A Companion for Life (12 page)

Twenty minutes later his carriage steps were
finally being lowered. Grabbing the box of bonbons he instructed
the footmen to bring in the other packages. He was humming a waltz
until the front door was opened by a weeping chamber maid, causing
instant unease. “Where’s Jones?”

“Upstairs…attending Master William…”

“Is Mrs Bowen awake?” The young lady merely
cried harder. Penryth wasn’t aware of the box of bonbons slipping
from his hand. Was he running up the stairs or were the stairs
moving underneath his feet? An ominous drum beat warned him to
hurry. His bedchamber door was wide open. She wasn’t on the bed.
She wasn’t near the fire. “Lily?” There was no answer. He was
several feet inside before he consciously saw the large trail of
blood leading to a far corner of the room. The drum beat faster as
he realized the mound of white silk in the same corner was his
wife. Sliding over the gruesome path he fell on his knees beside
the body slumped forward against the wall. |Blood covered hands lay
limp beside her as her open eyes stared unseeing out of deathly
pale skin. “Jones…Jones!” His tight throat screamed the name as his
shaking hand pressed against her chest. Her heart was still
beating; she was alive. “Lily! Can you hear me?” There was no
response. Her face was cold and clammy. Automatically smoothing
back her hair his hands felt no resistance. The orange crop had
been scythed away without skill or feeling. He could see the
healing lump on the back of her head and several small freckles
near the hair line. “Where are you hurt?” There was no answer. She
was too heavy to pick up, but he had to get her warm. He careful
unfolded her onto her back and quickly examined her gown for stab
wounds, but it was sound. He tried to pick her up by the shoulders,
but her head lolled back. He grabbed the bottom of her nightgown
and took hold of cold clammy legs and pulled her across the room to
the fire. “Jones! Where the hell are you? I need smelling salts…”
There was only one way to warm her quickly. Tearing off his coat,
he thought he’d die of agony before he could remove his tight muddy
boots and pull off his trousers. He hesitated not knowing whether
his actions would save her or kill her, but to do nothing held the
same odds. Carefully lying on top of his unresponsive wife he slid
an arm underneath her neck and tugged at the choking knot in his
cravat as the ominous drum roll threatened ruin and despair. He
took a deep breath and tried to pretend he didn’t want to sob into
the remains of her hair. The beautiful wild creature on her head
had been brutally butchered. There was nothing left, but orange
wooly clumps. Her hair would grow back, but would she recover?
“Lily…I beg you don’t leave me.” He kissed her cheek and then
explained in choked Welsh that even though he wasn’t in love with
her he didn’t want another wife. He was supremely content with his
chosen companion and had no desire to exchange her. She couldn’t
die; he’d bought her three dozen bonbons. He needed her smile. He
needed her kisses. He paused to demonstrate with a tender example
and then thoroughly warmed her lips until her dark lifeless eyes
slowly focused on his face. “Lily?” He smiled as his body went
rigid with hope. “Is my weight is hurting you?”

“I killed him.” The words were weak and
flat.

His smile faded as his nerves were tangled
with fear. “Killed who?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve ruined your
life. I want to die.”

“
To ruin my life you’d have to stop
breathing or run off with another man. Who cut off your hair? Who
did this to you?”

“I didn’t mean to kill him. There was a knock
on the door. I thought it was you so I said he could enter. He was
drunk.”

“Who was drunk?”

“Your nephew.”

“William?”

“He said I was a witch. He said I’d enchanted
you. He said he was going to save you by cutting off my hair. He
came at me with a knife. I fainted. The next thing I knew was the
smell of burning hair. I got up and tried to push him away…he kept
swearing by Lady Gillingham’s breasts that he’d save you and win
back Grace. He cut off more hair. I tried to get away. I screamed
for Jones…he came at me with the knife. I pushed him over. He hit
his head. There was blood…I killed him…”

“Jones! I want you here like a cat on his way
to hell!”

Running footsteps entered the room and slid
to a stop. “Yes Master Bowen?”

“Is William dead?”

“He’s on the land of the living. The barber’s
stitching him up.”

Penryth exhaled fear and inhaled rage. “Put
one of the maids in his room. I want to know the moment he’s awake
day or night.”

“As you say Sir. Is there anything else
Master Bowen?”

“Bring the green settee from the sitting room
and send for a pot of chocolate and a couple cans of warm water.
Lily…I’m going to help you up.” Panic filled eyes watched him stand
and rolled as he disappeared behind her.

“Mr Bowen!”

“
I’m right behind you Cariadon.” The Welsh
endearment slipped off his tongue as if she really was beloved. His
heart beat faster as he waited for her to demand an explanation,
but she didn’t speak Welsh. He might as well have called her Cloud
or Chair. “I’m going to lift you into a sitting position…” Heaving
her upright he kneeled behind her, oblivious to the cold floor, and
wrapped his arms around her. A lingering kiss on her neck was
abruptly ended as she turned her head to offer parted lips.
Absorbed by her tantalizing half kiss he was unaware of the
servants returning with the requested settee until they dropped it
nearby with a loud thud. Penryth suddenly felt too warm; as if he’d
been hanging over the fire as he silently cursed his servants for
their promptness and pulled his wife to her feet. After wrapping
her in a blanket he ordered her to sit down and put her feet on the
fender. Alone again, he sat beside her and pulled her close so he
could rest his cheek against the remains of her hair. His Cariadon
had nearly died of fright; the feelings in his chest surged into
his veins filling him up to the throat, making it impossible to
speak.

Starting awake, the night air was cold in her
throat even with a roaring fire in the grate. Lily shivered with
fear as frightening shadows flickered across strange reflective
surfaces. Touching her throbbing head her fingers found stubble.
Her hair, it was gone. Sitting up, she could see the bedclothes
beside her had been recently occupied. Yes, they were still warm to
the touch. Had she shared a bed with Mr Bowen? Had he just risen?
Where had he gone? The last thing she remembered clearly was
magical eyes insisting she finish the glass of water that tasted of
laudanum. She had a faint memory of having her face and hands
washed and the smell of blood. She absently looked down at her
chest; it was pristinely white. Her eyes widened in horror as she
remembered; her husband had removed her bloody nightgown and helped
her into a clean one. It happened so quickly she’d barely had time
to register the heat of the fire on her skin and then she was in
his arms being kissed and it didn’t matter that he’d seen her
unclothed. If only Mrs Jones had delivered the tray without
slamming it down. The kiss had abruptly ended and the housekeeper
had said something in Welsh. Mr Bowen had given the woman that cold
frightening look and told her to mind her own business, but he
didn’t resume kissing her when the door closed. He’d wrapped her
back up in the blanket and spoon fed her cake with a smile that
held her spellbound. If he’d asked her to sprout wings and fly away
with him she’d have thought it the most reasonable request.

Where was he? The thought of being at the
mercy of her mad nephew made her panic. Swinging her legs out of
bed she pulled on her dressing gown and tottered towards the door
to find her protector. In the hall she could hear the timbre of Mr
Bowen’s voice muffled by a closed door. Following the sound, she
stopped outside William’s room and heard him say, “Tell me the
truth or I’ll kill you.” If Mr Bowen killed his nephew he’d be hung
for murder and she’d die of loneliness. She impulsively opened the
door. Her husband was leaning over the bed, his voluminous white
nightshirt bristling behind him like puffed up wings. The swan was
about to attack.

“Mr Bowen!” Both men turned to look at her;
the younger man’s eyes glinting with tears and surprise.”

“Who is she?”

“You know perfectly well who she is; you
attacked her yesterday morning with a knife and cut off her hair.
Cariadon, it’s cold, go back to bed.” Lily ignored the order and
approached the bed and stared at the younger man’s shaved head. The
baldness somehow emphasized the terror in his young eyes.

“Uncle Penryth, I’ve never seen her before in
my life. I’d never attack a woman, I swear it!”

“Stop lying! My wife nearly died of fright
because of you.”

“Your wife? Her? Uncle Penryth, is that some
sort of joke?” The young man sobbed in fear as his nightshirt was
grabbed and he was jerked closer to death.

“One more lie and you’ll wish you’d died with
your parents in that carriage accident. Why did you attack my wife
and cut off her hair? Did Lady Gillingham spin a pleasing
yarn?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking…” He was
momentarily silenced by his uncle’s fist.

Lily bravely reached out and took a
handful of her husband’s nightshirt and tugged it. “Mr Bowen…he may
not remember.”

The angry swan turned towards her. “Go back
to bed.”

She clutched his nightshirt tighter. “I’ve
woken without remembering my beatings or what happened before them.
Please don’t kill anyone Mr Bowen; I don’t want you to hang.”

The white night shirt deflated as he let go
of his nephew and stood up. “He nearly killed you, Cariadon. I
won’t put up with his lies.”

“If he’s lying there are better punishments
then death. Send him on a grand tour for two years; I should
imagine not seeing Grace will be punishment enough.”

“Grace who?” The injured man sounded
genuinely perplexed. Mr Bowen looked into her eyes and then turned
his attention back to his nephew.

“Your fiancée, the one who jilted you.”

“Fiancé? But I’m only nineteen, why would I
get engaged if I couldn’t marry her?”

Lily tugged on her husband’s nightshirt
again. “When did she jilt him?”

“The day Lady Gillingham called. Rosamund and
Grace setup the perfect snare to trap him into an early marriage
and then the little… William went to tell her he’d marry her over
an anvil, but your niece had already decided the Earl of Morley was
a more impressive catch. The boy was devastated. I knew he’d get
drunk and do something stupid, but I didn’t think he’d try to kill
my wife.”

“Someone jilted me for Morley? She must be an
idiot!”

“Do you expect me to believe you don’t
remember Miss Grace Philips? She’s a beautiful spoilt brat who
turned you into a mindless drone.”

“Miss Philips? Of course I know who she is.
Every time I put my name on her dance card she snubs me to dance
with Lord Farnsdale or some other titled twit, why would I want to
marry her? I prefer women who are good and kind.”

“Is that so? Then why do your clothes stink
of Lady Gillingham’s secret love nest?”

“Lady Gillingham?” The boy’s eyes filled with
disgust and terror. “Uncle Penryth, I swear I’d never visit your
mistress.” His eyes swiveled towards Lily and then back to his
uncle his injured brain slowly comprehending his faux pas. “I
mean…I’d never visit one of your old lovers. The thought makes me
sick; she has children!”

“Yes and very few are related to her
husband.”

“Don’t hate me Uncle Penryth; you’re all I
the family I have. You know Carmarthen hates me because my mother
wouldn’t marry him. I don’t remember anything, I swear it. Why
would I cut off her hair? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Mr Bowen…” Lily tugged one more time on his
nightshirt. “Lady Gillingham was rude about my hair; I told her
that you liked it and William did keep saying something about my
hair enchanting you. If he spent time with her…”

“That heartless cow! I feel like pulling all
the hair from her nose.”

“Mr Bowen, please don’t kill anyone.”

“I’m not going to kill her…I need my
pipe.”

“You don’t hate me?”

The man ignored the question and headed for
the door. “Lily, it’s cold, you should be in bed.” Lily stared at
the younger man’s fallen face as he waited in vain for reassurance.
Several tears had mixed with blood coming out of his nose. Without
hair he looked like a frightened baby. She ignored Mr Bowen’s
command and made her way to the water basin sitting on the commode
next to the bed. She wrung out the cloth floating in the water and
sat on the bed and wiped the blood off his face. “Lily, I can’t
leave you in here. He might hurt you.”

“Uncle Penryth!” William’s look of offended
horror was followed by more tears.

“He doesn’t know who I am. Why would he hurt
me?”

“Because he might be lying; I need my
pipe.”

“Then go have your pipe Mr Bowen.”

“You need to come with me.”

“I’ll stay here.”

“William, if anything happens to
her…anything…you’ll wish you’d died an infant.”

“Uncle Penryth I wouldn’t…” The door closed
sharply making both people on the bed wince in pain. “He hates me…”
She sopped up the blood and tears and rinsed the cloth as he
watched her.

“He’s upset…”

“Upset? He punched me in the face! He’s never
hit me, not even after I stole one of his pipes and accidentally
burned down the carriage house along with his new carriage and
curricle. If you hadn’t come in I think he might have killed
me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Did he really marry you?”

“Yes.”

“How can he be in love with a woman I’ve
never met? Didn’t he introduce us? Is he secretly ashamed of me?
Have I done something awful I can’t remember? I mean something even
worse than cutting off all your hair?”