The Sherbrooke Bride (15 page)

“Her sister, Lady Melissande, said her ladyship, the temporary one who lies here, was never ill. She said it was most likely a ruse to gain your sympathy, but that she said it was her duty to come and see for herself.”

“Oh God,” said Douglas, whipping around toward the door, as if expecting Melissande to appear at any instant.

“She's not here, my lord.”

“How did you stop her?”

“I told her if Her Ladyship wasn't pretending illness, it was very possible that she could catch the fever herself and that a fever immediately ruined a lady's looks for the rest of her life. I told her a fever always left spots on a lady's face.”

Douglas could only stare at his valet. “My God, that was well done of you.”

“Lord Rathmore agreed that this was so, that he himself had witnessed such phenomena as nursing spots many times before. He said that it shouldn't deter her, though. He commended her on her selflessness. He nicely inquired if she would like him to drive her here to see her sister, to tend to her herself if she was indeed ill and not playacting. Lady Melissande shrieked. Quite loudly. Lord Rathmore laughed.”

“You did well, Finkle, as did my cousin, the bounder. Now, since I must, since there is no one else, I will go back to the chit and see to her. Why didn't Mrs. Peacham come with you?”

“She and Hollis decided it wasn't the right thing to do.”

“Ha! Hollis decided that and you know it, damn his interfering hide! Why he wants this chit to remain as the Countess of Northcliffe is beyond me. You'd think he would remember where his loyalties should lie.”

Finkle merely looked at his master. “You disappoint me, my lord,” he said and left Douglas to himself.

“Well, hell,” Douglas said. Within minutes he was
under the covers next to Alexandra, knowing even before realizing it that she was cold again. Cold from the inside out.

He supposed it was later that night when she was snuggled against him, both of them naked and warm, that he considered accepting her. It would please her, no doubt about that. It would make her deliriously happy, no doubt about that either. After all, she'd tried to seduce him. She was a lady, a young lady of impeccable breeding and upbringing who had, nevertheless, stripped off her clothes in front of him. Well, he just might keep her. Perhaps she would come to suit him as well as any other young lady. The good Lord knew that her father would fall on his knees with prayers of thanksgiving to heaven. Everyone would be delighted, except perhaps him. Ah, but she would probably come to suit him as well as any other female.

It was a pity that she wasn't as beautiful as Melissande.

But no young lady on the face of the earth was as beautiful as Melissande.

There was no point in trying to locate another female to match her beauty. On the other hand, he wouldn't have to watch every man who came in sight of Alexandra for signs of complete besottedness. Nor would he have to worry that she would flirt with the men she'd rendered besotted. He frowned at that thought, for Melissande didn't just flirt; she flirted outrageously. She basked in the flow of compliments men rained upon her beautiful head. He wondered then, for the first time, if Tony hated the effect she had on every nondead male between the ages of ten and eighty who saw her. He wondered if some day he would ask his cousin.

He doubted it. He still wanted to kill Tony.

Alexandra cried out softly beside him. Without conscious thought Douglas kissed her forehead and drew her closer.

What to do?

He would think about it. He imagined the relief, the joy on her face were he to tell her that he had decided to keep her.

Why not make her deliriously happy?

I
T FELT REALLY
rather good. She was alive, truly, honestly alive.

Alexandra took a deep breath and was relieved that it didn't hurt too much. She felt absurdly weak, so weak in fact that when she spotted the glass of water on the small table beside the bed, she didn't have the strength to get to it, and oh, did she ever want it.

She did manage to turn onto her side and raise her arm toward the glass. She was near to tears of frustration when the bedchamber door opened and Douglas looked in.

“You're awake. How do you feel?”

She stared at the water, saying in a low hoarse voice, “Thirsty. Please, I'm so thirsty.”

He was there in but a moment. He sat beside her, brought her head against his shoulder, picked up the glass, and efficiently put it to her lips. “Why didn't you call me? I wasn't all that far away, no more than twelve feet.”

She closed her eyes in bliss. The water tasted wonderful. Douglas allowed only a trickle but it was just fine with her. To swallow was a chore.

When she finished nearly half the glass, he set it down, but continued to hold her. He repeated, “Why
didn't you call me? Tom's cottage isn't all that large, you know. I would have heard you.”

“I didn't think about it.”

“Why not? You haven't been taking care of yourself. I have been taking care of you and I've done a rather good job of it. You do remember that, don't you?”

“What day is it?”

He frowned down at her, but said, “It's Wednesday, early afternoon. You were very ill for only a day and a half. With my good doctoring, you'll be just fine now.”

“How is your head?”

“My head is filled with its own importance again.”

“Are we still in Tom O'Malley's cottage?”

“Yes, as I said, you should have called me if you needed anything. Finkle has returned to Northcliffe Hall to fetch a carriage. You'll be in your own bed soon.”

“I don't have any clothes on.”

“I know.”

“I don't like it. You're dressed and I'm not.”

“Should you like me to bathe you now and help you to dress? It's the old gown you were wearing but at least it's dry.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Nastiness won't help your recuperation.” He held up his hand. “All right, stubbornness, then. I should realize that you're never nasty. No, don't berate me. You're not even stubborn, it's maidenly sensibility that directs your every word. I think I should simply bundle you up in blankets and take you back to the hall that way.”

One hour later, the earl's crested carriage pulled up in front of Northcliffe Hall, the two matched
grays blowing and snorting in the warm afternoon sunlight. The earl stepped out of the carriage carrying his countess in his arms.

Douglas stopped cold in his tracks when there came loud cheering from his staff. He stared toward Hollis, who was grinning like a wily old fox. He was responsible for this outpouring, of that Douglas had no doubt. He wondered if Hollis had paid the servants to give this wondrous cheerful homecoming. He would tell him a thing or two as soon as he deposited Alexandra in her bed.

She said nothing. He realized that her eyes were closed and that she was limp as a sweaty handkerchief in his arms.

He leaned his head down and whispered, “It's all right. It's natural for you to feel weak. Just a few more minutes and I'll have you tucked up.”

“Why are all your people cheering?”

Because Hollis bribed and threatened them to.
“They're pleased we're alive and back.”

She retreated into silence again. He saw Melissande at the top of the stairs, looking so utterly delectable he swallowed convulsively. Her lovely face was pale, and she was wringing her hands. Her incredible eyes were brimming with tears of concern, yet she didn't move closer to her sister.

“Alex? Are you all right? Truly?”

Alexandra roused herself and lifted her head from Douglas's shoulder. “Yes, Melissande, I will be just fine now.”

“Good,” said Tony, coming up to stand beside his wife. “We hear from Finkle that Douglas has been taking very good care of you. He never left your side for a single moment.”

Melissande said loudly, “I would have been the one to care for you, Alex, but Tony wouldn't allow it. He didn't want me to endanger myself, but oh, I wanted to. I did pray for you.”

“That's right,” Tony said. “On her knees every night.”

“Thank you,” Alexandra said, turning her face against Douglas's shoulder.

“You're not contagious any more, are you?”

“No, Mellie, she isn't contagious. You won't contract any spots.”

“Don't call me that horrid name!”

Tony clutched a handful of Melissande's thick glorious black hair and bent his wife back against his arm, reminiscent of Mrs. Bardsleys's finest heroes. He then kissed her and kept kissing her until she was quiescent. He raised his head and grinned down at her, then over at Douglas, who looked fit to kill him.

He said calmly, belying the racing of his heart from kissing his wife, “I have saved you a great deal of vexation and aggravation, Douglas. One of these years you will realize it. Her temperament is not that of a devoted nurse. I have discovered that she needs constant attention to her various needs, and they are many and diverse. Believe me, Douglas.”

Melissande gasped and struck her fists against Tony's chest.

He laughed and kissed her again, hard. “ ‘Twas a compliment, love.”

“It didn't sound like one to me,” Melissande said, her voice laden with suspicion. “Are you certain?”

“More certain than I am of the color of my stallion's fetlock.”

“In that case, I'll forgive you.”

“That is handsomely done of you, Mellie. Very handsomely done.”

Douglas stomped away in angry silence toward the countess's bedchamber.

“Damned bounder,” he said finally under his breath, but not under enough.

“He deals well with her,” Alexandra said, wonder in her voice. “It is amazing.”

Douglas cursed floridly.

“I can't imagine why my father would think you a good influence on Reginald. He has not heard the foul level of vocabulary you have.”

“I see you're feeling much better. I'm relieved because I've gotten behind in my estate work taking care of you. I trust you'll keep to your bed for a while and leave me in peace.”

He could feel that broom handle stiffening her back and he regretted his hasty words, but he'd said them and they would remain said. She'd deserved every one of them. She was stiff and starchy and she galled him, shoving him on the defensive, and it both surprised and angered him.

Alexandra said nothing. There was a young maid—Tess was her name, Douglas said—and she would see to her ladyship's needs. “Also,” Douglas continued, “Mrs. Peacham will doubtless fill your craw to overflowing with advice and potions and all sorts of invalid dishes. Deal with her as you wish to but know that she means well.”

He left her. Alex slept the remainder of the day. Mrs. Peacham herself brought a beautiful silver tray filled with at least a half-dozen selections to tempt a mending patient. “His Lordship said I was to stay with you until you ate enough,” Mrs. Peacham announced as she sat herself down in a wing chair
next to Alexandra's bed. It seemed to Alexandra that she counted every bite she took.

“Where is His Lordship?”

Mrs. Peacham looked uncomfortable, but for just an instant, then she nodded. “You know, my lady, gentlemen aren't really the thing in a sickroom. They're all thumbs and confusion and contradiction.”

“He wasn't at all confused at Tom's cottage. He was a tyrant, but he knew well what he was doing.”

“Well, now, that was quite different, wasn't it?”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” Alexandra said, and began on another dish, this one of stewed potatoes and peas, that Mrs. Peacham uncovered for her. She spent the evening alone. Neither her husband nor her sister came to see her.

She felt very sorry for herself.

When she slept, it was fitfully. She dreamed, a similar dream to the one she'd had before. A beautiful young lady was standing beside her, motionless, just looking down at her. She looked all floaty and insubstantial, very beautiful but also frightened. It was strange. She wanted to speak but she didn't. Somehow Alexandra knew this. She wanted to warn her about something and Alex knew this as well even though she didn't know how she knew it. The lady came closer to her, bent down until she could touch her face, then she retreated suddenly nearly back to the door. Once she raised her arms in supplication. It was very odd. The dream ebbed and flowed until Alexandra brought herself awake at dawn. Because she'd been locked so tightly into the dream, because it had been so very real, she found herself looking into every corner of her bedchamber. Her room was empty, of course. She realized she
needed to relieve herself. She reached for the bell but knew she couldn't wait.

The chamber pot was behind a screen not more than twelve feet from her bed. Just twelve feet. No great distance.

Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed. At least Tess had helped her into one of her nightgowns so she didn't have to worry about the dressing gown that was laid over a chair in the other direction from the chamber pot. She closed her eyes for a moment against the memory of Douglas dealing with her needs while she was quite without a stitch on. He'd looked his fill at her, that was certain, for there had been no one to gainsay him, no one else to see to her. She'd heard whispers that gentlemen were many times victims to their baser natures and that was why a young lady had to take such care with her person. If she did not exercise sufficient caution, why then, it would be her fault if the gentleman suddenly became a ravening beast. She'd been unable to exercise any caution whatsoever and evidently Douglas had been bored with what he'd seen; hadn't he already rejected her?

Well, she'd been ill and helpless then. She wasn't now.

She rose and quickly grabbed the intricately carved bedpost, clutching at a cherub's fat neck. How could she still be so weak?

She took a step, was successful, then took another. Three more shuffling steps and she had to release the cherub. The screen that hid the chamber pot looked to be two villages and a turnpike away still.

She sighed and released the cherub. She stood there, weaving back and forth, then gained her balance. “I will make it,” she said over and over, her
eyes on that screen. “I will not shame myself and fall into a heap on the floor.”

When she weaved against a chair, then grabbed its back for balance, the wretched thing went skidding across the polished floor into the desk, jarring it so that the ink pot went flying, spewing black ink to the floor and onto the exquisite Aubusson carpet just beyond. Two books hit the floor with resounding thuds. Alexandra, so frustrated and furious that she wanted to yell, just stood there, dizzy and weak, wanting to kill.

The person who obligingly came through the adjoining door was a perfect victim. It was Douglas and he was hastily knotting a belt around his dressing gown as he came toward her.

“What is all the commotion? What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

She wished she had a cannon. Or a knife. Even a bow and arrow. “What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking my morning constitutional. Doesn't everyone do that at dawn?”

“Damnation, you're destroying my home!”

She followed his line of vision to the awful stream of black ink that was quickly soaking into the carpet, raised her chin, and declared, “Yes, I am. I hate Northcliffe Hall and I fully intend to wreck everything before I leave. This is but my opening salvo.”

Douglas, realizing that she was about to fall on her face, quickly strode to her and grasped her arms to hold her upright. “What are you doing out of bed?”

She couldn't believe how obtuse he was. “I was going down to the kitchen for some warm milk.”

“Absurd! You couldn't even make it halfway across your room.”

“Of course I can. I have a meeting with Mrs. Peacham to talk about replacing all the linens. The ones on my bed smell like moth bait.”

“Alexandra, I would that you cease this nonsense and—”

“Damn you, don't be so stupid! I must relieve myself!”

“Oh, well that's different.”

“Just go away. I hate you. Go away and leave me be.”

Douglas frowned down at her. He was still firmly set upon his plan to make her deliriously happy by accepting her as his wife, but she didn't particularly seem in the mood to be the recipient of this proffered bliss. He'd left her alone the previous evening, wanting her to rest, wanting her to regain some strength before he made her the happiest woman on earth. And now here she was acting like a termagant, acting as if he were the devil himself, acting as if she weren't at all pleased to see him. And he was her husband and he'd taken fine care of her.