The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne (12 page)

He cursed under his breath.

“Indeed, sir,” Grieves remarked. “A substantial snoring noise alerted me to the young lady’s presence, and when I lifted the seat, there she was, inside the luggage compartment, tightly curled in the manner of a prodded woodlice.”

Lady Mercy Danforthe yawned while both men looked down at her, one in bemusement, the other in despair.

“I can’t have this, for pity’s sake,” James muttered. He had enough trouble trying to keep an eye on the Vyne woman, who may or may not be part of some dastardly blackmail plot, using her body, her lips, and her eyes to beguile him completely. His hands were full already, and the last thing he needed was this troubled little creature hanging onto his boot heels. He clawed a hand through his hair. His heated blood still hadn’t yet returned to normal, and the beast of reckless desire still had some control of his voice. “What are we supposed to do with her?” he croaked.

“I can send her back to London, sir, with an escort. If someone trustworthy can be found. Perhaps—the item stowed in the buttery might be of some use.”

“Good God, no!” Ophelia Southwold was the last woman he’d entrust with the care of a child.

“Or I’ll take her myself, sir.”

But James wasn’t having that either. Things tended to go awry for him when his valet wasn’t around to help, and it was a long way to send her back. He didn’t want the blame falling upon his shoulders if anything happened to the wretched girl. “No, no. Let her brother come and get her. It’s time he took the responsibility upon himself.”

The short young lady regarded James with huge, cowlike eyes but said nothing.

“Very good, sir, I shall send a messenger to the Earl of Everscham and let him know his sister is safe and well.”

“And in need of a ride home. He can surely abandon his pleasures in Town long enough to fetch her.”

Grieves bowed. “Sorry to disrupt your evening, sir, but I did not know where else to put the young lady. She could not very well remain in the luggage compartment.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Because it was very cramped,” the child exclaimed. “I’m sure it has quite ruined my best sprigged muslin, and the fur trim on my coat is all crushed.”

Suddenly, a soft voice emerged from behind the screen. “That’s quite all right, Grieves, we were done in any case. The young lady can come in and have some supper.”

Grieves, who seldom changed color, could now pass for a boiled lobster.

James began tucking his shirt into his breeches, and annoyance ripped through him. She thought they were done, did she?
Au
contraire!
He grabbed the stowaway by a fistful of cloak and drew her into the room. “Lady Mercy, do meet my fiancée, Miss Mariella Vyne.”

The girl glared at the dressing screen. “Fiancée?
Fiancée?
”

Victory! The chit was no longer gazing up at him with limp-eyed adoration.

“Very pleased to meet you, Lady Mercy.” Ellie stuck her hand out around the side of the screen.

There was a moment of silence.

Then the small, angry creature opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and let out an ear-splitting shriek of horror. Fearing it could bring every soul in the inn to their chamber door, James attempted to cover her mouth with his hand. The result was a bite so hard that he swung his hand away and almost hit Grieves, who had the presence of mind to step back but, in so doing, knocked over the decorative suit of armor. James was cursing, doubled over and nursing his hand, when the armor fell upon him, followed by the pikestaff, sending him to the floor with a bang.

The last thing he remembered before someone blew out all his candles and thick darkness descended was the taste of dust, the clamorous cries of Lady Mercy, and the rapid approach of Ellie’s slippers.

***

“Is he dead?” Lady Mercy squealed as she fell to her knees. “Oh, my beloved James! I’ve killed you!”

Grieves helped Ellie lift the pieces of dented armor from the prostrate man. She couldn’t believe it was heavy enough to fell him like that, for he was no small weight himself, but the pikestaff had hit the back of his head quite hard. Alarmed, she saw blood on his forehead where it had smacked into the floor. He was pale, his eyes closed, no movement.

“We need a physician at once,” she exclaimed.

“I shall be hanged for a murder of passion,” sobbed Lady Mercy, tears streaking her face. Ellie had no idea who the child belonged to or why she was following James, but it was nothing shocking to find women of all shapes and sizes trailing along in his wake. Half of them, she was sure, never knew why they did it either.

She reached out to reassure the child, but Lady Mercy shrank away as if she had leprosy. “Dreadful person. He was supposed to marry me.”

“Let’s not worry about that now. We ought to take care of James, don’t you think?”

The girl sniffed, and a tear wobbled from her chin. “Poor, dear James.”

With Mr. Grieves’s help and Lady Mercy’s hindrance, Ellie was able to get him onto the bed. She washed the blood away, using one of her own kerchiefs and some water from the ewer behind the dressing screen. Lady Mercy stood at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands with remorse. As soon as Grieves hurried off to find a physician, the patient opened his eyes.

“Oops. My head hurts,” he groaned.

“I’m not surprised.” Now she’d cleaned off the blood, there was only a miniscule bump on his forehead and a little scratch, nothing monstrous. Men always made more than necessary of a tiny wound. “Lie still.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he muttered, and his eyelashes flickered shut again. “I think I will, if it’s all the same to you, my lady.”

Ellie squinted down at him.
My
lady?

His voice drifted sleepily. “I won’t be any trouble.”

“Poor, darling James!” Lady Mercy rushed around the bed and seized his hand in both her much-smaller ones. He certainly had a knack for rousing female sympathy.

“I must get back to work,” James mumbled, managing a weak smile.

Work?
Now Ellie began to doubt that was such a small knock to his head after all. The damage could be worse than it looked.

“Can’t lie about all day,” he added. “Things to be done.”

“I’m sure they can wait,” she replied warily.

“But I’ve got…services…to perform. Stud services.”

Ellie’s face grew hot.

The wounded man murmured in a strange, soft voice. “I’m sorry, my lady. Shouldn’t have mentioned it. Shhh.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Secret. Not to tell.”

“Could you stir up the fire, Lady Mercy?” Ellie cried, her voice high and thin. “It feels a little cold in here.” At first it seemed the girl would refuse. Only when Ellie pointed out that James might feel chilled was the request obeyed.

While the girl turned her back, apparently absorbed in prodding the coals, his lips popped open to expel a soft moan. “Mustn’t forget the soldiers. There should always be soldiers. But she’s got a lovely, lovely pair of bubbies.”

Ellie looked over at Lady Mercy. Now violently and gleefully assaulting the fire with an iron poker, the girl had temporarily forgotten her concern for “poor, darling James.” His piteous groans were too subtle to be heard at that distance.

“Stop it,” Ellie whispered frantically. “Just be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“Someone ought to give that wench a spanking.” He chuckled, low.

“James! Hush.”

He gripped the pleats of her bed robe as she leaned over him. “A thousand pounds you owe me. I paid for your company. I’ll take that back and with interest, madam. We are not done. You owe me five nights.”

Carefully she pried his hand from the material, but then his fingers clung to hers with the same determination.

“Tell Mr. Grieves I’ll be back to work as soon as the sun comes up, madam. A valet’s work is never done. If you could walk a day in my shoes, you’d know.”

***

The physician was a rotund fellow with a wig that sat slightly askew on his head, waistcoat buttons that were all—apart from one—in the wrong holes, very bright eyes, and a merry disposition, clearly increased by drink. As he stumbled around the bed, examining James in a slapdash fashion that Ellie could only hope had some purpose unapparent to the layperson, he hummed under his breath and occasionally let out a raucous laugh. He swayed, clutching for the bedpost and missing by several inches.

“I’m sure ’tis naught but a little concussion, madam,” he announced. “A good night’s rest will help. Keep the feet elevated so blood returns to the brain. I do not advise the application of brandy or any other believed restorative. I don’t hold with it.” He punctuated this with a loud, rumbling burp, which, had she held a flame to it, would have set fire to the bed drapes.

She frowned. “But he seems not to know who he is or where he is. He thinks he’s a valet.”

“That, madam, is the nature of concussion,” he slurred. “’Tis a sorry business, but there we are. Accidents do happen. The brain will right itself.”

No sooner had he given her this straw of hope, than he snatched it away again.

“Or it may not, of course. There’s nothing one can do but wait.”

Ellie hated feeling helpless. The more she studied the man stretched out on the bed, the more wounded he looked. Much of his sorry appearance was due to the preexisting bruise around his eye, but when combined with the blood on his forehead, it was more than she could bear. “Surely there is something we can—”

“No. No.” The physician snapped his bag swiftly shut. “In fact, madam, the least one does, the better. He must have no shocks. Let him come slowly around to reality. The brain is much better left to heal itself.”

Grieves held out the physician’s mud-spattered greatcoat. “You say we should let him believe whatever he has in his mind and not try to make him remember who he is?” There was a detectable note of glee in the valet’s tone.

“Precisely. Forcing the memory does no good whatsoever and might only cause harm.”

Shaking her head, Ellie walked to the window and looked out on the dark, rain-soaked yard of the inn. How on earth were they going to manage James now and get him safely to his grandmother in this state?

When the physician left, Grieves tried to comfort her. “We’ll take him directly on to Morecroft and let his own physician examine him on the morrow, madam. Do not fret.”

“But how can we let his grandmother see him like this? She’ll think it’s my fault, no doubt.”

“Quite.” Grieves gave her an odd smile, as if he tried to withhold it but gave in. “Perhaps her ladyship is better off not knowing. For now.” He straightened his lips and attempted a solemn face. “The lady need not be worried unduly, and I’m certain he will soon improve. It is, after all, far from the first time something heavy has been struck about his head.”

It was decided that Lady Mercy should stay with them in the room that night, and Grieves returned to the stables. The rain had eased off, and he assured her he was quite happy to sleep there. The valet seemed in a very good mood for a man whose master lay confused and helpless, but his blithely confident demeanor made Ellie feel a little better.

She ordered another supper for Lady Mercy and watched her eat. Continually she checked that James was still breathing, and then, satisfied that he was, returned to her seat at the table.

“Tell me how you came to be hiding in Mr. Hartley’s carriage, Lady Mercy.”

“I ran away, of course. To be with
him
.” Her small face darkened in a fierce frown. “Now you’re here. It’s most unfair.”

“Life very often is.”

“But I am in love with James Hartley!” Lady Mercy’s impassioned declaration sent the candle flames into a wild dance. “He saved my life, you know.” Thus Ellie heard all about a rescue on horseback several weeks ago. “No one else came to my aid. My brother was not watching. I was quite alone. I could have died had James not ridden after me.”

“That was very gallant of him.”

“I remember it vividly. I was wearing a pink satin spencer topped with a rose-and-white striped scarf. And I had my lime-green gloves. Oh, and some extremely lush plumes in my hat that made Cecelia Montague blatantly emerald with envy. Although she denied it feverishly.”

“I see.”

“Has poor, darling James ever saved your life?”

She laughed. “No. I save my own.” She’d always been her own savior.

“I know you don’t love him like I do. You can’t possibly. Do you?” the girl demanded.

Ellie hesitated. “It doesn’t really matter whom we love, because the other person is sometimes incapable of loving in return. If you do not have those expectations, you won’t be hurt or disappointed. A person is much better off independent, relying on no one else, keeping their heart to themselves.”

Lady Mercy regarded her with that peculiarly precocious hauteur. “Are you his harlot?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A woman of the night? A loose woman? A demirep?”

“Good gracious, no. Whatever—?”

“But your clothes were almost all off, and you were in bed with him.”

Uh, oh
. “I was merely changing my clothes. They were wet from the rain. Mr. Hartley was…helping me.”

“I heard him say he paid for you. Something about five nights.”

Ellie replied curtly, “He has a concussion. He does not know what he’s saying.”

“My brother prefers to spend his money on harlots than on proper young ladies, because they don’t make things complicated. So he says.”

“Does he indeed?”

“He says he’s never going to get married.”

“Probably a wise choice,” she replied wryly. “For the sake of women everywhere.” Reaching across the cluttered table, she took the ale jug from the girl’s hands. “You should have lemonade.”

The arrogant little madam wrinkled her nose. “I can have ale. This is very weak. My brother lets me drink wine at home. I even tried brandy once. He dared me to finish a whole glass of it for a shilling.”

“Your brother sounds quite a character. I assume he’s your only guardian?”

The girl nodded. “He lets me do whatever I like, since I got rid of Nanny.”

Ellie smiled. “If life is so fine at home, why are you running away?”