by Mary Balogh
“Netherby at your service, Miss Heyden,” he said in a weary voice as he strolled into the room and approached the bed. “I suppose that is who you are. Lifford sent a runner for me, and apparently the lad really did run. Perhaps Lifford has forgotten that I am no longer Harry’s guardian since he passed the age of majority several months ago. But I was in the act of leaving the house when the runner came, so here I am.” He turned his attention then to the young man in the bed. “You have a bit of a fever, do you, Harry?” He set the backs of perfectly manicured fingers against the captain’s brow, Wren having stepped to one side.
“Oh, it’s you, is it, Avery?” the captain said irritably. “If you have come to stop me from enlisting, you can damned well forget it. I want to be an army man. I like the military life. And you are not my guardian any longer.”
“For which blessing I shall offer up a special prayer of thanks tonight,” the Duke of Netherby said. “I came to cool your fevered brow, Harry, though Miss Heyden appears to have been doing an admirable job of it without me. I hope you have not been unleashing similar language upon her to what you are using on me.”
“I damned well have not,” Captain Westcott said testily. “I know how to speak to ladies. If you want to be useful, Avery, stop the wardrobe and the dressing table from walking about the room, will you? It’s dashed unnerving.”
“I shall have a word with them,” the duke said, and looked at Wren. “I take it Cousins Althea and Elizabeth are from home, as well as Riverdale? I apologize for this unexpected intrusion upon your privacy by yet two more members of your betrothed’s family, Miss Heyden. I understand that you are something of a recluse.”
“I agreed to meet you all on my wedding day,” Wren said. “That is only three days away.” She was still holding her hand over the left side of her face.
The duke took the cloth from her other hand, dipped it in the water, squeezed it out, and spread it over the young man’s brow. “We all have things about ourselves that we would rather hide than display,” he said softly, more as if he were speaking to his former ward than to Wren. “I grew up small, puny, timid, and pretty, and I was unleashed upon a boys’ school when I was eleven.”
She could only imagine what that must have been like. Boys’ private schools—though they were called paradoxically public schools—were reputed to be brutal. She wondered how he had come from there to here, for though he was still small and slight of build and beautiful to look upon, there was not the merest suggestion of puniness or timidity or effeminacy about him. Quite the opposite.
“One either succumbs,” he continued, “or . . . one does not. I think perhaps you are in the process of not succumbing. Why else would you have agreed to take breakfast on your wedding day with strangers who just happen to be related to your prospective groom?” He dipped the cloth and wrung out the excess water again. “It sounds as if the physician may have come ambling along at last.”
It was not he, however. It was the Earl of Riverdale who appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene before his eyes.
“How is he?” he asked, flicking a glance at Wren.
“Alex?” Captain Westcott turned his head on the pillow. “What the devil are you doing here? Is a man’s own room not his private domain any longer? I am supposed to resent you, aren’t I? Can’t remember why, though. I’ve never had anything against you. Where are Mama and the girls? Why are all these people in my room?”
“Because you have come home safely from the Peninsula, Harry,” the earl said, moving closer to the bed, “and we are happy to see you. Your mother and Abigail will be here soon. They are coming for my wedding to Miss Heyden in three days’ time. At least, I trust they are. Camille is in Bath with her husband and children. I understand from Lifford that a physician has been summoned. Is his fever high?” The last question was directed to Wren.
“Yes,” she said, lowering her hand at last. “He has a wound on his right arm that needs to be cleansed and dressed again.”
“If you would care to withdraw from the room to spare your blushes, Miss Heyden,” the Duke of Netherby said, “Riverdale and I will contrive to undress Harry and make him more comfortable. And ourselves too, I hope. You do not exactly smell like a rose, my lad.”
Wren went to her room. A few minutes later she heard what must surely have been the arrival of the physician. Another half hour passed before the Earl of Riverdale tapped on her door.
“How is he?” she asked, opening it wide. “That poor young man. He was sent home to recover from the recurring fever following a wound that had turned putrid, and in his delirium he thought he really was coming home—to the way things used to be. He expected to find his mother and sisters and his old life here.”
“He has been thoroughly washed from head to toe and put between clean sheets and tended and dosed,” he said. “Netherby is sitting with him while he rattles on about what a famous lark it is to be over there fighting. He will sleep soon, the physician has assured us, and now that his wound is clean and he can be cared for by a doctor again, the fever should run its course within a few days and stay away. He is going to need some recovery time, however. He will need to be fattened up, but with everyone here who will be eager to fuss over him, that should not take long. Come outside with me to stroll in the garden. It is a bit late for Kew today, I am afraid.”
She did not even stop at the drawing room to pick up her bonnet and other things. She went outside with him, her arm through his, and reveled in the feeling of the warm breeze on her cheeks.
“I really am sorry for all this,” he said as they strolled among the flower beds. “Your dearest wish was a modest one—someone to wed. Someone, not hordes of others associated with him. I promised to protect you from all that and have failed miserably so far. You will be thinking me a fraud and a deceiver.”
“No,” she said.
“Shall I send you home to Withington?” he asked. “I know you sent your own carriage there after you moved here. Would you like to go back to the quiet privacy to which you are accustomed? Perhaps, if you are kind and prepared to give me a second chance, I could bring the special license to Brambledean when I am released from my responsibilities here, or even sooner if you wish, and we can marry privately there and live privately ever after there.”
“And next spring?” she asked. They had come to the small herb garden, which had indeed been set out as an old-fashioned knot garden, each cluster of herbs separated from others by low walls of stone. The smells were as enticing as those of the flowers. “Would you not need to come back here then and every year?”
“You could remain in the country when I am in Parliament if you wished,” he said.
“That would not be marriage, would it?” she said. “I have not been forced into anything, Lord Riverdale. You are not responsible for me. I chose to meet Mrs. Westcott and Lizzie. And Lady Jessica. I chose to meet the Dowager Duchess of Netherby and the duchess. I agreed to a family wedding when your mother suggested it. I suggested inviting Miss Kingsley and her daughter to our wedding.”
He was smiling at her and drawing her down to sit on a wooden bench near the knot garden. “And I suppose you chose to meet Harry and Netherby,” he said.
“I met them under unforeseeable circumstances,” she said. “It was not your fault. And I am glad it is over with. He is very formidable, is he not? I am not sure why, but he is.”
“Netherby?” He laughed. “I used to think him a bit of a fop and scoffed at those who always seemed to think there was something dangerous about him. And then I discovered that he is dangerous, though he almost never needs to prove it.”
She looked at him. “Well?” she said. “You cannot tell me that much without explaining yourself.”
“Cousin Camille was betrothed to Viscount Uxbury,” he told her, “but he forced her to end the betrothal as soon as he discovered she was illegitimate. He was not pleasant about
it either. And then he tried to ingratiate himself with Anna. When he turned up uninvited at a ball in her honor and tried to harass her there, Netherby and I kicked him out. The morning after, he challenged Netherby to a duel in Hyde Park. No doubt he thought it would be an easy victory for him, especially when Netherby, who had the choice of weapons, chose none at all. On the appointed morning he stripped to his breeches and nothing more—not even boots. I was his second and thought him mad. Everyone else there thought him mad. Uxbury laughed at him. And then Netherby proceeded to knock him down—with his bare feet. When Uxbury got up, Netherby launched himself into the air and felled the man with both feet beneath his chin. Uxbury was unconscious for some time. I do believe Netherby went gently on him, however. I was and am strongly of the opinion that he could have killed Uxbury with the greatest ease if he had wanted to. Afterward, he explained he had been trained in various Far Eastern arts by an old Chinese master.”
“Oh,” Wren said, “how splendid.”
“Bloodthirsty wench.” He grinned at her. “So Anna thought, and so Lizzie thought. They were both there, hidden up a tree and behind the tree respectively. Ladies never ever go anywhere near duels, I must add. You would have been there too if you had been given the chance, I suppose?”
“Oh, definitely,” she said, and he laughed outright.
“Miss Heyden,” he said, “you are going to fit right into this family, you know.”
She smiled at him. What a lovely thing to say. Just as if she were no different in many ways from Lizzie or the Duchess of Netherby. And she realized, like a sharp stab to the heart, that she had always longed for just that—to belong, to fit in.
He lifted one hand to cup the left side of her face and ran his thumb lightly over her cheek. “Thank you,” he said, “for tending to Harry, especially when he was smelling so ripe and his language was not any better. He is very precious. Had he retained the title, he would have borne it well. He was very young and a bit wild, but he would have settled down within a year or two and done a far better job than his father did. He is of sound character. His mother saw to that.”
“You are not responsible for him either,” she said. “I have discovered your character flaw, Lord Riverdale. You mentioned it yourself in Hyde Park. You would take the burdens of the world upon your own shoulders if you could and solve them. You cannot do it, and it is not a good idea even to try. We all have to find our own way in life. It is, I believe, what life is all about.”
“Finding our way?” he said. “You mean we get to choose? It did not feel that way last year when my life was turned upside down and inside out and all I wanted was the old life back. I had found a way through that and I had followed it with determination and hard work and satisfaction.”
“You had choices even so,” she said. “You could have chosen to ignore the monstrosity that is Brambledean and continued along your familiar path. You could have chosen to marry for love or not at all. You could have chosen any of the young ladies who have made their preference for you this year clear. You could have ignored my more blatant marriage proposal. You still have choices and always will. So do I. I could leave for Withington tomorrow morning if I chose.”
“And do you choose?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I am going to remain here and marry you. I must have met about half your family already. I can surely survive meeting the other half.”
He laughed again and then closed the distance between their mouths. He kissed her warmly, lingeringly, gently. She breathed in the scents of rosemary and sage and mint and thyme and the background fragrances of sweet peas and other flowers and thought that she could forfeit passion for this sense of . . . Of what? She could not put a name to it. Affection, perhaps?
“I should go back up and see how Captain Westcott is doing,” she said regretfully when he lifted his head. “Perhaps there is something I can do to help.”
“Captain?” He got to his feet and offered his hand.
“That is what he said when Mr. Lifford called him Lieutenant Westcott,” she said.
“Impressive,” he said. “You do not need to tend him, you know. There are other—”
“Yes,” she said, interrupting him, “I do know.”
Thirteen
Alexander moved back into the house. The physician gave it as his opinion that there was no need for Harry to be nursed around the clock, but Alexander nevertheless had a truckle bed made up for himself in the dressing room leading off Harry’s bedchamber so that he would be within calling distance if he was needed. Netherby approved. Harry grumbled.
Alexander’s mother and Elizabeth were relieved to have a supportive male presence, especially because Harry’s fever had not yet abated when they returned home and went up to see him. He asked if they were visiting his mother and then frowned and corrected himself.
Miss Heyden was with Alexander in Harry’s room that evening, bathing his face with cool cloths, when Cousin Eugenia, the Dowager Countess of Riverdale, Harry’s grandmother, called to see him, inevitably bringing Cousin Matilda, her eldest daughter, with her. Their attention was focused entirely upon Harry for some time, as was to be expected. But after a few minutes, Cousin Matilda noticed Miss Heyden, who had moved back to stand by the window, and gazed at her with what looked like fascinated horror.
“My dear young lady,” she said, “whatever happened to your face? I must beg leave to recommend some ointment that would clear it up in no time.”
“Don’t be a fool, Matilda,” her mother commanded. “It looks to me like a permanent blemish.”
“It is, ma’am,” Miss Heyden said, and Alexander, meeting her eyes, grimaced slightly. She favored him with a fleeting smile.
“Miss Heyden is my betrothed,” he explained, and made the introductions.
“Well, of course she is,” Cousin Matilda said. “Who else would she be? A veil might make you less self-conscious, Miss Heyden.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
“It does,” Miss Heyden said. “But I believe it is important that Lord Riverdale’s relatives see me as I am.”
“And why would she wear one at all, Matilda?” the dowager said, sounding irritated, as she often did with that particular daughter. “She is remarkably handsome apart from those purple marks, which I imagine one does not even notice after a while. Alexander has shown great good sense in not allowing such a trivial detail to influence his choice. It is time he married and started to fill his nursery. There is an alarming dearth of heirs in this family.”
Alexander wondered if his prospective bride would after all bolt for the country tomorrow morning. But she was half smiling at the old lady.
Harry, ignored for the moment, laughed weakly. “I cannot help in that department. I am sorry, Grandmama,” he said. “I am a bastard. Why is Mama not here? Everyone else is.”
“Your mind is wandering again,” his grandmother told him bluntly, “as apparently it was when you arrived this afternoon. It is a good thing Miss Heyden had the presence of mind to cool your face with cold cloths. You need to rest and then get some fat on your bones. Your mother and Abigail are quite possibly coming here for Alexander’s wedding. Althea is this very minute writing another letter to urge them to come on your account.”
“Alex’s wedding,” he said, draping his uninjured arm across his eyes. “Well, at least no one is hounding me to marry and produce heirs. That is one advantage of being a bastard.”
“You ought not to use that word in the presence of your grandmother, Harry,” Cousin Matilda said, and he laughed again.
“I am not going to apologize again,” Alexander said quietly when the dowager and Cousin Matilda had gone downstairs and Harry had dropped off into a doze. “Doubtless you would consider me a bore.”
“Doubtless I would,” she agreed. “There is going to be no one new left for me to meet on my wedding day.”
“Do
not forget my mother’s family,” he said.
“I am not likely to,” she told him, pulling a face.
“You ought not to be doing this,” he said after she had straightened the bedcovers without waking Harry and rung to have the bowl and cloths taken away and fresh ones brought.
“Why not?” she asked. “Your mother needed to write to Harry’s mother on the chance that she has decided not to come for our wedding, and Lizzie did not feel she could easily get out of the private birthday dinner to which she had been invited. Why not me? I will be a full-fledged member of the family in three days’ time.”
And she was being drawn into the family, it seemed, whether she fully realized it or not.
“Harry enlisted as a private soldier the day after that ghastly meeting we all had with his solicitor,” Alexander told her. “He disappeared, and when Netherby finally found him, he had already taken the king’s shilling. How Netherby got him out of it remains a mystery, but he did. He purchased a commission instead, but Harry insisted upon a foot regiment and upon earning his own promotions without any further help from Avery’s purse.”
“Then you were right about him,” she said. “He is a young man of sturdy character who will do well with his life and be strengthened by what has happened to him. Though he is obviously deeply hurt by it all. It will not be easy.”
“No,” he said.
“But you are not to blame yourself,” she said even more softly. “That is what you must learn from all of this.”
Harry opened his eyes. “I say,” he said, looking at Miss Heyden. “You are going to be my second cousin-in-law. I have just worked it out. Though you may not want to claim me even at that distant relationship.” He gave her the ghost of his old charming, boyish smile. “It’s not a comfortable thing to have a bastard in your family, is it? Or to be one in someone else’s. Ask Mama. Ask Cam. Ask Abby.”
“Captain Westcott,” she said, leaning slightly toward him and checking the heat in his cheeks with the backs of her fingers. “Family ties are too precious to be thrown away for such a slight cause.”