The Dutiful Rake (3 page)

Ellerbeck regarded him intently and then said slowly, ‘I do not mean to offend you, my lord, but it is the sort of thing that will be frowned upon, and while I do not listen to gossip—’

Marcus cut him short, saying ruefully, ‘My reputation is disgraceful. You will have to take my word for it, Ellerbeck, that even were I in the habit of seducing the innocent, a girl as sick as this…’

‘I was not concerned for Miss Fellowes’s safety at your hands, my lord!’ said Ellerbeck caustically. ‘Rather I was concerned at what the reaction of the local gabsters may be.’

‘And do you think I care more for their tattle than for my own opinion if I leave her unattended?’ asked Marcus quietly. ‘As I said, there is no one else. Frankly, I should not even have been in the house with her; but I was under the mistaken impression that she was an elderly woman. And now, if I put up in the village to save her reputation, she may well lose her life.’

A brief silence ensued as Ellerbeck considered his options. At last he said, ‘Very well,’ and proceeded to give Marcus his instructions. These were issued with all the authority of a general who expected to be obeyed in every particular. Marcus, who had received orders directly from Wellington himself, was impressed as well
as amused. He listened closely, asking questions occasionally.

Finally Ellerbeck was finished. ‘I’ll send my man back with the medicine and a saline draught. Give her plenty of fluids. It will help to keep the fever down. Oh, try to keep her propped up against the pillows. It will be easier on her breathing.’

‘I sponged her face and wrists…’ Marcus’s tone was questioning. He was starting to feel extremely nervous. The girl looked so ill and she was muttering to herself and moving restlessly.

Ellerbeck followed his gaze and frowned slightly. ‘Just the thing,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back in the morning. You can send for me sooner if necessary. My man will know where I am.’ He sat down on the bed and took one of those restless hands. ‘Miss Meg…Meg. Open your eyes.’ His voice was gentle but commanding.

To Marcus’s immense surprise the heavy lids fluttered open. Eyes of a deep blue-grey focused confusedly on the doctor, who said kindly, ‘Good girl. Miss Meg, you are very ill with this wretched influenza. You need not worry, this gentleman is a friend of mine. His name is…’ He looked questioningly up at Marcus.

‘Marcus…Marc,’ he responded automatically, and then wondered what had possessed him to use the name only his family and closest friends knew him by.

‘Marcus. He is going to look after you. I have to look in on Agnes and then help Mrs Watkins with her baby tonight. I have told Marcus just what to do for you. He will give you your medicine and anything else you need. You may trust him as you would myself.’ Ellerbeck gave the hand a reassuring pat.

Gradually some of the confusion cleared in the hazy regard and it shifted slightly to include Marcus. A faint
smile touched the pallid lips and a weak voice said, ‘You were here…before. Gave me a drink…a flannel.’

Surprised that she remembered, Marcus smiled down at her and nodded. She smiled back and shut her eyes wearily. As sick as she was, the smile held a great deal of sweetness.

Ellerbeck stood up to leave and said quietly to Marcus, ‘No need for her to know who you are yet. Only worry her.’ Shrewdly he looked at Marcus and said, ‘Don’t you worry too much, either. She’ll do well enough now we’ve caught it. Believe me, little Miss Meg has the constitution of a horse.’ Seeing the doubt in the taut face and frowning grey eyes, he said, ‘I mean it, my lord. She’s a very sick lassie but I’ll warrant she’ll be up in a few days.’

Left alone with his charge, Marcus wondered what to do. Miss Meg…no, dammit! Meg! If he were going to be her nurse, then there was little point in adhering to the usual rules governing polite intercourse. He’d already broken most of them anyway and was about to break a fair few more.

Meg seemed inclined to sleep peacefully for the time being. Reflecting that this was likely to be of short duration, he pulled a large and battered leather armchair up to the bed and settled down to wait.

A soft knock at the door announced the return of Barlow. ‘Brought some dinner up, my lord, and broth for Miss Meg. It ain’t just what you’ll be used to, but it’s better than nowt. Would there be aught else?’

Marcus shook his head. ‘Not at the moment, Barlow. But stay…how is your wife?’

Barlow smiled. ‘Doctor says she’s not too bad. Not
like Miss Meg. He told her to remain in bed for two or three days.’

‘Good.’ Genuine pleasure warmed his tones. ‘Go and look after her, Barlow. I can manage Miss Meg.’

When Barlow had gone he turned his attention to the laden tray. It held a roast chicken, very cold, and dumplings along with fresh bread and a pat of butter. He grinned. There had been times during the war in Spain and Portugal when this would have been considered an extravagant meal for several famished officers in Wellington’s army.

Also on the tray was a
veilleuse,
a combination night lamp and food warmer. He could remember his mother using one years ago when she had been ill. Barlow had already lit the oil lamp in the bottom section, its cheerful glow shone through the apertures in the porcelain. On top was the lidded bowl, doubtless containing Meg’s broth.

What to do first? Meg was asleep and the heat from the lamp would keep the broth warm. After some thought he decided to let her sleep while he had something to eat. Accordingly he set the
veilleuse
on the nightstand, and addressed his own dinner. He was hungry after a long day in the saddle and made short work of the meal.

Now, he thought, Meg. He had noticed a small curved porcelain sickroom-syphon on the tray, its lower end pierced. Barlow, he realised, was an unexpected treasure. He’d thought of everything. No doubt it would be a great deal easier to let Meg use this, rather than trying to spoon broth into her—a procedure that he suspected might have been more than a trifle messy.

After putting the bowl of broth and syphon on the small bedside table, he followed the doctor’s example
and sat down beside her on the bed to pick up a small hand. Chafing it gently between his large ones, he spoke her name quietly.

‘Meg…Meg, wake up.’

At first there was no response, but then a sigh was heard and the eyes opened. They were very cloudy and wandered around the room before settling on Marcus with a puzzled frown. Gradually recognition dawned and she smiled. ‘Marc.’

‘That’s right. You remembered.’ He felt absurdly pleased that she remembered his name and her smile for some unknown reason warmed him. No doubt it was relief to think that Ellerbeck was right, and she was not so ill as he had first thought.

‘Oh, yes.’ The expression hazed over slightly. ‘I don’t know anyone else so handsome…nice.’ She closed her eyes, patently unaware of having said anything untoward.

Somewhat startled, Marcus tried again. ‘Meg…it is time for you to have some dinner. Come.’

Again the eyes opened.

‘That’s the way,’ said Marcus encouragingly. He slipped an arm around her and helped her to sit up. She was pitifully weak and leaned against him, shaking. He could feel her trembling, feel the heat of her fevered body clear through her nightgown as he held her against him. With his free hand he picked up the syphon and presented it to her.

A feeble yet outraged protest greeted this. ‘I don’t need that blasted thing!’

‘Rubbish!’ he responded succinctly, firmly suppressing a delighted smile at her intransigence. ‘Do as you are bid.’

Rather to his surprise she obeyed without further ar
gument and took it. He reached out for the bowl and held it so that the pierced end of the syphon rested in the broth.

‘There you are, my dear, drink it up.’ He was conscious of a swell of satisfaction as the level in the bowl dropped. Half the broth was gone before she shook her head. Marcus did not insist. She could have some more later. Thanks to Barlow’s forethought, the broth could be kept warm for hours.

‘A drink?’

She nodded against his shoulder. He brought the glass to her lips and held it for her to take several swallows. When she had finished, he held her steady while with his free hand he rearranged the pillows. Carefully he sat her back against them and drew the blankets up around her.

Her eyes were shut again, but he did not think she was asleep. Sure enough, a moment later her eyes opened and she surveyed him with mild curiosity.

‘Who are you?’ Her voice was weak and cracked slightly as though her throat were sore.

‘Marc. I’m a friend.’

That seemed to puzzle her. ‘Oh. I didn’t know. You’re a very nice one. Sorry I was rude.’ Then the eyes fluttered shut again.

As the night wore on she became more confused and restless. Marcus was kept extremely busy in his efforts to help her be quiet and comfortable. Once when he was building up the fire he heard a noise and turned around to find her getting out of bed. Horrified, he strode across and lifted her effortlessly in his arms to put her back. She struggled at first, but submitted when he spoke.

‘Meg, sweetheart—’ the endearment slipped out unconsciously ‘—you must stay in bed.’

‘Am I sick?’ She clung to him as he attempted to tuck her in. ‘Oh, that’s right. Ellerbeck was here!’ Suddenly she panicked. ‘I can’t pay him! There’s no money for me, Cousin Samuel says.’

It was like a blow over the heart to hear the fear in her voice. What would it be like to face destitution as this girl did? To face your entire life knowing that there was not a soul in the world to care what became of you and to have to go out into that world to earn your living. It must be a nightmare for anyone at the best of times, and must be so for her if it could even penetrate the feverish fog clouding her mind.

Still holding her in his arms, he tried gently to reassure her. ‘Don’t worry, Meg. The bills are all paid and there is plenty of money. You are quite safe with me. Go to sleep.’ His hands automatically stroked the thick dark curls, which felt lank and lifeless to his touch.

Much to his surprise she seemed to accept this and settled down. He found though that when he left her she became upset and scared. Ironically he thought that, although he had spent countless nights with a woman clasped in his arms, this one would stand out in his memory as the most novel of his entire misspent career. Resignedly he climbed back on to the bed beside her and pulled her to him, nestling her into the curve of his arm to rest against his side. He firmly repressed the thought that she felt rather nice snuggled against him.

With a contented little sigh her head drooped on to his shoulder and she slept.

Oddly enough, Marcus found that he got a great deal more rest this way. When she stirred he could recall her wandering mind simply by speaking to her gently. She
seemed to remember him and trust him quite happily. Occasionally she even spoke his name in her mutterings.

His heart twisted as she murmured, ‘Marc is here…a friend…’ What had her life been that she should find the thought of an unknown friend so sustaining? He wondered if there were anyone else she could turn to. Surely she didn’t have to hire herself out as a nursery governess! She was obviously gently born and Samuel Langley had behaved in a totally inappropriate way, turning her into a servant. There must be some relative he could find to take her in. Unconsciously he held her closer, leaning to rest his cheek on the limp, dark curls.

For two nights and a day between Marcus was in constant attendance on Miss Fellowes. He found that he was required to do everything for her. Most of the time she lay in a semi-conscious daze, rarely stirring except when he fed her or gave her a drink. He even had to hold her steady while she perched on the spittoon he found under the bed. Marcus thought ruefully that if she remembered any of this, Meg was going to be extremely embarrassed. Not many husbands would have had to do as much for their wives as he had done for this unknown, helpless waif.

He found that he thought of her as a child, although he had ascertained from Barlow that she was nearly twenty. Her form was so thin, not at all like the rounded, voluptuous curves he was used to in a woman. Just as well, he thought, given that he had ended up spending most of the night with her in his arms.

She would be quite tall though, he surmised as he watched her that afternoon. He liked taller women. Not too tall, but enough so that he didn’t get a crick in his
neck stooping to kiss them. And he supposed that if she were not so ill and had some flesh on her bones, that she might fill out quite nicely. Her eyes were certainly lovely, deep blue-grey, fringed with curling dark lashes and with strongly marked brows above them. He complexion, despite the ashen hue, was definitely good.

The fever seemed to abate during the day but rose again towards the evening, although Marcus thought she was not so ill as when he had first seen her. He found her eyes open several times, staring at him with a puzzled frown, but she asked no questions beyond the time and what day it was. He suspected that she was too tired and weak to indulge in curiosity.

Ellerbeck called again in the evening and pronounced her much improved. ‘Much better, my lord. And Agnes Barlow will be up tomorrow. She should stay in bed longer, but she is in a terrible state about Miss Meg and insists that she must get up. So you will be relieved.’

Marcus nodded. ‘Good. I cannot think that Miss Meg will feel at all comfortable with me once she is well enough to realise who I am. If Mrs Barlow takes over tomorrow that can be avoided.’

‘Aye, that will be best,’ agreed the doctor. ‘I’ll tell you to your head, my lord, she’s a great deal better. And that can go down to your credit. I’ll warrant you didn’t have an easy time with her. If ever you need a reference as a nurse, my lord, drop me a line.’

Marcus shrugged to hide his pleasure and said off-handedly, ‘The job had to be done, sir. No one could have let the girl take her chances.’

A sceptical snort from the doctor made him look inquiringly. ‘Old Samuel wouldn’t have seen it like that. Nor, I might add, did any of the so-called ladies in the
district. Told you I’d try to get a woman, didn’t I? Well, I did try, and not one of them was willing to come or even send a maid to help the girl!’