Portrait of My Heart (14 page)

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Authors: Patricia Cabot

Tags: #Romance, #Adult, #Historical

BOOK: Portrait of My Heart
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“I’ll not be livin’ with that Frenchwoman,” Hill declared crisply. “Nor will you. That Mam’selle Jacquard, she’s no sort of lady, if you ask me, in spite of all her money, and you’ll not be sharing any flat with her. I know all about women like her, those
artistic
types … .”
“Hill,” Maggie said gently.
“I’m
the artistic type. Remember?”
Hill stamped her foot furiously. “Don’t you be comparin’ yourself to that little miss. I seen women like her. I know their ways. No better than that heathen the duke’s marryin’. You know, don’t you, that if the duke was any sort of gentleman, he wouldn’t’ve put you in this situation. You know that, don’t you, miss? The two of you ain’t children no more. Things can’t be the way they was between you. He’s a man now, and you, Miss Margaret, are a lady, in spite of what
some
people in your family might think.” Hill, loyal to the last, disapproved highly of the way Maggie’s father and sisters had been treating her of late. “We’ll just see what Lady Edward says about all this, when she gets back. I imagine she’ll have a proper word or two to give that nephew of hers, for all he’s a duke and a war hero! I only hope I’m about to hear it, I do.”
Maggie stared glumly at her reflection. She sincerely hoped she
wasn’t
around to hear Lady Edward light into her nephew. She had seen Pegeen lose her temper before, and it was not a pretty sight.
Lord, Maggie thought with a sigh. What a mess her life was turning out to be … .
And all because of that blasted Jeremy!
For as long as Jacob Evers could remember, his family had served the Duke of Rawlings. His father, his father’s father, even his grandfather’s father had all buttled in a Rawlings household, either the town house in London or the manor house in Yorkshire. And in all that time, only one piece of advice had been handed down. Just a single axiom, passed from one generation to the next, that had never, so far as Jacob Evers knew, ever been broken … .
Until now.
Standing in front of the door to the duke’s bedroom, the one normally occupied by Lord and Lady Edward when they were in town, Evers hesitated. He knew that the punishment for what he was about to do would be swift. He needn’t worry that he’d suffer long. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if the current duke would merely give him the sack, or accompany the sacking with a physical beating. From what Evers understood, the former duke, Jeremy’s grandfather, had been famous for beating his servants. Though Evers had heard no such horror stories about Lord John’s son, he nevertheless steeled himself for some kind of abuse. After all, he was about to do the unthinkable:
Wake a Rawlings.
The butler lowered his fist to the door and thumped, several times. Then he quickly leapt back, as if the portal might itself reach out and strike him.
It took a minute or two, but eventually the door opened,
revealing a large room, the windows of which, though curtained now, overlooked Hyde Park. The walls were painted in a pleasant hunter-green motif coupled with a maroon so pale it might almost have passed for mauve.
There was nothing pleasant, however, about the person who’d opened the door. It was, Evers saw, with a sinking heart, Peters, His Grace’s valet, a young man who’d apparently fought under the duke’s command, and had, as far as Evers could tell, not a single bit of formal training as a gentleman’s valet. Even worse, he had only one complete leg, having lost most of what had existed beneath the knee of his right leg in some sort of battle abroad. The young man had already unstrapped the wooden peg he wore once when he’d been belowstairs, disgusting Cook and terrifying the scullery maids with the sight of his stump. Peters was not a particular favorite among the household staff at Twenty-two Park Lane.
“What,” the valet whispered, his expression one of complete disbelief, “do you want, mate? The colonel’s
asleep,
you know … .”
Before Evers could open his mouth to voice his indignation at being referred to as
mate,
a wooden voice sounded from somewhere in the room. “Correction,” Jeremy said flatly. “The colonel
was
asleep.”
Peters turned a grim face toward the butler. “Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re in for it now. Don’t you know no one’s s’ posed to wake the colonel? ’Ave you got a death wish?”
“What is it, Evers?” demanded the duke imperiously. In the doorway, his valet muttered, “‘E’s not
well,
you know, mate. ’E needs ’is sleep … .”
Evers cleared his throat. “I would not deign to disturb His Grace’s sleep were it not for the direst of circumstances.”
“Dire circumstances, eh?”
Evers was relieved to hear a note of amusement in His Grace’s voice. For the first time since opening the front door a half hour earlier, he allowed himself to feel hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he might manage to retain his employment after delivering this terrible news.
“If the circumstances are dire enough that Evers felt it
necessary to wake me, then you had better let him come in, Peters.”
Pursing his lips with disapproval, Peters removed his wooden leg from where he’d thrust it, directly in Evers’s path, and limped backward in order to allow the butler to enter. Evers did so, his chin held high—until his eyes met with the figure that lay in the great curtained bed just a few yards away. It was only years of careful training that kept his jaw from dropping. He could not, however, keep from exclaiming, in surprise, “Good God!”
“Oh, come, Evers,” Jeremy said with a mocking smile. “You’ve seen worse, surely.”
Evers recovered himself. Blinking rapidly, he crossed the dimly lit room, careful not to trip on any of the many items that had been strewn across the floor in Peters’s efforts to unpack His Grace’s trunks.
“Not quite, Your Grace,” the butler said stiffly. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I suggest that you allow me to send for a physician. There is an excellent man just down the street, a Mr. Wallace, who could no doubt be here momentarily.”
Jeremy looked shocked … or as shocked as a man who was laid up in bed with a high fever could look. “Bite your tongue, Evers,” he said. “There’s nothing the doctors can do for me now. I’ve just got to sweat it out. I’ll be right as rain in half an hour.”
“‘E’s right, Mr. Evers.” Peters had closed the bedroom door, and now limped over to a trunk he’d apparently been unpacking. “These fevers take the colonel, and leave ’im just as quick. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was up and around by suppertime.”
“Speaking of which …” Jeremy, shirtless, was leaning back against a multitude of pillows, many of which looked as if they’d been twisted by a pair of strong, fevered hands. “ … what’s Maggie doing tonight?”
Evers, taken completely by surprise by the question, stammered, “Miss Margaret, Your Grace? Why, I believe her maidservant told me that Miss Margaret and Monsieur de Veygoux are attending a cotillion given by the Earl of Althorpe.”
A look of utter horror crossed Jeremy’s face. “
What
?” he cried, bolting upright in the vast bed. “You mean that frog-eater is escorting her?”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” Evers said. “He is, after all, her fiance. Your Grace, might I recommend that you put on a shirt? When one is suffering from a very high fever, it is usually advisable to—”
“Damned right,” Jeremy said, throwing back the sheets entirely, and making it clear that beneath the butter-soft linen bedclothes, the duke wore precisely, well, nothing. “Peters,” he said in a commanding voice. “My uniform, if you will.”
Horrified, Evers looked quickly away. “Your Grace!” the butler cried. “I really think—”
“Dress uniform, Colonel?” Peters asked. He hobbled up to the edge of the bed and seized one of the muscular arms thrust at him, helping to pull the duke toward the side of the large bed.
“Dress uniform, Peters,” Jeremy grunted, as he started climbing down the set of stairs that led from the steep bed frame. “I’ll need my sword, white gloves, decorations—”
Peters looked happily surprised. “Really, Colonel? Your
decorations? All
of them?”
“All of them, Peters.” Naked, Jeremy pulled himself up to his full height and happened to glance in his butler’s direction. Evers was staring with something akin to horror at him. “Thank you, Evers,” Jeremy said mildly. “That will be all.”
Evers shook himself. “B-but … Your Grace can’t be thinking of
going out
.”
“Of course I’m going out, Evers,” Jeremy said with a smile. “I’ve got a sudden desire to pay a call on the Earl of Althorpe.”
“But …” Evers shook his head, like a dog trying to rid his ears of water. “Your Grace, I really must protest. You are obviously not a well man. It is sheer lunacy for you to venture outdoors, in this cold weather, running a high fever.”
“For God’s sake, old man,” Peters hissed disgustedly, as he threw a clean white shirt over his master’s broad shoulders.
“Pull yourself together. Don’t you know who you’re speaking to?”
Evers looked offended. “I most certainly do. I am speaking to the seventeenth Duke of Rawlings.”
“No you ain’t,” Peters whispered. “You’re speakin’ to Lieutenant Colonel Jeremy Rawlings. And the lieutenant colonel ain’t afraid of anything or anyone, as his many medals and honors prove.”
“Are my boots polished, Peters?” Jeremy inquired, as he tugged on the billowy-sleeved white shirt.
“With a cold biscuit, Colonel,” the valet said, quickly unfolding a pair of fawn-colored breeches. “Just the way you like them.”
“Very good.” Though he’d managed to don his underwear without assistance, Jeremy was forced to lay a hand upon his valet’s shoulder to support himself as he stepped into his tight-fitting trousers. “Evers, order my carriage to be brought round directly after Maggie’s has left.” Then, looking up, Jeremy inquired, “Do we still have that pair of grays my uncle won from the Prince of Wales?”
“Yes, Your Grace. But—”
“Excellent.” Jeremy shrugged into the handsomely cut, deep scarlet coat, the tails of which brushed the backs of his knees. The heavy gold epaulets upon his shoulders caught the candlelight, and Peters hurried to comb out their sweeping fringe. The duke turned to examine his reflection in the full-length mirror standing in the far corner of the room. Critically, he pulled at some tangles of black curl that fell over his broad forehead. “Peters, you’ll drive me.”
“Of course, Colonel,” the valet replied cheerfully. “I think I remember me way through the streets of London, though it’s been a while, o’ course.”
Evers could contain himself no longer. “Your Grace!” he cried. “You are not well. I must insist that you allow me to send for a physician. At the very least, stay home tonight and rest. You look dreadful, my lord. Very dreadful, indeed!”
This caused Jeremy to stare at his reflection even more critically. “Do I?” he asked, surprised. “Well, only because
Peters hasn’t pinned on my decorations yet. Wait until you see them, Evers. I glitter quite like a dowager.”
Undaunted, Evers continued. “It would be absolutely disgraceful, Your Grace, were you to simply show up at the Althorpe cotillion without having been issued an invitation—”
“You think the Earl of Althorpe would begrudge a cup of punch to the seventeenth Duke of Rawlings?” Jeremy smiled cynically at his reflection. “I think not. Peters, can’t anything be done about this hair of mine?”
“Certainly, Colonel.” Peters brandished a pair of scissors. “You’re only needing a trim. Let me throw a towel round your neck, to protect your coat—”
“Madness,” Evers muttered. “Absolute madness.” Then, more loudly, he declared, “I am afraid, Your Grace, that you have left me no choice. Your neglect of your own health has forced me to come to the conclusion that I must notify Lord and Lady Edward as soon as they arrive—”
Before the words were fully out of the butler’s mouth, Jeremy had whirled around and, in a single motion, seized both of Evers’s lapels and hauled him six inches off the floor. Speechless for once, the butler looked down at the floor, over which he hovered, then back at the enraged face of his master, who was not, apparently, as weak with illness as Evers had thought.
“At your peril, little man,” the duke hissed, in a voice that sent chills up the butler’s spine. “At your peril do you utter a word to them about my illness. Not a word. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”
Evers, petrified, and more than ever convinced that his master had become bedeviled in the Far East, stammered, “B-but, Your Grace, they—they’re bound to notice as soon as they see you. Surely—”
“I’ll tell them myself,” the duke informed him coolly. “In my own way. I don’t need anyone running to my aunt and uncle every time I come down with a touch of something. You’re to keep quiet about it. Understand?”
Evers couldn’t speak, he was trembling so badly. The duke’s valet sauntered over and said cordially, “Don’t you
worry about ’im, Colonel. I’ll take care of ’im for you, if’n ‘e lets anything slip. I’ll do ’im the way we did those Bengals back in Jaipur—” To illustrate, he drew a finger across his own throat, making a hideous hissing noise as he did so.
“I won’t,” Evers gasped. “I won’t say a word, Your Grace! I swear it!”
Jeremy studied the older man’s face, unaware of the fact that his own face had taken on an expression of such desperation that it would not have been recognized by any who’d known him in his youth. The Duke of Rawlings had never wanted for anything, had never known deprivation.
Not until recently, anyway.
“See that you don’t,” Jeremy grumbled, and he set the butler down, quite gently, considering his rage just seconds before.
Evers, his relief immense at having escaped a pummeling from the massive fists that had held him, sagged against a bedpost. His heart was hammering inside his chest, and his mouth had gone dry as cinder. Good God. What was he to do? He was in the employ of a madman. Never in the history of his family had any Evers been treated so by a Rawlings.
Well, what had he expected? It might very well be true, what they said about the latest duke’s parentage. One certainly would expect such behavior from the progeny of a whore … .
“Now,” Jeremy said evenly, as his valet threw a towel about his shoulders, and began to trim his hair. “What was this dire message you needed to convey to me, Evers?”
Good Lord. He had almost completely forgotten. Clearing his throat, Evers straightened and said, “I’m so sorry, my lord. It is only that the Star of Jaipur is downstairs in the foyer.”
The duke glanced curiously at his butler’s reflection in the standing mirror. “No, it isn’t,” he said.

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