Edith Layton (13 page)

Drum sat up straighter. Eric glanced at him and their gazes locked.

The duke’s head snapped higher. “I’ll go down now,” he said, “and have a word with the doctors.”

By the time Drum’s tray was cleared, with Eric’s help, the duke was back in the room. He was followed by both doctors. Both were frowning. Drum was a little taken aback by their somber expressions.

“I’ve decided to take you home,” the duke told Drum abruptly, raising a hand. “Yes, against the advice of both doctors. But with their consent. It’s not advisable, but it is not impossible with the arrangements I will make. One seat will be taken out of the largest and best sprung carriage. That way you’ll be able to lie flat. We’ll install a makeshift bed for you and reinforce the splint on your leg with another splint strapped around it to support it. The whole will be wrapped in blankets and secured firmly so that if you’re jolted, it will not affect your limb. It will be much like being borne home on a door, only more comfortable. We’ll travel slowly
and carefully. Dr. Raines will accompany you. In this way you will return home in one piece to recuperate with your own full staff to assist you.”

“This is very sudden,” Drum said.

“It’s very sensible,” his father replied. “It’s the only sensible thing, in fact. Come, what’s the point in vexing Miss Gascoyne further? Crowding her house, disrupting her life, upsetting her schedule, and putting everyone here at sixes and sevens? Or in troubling Mrs. Tooke any longer, displacing her from her family and her life? You’ll not lack for room or company or diversion once you’re in your own home again. I thought of taking you to mine, but I think you’ll do better in London. Apart from the convenience of the city, all the ton will be able visit you, all your friends. I daresay it will be like recovering at your club. Much more comfortable for everyone, all round. Don’t you think?”

Drum’s glance flew to Alexandria. She looked as shocked as he felt. It was wonderful to think of going home, and yet at the same time it was strangely not. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being pushed along London’s streets like a babe in a pram. He wasn’t anxious to go on exhibition, become the center of a group of prattling poseurs and fribbles thinking they were amusing him when they’d only give him a headache. Or worse yet, becoming the unmoving target for a legion of hopeful misses and their mamas.

He actually liked the quiet of the countryside, the conversation of the boys. The boys would miss him; he’d miss them and their nightly lessons, the long talks with Alexandria. His mind scuttled away from that thought as quickly as he’d recoiled from touching her
breast. How could he direct Eric in his search for who’d shot at him, he thought instead, and the barn, who’d see to the…

Drum was brought up short. His heart felt curiously leaden; he dreaded the thought of leaving here. That was proof enough. He was making excuses.

His father was right: He was enjoying this visit far too much. This little cottage had become his whole world and was blinding him to the real one. He had responsibilities and duties, and one of them, as a gentleman, was not enticing someone to whom he couldn’t offer more than his company. There was no sense in such temptation for either of them.

Only one thing was certain. He belonged with his own kind.
If
it were possible.

“I think it would suit me fine,” Drum said calmly, looking at his father. “If, that is, I don’t end up walking on a tilt for the rest of my life because of this hasty remove.”

“The doctors assure me that won’t be the case. We need only travel slowly and with care. I intend to. I would never jeopardize your health. You know what I wish you to do, but in the end, it’s your leg,” the duke said, “and so it is your decision.”

“So it is,” Drum said slowly.

Alexandria looked at him, her eyes so wide he could see the sunlight glancing off them, making them wild with light.

The room was utterly silent as they all waited for his answer.

“Well,” Drum said with a thin smile, “how can there be any question then? I believe it’s decided, isn’t it?”

T
HE MOON RODE HIGH, THE NIGHT WAS ADVANCED
, the world was sleeping, but Alexandria knew that Drum was awake. She stood outside his room and saw the soft glow from his bedside lamp through the chinks and edges of the old door, etching its margins, outlining it in rosy gold until it glowed in the dark stairwell like an entrance to heaven. He could have forgotten to turn down the lamp, he might have fallen asleep with it lit, but somehow Alexandria was certain he was awake and as restless and uneasy as she was. She held her candle steady, took in a breath, and softly tapped on the door.

“Come in,” he said quietly, as though he’d been waiting.

He lay propped on pillows, a book in his slender hand. He wore a long silken robe with a lavish gold and red pattern. Reclining on his many pillows, his eyes heavy-lidded, he looked like an emperor ex
hausted after a trying day of passing heavy judgment on his many subjects.

“You’re all right?” she asked at once.

“As right as I ever am,” he answered with a little smile. “My thoughts are the only things keeping me awake. So. Our revels now are ended, are they?”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about,” she said with determination, coming close to his bed so her voice wouldn’t carry. “I couldn’t speak in front of your father,” she whispered, as though she were still afraid the duke might hear her, “and Eric and Mr. Grimes kept you busy after he left. Then I had dishes to do. But now everyone’s asleep and I knew you’d be too busy in the morning for a private word, so I’m glad you’re still awake. My lord, don’t ever feel you have to leave! You’re no burden, I told you that before. You don’t inconvenience us. You can stay on here until you are able to dance downstairs. Please believe that.”

“Oh, I do. That’s not why I’m leaving.” He gazed at her wearily. “Dear Ally,” he said gently, “just look at you! You’re in your dressing gown.”

Her hand flew to her neck and she gathered the old gown close. “It covers me more than my day gowns do,” she protested.

It did. She was covered from neck to toes. Her glossy hair was done in a night braid. A few stray wisps fluttered around her face, and her face was lightly flushed, showing how bright her eyes were. She was dressed decently, but Drum’s thoughts were far from decent. Just the fact that he knew she was ready for bed made her look infinitely wanton to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “because they are night
clothes. This is a cruel, censorious old world, Alexandria. You’re here in your night wear—that would shock some people. That you’re in those clothes while alone with me, coupled with the further fact I’m no longer in danger of my life, would shock others. When I was half dead it didn’t matter. When no one else knew I was here, it mattered less. But now my whereabouts are public knowledge and everyone knows I’m fit—well, fit enough to ruin a reputation at least. I’m leaving for the sake of propriety, my dear. For your sake, believe that.”

And mine,
he thought, but didn’t say. He couldn’t see a hint of her shapely form now, but the lamplight etched her features clearly. He’d miss looking at that pretty, serious little oval face, that straight nose, the tilt of her upper lip.
Why speak of other people and what they’d imagine!
he thought in rueful despair. No question, he needed to see other women so he wouldn’t concentrate so much on her. Charming as she was, still he didn’t think she merited quite so much hopeless yearning. Yet she’d become the only woman in the world to him: nurse, friend, and object of desire. His father was right: time to move on, indeed!

“I will miss our conversations,” he said, to change the subject. “I’ll wonder if Rob will ever catch that grandfather of a carp he’s after, and if Kit will actually move into the barn so he can study in peace. Will you write that letter to
Gentleman’s Magazine
, giving them your opinion of the error they made in that quote from Molière, and will you remember to sign it only with your first initial so they’ll publish it, because they won’t print a letter from a woman? More important, will Mrs. Tooke teach you how to make that berry torte
before she goes, as you had said you wanted her to?”

“You remembered,” she said, pink with pleasure.

“I remember everything you’ve said, except when I was unconscious, and then you must acquit me. I’ll even remember to send you a copy of Miss Austen’s last book when I get home. You said you hadn’t read it yet. I’ve enjoyed our conversations too much to forget them.”

“I have too, and I’ll miss them,” she admitted. “But that’s not the reason I said what I did. I hate the thought of you being harmed after all the good we did for you, and all for the sake of something as foolish as propriety. We’re not mandarins in old China, to stand on such ceremony.”

“We’re very like them, though. Unfortunately, reputation is everything in our world, so we must consider the opinions of others if only because we are ruled by their perceptions of us.”

“Oh, rubbish!” she said irritably, in her annoyance forgetting to stand on the very ceremony she usually did. “I’m talking about bodily harm. Why should you risk injury for the sake of
others
? I don’t care, I really don’t. Much it matters to me! By now you ought to know I’m not laying traps for you. As for myself? I’m ineligible and I know it, so I don’t care what people say. I’d rather there were gossip about me than harm to you. Why not wait until there’s no risk at all?”

He put the book down on his chest, his face grown somber. “Why are you ineligible, Ally? I’ve never understood that. Can you tell me? Will you? Don’t worry about my gossiping, I’m a bottomless pit—throw a secret down and it will never surface again, I promise you. Your spinsterhood doesn’t make sense to me.
You’re lovely, you know. Well, if you don’t, I’ll tell you so. Another advantage of leaving—I can say things I couldn’t if I knew you’d be seeing me every morning after, and maybe worrying about my ulterior motives.

“You’re charming and generous, and monstrous clever too. You don’t doubt that, do you? Don’t look away, I might as well be speaking to you from the dead, because I’ll be gone in a matter of hours and it can make no difference to you. But I’d like to know why you say you are ineligible. I’d think you could have any number of men at your feet. Are all the men around here blind and deaf?”

She laughed. “No, but they marry young, and have strange customs. They tend to marry girls they know, you see.”

He didn’t laugh. “Maybe so. But this isn’t the whole world. Why do you insist on your ineligibility? Can you tell me, can you trust me?”

She looked at him for a long moment. He couldn’t read the emotions in her eyes. They were brown in the sunlight, but now, in the night, they were infinitely deep and dark as the earth.

She stared at him, and hesitated. He was leaving, she thought, and she dreaded it because he’d come to mean so much to her.
But they’d never meet again, and so why not tell him now? Not all, but most, so he’d know who she was. That, at least.

“Why am I ineligible? Apart from my lack of fortune, you mean?” she finally asked bitterly. “Aside from the fact that I was kept away from young men for most of my life and so haven’t the slightest idea of how to deal with them? Those that dared look at me were
met with scorn or savagery from Mr. Gascoyne. Yes, he’s gone now. So why am I still unwed? Not counting my education, which separated me further from anyone in the vicinity? And disregarding the little matter of my being solely responsible for three young boys? Why else?”

He’d never seen her so agitated, though she was outwardly cold. But he could feel the emotion she contained emanating from her, she vibrated with it, the candle she held shivered though there wasn’t a breeze in the room.

“Yes,” he persisted, “Apart and aside and regardless of all that. Why else? There must be an ‘else.’”

He saw tears start in her eyes, “No. Don’t…” he said, cursing himself. Who was he to breech her defenses and make her cry because of his idle curiosity?

“No,” she said, using a sleeve to scrub at her eyes like a girl. She tossed her head back, her face white and stricken. “It’s all right. You might as well know. Why not?” She laughed. “He wasn’t my father, you see. Like the boys, I’m also a foundling.”

Drum’s eyes widened and his lips tightened until he resembled his father almost exactly. It was only for a second, but it was an enormous lapse for him to show his shock and dismay. He’d been a masterful spy because he was watchful at all times. But he’d been relaxed, and so her announcement caught him off guard.

She was so immersed in her own loathing she didn’t notice. Drum recovered quickly, as shocked and horrified by his unsought reaction as by the news that had caused it.

She kept on talking as though afraid to stop. “I came from the same foundling home the boys did,” she ex
plained, speaking to the candle she still held. “The other side of it, of course, because they kept the boys and girls strictly separated. Mr. Gascoyne always had an eye on finances, you see. And so when he adopted the boys he asked the matron which of the girls was tractable, good with a needle and her books, and with younger children too. She selected me. It was very clever of him, really. Four are as cheap to feed as three, and that way he got a nanny for the boys in the bargain.”

Her hand trembled, causing the candle to cast uneasy shadows over his bed. “A fellow will overlook a girl’s lack of dowry, sometimes,” she said, pulling in a deep breath. “He might think her education was a bonus. He could even be bold enough to defy an old man’s scorn and spite, I suppose. But even here, a man wants to know where his wife comes from. Apart and aside and regardless,” she said with bitter precision, “of the fact that she comes from the Home for Orphan and Indigent Children.

“I was brought there when I was three or four, they say. The woman who brought me said she got me from the London Foundling Hospital years before, and could no longer afford to keep me. Her name was Sally and I helped her trim hats, that I do remember, but I was never her daughter. She had seven other orphan girls and had to get rid of all of us because her man was taking her to the Antipodes. She was going to set up shop there, and transport was expensive, and girls, after all, are easy to come by anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Drum said, because he didn’t know what else to say, for the first time in his life. Because she was right and there was no denying it, even for her
sake. He was shocked and disappointed, as much with himself as at her news. He hadn’t realized how eagerly he’d embraced the notion that he could make her eligible. But a
foundling
? Drum felt his heart sink.

Orphans, like bastards, had no status at all, they weren’t welcome anywhere. There were just too many of them. Their very existence was too dangerous to the tightly knit fabric of society. They were discards who very well might be bastards anyway. After all, if they had equal rights and equal opportunities, why should anyone honor and value legitimacy, marriage, and all the rest of society’s difficult but necessary rules?

It might be unfair, but it was fundamental. Not just the upper classes cared about lineage. Everyone knew how hard it was to raise children, to feed, clothe, and care for them. If people were allowed to simply leave their whelps for others to raise, the institution of marriage would crumble. Morals were lofty things, but it was the stigma and punishments attached to not having them that enforced their rules. Remove the disgrace and shame, and the rules, rites and strictures of a well ordered world would eventually degenerate into chaos and anarchy.

So foundlings were fed enough to keep alive, and trained up in all the menial occupations legitimate persons wouldn’t want. They could be indentured, or they could be hired on for a decent wage if they were of superior stock. If a foundling was adopted by a good family or made the ward of a wealthy man and then educated and well provided for, his lot would be easier. But it would never be the same as other men’s. Orphans couldn’t inherit the way natural sons and daughters could, even wards didn’t have the same legal
protection as a man’s blood kin conceived in wedlock.

Drum felt sick. Alexandria’s adoptive father had given her a fine education and possibly a share in his estate. But even so, she was an impossible match for a man like himself. It was more than his damnable pride, it was the way of his father, and the way of his world. Immutable.

Being attracted to a schoolmaster’s daughter was difficult, to a foundling adopted by a schoolmaster, ridiculous. The rules were simple and known to every gentleman. The lower classes were fair game for frolics, nothing serious, everything salacious. The middle class was to avoid, they took things seriously or not at all. One’s own class was for marriage, or sport, if one’s partner were up to snuff and knew how to carry on a proper affair. He smiled thinly, thinking about “proper affairs.” But Alexandria was too respectable for an affair and too beneath his touch for anything else. It wasn’t a combination he could deal with.

He thought rapidly. She’d be a treasure for any man not concerned about marrying someone of equal rank. But where could she find one who would meet
her
needs?

He couldn’t see her wedded to an ignorant farmer and being a happy peasant any more than he could see a nobleman marrying her. Of course, there was always the senile or idiotic nobleperson who married a bar-maid or a footman or such, and was made infamous for it, the subject of gossip and scorn. Drum frowned. Mrs. Tooke hadn’t married outrageously; she’d only married out of her station, and look what had become of her. She’d been cast out from her family and her class.

Alexandria had neither birth, fortune, nor connec
tions to lose. She might find a man who didn’t care—a man of some education and wealth who didn’t need to gain money or property by marrying and didn’t aspire to climb higher in society. Love might move mountains. It was her only chance, and she needed that chance.

“Neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat,” she said harshly, reading his mind. “Now do you see?”