediction.

The gentlemen departed to enjoy the new fashion of smoking cigars, whilst the ladies sipped their sherry or tea, discreetly gossiping over the numerous reasons for the accident. Of course, they took care to whisper behind their fans of any scandal. In due course, the gentlemen joined the ladies, whereupon they were treated to a recital by a quartet of musicians, and spiritual songs by the leading soprano of the church choir, renowned for her raucous warbling and the occasional flat note. The audience politely clapped with relief when she refused any more encores.

Phillipa mused on her father’s perturbation on her calling Damien by his familiar. It was a silly slip of the tongue, but never mind, mama would sort it out in her intrepid fashion. But then would papa agree to her joining Hector on the voyage to Brussels if they were unmarried.  Damien said he thought the voyage possible and was certain Hector would insist on it. Nothing would stop the Corinthian going to war.  Even if she had the twins as chaperones, she knew her father could be really prickly. She sighed, maybe she should inform her mama of the true situation, give her more ammunition in persuading her father. Her mother would surely be ecstatic at the idea of her marrying a duke, after all the rank of baron was far below that of a duke. To her, Damien could have been a Cit, and she still would have gladly married him.

Dismissing Mary for the night, Phillipa sat brushing her hair.  Why was papa so old fashioned? She had reached her majority, so she could make and act on her decisions.

She did not see the panel slide slowly to one side, or hear Demetrius as he stepped stealthily into the room. Hidden by the canopy of the four posters, he stood watching her, his body stirring with desire. How easy it was; soon he would divest this little dove of her feathers.  Putting down her hair brush, Phillipa rose from the chair, and slipped out of her chemise. Walking over to the bed, she picked up her nightrail, examining the fine point lace, but then  gasped as she felt a hot breath on her ear, heard a voice whisper, ‘No – no my little chit, you have no need of that.’

She caught her breath, ‘What?’ swinging around; she looked into the leering face of Demetrius. Covering her body with the nightrail, she cried, ‘Go away – go away. What do you want?’

‘I think that is evident.’ Swiftly, his eyes sucked in her body, travelling from the sloping shoulders to the swell of her tilted breasts, to the softly rounded belly. His voice thickened, as he moved towards her. ‘Love me Phillipa.’ 

‘Get out – get out now, or I shall scream for help.’

‘No-one will hear you.’

‘The duke is next door with Hector; he will kill you.’

‘There is another room between us, and besides tis the maid who sits with your dear Hector. Come; let me suck your skin whiter than milk.’

Moving swiftly, she ran to the dressing table only to feel his arms clamp around her bending her over the dressing table. In the flurry, she managed to open the drawer enough to scrabble around, her fingers searching for sharp steel. As he groaned, slobbering over her neck, her fingers touched the scissors, instantly she brought them up stabbing the tip into his ear. ‘Ouch – ouch – you bitch. What was that?’

He staggered away, the blood streaming from the ear lobe. His eyes widened as he saw the scissors. Why you evil little….’  He lunged towards her. ‘You don’t think scissors will stop me?’

She cried out, as he moved like lightning, grabbing her wrist and forcing her to drop them.  Lifting her high, he carried her sobbing to the bed. ‘Damien.’ She screamed ‘Hector – someone help me.’

‘No one will hear you, you little innocent. Throwing her on the bed he crawled over, lifting her two hands above her head. He laughed, ‘Now we have all night. You’ll have to marry me.’

‘Get off her – damn you get off.’ She heard Damien’s voice and wept with relief. She saw him tower over them, his hands clamping down on Demetrius’s shoulders, tearing him off her. Throwing him across the room, he plunged after him.

Phillipa shuddered, grabbing the top sheet, covering her nakedness.

Damien lifted her assailant off the floor and dragged him to the window. ‘You devil – I could kill you for this.  He slammed Demetrius’s head against the window, cracking the glass.

Phillipa cried out, ‘Don’t Damien – don’t, you'll kill him.’