Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (56 page)

The housekeeper directed an arch look at him.

‘And who else is to nurse you, pray? I have done what I can, but a body's only got one pair of hands and mine have been busy running this house and looking after Sir Edward, and since the master refuses to take on anyone else I'm very thankful to the young lady for knuckling down to work with me.'

‘Yes, of course. I beg your pardon, Mrs Parfitt. My coming here has placed an added burden upon you.'

‘Now you are not to be thinking like that, Master Andrew. Where should you come, when you're in need, but to your old home?' She put down the cup and straightened, beaming at him. ‘Now, I shall be off to get your breakfast and I'll be back just as soon as ever I can.'

She hurried away and Drew was left alone once more. He put back his head and closed his eyes, trying to recall the events leading up to his coming to Hartcombe, but the harder he tried to think the more confused he became. He heard the door opening again and looked towards it, expecting to see Elyse come in. Instead he was surprised to see his father standing in the threshold.

He had some memory of seeing him at the door when he and Elyse had arrived. His thoughts were confused, hazy and he recalled only the vague image of a stooping figure with white hair. Now he took the opportunity to study his father and he suffered a severe shock at how much he had aged. Ten years ago Sir Edward had stood tall, a proud man in the prime of life. Today his face was lined and his back hunched, as if he had suffered much. He had always worn a powdered wig over his shaved pate but now he stood before Drew with his white hair flowing untidily around his head.

This is all my doing.

‘Parfitt said you were awake.' Sir Edward took a few steps into the room. ‘How are you?'

It was a cold, grudging enquiry. Drew thought bitterly that he would be a fool to expect anything different.

‘Damned weak,' Drew said shortly. ‘What date is it?'

‘The twenty-sixth.'

‘So late?' Drew sat up, then fell back again as the pain shot through his injured arm. ‘And Elyse has nursed me all that time?'

‘Is that her name?' Sir Edward's shaggy brows rose a little. ‘Aye. She's looked after you. Waited on you constantly.'

‘But she is not a servant,' exclaimed Drew. ‘You should not have allowed it.'

‘You both arrived without attendants and without baggage, how was I to know she was anything other than your—' Sir Edward broke off, flushing a little when he met Drew's angry look. He said defensively, ‘There was no one else to nurse you. Parfitt did what she could but she was not able to sit with you day and night.'

‘Then I should have been left alone,' snapped Drew. ‘The lady should never have been allowed to remain here.'

‘Oh, and what do you think I should have done with her?' demanded Sir Edward, his colour rising. ‘She refused to leave your side.'

‘I told you I was taking her to Bath, you should have packed her off there and placed her in the care of her fiancé's family.'

‘She has refused to leave until she knows you are out of danger.'

Drew snorted angrily.

‘You could have made her go.'

Sir Edward cursed roundly.

‘Since she would not divulge her name, nor that of her betrothed, what would you have me do, abandon her at the doors of Bath Abbey?' he stormed. ‘Dashed cantankerous woman has had us all at sixes and sevens.'

He glowered at Drew, who felt his lips twitch and after a brief struggle he burst out laughing.

‘Aye,' he grinned. ‘She has a rare talent for that, I admit.'

‘It's all very well for you to laugh,' growled his father. ‘You have no conception of the trouble you have caused.'

The black cloud descended over Drew's spirits once more, stifling all desire to laugh.

‘Oh, I think I have, sir. I—'

He broke off when he heard someone hurrying along the passage towards the open door. The next moment Elyse came in, the jacket of her travelling gown unbuttoned, her curls disordered and a becoming flush mantling her cheeks. At the sight of Sir Edward she stopped.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon.' She sank into a hasty curtsy. ‘I heard a noise and feared—'

‘You thought your patient delirious?' Sir Edward barked at her. ‘No, he is conscious at last, and I hope to heaven you will soon be able to remove him from this house.'

With that he stalked out, leaving Elyse to stare uncertainly at Drew.

‘I beg your pardon,' she said again. ‘I am sorry if I interrupted you—'

He put up his hand.

‘You interrupted nothing save possibly a quarrel,' he said shortly. ‘It has always been thus between us.'

‘He did not turn you away from Hartcombe.'

‘I have no doubt he would have done so, and he could.'

‘He is an old man, Drew, and he is suffering a great deal.'

‘And I am not?' he bit back at her. He let his breath go with a hiss and raised his hand. ‘I should not have spoken so, forgive me.'

‘Willingly.' She came closer, her dark eyes fixed anxiously on his face. ‘Did you know about your brother?' she said gently. ‘Did you know he had died?'

‘Simon? No, I did not.' The news was like a blow to the stomach. He stared her, the gut-wrenching pain making his head spin. ‘When was this?'

‘Two years since. A riding accident. Mrs Parfitt told me.'

He closed his eyes, his good hand gripping the bedclothes until his knuckles gleamed white.

‘No, I did not know,' he said again, adding bitterly, ‘I have had no communication from Hartcombe for years.'

‘I am very sorry.' She covered his hand with her own. ‘Perhaps you understand now some of your father's unhappiness.'

Oh, yes. He understood it. He had been the cause of most of it. He had hoped at some point that he might at least make his peace with Simon, but now that would never happen. With an effort he brought his mind back to the present and opened his eyes again.

‘There was no need for you to stay here.' He pulled his hand from beneath hers and had to steel himself against the feeling of loss. ‘You should have asked my father to convey you to Lord Whittlewood in Bath.'

‘How could I leave when there was no one to look after you?'

‘Easily. It was not your place to be nursing me.'

‘Someone had to do it, and to help Mrs Parfitt get you into bed. I helped to wash you and put you in a nightgown, too, although I decided not to try shaving you.'

The twinkle in her eyes and the mischievous smile playing around her lips succeeded in putting to flight his morbid thoughts, at least for a while. He grinned.

‘I dread to think what you would have done with a razor in your hand. My father's valet did that service for me, I believe.'

‘Yes. Sir Edward was a little reluctant to allow it at first, but when he realised that I was prepared to shave you myself he relented and ordered Stinchcombe to assist me.'

‘Thank heaven for that!'

‘I know.' She giggled. ‘I think he feared I should cut your throat, which is very likely, of course, because I have never shaved a man before.'

‘You should not have had to do
anything
for me.' He frowned at the seriousness of her situation. ‘We have only three days to get you to Lord Whittlewood. If I am not well enough then you will have to go alone. We can find a village maid to accompany you, and I will write a letter to explain—'

‘Is that necessary?' she asked him, startled. ‘Could we not write to the viscount now, telling him that we will be delayed?'

Drew shook his head. ‘Lord Whittlewood's letter was most specific. You are to be delivered into his care by Michaelmas. If not, the marriage agreement is null and void.'

He saw the colour leave her cheeks and was sorry for it, but it was only right that she should know the truth. She clasped and unclasped her hands for a moment, mulling over his words.

‘You said as much before,' she said at last. ‘Do—do you think Lord Whittlewood would rather I did not marry William?'

‘I fear so.'

‘And is that the reason the family was not in London when we arrived? The viscount hoped I might not continue the journey?'

Drew was convinced of it, but he did not say so. Instead he watched the play of emotions over her face. Eventually he said gently, ‘Elyse, are you sure you want to marry young Reverson?'

‘But of course,' she replied immediately. ‘And he wants to marry
me
. I have his letters. He loves me.'

‘You have not seen each other for three years.'

‘And we have neither of us wavered,' she said simply. ‘It proves the strength of our affections, does it not?'

Drew regarded her in silence, debating whether to suggest it proved nothing of the sort, but as Mrs Parfitt came in at that moment with his breakfast he decided to keep his own counsel. After all, Harry had arranged this match, and he was merely carrying out his friend's wishes. It really was none of his business. But as he settled down to enjoy his first meal in days Drew was aware of a little worm of unease gnawing away at his conscience.

Chapter Six

A
visit from Dr Hall confirmed that Drew's recovery was well under way. He was allowed to leave his bed for a few hours that day and the following morning he announced his intention of joining Elyse and his father for dinner. He refused to let Elyse help him with his clothes, pointing out that since his father's valet came in every morning to shave him he could dress him, too. Stinchcombe surprised Drew by putting up no resistance to the suggestion and even admitted that Sir Edward had ordered him to offer any assistance he could.

Thus, late in the afternoon, Drew eventually left his bedchamber. Mrs Parfitt had cleaned his coat as best she could and stitched up the bullet hole, but the bandaging on Drew's arm was too thick to allow him to wear it, so he appeared in his waistcoat and the borrowed shirt Stinchcombe had found for him, his injured arm resting in a sling. Since this was his first outing the valet insisted upon accompanying him to the parlour. Sir Edward was already there, seated on one side of the fire. Drew entered and heard the soft click as Stinchcombe shut the door behind him. He was alone with his father.

‘So you are on your feet at last.'

A cold greeting, but no more than Drew expected.

‘Yes. And in a few more days I shall be out of your house.'

The old man said nothing. He got up and walked to the sideboard and poured wine into two glasses.

‘I will arrange a carriage for you, but nothing more.'

‘I expect nothing more from you. Once I am in Bath I shall be able to draw on my own funds.' He added bitterly, ‘Don't worry, my bankers know me by the name of Bastion, there is no risk of anyone knowing my connection to you.'

‘That is none of my concern.'

He handed Drew a glass of wine and returned to his seat, staring moodily into the fire. Drew watched him for a few moments, then shook his head.

‘Oh, what the devil!' He raised his glass. ‘I wish you good health, sir.'

The old man stared at him. ‘Do you expect me to reciprocate?'

‘No. But I am grateful for your hospitality.'

The old man scowled into his glass.

‘You cost me dear,' he muttered. ‘The fines, the confiscated lands, the disgrace to the family. Even your mother's death.'

‘Do you not think I know it?' Drew retorted, regret, bitter as gall, filling his gut.

‘She never forgave herself for sending you to stay with her brother. She was convinced it was all his doing, that he persuaded you, but I know differently. You were always the wild one.'

‘I was
fifteen
. Wild, yes, but still a boy, Father.'

Sir Edward turned on him with a snarl.

‘Do not call me that! I will not recognise you as my son.'

Drew's lips thinned as the words cut deep. After a moment he said quietly, ‘I am very sorry for it.'

Sir Edward hunched a shoulder and turned back towards the fire, and thus they sat in silence until the door opened again and Elyse appeared in a rustle of silk. The two men rose immediately, but Drew's first glance turned into an outright stare. Gone was the olive-green travelling gown; she was wearing an open robe of jonquil satin over a white skirt of quilted Marseille work and she looked quite breathtaking.

‘You are wondering how I come to have another gown, when the carriage and all our baggage was stolen,' she said, correctly interpreting his curious look. ‘Sir Edward gave permission for Mrs Parfitt to look out a gown of your mama's for me to wear.' She smiled shyly. ‘Altering it to fit gave me something to occupy my time while I was at your bedside.'

‘It becomes you very well,' replied Drew, hoping his face did not betray the desire he felt for the beautiful creature he saw before him.

She wore no kerchief about her shoulders but a demure flounce of blond lace edged the low neckline. The candlelight gleamed on her dusky curls and one wayward ringlet hung down to her shoulder, accentuating the flawless creamy skin. The embroidered stomacher drew his eye to her dainty waist and he imagined himself putting his hands around it and drawing her close. She would laugh up at him and he would bend to steal a kiss from those cherry-red lips. He had tasted them before and remembered how sweet they would be...

Quickly suppressing the thought he turned to his father.

‘I can now make up for my previous lack of manners and formally introduce you. Sir, may I present Miss Elyse Salforde to you? Miss Salforde is the daughter of a good friend of mine. When he died he left her to my care.'

Elyse sank into a graceful curtsy, deep and respectful.

‘I hope, Sir Edward, that you will forgive me for withholding my name from you for so long.'

‘You had your reasons, I am sure,' he said shortly. He set a chair for her and the three of them sat around the fire in an awkward silence. Sir Edward cleared his throat. ‘Did you enjoy your walk this morning, Miss Salforde?'

‘I did, sir, thank you.'

‘The pleasure gardens are very overgrown now. That was my wife's domain and I have not bothered with them since her demise. There has been no money for such luxuries'

His angry glance flickered to Drew, who felt its sting and could not resist raising a grievance of his own.

‘Why did you not inform me of Simon's death?'

‘I did not think it concerned you.'

‘Concerned me? For Gad, he was my brother!'

‘Aye, pity you didn't think of that before you turned traitor and put his inheritance at risk.'

Drew clamped his jaws together, determined not to respond and into the breach stepped Elyse. She turned in her seat and addressed Sir Edward.

‘You must miss him greatly, sir. Mrs Parfitt said it was a riding accident.'

Drew braced himself, ready to fly to her defence if his father should snap at her, but it was not necessary.

‘Yes, it was,' Sir Edward replied. ‘It happened two years ago, at this very season. Simon had bought a new horse, handsome brute but with a vicious streak.' He glanced at Drew. ‘He never did have your way with horses. He thought to school the animal, but he rushed it, took him out too soon to follow the hounds. The horse threw him at the first fence. Broke his neck.'

‘I am so sorry,' Elyse said softly. ‘And you have lived here alone since then?'

The old man looked up, saying defiantly, ‘I am content with my own company.' He rose. ‘Dinner should be ready by now. Let us go in.'

* * *

The atmosphere in the dining room was distinctly chilly, but it had nothing to do with the weather, which was very mild, even balmy, and Elyse had no need of the shawl she had brought with her. The windows were thrown wide to allow in the late September sunshine and she was thankful to hear the cheerful birdsong from the gardens, for it gave her something to think of other than the strained silence. When the meal was over she rose to leave the gentlemen but Drew stood, too and suggested they might take a turn about the gardens together. Elyse was surprised, but pleased to accept. As they crossed the hall he disclosed his reasons for his invitation.

‘I will not endure his disapproval another moment,' he muttered. ‘He has not mellowed one jot. I have no doubt he would put Simon's accident at my door, an he could.' He stopped and rubbed his eyes. ‘Forgive me, Elyse. I will not inflict my ill humour on you, but I needed an excuse to leave him to his own devices. I will retire—'

‘No.' She caught his good arm. ‘It is not late and it will do you good to step outside for a little while. Do come with me, we can watch the sunset from the gardens.'

She thought at first he would refuse, but with a shrug he went outside with her. The shrubbery was so overgrown that it was impossible to walk there, but Elyse followed the route she had taken earlier in the day, descending the terrace steps to a series of wide gravel walks that were not yet impassable. They strolled together, not touching, but Elyse was very conscious of the man at her side. She could almost feel the tension in him, his anger ready to boil over.

‘This would be so pretty, with a little management,' she remarked, in an effort to distract him. ‘I believe there is only the one gardener now, and he spends all his time looking after the orchards and the kitchen garden.'

‘Yes.'

She glanced up. His face was set, the eyes shuttered.

‘Do you take the blame for that, too?'

‘Of course.'

‘Why should you do that?'

‘My actions led to most of my father's estate being seized by the Crown. There would have been fines to pay, too, as well as the ignominy of having a rebel in the family. My father paid dear for my treachery. It would have been necessary to retrench.'

Elyse tucked her hand into his arm and gave it a little squeeze.

She said gently, ‘Will you not tell me what happened?'

‘There is nothing to tell. I allied myself with the Pretender in 'forty-five. He was defeated and thus all his supporters are traitors. The family was fortunate not to lose everything because of me.'

‘But you were no more than a boy.'

‘I was deemed old enough to know my own mind. To join forces with the rebels in an effort to force King George from the English throne. It is treason.'

They descended a flight of shallow steps to another weed-strewn gravel path. Elyse looked back, they were well away from the house now.

‘I would like to hear your story.' When he hesitated she added with a smile, ‘My father must have thought there was some good in you, to make you my guardian.'

‘He was the only one to think so.'

They walked on and Elyse maintained her silence. After a while she was rewarded when he began to speak.

‘I had just reached my fifteenth birthday and went north to stay with my uncle, my mother's brother, in Strathmore. It was meant to be a short visit, a month at the most, then I would return to my schooling, but while I was there news came that the Prince had landed in Scotland. My uncle had always been a Jacobite, the family had been involved in the uprising in 'fifteen when they had lost all their titles and only narrowly escaped with their lives.

‘That was a hard time for Mama's family. She was sent to live with friends in York, where it was hoped she might avoid the taint of belonging to a family of traitors. That is where she met my father and they fell in love. He married her and brought her here to Hartcombe, his family home. Despite my father's disapproval Mama kept in touch with her family, and even persuaded him to allow Simon and me to visit them occasionally. She thought there could be no harm, she had no Jacobite leanings herself and did not think we were in any danger that we would be persuaded by her brother's fanatical ravings for what she considered a lost cause. She was only half-right. Simon was the studious one, sensible and home-loving. I was always more restless, seeking adventure and impatient of books and learning.' He stopped, momentarily diverted. ‘How could he have been so cork-brained as to take out a half-trained horse?'

‘Sir Edward said he did not have your way with animals.'

‘But all the same—he was meant to be the clever one.'

‘Were you very close?'

‘Close enough, until I went to Scotland that last time. After that I never heard from him again.' His lip curled. ‘After I was declared a traitor my father sent a message to say he had forbidden any contact with me. I was cast off, no longer considered a member of his family. I never quite believed it. I was constantly on the move but I wrote to Hartcombe when I could, to let the family know where I could be reached. I only ever received one letter. That was from my father, four years ago, informing me that my mother had died. That I had killed her.'

She stopped. ‘Oh, Drew.'

‘Do not waste your pity on me, madam, remember that I am a traitor.'

He had thrown off her hand and was standing stiff and rigid as stone. His face was a cold mask Elyse shivered, not knowing how to reach him. After a few moments she spoke, saying gently,

‘We should walk on if we are not to become chilled.'

‘Yes, of course.'

They walked on, the shadows lengthening around them as the sun dropped towards the horizon.

‘How did she die?' asked Elyse.

‘I broke her heart.'

‘I do not believe that.'

He shrugged.

‘My father told me she was struck down when the news arrived that there was a price on my head. She never recovered.'

Not knowing the words to comfort him, Elyse took his arm again.

‘I would like to know what happened to you in the 'forty-five, Drew, if you can bear to tell me.'

He waved his hand dismissively.

‘You cannot really wish to hear such an unedifying tale.'

‘I do,' she assured him. ‘And sometimes talking about things helps to heal old wounds.'

‘Not mine.'

‘I would still like to hear your story.'

‘Very well.' He paused, as if deciding where to begin. ‘The summer of 'forty-five, Simon was preparing to go to Oxford so I went to Strathmore alone. I should explain; the Jacobite leanings of my mother's family were never mentioned at Hartcombe. She had quite given up the cause, and my father was a staunch Hanoverian. It says something for the strength of his love for Mama that he allowed us to visit Strathmore. Whenever we went there my uncle was more than willing to entertain us with stories of the daring escapades of his ancestors, and of their loyalty to the Stuarts. They were tales of honour and the fight for a noble cause, just the sort of thing to catch the imagination of a boy longing for adventure. When the Prince landed in Scotland and my uncle rode off to join him, I went with him.'

A tiny cloud passed across the setting sun and there was a momentary dimming of the light. Elyse pulled her shawl a little closer and patiently waited for Drew to continue.

‘The reality of the uprising was very different from the noble enterprise I had dreamed of. Oh, there was plenty of bravery and displays of courage, especially in those early days when success came easily, but I also saw crass mismanagement and self-serving advancement amongst the Prince's followers. Things went from bad to worse once the army turned back at Derby. There were minor skirmishes on the way north, and the odd victory, but the men were disheartened and demoralised. I was wounded at Falkirk Muir and didn't follow the Prince back to Culloden, which is where my uncle died, along with so many others. It was a bloody, bitter defeat and the government determined to crush the rebels completely.