Abandoned to the Prodigal, page 21
The earl dropped his head in his hands. “How could she do this to me?” he whispered.
“This is not about you, Cosland,” his wife said coldly. “It is about our daughter. Who is at least safe under a respectable neighbor’s roof, with adequate chaperones. We will not barge in there to fetch her tonight. That would only cause the kind of talk we have been trying to avoid. Tomorrow, we shall call on Lord Myerly and his family, and we will bring our daughter home.”
Relief flooded Barden. All would be well. Perhaps it was all a little more rushed than he had planned, but tomorrow Juliet Lilbourne would become his bride, and his fortune would be restored to him.
Chapter Nineteen
Juliet struggled up from a deep sleep, wondering in panic where she was. She could hear whispering voices, footsteps shuffling and running downstairs. For a moment, she couldn’t work out why such sounds would be so close, and then she remembered. She was at Myerly, and her bedchamber was right beside the stairs.
But it was too dark for the servants to be up and about already, and from somewhere, she could hear moaning and wails of pain.
Abruptly, she sat up and lit the candle on the bedside table before throwing off the bedclothes. She seized a shawl, threw it around her shoulders, then picked up the candle and hurried to the door.
One of the elderly footmen was vanishing across the hall downstairs in the direction of the kitchen. Betty was climbing laboriously to the floor above with a cup and bottle in one hand and a large bowl in the other.
“Betty? What is happening?” Juliet demanded.
“Oh, it’s Susan, my lady. She’s been taken very bad, very bad indeed.”
Juliet left her chamber and ran upstairs after the maid.
“It’s her stomach, my lady,” Betty revealed. “Pains like you wouldn’t believe, and sicker than a dog…”
“Oh, dear! And what is this?” Juliet took the cup and bottle from her.
“Lady Myerly’s recipe for stomach medicine,” Betty said. “Can’t do any harm.”
By candlelight, the liquid was such an evil color that Juliet had severe doubts about it. How long had Lady Myerly been dead?
On the attic stairs, lurked Griffin in his nightgown, holding up a branch of candles to light the way.
“Pardon, my lady,” he said anxiously. “Did we wake you?”
“No, well yes, but I would like to help if I can.”
Betty led the way into a small bedchamber beneath the eaves. Two beds were crammed into it. One was neatly made. Juliet guessed it was Betty’s. In the other, lay the writhing, sweating figure of Susan, panting and groaning in clear distress. Mrs. Stewart knelt beside her, murmuring soothing words while bathing the sick girl’s forehead.
She glanced up, and at sight of Juliet, her eyebrows flew up.
“What can I do?” Juliet asked.
“Give me the medicine,” Mrs. Stewart said, reaching for it.
“Are you sure?” Juliet said, handing it over.
A distracted smile flickered across Mrs. Stewart’s anxious face. “Don’t worry, it always looks like that.”
“It’s only her ladyship’s recipe,” Betty explained. “Cook makes it up, so you needn’t worry about it being thirty years old and rancid.”
“As I recall, it couldn’t taste worse if it was thirty years old and rancid,” Mrs. Stewart said, “but it took care of all my childish stomach upsets. Juliet, can you just help her sit up a bit more so that she swallows this…”
Obediently, Juliet went to the bed and heaved the shivering girl into a more upright position. Susan took the medicine from the cup Mrs. Stewart held to her lips and swallowed.
“All of it,” Mrs. Stewart said, tilting the cup once more, and Susan took the rest. If it tasted vile, she didn’t seem to notice.
Juliet eased her back onto the pillows.
A minute later, while Betty, Juliet, and Mrs. Stewart gazed anxiously down at her, Susan suddenly heaved herself up, reaching blindly. Mrs. Stewart snatched the bowl from Betty, and the maid was violently ill into it.
“Griffin,” Mrs. Stewart called. “Send Dan for Dr. Gorman.”
“Dr. Gorman in Kidfield?” Juliet asked. “Susan’s mother is in the town, too, at the Black Cat.”
“Send to her, too, by all means,” Mrs. Stewart murmured. “We all want our mothers when we’re sick.”
An urgent clatter on the stairs, and Dan’s tousled head came round the door. He seemed to be fully dressed.
“I’ll come with you,” Juliet said, pushing past him. “And fetch Mrs. Harper.”
He caught her arm, frowning. “Don’t be silly. I’m riding for quickness. Dr. Gorman has his own horse, and Mrs. Harper doesn’t.”
“Besides, you can’t gallop around the country at night with Dan,” Mrs. Stewart said prosaically.
“Write her a note,” Dan urged, “and I’ll drop it at the Black Cat on my way past.” He released her, looking instead toward his mother. “What should I tell Gorman about her condition?”
Juliet darted back to her own chamber, ferreted out her writing materials from the bottom of her bag, and scrawled a quick, somewhat ink-blotted note to Mrs. Harper. It was just about legible. Hastily, she folded it, wrote the woman’s name across the front, and bolted to the door just as Dan’s boots thudded their way back down.
He paused on the half-landing with a quick, crooked smile, taking the note from her. “I won’t forget.”
“Dan,” she said urgently. “Be careful. Remember what happened this afternoon.”
“I’ll be riding like the wind,” he said lightly. “No one could touch me if they tried. Which they won’t. I’ll be back in just over an hour or so, hopefully. If he isn’t out on another call.”
His eyes flickered down to her lips, and lower, reminding her she wore nothing but the night rail and the open shawl. But even as her whole body flushed, his gaze rose determinedly back to her face, and with another flickering smile, he was gone.
Juliet swallowed and returned to the sick room. Here, she helped Mrs. Stewart change Susan’s soiled sheets, while Betty kept the girl warm in blankets. Juliet was disturbed by the spatters of blood across the pillowcase. At last, they half-carried Susan back into her bed. Betty brought over the two clean bowls, which the footman had left outside the bedchamber.
“I don’t think you have been to bed,” Juliet said to Mrs. Stewart. “Go and sleep, and I’ll sit with her.”
“I cannot take such advantage of a guest,” Mrs. Stewart said lightly.
“You would be doing me a favor,” Juliet assured her. “I like to be useful. And I owe Dan so much.”
“Do you?” Mrs. Stewart said thoughtfully, although she rose to her feet. “You must tell me about that some time. Because obviously, Dan will not.”
“I will,” Juliet promised, taking her place. “Betty, you should lie down. I’ll call if I need help.”
Mrs. Stewart vanished in a swish of skirts and could be heard directing Griffin to bed. Betty lay down fully dressed. Juliet squeezed out the cloth and gently bathed Susan’s face. The girl was exhausted, not quite asleep, but not truly awake.
She didn’t know how much time passed before she heard the clattering of hooves below. Two horses. Until the relief hit her, she hadn’t realized just how frightened she had been for Dan’s safety, riding alone across country in the dark while someone, perhaps Sergeant Owens at the tavern, still wanted to harm him.
Since she had warning of their approach, she made sure she had her shawl gathered closely about her when she rose to greet Dr. Gorman.
The man blinked. “Lady Juliet? I did not expect to see you here!”
“Oh, I’m staying with Mrs. Stewart for a few days,” she said hastily, “but it is Susan here who needs your help.”
“So I gather,” he said, placing his bag on the floor and taking the space Juliet had just vacated. He picked up her hand to take her pulse and felt the temperature of her forehead.
Betty lumbered up from her bed to supervise and answer the doctor’s questions, while he drew back the bedclothes and felt Susan’s stomach.
The girl whimpered.
“There was blood, you say?” Dr. Gorman demanded.
“A little.”
“What did she eat that the rest of you didn’t?”
“Nothing,” Betty assured him. “She did wolf the leftover mushrooms, which came down from upstairs. We didn’t eat any of those, but the family did.”
Juliet nodded. “The mushrooms were good. I’m sure it was not something she ate.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Gorman said. It meant nothing, and yet Juliet had the impression he did not agree. “I need to purge her. Perhaps your ladyship would allow me this space to work?”
Which was a polite way to dismiss her.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Stewart,” she said, and left the room, taking her stub of candle with her. “Oh, Betty, which chamber is hers?”
“Last door on the left, ma’am, opposite Mr. Dan’s.”
There was no sign of Dan in the passage. No doubt he had already fallen into bed after his hard ride to Kidfield and back, and it was almost dawn. After scratching softly at his mother’s door, she let herself in, calling softly, “Mrs. Stewart?”
A bundle on the bed reared up.
“It’s Juliet,” she said hastily, raising the candle to reveal herself. “The doctor is with Susan.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Stewart yawned and stretched and clambered out of her bed, crushed but still fully dressed. “What did he say?”
“He’s purging her. He seems to think it was something she ate, though apparently, she had nothing other people did not share.”
“It would just take one mushroom that was the wrong kind,” Mrs. Stewart pointed out. “One that no one noticed before they were all prepared and covered in sauce. Cook is old and no longer sees so well.”
Juliet nodded, frowning as something elusive tugged at her memory and her understanding.
“Go back to bed, my dear, and get what sleep you can,” Mrs. Stewart said kindly, thrusting her feet into bedroom slippers. “I’m so grateful for your help.”
Juliet followed her more slowly back along the passage. One mushroom that was the wrong kind. Or one deliberately inserted for Susan after the dish was returned.
Sergeant Owens at the tavern. Had he followed Susan back up the house after she’d been to see him? Somehow, she couldn’t actually imagine him sliding a poisonous mushroom into her food. Slapping her, perhaps, even shooting her in a fit of rage, but poisoning seemed…wrong for him.
Besides, it was Dan who had been shot at, and the theory that the shooter had been aiming at her in mistake for Susan seemed somewhat far-fetched.
She paused outside her bedchamber door, her hand gripping the handle as she recalled the progress of the mushrooms around the table. Like several of the side dishes to the main course, Dan had passed them to his aunt Hetty Ames, who took the first serving. They had come all the way around the table, and she could remember seeing the dish passed back to Dan. There had been more than enough left, for once, for one generous helping. Someone had not taken any. And neither had Dan, for he had pushed the dish aside untouched.
Blood sang in her ears. Had someone hoped to poison Dan? Someone who had sat between her—she had eaten the mushrooms and passed them on—and him? There had been no servants in the room. It could only have been Colin, his mother, or Mr. Ames.
Her breath caught.
No, this was foolishness, imagination run riot. It was more likely something dangerous had been spilled by accident into the leftover mushrooms in the kitchen before Susan had seized on them.
And yet, someone had nearly killed Dan on the hill, and it was probably the second time he had been shot at since coming to Myerly. And mushrooms, which he had rejected at the last moment, might have poisoned the maid who’d seized on them belowstairs.
Might have, she reminded herself. But unease was spiraling upward into alarm, into fear. If Dan were to die…
With a gasp, she spun on her heels, rushed back up the stairs, and hurried down the passage once more to the door opposite Mrs. Stewart’s. She scratched at the wood, praying he was not yet asleep. Her heart thundered.
She heard no movement in the chamber beyond, except a faint snuffle under the door that was obviously Gun. She wondered if he was still downstairs. She was just about to turn away when the door opened abruptly, and Dan stood there in his mud-spattered pantaloons and shirt sleeves, hanging on to the scruff of Gun’s neck.
His eyes widened in clear astonishment before he glanced rapidly up the passage and dragged her inside by the arm. “What the devil are you doing here? If anyone sees you—”
“What if it was the mushrooms?” she interrupted, laying her candle down on the table by the door and mechanically fending off the delighted Gun. “What if they were poisoned by someone of your family who really resents you inheriting Myerly? Why didn’t you eat the mushrooms?”
He blinked and released her arm. “I don’t like mushrooms. Nasty slimy things.”
“Does your family know that?”
“My mother does. I don’t recall ever discussing it with anyone else. But why are you so concerned with the mushrooms?”
“Because there were some left. More than you didn’t eat them. Susan grabbed them as soon as they were taken back to the kitchen.”
He frowned down at her. “And you think someone at the table poisoned them? Just for me? My uncle Ames?”
Stung by the disbelief in his voice, she said, “Or your aunt, Mrs. Cornwell, or your cousin Colin. You cannot deny both are disgusted by your being named Myerly’s heir.”
Dan rubbed his stubbly jaw. “There’s disgust,” he said, “and there’s murdering your own blood.”
Embarrassment seeped into her bones. “I know. It’s a silly idea, and it would never have entered my head if you hadn’t been shot at this afternoon. It just seemed too much coincidence.”
“I doubt they’re related,” he said. “I think we should wait to hear what the doctor says. Will Susan recover?”
“He’s purging her. And I should go. I just thought I should warn you, even if it’s nothing, and I’m being silly.” She turned away, and a splash of color drew her gaze to the chest of drawers beside the door. On it, a watercolor landscape was propped up against the wall. “It’s mine,” she said in surprise.
“You gave it to me.”
She smiled. “I know. But I didn’t expect you to keep it. I thought you would screw it up into a toy for Gun.”
One startled eyebrow shot up. “You have a very odd idea of your talents. And your effect on people. Especially dressed in no more than a wispy piece of cotton and your hair…” As if he couldn’t help it, he reached up and lifted a thick curl of hair from her shoulder.
Her breath caught. Her gaze flew up to his. His lips curved, and his eyes grew warm in that strange, clouded way that set butterflies soaring in her stomach. Held by his gaze, she felt paralyzed, enchanted rather than frightened.
This was Dan, her easy-going friend, and yet in these moments, he seemed suddenly much more—an overwhelmingly physical, handsome man, the man she secretly loved, and yet a stranger with desire in his eyes and her hair in his long, sensitive fingers…
With a nervous breath of laughter, she reached up, snatching the tresses from his hand, and bundling them up with the rest of her hair as though to pin it up in a respectable manner, although, of course, she had no pins. Her arms fell back to her sides, but not before his hand had dropped lightly to her shoulder. One finger touched the skin of her neck above the shawl, spreading sweet, thrilling awareness, especially when it moved in a light, almost distracted caress.
“You came to warn me,” he murmured. “But you do understand you are now alone with a man of dubious reputation, in his bedchamber after dark?”
“It does seem to beat my previous mistakes to flinders,” she managed. It was hard to think when his finger continued to stroke her neck, inducing little sparks of pleasure that swept over her skin, reaching through her whole body. She swallowed. “How fortunate that you are my friend.”
“I am,” he agreed with a hint of ruefulness, although his finger did not stop its sweet, potent arousal. “But I am not a saint.”
“So your cousin told me.”
His finger did not even pause its caress but moved an inch further back, to her nape. And now his thumb brushed her over-sensitized skin, and she almost gasped.
“Colin?” he murmured, without obvious interest. “What did he tell you?”
“That you lost your position as tutor by seducing your pupil’s sister.”
“I didn’t touch her.” His fingers stilled, and something approaching panic filled her.
Don’t stop, don’t stop.
For once, he looked serious. “Do you believe me?”
She gazed deep into his dark eyes and nodded, “Yes.” It wasn’t really a surprise. She knew him, this friend whom she loved.
But perhaps it surprised him, for his lips quirked as his finger and thumb moved again. Relief surged along with delicious weakness. How could such a small, light, yet entirely improper caress, affect her so deeply?
“Then you trust me?” he asked.
She nodded again, and with the movement, his finger slid lower, beneath her shawl.
His breath caught on a sound that wasn’t quite laughter. “You have no idea of the wicked ideas in my mind right now. Believe me, your trust is all that holds me to one kiss.”
His mouth suddenly closed over hers. A flame of sweet, powerful desire curled low in her belly. His kiss was tender, as gentle as his caress, and yet it was so deeply sensual that she trembled.
Slowly, his hand moved, around to her throat and gradually, achingly, his mouth left hers. “Run,” he whispered.
She reached blindly for the door latch, and he kissed her again.
“You said one,” she reminded him shakily against his lips.
They smiled on hers. “I lied.” He raised his head. “But only a little.”
His had fell away at last, leaving her cold, and it was he who opened the door a crack, making sure the passage was clear. As if she couldn’t help it, her hand followed her fascinated gaze to the strong column of his throat. Her fingertips trailed down it to the pulse that thundered at the base.
