Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance (17 page)

On that bracing note, she left the room.

And Ian found a shiver of dread crossing his skin at the implications of the maid’s words.

He quickly readied himself for the night, and although he wanted to hold his wife close, he knew she’d be better with room to move. So he pulled a large chair as close as possible to the bed and made himself comfortable, reaching out to touch Amelia’s hand as he did so.

She turned toward him and closed her fingers around his, still asleep.

He smiled, happy that in some strange way she knew he was there and would keep watch over her.

He hoped he could also keep her safe, and mulled over the events of his day. It had been a simple matter to get any progress on her court case delayed. A quick word with his supervisors, and a note was dispatched to Sir Percy at the magistrate’s office explaining the situation. Dr. Pennyhaven’s credentials had been approved and a response arrived just after lunch, informing Ian that the Magistrate sent his best wishes for Mrs. McPherson’s speedy recovery. At that time they would review matters and decide how best to proceed with the current court case.

With that out of the way, Ian had been able to turn his attention to the business of finding out more about the Springers.

He was on his way to the Records office when a lad peered in from one of the hallway doors and caught his attention by waving a note at him.

Since he knew the lad, he let him in, gave him sixpence for his trouble and took the note.

What it contained disturbed him deeply and remained on his mind as he sat and held his sleeping wife’s hand. He wasn’t even sure if he should tell her or not. It was one of those dreadful dilemmas he much preferred to avoid, but since this was his wife, he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

He looked at the bed. She was sleeping, but didn’t seem too restful. Clinging to his hand, she moved often, shifting her head or her limbs as if trying to find a more comfortable position.

Ian worried. He was a practical man and knew of illnesses and the toll they took. But it was out of his hands, now, and all he could do was wait.

Amelia’s world was one of pain, fear, heat and the strangest notions. She was flying like a bird over thick green forests and rolling golden hills. No, she was sailing in a boat, trying to find Ian, but she couldn’t find him and everyone was speaking in a language she couldn’t understand.

Her head hurt. Why did her head hurt? Had she fallen?

She whimpered. “Mama, where are you. I hurt so badly…”

“Where, darling?” A man’s voice answered.

“Papa, you shouldn’t be here. You know you hate women’s business. Where’s Mama?”

“She will be here in a little while. She asked me to look after you while she stepped out.”

Amelia couldn’t puzzle her way through that. “No. Mama’s not coming back.” Her voice fell flat. “I’m hot. So hot. Maybe I’m in hell where Mama is.”

“Your Mama is not in hell, sweetheart.”

“You said she was. You said all bad women go there. You said I’d go there too. Not Georgie though. She’s a good girl, you said. You loved her. Didn’t love me.”

“Hush, darlin’. I know your Mama loves you dearly.”

“I hope so.” Amelia started to cry, the hiccupping sobs of a little girl who doesn’t know which way to turn or who to ask for help.

“I’m here, sweetheart, hold my hand.”

A cool cloth came down on her heated brow and for a moment she sighed with relief. “Good. That’s good.”

“I know. Here’s another one.” A cloth swept over her neck and across her chest, then her arm was lifted and the sweet relief stroked over the skin there as well.

“I am going to die, I know.” She sobbed again, her voice growing hoarse. “I can’t move for the pain. It’s too much and I can’t stand it.”

“Here, lass. Drink. It’s almost midnight…”

The soft burr sparked something in her mind and Amelia drank the strange tasting tea. It soothed her throat, so she finished the cup, leaning back with little strength left after the last swallow.

She ached—oh how she ached. And she was so very, very
hot
…

Ian’s heart was racing. Amelia was beyond him, out of touch, drifting into some strange place in her mind that bore no resemblance to any reality. He knew the crisis of the fever was on her as she tossed and turned, mumbling things now and again, words he couldn’t make out.

He couldn’t decide if he should call someone, then asked himself who that would be? Who could do more? Even Dr. Pennyhaven couldn’t help at this point. It was a matter of time.

He bathed her searing hot skin, cooled her as best he could and then replaced the blankets she’d kicked off in her feverish struggles.

It was exhausting, for both of them, and Amelia soon subsided into a shuddering, shivering bump beneath the covers.

He moved from the chair, lying on top of the blankets, wrapping her in them snugly and then in this arms, willing his heat and strength into the body of this woman he’d come to love beyond all measure. He would not lose her. He could not lose her. It was unthinkable.

Thus entangled, the exhaustion and worry of the day finally took its toll and Ian fell asleep.

It must have been two or three hours later when he awoke; the candles were almost gutted and the fire had burned low. His first thought was for Amelia.

Turning, his heart missed several beats.

She was lying still, so very still. Not a movement, a moan or a twitch of a muscle.

Terrified, he reached out a shaking hand to touch her face.

It was
wet
.

The fever had broken at last.

He wanted to cry with relief, but knew that now he must keep her dry and warm. So without a second thought he stripped her of her sodden nightgown and took a soft towel to her, drying every inch.

When she started to shiver—from the cool temperatures not the fever—he wrapped her in a flannel robe he found near the bed, then put her where he had been sleeping on dry blankets.

She sighed a little as he tucked her up snugly, and went to stoke up the fire. Twice more during the night he did the same thing, using the linens he found stacked in one corner of the room.

As the dawn broke, Ian found himself with a large pile of laundry and a wife who slept like a babe.

Which, all things considered, was about the best way he could think of to greet a new day.

*~~*~~*

“Are we expecting Ian for breakfast?” Charles brought his plate to the table.

“Not sure,” said Lucius, swallowing down eggs. “I think he had a late night.”

“How’s Amelia doing, anyone know?” Dev poured tea for himself, having dismissed Baxter on the grounds that it was only family and they could very well do for themselves for once.

“Not yet. I think our wives will be looking in on her as soon as they’re dressed. Or at least mine will.” Lucius looked at Dev. “Pass the jam?”

“When are we going to tell them our news?” Charles looked smug as he munched toast.

“We should tell Ian first, I think. He was out so late that I didn’t see him at all last night. Did any of you?”

Heads were shaken.

“Well then, Ian first. Then he can decide what to do with the information.” Dev’s decisive tone settled the matter and the three men made a hearty breakfast for themselves.

Which was pointed out by their wives when they arrived in the parlor not twenty minutes later.

“Did you eat
all
the bacon?” Hannah stuck her forefinger into her husband’s chest as he bent to kiss her.

“I did not.” He protested his innocence and stole a quick taste of her lips. “Dev and Lucius helped.”

“Hey.” Lucius tenderly seated Julia at the table. “Food, dear?”

She shook her head, looking a bit white around the gills. “Not yet. Just tea.”

Baxter entered the room with two servants bearing replacement covers. “For the ladies, sir,” he murmured to Dev. “We assumed that your repast—that is yours and your gentlemen friends—would make drastic inroads on the initial servings.” He took the cover off a smaller dish. “And Cook suggested this for Lady Gordon.”

She heard him. “What is it, Baxter?”

“Dry toast, my Lady.”

“Oh excellent. Please give her my most profound thanks, and regards. And bring that toast over here…”

Léonie was the last to enter. “I just checked upstairs. All is well. The fever broke sometime before dawn, so Amelia is now sleeping normally. Ian is also sleeping normally, since it seems he was up with her most of the night.” She beamed at them all. “We’re over the worst of it, thank God.”

There was a round of applause and a sigh of relief. Nobody wanted to see Ian go through the hell of losing the woman he loved.

And not one man at the table could even begin to imagine how painful that would be. They’d fought for, and won, their women, albeit in different ways. But the love and respect they bore for them…well it transcended words.

“So who’s going to tell him when he comes down, then?” Charles went back to his original question, reaching over Lucius’s head for a piece of toast.

Lucius ducked, avoiding the arm and the toast in the same smooth maneuver. “For God’s sake, sit down, Charles. You’ll drive us all to bedlam if you don’t settle. There, look. Next to Hannah.”

Charles pouted, but did as he was bid, smiling at his wife and pointing at the teapot. “More please?”

She filled his cup and passed the milk jug. “I suppose it ought to be you who imparts the news. After all, your chums in the Horse Guards are the ones who really filled in the details.”

“Well, not to disagree, but the Earl of March was also quite forthcoming.” Dev added his mite.

“And the club was a mine of information as well. Especially Samuel the doorman.”

“Finally forgiven you for that rather distressing moment that ruined his shoes, has he?” Charles chuckled.

It earned him a glare from Lucius. “I’ll ignore that comment as unworthy of a response. But with all our newfound facts at hand, I think Ian will be quite pleased with our day’s work.”

“I’m sure I will be. Once I know it, that is.”

Ian walked into the room, smiling at the sight of his friends tucking in to breakfast and chatting with all the good nature and enthusiasm of a room full of schoolchildren who all like each other.

It was a rare and beautiful thing, and he said so. “This is a rare and beautiful thing before my eyes.”

Silence fell. Then Dev broke it. “Oh God. He’s caught the ague now.”

“Hush.” Ian grinned. “I’m fine, ma wife’s doin’ well an’ I’ve an appetite that a whole cow wouldn’t satisfy. But some eggs will do fer a start…”

“Better feed him. He’s coming over all Scottish…” Hannah winked at him and passed him a plate so that he could help himself from the serving dishes on the sideboard.

“So there’s news, now, then?” He settled himself and began his meal.

“There is indeed,” answered Charles. “Do you want it now, or when you’re done?”

“Now, lad. Definitely now.” Ian munched bacon and buttered toast. He discovered he truly was incredibly hungry. “Go ahead and fill my mind while I fill the rest of me.”

“Very well.” Charles squared his shoulders. “We’ve all pursued the Springer family history, in different ways. And what we’ve discovered might well prove to be sufficient for the Magistrate to dismiss the case against Amelia.”

Ian blinked. “Is that so?”

Lucius nodded. “Yes, we think so. But I’ll let Charles start.”

“Thanks.” Charles nodded at Lucius, then turned to Ian. “I have a few old friends in the Horse Guards, and I had a vague recollection that one of them knew a Springer in some capacity. It was very vague, but I thought it was worth exploring in this context. So I went over there and discovered I was right. Lucy Springer, Lionel and Mabel’s daughter, was married to the Right Honourable Harry Francis. Harry served in the same regiment as my friend, but was killed at Salamanca.”

“Aha.” Ian poured himself some tea. “So we have a name. Lucy Springer.”

Lucius took over the story. “Indeed we do. My conversation with friends at my club was a little different, but it confirmed that the Springer family was known to be unstable. Several people had blackballed Lionel Springer’s membership club applications after word got out about an incident with a whip and a stable boy. All hushed up of course. Money can silence the most hideous of crimes. But there are more than a few rumors about the family and none of them good.”

“Any of this Lucy? She interests me.” Ian tipped his head and looked at Lucius.

“Actually I got that part,” said Dev, managing to appear quietly modest and yet gloat at the same time.

“Don’t do that, darling. You’ll annoy everyone and it’s too early.” Léonie rebuked her husband gently.

He sighed. “Well then. Lucy Francis, neé Springer, did not respond well to the loss of her husband. She grieved in a most dramatic and terrible way, finally ending up in a private sanitarium for several months.” He looked around. “The Springer instability showing up in the next generation, I’d guess.”

“You got this from the Earl of March?”

“I did,” nodded Lucius. “He was quite troubled, since Lucy’s father was close to having the poor girl committed to Bedlam, and had consulted with the Earl on the proper procedures.”

“Good God.” Julia put down her toast and stared. “That’s…that’s
awful
.”

“Indeed it is.” Lucius reached out and touched his wife’s arm. “Can’t imagine it, myself, but Springer was quite set on it. Not sure what changed his mind, but eventually she was returned to her family and the next Season she made an appearance in Society once more.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “And this would be about the time Amelia was the reigning Incomparable, I’m guessing?”

“You’d be guessing correctly,” approved Lucius. “Now I cannot say who it was that Lucy fixed upon as her next husband. The Earl had no idea. But he did say that the poor girl ended her own life, after being disappointed in love. And that was it. All the information he had.”

There was silence in the room as everyone digested the information along with breakfast.

Ian was especially thoughtful, turning the information over in his mind, this way and that, putting the puzzle pieces together.

Finally, he touched his napkin to his lips and stood. “I must see Lionel Springer. This cannot be allowed to continue.”

The three men rose as one. “I agree,” nodded Dev. “I’ll come with you.

“As will I.”

“And I.”

Ian hesitated. “I canna say what your support means to me, my friends. But are you sure you want to be a part of what might turn ugly?”

“If we’re there, it won’t.” Dev’s simple statement closed the argument.

“Very well then. Springer’s, it is.”

“But what about us?” Julia grabbed her husband’s arm. “What do you want us to do?”

“Well now that Amelia’s on the mend, you could keep her company for a bit,” said Charles.