Carla Kelly (28 page)

“Anthony, are you going to sleep?”

He nodded, sat up, patted her hip, and moved her over so he could lie down beside her. “Yes.” He put his arm under her waist and gathered her close to him as his eyes closed.

She knew his habits by now. In a few minutes he opened his eyes and smiled at her.

“Tommy Lilburn?” she asked, her fingers tracing the hop burns on his face, wondering how she could ever have thought the doctor homely.

“He’ll be fine. I’m going back there now. As soon as the wedding is over tomorrow, I’ll have to be with him, at least for a little while longer. I’m sorry, my heart, but that’s how it is.”

She kissed him on the mouth, her arms tight around him. “I know how it is. I am sure your father will escort me home.”

“The books are still everywhere in my room.”

“On the bed, too?”

“No! Elizabeth, you are a bit of baggage. I wonder that I did not see this sooner.”

She smiled and rested her head on his chest, listening. “You appear to have the same affliction I do, Anthony. Surely such a racing heart cannot be healthy.”

“It is amazingly healthy, you dear one.” He sat up reluctantly and put his glasses on again, reaching into his waistcoat for his prescription book. He thought a moment, scribbled something on it, handed it to her, kissed her, and left the room. She heard him whistling down the stairs.

Libby opened the little sheet. “Love in massive doses,” she read.

***

The duke stopped for the night not far from Holyoke, ignoring the stares of the ostler, who whistled at the damage to his curricle. He spoke for a room and dinner, and went outside again to stroll up the slight incline.

He sniffed the breeze, breathing in the subtle fragrance of roasting hops that filled the night air. Tears came to his eyes, and he knew then that he would visit the Cooks occasionally, but never during this season.

The smell of autumn was in the air, too. It would be followed soon by winter in this lovely garden spot of England. Libby would be carefully indoors, caring for her doctor, and watching at the window when he was gone. She would scold him, and bully him, and cry over him, and love him with the fierceness that was her nature. And the damned thing was, the doctor would accept it all in that calm way of his and spend a lifetime showing his appreciation.

Libby will never miss me, he thought, as he swung his quizzing glass round and round on his finger. I hope I am loved like Anthony Cook some day.

He chuckled to himself. I could return tomorrow for the wedding and when the vicar got to that part about “let him now speak or else hereafter for ever hold his peace,” I could create a fearful row that Holyoke would cackle about over tea and remember for years to come.

But it wouldn’t change anything. Libby knew her own mind now and had found what would make her happiest. I must do the same.

He started back toward the inn. But I do believe I will drop a vulgar load of blunt on the doctor and tell him it is for a hospital and he had better by damn name it after me. That will set the cats meowing in Kent and keep him on his toes with that beautiful wife of his.

Yes, I’ll do that first thing when I get to London tomorrow. God keep you, Mrs. Anthony Cook.

Keep reading for a special excerpt from another Regency Romance

eBook by Carla Kelly

ONE GOOD TURN

Available November 2012 from InterMix

What would my butler do if I suddenly banged on the roof, stopped the carriage, and ran from the carriage, tearing my hair and shouting, “Rain, rain, go away?” he thought. He glanced at Luster, who dozed opposite him. Heaven knows the man looks exhausted, but who wouldn’t, managing two households?

He had returned from Kent to discover from Pomeroy, his own footman, that Luster was attempting to put together the shards of his sister Gussie’s household, a brisk walk across Green Park to Park Place. “Chicken pox,” Pomeroy said darkly, “and Sudden Death, Your Grace.”

Had the footman been wearing a cape then, Nez was sure he would have twirled it. Rather than panic at Pomeroy’s admission, delivered in round tones, he had waited for further enlightenment. Oh, I know you well, Pomeroy, he thought. Denied a career on the wicked stage, you continue to indulge your theatrical talents in my employment. Luckily for you, your efficiency overrules your dramatic flair. “Come, come, sir,” he said finally.

“Clarence is Afflicted with Disease,” the footman pronounced, “and Lord Wogan’s father chose this inopportune time to cock up his toes, or so Lady Wogan described the matter to Luster, Your Grace.” He leaned forward. “And we all know that Luster cannot Refuse a Cause.”

“Oh, go on, Pomeroy,” he had said. “We all know that Gussie employs a household staff that must have trained originally in New York, or perhaps Melbourne, if we must be generous.”

“Precisely, Your Grace. Perhaps you had better Go ’Round.”

He went ’round, and it was much as Pomeroy described, without the capital letters. Peace reigned, mainly because Augusta had wisely decided to remain in bed and leave her infected son to the nanny, and because he knew Luster lurked on the premises, turning chaos to order like water to wine at Cana. He looked around, wishing that Freddy, his gentle brother-in-law, were there. He wondered for the thousandth time what Fred had ever seen in Gussie besides a disgusting fortune, then squared his shoulders, and knocked on the bedroom door.

He reeled back from the smell of burned feathers. “Augusta, are you on the brink of death?” he asked when he could catch his breath. He waited for her little sob. Ah, yes; there it was.

And again. Then, “Benedict, sometimes I wish that you had ever been sick once in your life, so you could bring sympathy instead of vitriol.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t little Clarence the sick one?”

She blew her nose vigorously, which went at cross grains against the way she delicately laid her hand on her head. “I suppose he is, but I declare even he conspires against me!”

“Surely not! He’s only two, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but at nights I can hear him crying all the way down to my chamber. Imagine! He woke me twice last night, and it took me so long to get back to sleep.”

“Wretched child,” he said, chilled to his bones. “What could he be thinking?”

“Exactly,” she replied. “Benedict, you must do me a favor and take Sophie to Knare. I am forced to remain behind until Clarence is better.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why that mattered, but he remembered Tony’s admonition in time. “I can do that, my dear. Tell me, how is Freddy bearing up?”

“Don’t remind me!” Gussie snapped. “Didn’t his father take ill last week. Nothing would do but Fred rushed off and left me alone with all these cares,” she waved her hand, dismissing the platoon of servants that he knew crowded the place. “And you were visiting your shabby genteel mushrooms in Kent. And then what do I get but a special post from Frederick, drat him, telling me that his father had the nerve to die during
my
crisis!”

“Fancy that. How could old Lord Warburton have been so insensitive?”

Gussie dabbed at her dry eyes. “You do understand, Benedict. And to think I was afraid you did not care.”

I hope I am never this bad, he thought, as he watched his sister. And yet we are cut from the same cloth. He stood a moment longer in the doorway, then came into the room, sat on her bed, and took her in his arms. She sobbed in good earnest while he patted her back, murmured such endearments as he could stomach, and felt, surprisingly, a little better. “Sophie and I will start for Knare tomorrow, my dear. Have her ready at nine of the clock.”

“Nine o’clock!” his sister exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. “I am hardly even awake then!”

He dug deep within himself and patted her hand. “Force yourself, Gussie,” he said, hoping for perhaps the first time in his life that his utter disgust did not show in his voice. “Think of the good of your children and be brave with this exertion.”

One mustn’t waste sarcasm on the slow-witted, he thought wickedly, as Augusta’s lips trembled. “I will be brave for my children,” she said, “even if it kills me.”

“I shouldn’t think it will come to that, my love. Just have Sophie and her governess ready.”

Gussie sniffed back something (it couldn’t have been tears). “The evil woman resigned this morning. Just trooped in here and quit! I am certain you can manage Sophie without a maid, I cannot spare anyone. And you have plenty of excellent help at Knare, none of which you have ever chosen to share with me.”

They would run away if I suggested working in Park Place, he thought. “Very well, my dear. I am certain that the Empress and I will manage.” He got up and gently tugged his hand from his sister’s firm grasp.

“Why are you so kind to me today?” she had asked as he paused in the doorway.

“You need me,” he said simply.

She blew her nose again. “I will repay you, my dear, just see if I don’t! When I get to Knare, I will find you the perfect wife, even if it is a lot of trouble and taxes all my strength.”

Gad, what a thought, he told himself, as he looked out the window again. I know she will sic Audrey St. John on me. He looked down at Sophie, who was asleep now, the crayons fallen from her grasp and rolling around on the carriage floor. I suppose there are worse fates than Audrey. Heaven knows we are well-acquainted from living next to each other all these years. He remembered his last view of Libby, awkward-looking, but beautiful in her pregnancy. I want a family, too, he thought. Sophie is a charming child, and there is every indication that Clarence will become human in a year or so. Besides that, Tony would call it the right idea.

Sophie had been no trouble in the inn last night, demanding only that he read to her before she went to sleep, which caused him no exertion and a certain homely pleasure. “Papa always reads to me,” she informed him as she patted the spot beside her in the bed.

Good for you, Freddy, he thought, as he took the book she handed him. Let us pray that your daughter will come to see your gentle qualities and never despise you for a weak man, which Gussie would own that you are. “Oh,
Children of the New Forest
! I remember that one.”

“Did your papa read to you?” she asked as he found the page.

“My tutor did.”

“Did Grandmama?”

“No, alas. She was generally too busy.” He started to read, but Sophie put her hand over the page.

“Do you miss Grandmama?” she asked, her voice softer, less certain.

“I do.” And he did, despite her frivolities, and the air of vacuity that seemed to grow as she aged. He remembered with a pang the empty feeling inside him only a month ago when he settled the last of her accounts, and put her ledger back on the shelf at Knare. There was no reason for him ever to open it again: no more gambling debts to pay, no more tears over modistes who would not wait another quarter, even though he had continued Papa’s generous allowance. She was gone from his life, and he wished he had known her better. “I do miss her, Empress. Now, move your hand, and let us read this chapter.”

***

When Sophie woke from her nap in the carriage, she complained of a sore throat, and only shook her head when he picked up her crayons and handed them to her. “We are not feeling good,” she announced. “Crayons would only make us cross.”

The rain thundered down, slowing travel to a crawl, and making him want to fidget like his niece. They stopped for nuncheon at an inn already crowded with people seeking a room for the night. I wonder if we should join them, he thought, after a glance outside the window. He decided to continue, no matter how uncomfortable it was for his coachman, as his concern for Sophie grew. She was listless now, and definitely warm to the touch. She leaned against him when he found a bench for her in the public house, and shook her head when he offered her almond pudding with currants, her favorite.

“Luster, I hate to think of it, but she might be coming down with chicken pox,” he said in a low voice.

“The thought has occurred to me, too, Your Grace,” his butler replied. “Like you, I am inclined to think that we should hurry on to Knare.” Luster peered over his spectacles at Sophie. “Shouldn’t there be spots of some sort?”

“One would suppose,” Nez replied. “Dash it all, Luster, we’re in a fix. Let’s just hurry on.”

Because of the rain, the light in the carriage was gloomy at best, and suited his mood. He had never seen the Empress listless before, and he felt an unaccustomed helplessness that irritated him as much as it frightened him. “Luster, I think that parenthood is not for the faint of heart,” he commented as Sophie winced in her sleep and muttered. “I would rather have her pestering me with questions I cannot answer, and acting like Her Majesty.”

He was desperate to see Knare, but knew it was still two days away. When the coachman came to a sudden stop, Nez was painfully aware that only Sophie’s heavy warm weight against him kept him from leaping from the vehicle and giving the man a blistering scold. “What now?” he snapped.

Luster opened the door. “Your Grace, I believe there has been an accident!”

It had better be a good one, Nez thought. Better be people dead and mangled. “Find out, and get us around it! Don’t let me be the only one thinking!”

My, that was rude, he thought, as Luster left the carriage. I hate when I do that, Tony. He sat another moment in frustration, then stood up, gently lowering Sophie’s head to the seat. He left her there and went into the storm.

“I’m sorry, Luster,” he said a moment later. “I don’t think sometimes.”

Luster smiled as the water dripped off his face. “You’ll get wet, Your Grace.”

“I’ve been wet before. Luster, assuage my heart and go back to the carriage. I have at least thirty years on you. I’ll find out what’s going on.” They stared at each other, but Luster finally returned to the carriage.

Nez could barely make out a mail coach tipped on its side. He squinted and saw the passengers huddled together. Someone stood close to the road to direct other vehicles around the mail coach. He noticed a body, boots sticking out, covered with a coat, and regretted his earlier thoughts.

He found the mail coach driver, who was overseeing the unhitching of his horses. “May I help you?” he asked, surprised how easily the words came out.

The driver barely looked at him. “I wish you would shoot that off horse. His leg is broken, and I have a soft spot for me animals. Here.” He handed Nez two pistols, wicked-looking things probably meant for road agents.

Nez took the pistols, and edged carefully down the slippery incline until he was standing at the head of the horse. He ran his hand gently down the animal’s leg. “You’ll never rise again, old sport,” he said softly. The animal whickered at him. “Life’s not fair, laddie,” Nez whispered. After a moment, he stood back slightly, aimed and fired. Not the first time I’ve done that, he told himself, but at least I won’t be eating this one. He started up the incline, and grasped the driver’s outstretched hand offered in assistance.

“Thank’ee. I couldn’t do it.”

“I understand.” Nez handed back the pistols.

“Do ye know who the bloke is that belongs to that carriage with the lozenge?” the driver asked, after a brief dab at his eyes.

“Mine. I’ll move it.”

The driver’s eyes opened wide. “Damn me, sir! I’d never have troubled you about me horse!”

“No matter. I like my horses, too. What happened?”

“Too much rain, too slippery. And there’s a dead one, my lord.”

“Have you sent someone ahead for another coach?”

“Aye, sir.” He looked around. “That farmer’ll take these passengers to his croft. There’ll be someone along soon.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

The driver shook his head. “In all my years, this never happened. Thank’ee again for what you did. Just have your coachman edge around slowly.”

“Nothing else?” He noticed that the man hesitated. “I can do something, surely.”

“My lord, maybe you could do this: one of the passengers—she has a young’un—started off walking. I tried to explain to her that there would be another coach along and we would be riding again soon, but I’m not sure she understood me. She’s foreign.”

“Should I bring her back here?”

“No need. Stokely’s next, and you’re likely going that way, my lord.”

“I can do that,” he said, then thought of Sophie and cursed his sudden philanthropy. “If I see her, I should explain that you will be in Stokely soon, and she is to wait there?”

“Aye, me lord. Speak loud and slow, and she’ll understand ye, if she’s like most foreigners.”

Nez nearly smiled. I remember speaking English like that to villagers from the Douro to the Tagus, he thought, before I had the wit to learn Spanish. “Maybe she speaks a language I know.”

“Loud and slow will carry the day, my lord,” the driver said.

Nez went back to his carriage. “I am now a philanthropist, Luster, prepared to succor the downtrodden,” he announced. “We are to keep our eyeballs skinned out for a woman walking with a child. The driver says she’s a foreigner, and we’re to take her to Stokely and leave her there.”

“I am certain that you can adequately explain the situation, Your Grace, no matter the language.”

“Luster, you flatter me,” Nez said. “I wish I had promised him nothing. I would rather hurry along to Stokely and find a bed for Sophie.” He sat next to his niece again, who sighed and closed her eyes. “We do not feel good,” she said.

He kissed her. “I doubt we do. We’ll stop soon, my dear.”