A Wealthy Widow
Auteur·e
Anne Herries
Lectures
15,3K
Chapitres
11
Chapter One
Charles Hunter stared moodily at the tankard in front of him. He had been drinking heavily the previous night, drinking because of the shock of the news that Daniel had told him concerning his sister. It had thrown him into turmoil again. He had been searching for her for more than a year, torn between doubt and hope. At first he had not known what had happened to his sister. She had seemed to disappear into thin air, and he had suspected that she had been kidnapped. Daniel, Earl of Cavendish, and others of his friends had vowed to help him find Sarah. After exhaustive investigations, acting on information received from a certain Mr Palmer, they had all believed the search was over. Charles had been planning to take a young girl’s body from a suicide’s grave and bury her at the family vault at his home, but now Daniel had aroused fresh doubts in his mind.
‘Talk to Fred yourself,’ Daniel had told him just before he left on his wedding trip with Elizabeth, his new and much-loved wife. ‘Fred was a footman for Sir Montague Forsythe and he says that he found a girl wandering in distress at about the time we know Sarah ran away from her captors. Palmer told us that she might have drowned herself in the lake that night, but what Fred has told me makes me doubt that. I have taken Fred into my employ as an assistant to my gamekeeper and I believe him honest. I do not think he can tell you more than I have already—but it makes me think that it was not Sarah who drowned herself in Forsythe’s lake, but a village girl who had been turned out by her family because she was with child.’
‘Then where is Sarah?’ Charles had been repeating the question over and over again in his own mind ever since his friend’s revelations.
This morning his head felt as if there were a hundred hammers working at his temples. His own fault, he readily admitted, for drinking. Feeling sorry for himself would not help him find his sister—if there was any chance of it! Sarah had been missing for so many months, more than he cared to remember—and all the agents he had employed had failed to find any trace of her. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth. His mother believed her dead—had always believed it, even before they had heard of the unknown girl who had drowned herself. Daniel had given him hope, kept on searching when Charles might have given way to despair. Charles had thought her dead, but now he was haunted by the idea that Sarah was alive. His worst fear was that she was trapped in a whorehouse somewhere, living in fear and misery. His sweet, innocent little sister at the mercy of evil men!
‘Oh, God, no! Damn it, no!’ Charles said the words aloud, anger mixing with the agony of uncertainty. He brought his fist down hard on the table in front of him, making the remnants of his meal fly from the plate. ‘I cannot bear it. It shall not be!’
‘I beg your pardon, sir. The landlord told me I might share the parlour with a gentleman. I am sorry if you feel it an intrusion.’
Charles blinked and looked up. Until that moment he had not realised he was no longer alone in the inn parlour. For a moment he stared at the young woman, struggling to focus his somewhat bleary eyes. She was dressed in the height of fashion, clearly a person of some wealth and consequence—and he realised, as he raised his eyes to her face, extremely beautiful, though not in the usual way. The hair peeping from beneath her elegant travelling bonnet was a glossy black and her eyes were very dark, though as he continued to stare at her, he saw a silver spark in their depths.
‘If I am intruding, I can leave…’
‘No, of course not.’ Charles belatedly got to his feet. ‘Excuse me. I was about to go myself. Please feel free to call the parlour your own, ma’am.’ His words were abrupt, harsh, for his mood was bleak, tortured, and he hardly knew what he said or did. ‘I have things to do…’
As he walked from the parlour he was aware that he had probably sounded rude. It was not how he would have greeted such a woman in the old days, for she was certainly a beauty, and the type of woman he most admired. He had admired Elizabeth Travers—the young woman Daniel had recently married—and he had been rude to her too at the start. He had apologised to her later for his boorish behaviour, but at the moment he was too tense, too filled with apprehension to be the gentleman he was at heart. How could he be carefree and charming, when his guilt and remorse haunted him? He ought to have found Sarah by now!
It was unlikely that Fred, the footman-turned-gamekeeper, would be able to help him find Sarah, but Daniel had put him in touch with another man who might help him. Jesiah Tobbold was a man of some resources. He had helped Daniel protect his family from Sir Montague Forsythe. There was nothing to fear from Forsythe now that he was dead. Charles had killed him in a desperate struggle when the villain had tried to escape after kidnapping Elizabeth and murdering Lady Roxborough.
Not for the first time, Charles wished that they had managed to keep Forsythe alive. He should have died at the end of a hangman’s noose, as Daniel had always intended. Perhaps he could have told them where Sarah was…if he knew. Had she managed to evade her captors that fateful night? Or had Forsythe found her and imprisoned her in one of his houses of ill repute? The question haunted Charles. Until he had discovered the truth he would never rest. His mind was made up. He would speak to the assistant gamekeeper and then ask Tobbold for help to continue the search.
Arabella stood for a moment staring after the man who had just left the inn parlour so abruptly. His behaviour had shocked her, not so much because he was rude, but because of the expression of near desperation on his face—and because he so obviously did not recognise her. It was several years since they had met, but she had known him despite the ravages of grief in his face. She was sure it was grief that had given him those dark shadows beneath his eyes, and wondered what had caused him such pain.
Of course they had met only once, at her wedding to Sir Benjamin Marshall. She was sure in her own mind that his name was Charles Hunter and that he had been one of several young men introduced to her that day by Ben. Charles Hunter had been very different then. She remembered that he had teased her, telling her that if she grew tired of her husband she might turn to him. She had laughed at him, for nothing could have made her grow tired of her beloved Ben. Handsome and carefree then, what could have changed Charles Hunter from the devil-may-care young man he had been to this gaunt-eyed stranger? She sensed that he had suffered—was still suffering deeply.
‘Oh, Arabella, they say it will take several hours to mend the wheel of your carriage,’ her companion said, coming in at that moment. ‘The landlord says he can offer us a room for the night, if you wish for it.’
‘We shall stay here if we are forced,’ Arabella said. She glanced round the small room, which was not quite what she was used to when travelling, though clean and adequate. ‘But I would prefer to go on to the White Hart outside Richmond if we are able. My aunt expects us tomorrow and we may send her a message from there to tell her that we have suffered a delay.’
‘What shall I tell the landlord?’
‘Leave it to me, Tilda,’ Arabella said and smiled at her companion. Tilda Redmond was a distant cousin of her mother’s, a spinster lady of middle years, and had come to bear her company after Ben was killed. She had been meant to stay just for a few weeks, but she had shown no sign of wanting to leave and Arabella did not have the heart to send her away. Besides, she had made up her mind not to marry again, and Tilda was always so obliging. ‘I have bespoken nuncheon from our host, and we shall see how they fare with mending that wheel before we decide.’
‘As you wish,’ Tilda said. She went to warm her hands by the fire—although it was the middle of August she felt cold, as she invariably did. ‘I thought we were to share the parlour with a gentleman?’
‘Oh, he left,’ Arabella said with a shrug. ‘I dare say he had finished his ale and was anxious to continue his journey.’
‘It must have been the gentleman I saw calling for his horse.’ Tilda nodded her head. ‘He was quite handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes…’
‘Yes, I dare say that was him,’ Arabella agreed and wrinkled her smooth brow in a frown. This was getting her nowhere! She decided to forget her brief encounter with Mr Hunter. Whatever his problem might be, it was none of her business. She turned as the landlord’s wife came bustling into the parlour with her tray.
‘There’s some nice tomato soup, my lady, and the bread is fresh made this morning—and there’s some fine ham and pickles for after if you should wish for it.’
‘Thank you,’ Arabella, said. ‘We shall have the ham and a glass of your best wine, ma’am, if you please.’ She nodded her approval of the soup, which smelled delicious. ‘And you will let us know as soon as the carriage is repaired?’
‘Yes, of course,’ the woman promised and went off, leaving them to enjoy their soup, which tasted as good as it smelled.
It was late afternoon when Arabella came out of the inn to find her carriage repaired and waiting. She paused for a moment and then gestured to her maid, who had been attending to something in the baggage coach.
‘We are almost ready to leave, Iris. Please make sure that we have my small trunk with us. If we should suffer another accident, I may need it tonight.’
‘Yes, my lady, of course. I’ll attend to it immediately.’
Arabella stopped to speak to her coachman and one of the grooms who was attending to the horses, discussing a change in plans for that night. Because of the delay, it was possible that they might not reach their planned destination. As she did so, a curricle drove into the inn yard and a man got down. He was dressed in the manner of a dandy—his travelling cloak had six capes, and his cravat was ridiculously high and fussy, especially for a journey into the country.
Arabella tensed as the man threw the reins to his tiger and walked towards the inn. For a moment she wished that she might avoid meeting him, for he was a gentleman she knew and did not much like, but pride came to her rescue. She had no reason to feel embarrassed. Sir Courtney Welch had asked her to marry him a year after Ben’s death. Still raw with grief, she had refused him as politely as she could, but he had taken offence and had later accosted her in a drunken fit. His disgusting behaviour had been one of the reasons she had decided never to marry again. She would rather remain unwed than make the mistake of marrying someone she discovered later that she could not like.
‘Madam,’ he said, bowing to her in an exaggerated manner that was almost an insult. ‘Alas, it seems that you are always leaving when I arrive.’
He could not have failed to notice that Arabella avoided his company whenever possible, but she had always preferred to avoid confrontation with him. She was relieved when Tilda spoke to her, unwittingly saving her from having to reply to his false gallantry.
‘They were much quicker mending the wheel than the landlord thought,’ Tilda observed as she touched Arabella’s arm. ‘But we should go, my dear, it will be dark before we reach Richmond.’
‘Yes, I imagine it will,’ Arabella agreed and allowed herself to be directed towards the carriage. She did not look back at the man she disliked. Had she done so, she would have seen that he was staring after her, his face stark with anger. ‘I had hoped to arrive earlier, but it cannot be helped. I am not sure we shall manage to complete our journey tonight.’ Because the day was overcast it was already darker than she had thought possible for the hour.
‘But we are well protected, Tilda. You need not fear highwaymen. My grooms are all armed and we have several of them. I believe those that make their living from waylaying unwary travellers are more likely to attack unaccompanied carriages.’
‘Yes, I am sure you are right,’ Tilda said, but cast an anxious look from the window of their carriage as if she feared that they might be attacked at any moment. ‘But I shall be glad when we reach London and your aunt’s house. Inns are never so comfortable as one’s own bed.’
Arabella smiled, for she knew that Tilda was of a nervous disposition. She believed herself more than a match for any highwayman and carried a small pistol inside her velvet muff. She did not mention this to her companion—it would only distress her more—but she was glad of it as the light began to fade and the sky grew darker.
They had been travelling for more than an hour and a half when she heard a shout from the driving box and the carriage drew to a sudden halt, shuddering as Arabella and Tilda were both thrown forward. Tilda gave a little cry of fright and looked at her in alarm.
‘Oh, what is it? Do you think a highwayman…?’
Arabella shook her head, but her fingers sought and found the pistol. She would use it if need be! She turned her head as one of the grooms came to open the door of the carriage.
‘What is the matter, Williams?’
‘There is a man lying on the ground just ahead of us, my lady,’ the groom said. ‘I think he has had an accident. It looks as if his horse stumbled and he must have fallen. The horse is nearby and seems to be lame.’
‘Is the man badly hurt?’ Arabella asked, preparing to get down from the carriage.
‘Do be careful,’ Tilda warned. ‘It might be a trap…’
‘No, I do not think so.’
Arabella had seen the figure lying on the ground now. He was not moving at all and she thought it must have been a serious accident. The cause was obvious. A rope had been tied to a tree and then pulled tight across the road so that his horse stumbled. In the fading light the rider would not have seen the sinister device until it was too late.
‘What foul deed has taken place here?’ she asked of her coachman. ‘This must have been deliberate.’
‘The intention was to rob him, my lady. We saw a ruffian make off through the woods as we approached. Had we not arrived so opportunely, it might have ended in murder.’
‘How wicked!’ Arabella shivered and looked about her. It was a lonely spot with thick woods on either side of the road. Just the kind of place that a rogue might lie in wait for the opportunity to attack a lone traveller. She moved closer to the man lying on the ground, catching her breath as she saw his face clearly for the first time. It was Charles Hunter! ‘Is he dead?’ she asked the groom, suddenly anxious.
Williams dropped to his knees, making a swift assessment. He looked up at her, shaking his head. ‘He has been knocked senseless, my lady. There is a nasty blow to the side of his head, but he still has a pulse.’
‘We must take him up with us,’ Arabella said, making her decision at once. ‘If we leave him here, he will almost certainly die, of his injury if not further attack. Be very careful as you lift him, Williams. We shall go immediately to the nearest inn and summon a doctor. He must be examined and treated as soon as possible.’
She watched anxiously as three of her servants combined to lift the unconscious man into the carriage. Climbing in herself unaided, she instructed them to lay his head on her lap so that she might support him.
‘Should you be taking up a stranger like this?’ Tilda asked, giving her a doubtful look. ‘You do not know who he may be. He could be anyone—a thief or a murderer.’
Arabella bit back the sharp retort that leapt to mind. For some reason she was reluctant to tell her cousin that she believed she knew the gentleman’s identity.
‘I do not imagine we are in any danger from him at the moment. It is surely our Christian duty to help him, Tilda. If we left him lying there, we should be heartless creatures indeed.’
‘Yes, that is very true,’ Tilda said, looking slightly ashamed. ‘You are always such a charitable person, Arabella. You put me to the blush.’
‘I know you were only thinking of me,’ Arabella replied.
‘But he is obviously a gentleman and we must help him. Instead of trying for Richmond this evening, we shall go to the nearest inn and take rooms there. A doctor must examine this poor man as quickly as possible.’
‘Yes, of course you are right,’ Tilda agreed, but still looked doubtful. She had not yet become reconciled to her cousin’s habit of taking life in her stride. To her way of thinking, Arabella seemed reckless, a very confident young woman who had no one to guide her. She was still young and, being both beautiful and wealthy, might fall prey to fortune hunters, for she had no male relative to guard or protect her—other than her cousin Ralph, whom she disliked.
‘Do not look so anxious,’ Arabella said, guessing at a part of what Tilda was thinking. Her cousin was of a timid, nervous disposition, but she had tried hard to be a comfort to Arabella during her period of mourning, and it would be unkind to find her constant anxiety a little tedious. ‘I assure you there is no need. This poor man cannot harm us. He is far too ill.’
Tilda sighed deeply. However, she knew that she could not turn Arabella once her mind was set. ‘I am perhaps being foolish, as I so often am, my dear. You will do as you think right, Arabella.’
Arabella sensed that her companion was slightly peeved. She normally made a show of listening to Tilda’s advice out of politeness, though she rarely followed it, but in this instance she found it irritating.
‘Ben always told me to throw my heart over the fences,’ she said. ‘He would have done exactly as I have.’
‘Dear Ben, such a gentle, kind man,’ Tilda said and took a kerchief from her reticule. ‘Such a pity…’ She faltered as she saw the look in Arabella’s eyes, knowing that she was treading on thin ice. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to distress you, my dear.’
‘You have not. Ben was strong and fearless—but, yes, he was also kind and gentle at times.’ Arabella smiled a little sadly. Sometimes now she was able to think of her husband without feeling the terrible sweeping grief that had almost destroyed her immediately after the news of Ben’s death. She had wanted to die then, had stood by the edge of the deep lake on her husband’s estate, contemplating suicide. She did not know to this day what had made her turn away, for she had found no joy in living. ‘If we do not speak of him, he is lost, as if he had never been.’
Arabella felt a sharp pang of regret. How often she had wished that she had conceived during their brief honeymoon. Just one precious week to remember for the rest of her life, before Ben left to join his regiment. His child would have been a tiny piece of him to love, to fill her life and keep her from feeling lonely, as she sometimes did, but that joy had been denied her.
‘You are so brave, Arabella.’ Tilda dabbed at her eyes. ‘I am sure you are a shining example for any young woman. To have suffered so much so young.’
Arabella was able to ignore her remarks and the pity in her tone, for she saw they were approaching an inn. It had a low sloping thatched roof, white, limewashed walls and small windows. At first glance, it looked respectable for a small country inn, and she was pleased because they had reached it much sooner than she had expected.
The next several minutes were taken up by securing rooms and overseeing the transfer of their patient to one of the host’s best chambers. A doctor was duly sent for, arriving within a short time. Arabella spoke to him a little later as he came downstairs after examining his patient.
‘How is he?’ she asked. ‘Please tell me that he is not going to die, sir.’
‘It is much too soon to be sure, ma’am,’ he replied gravely.
‘The wound to his head does not seem severe, but one can never tell with these causes. I believe much will depend upon his being nursed by a woman of sense. Your husband should recover in time, ma’am, but at the moment I cannot say it is certain.’
It was on the tip of Arabella’s tongue to reply that his patient was not her husband, but something held her silent. Since it seemed that she must care for him herself it might be better to allow both him and the landlord to believe that she was Mr Hunter’s wife.
‘Thank you. What must I do to help him, sir?’
‘Just watch over him carefully in these first hours. He may be violent or startled when he comes to his senses and you may need to restrain him from harming himself or others. I have seen men fight those that have cared for them in a kind of madness that comes from brain fever—but these cases are all different and you must use your own good sense. If you need me, please do not hesitate to send word.’
‘You think he should remain here for the time being?’ Arabella frowned she knew that her aunt was expecting her in Hanover Square the following day.
‘Oh, yes, certainly. It would be most harmful to move him until he has recovered his senses. He needs rest and care, ma’am—rest and care.’
‘I see. Thank you,’ Arabella said. She was thoughtful as the doctor left the inn parlour, looking about her. It was a comfortable room; quite small, but clean and respectable. She could have fared worse in an unknown inn. If her stay here were to be extended for a few days, she would need to speak to the landlord’s wife—and to Tilda. Firstly, she would reserve the rooms she needed and then break the news to her companion.
‘You cannot mean it,’ Tilda said and looked at her in horror. ‘I do not understand, Arabella—why should you allow anyone to believe you are married to that man?’
‘I am determined to nurse him,’ Arabella told her. ‘I cannot abandon him to his fate, and it is better that others should believe him my husband.’
‘But why should you run such a risk for a stranger? You could leave your maid here to care for him if you must do something, and to my mind you have already done more than necessary. Iris is a sensible girl. She could nurse him and then join us in town. It is quite impossible for us to stay here, Arabella. There simply aren’t enough rooms for all of us. I have been told that I must either share a bedchamber with Iris or you, my dear.’
‘You will share my room for one night, of course,’ Arabella said. ‘That is why I propose that you should go on to London in the morning, Tilda. You may explain that I have been delayed—though you may not tell Aunt Hester why. Just say that I have been called to the bedside of a sick friend and will come to her in a few days.’
‘No! Certainly not! You cannot think that I would desert you? If you are determined to stay, I shall remain to assist you in whatever you intend.’ Tilda’s feathers were seriously ruffled and she looked indignant, though prepared to do her duty.
‘I knew that you would wish to help me,’ Arabella said and bestowed a warm smile on her. ‘But Iris will be here to keep me company. Aunt Hester will worry if I do not arrive on time. Please oblige me in this, Tilda, for I am quite determined on it.’ The expression in her eyes belied the smile and warned that she would not be thwarted.
Tilda opened her mouth to protest and then closed it. She was well aware that she could not dictate to Arabella. She was dependent on her charity and did not wish to risk a breach with her.
‘But think of your reputation, my dear.’ The cry was plaintive, for she had little hope of being listened to. ‘If people should hear of you staying at an inn alone…and nursing a gentleman you do not know. And that you masqueraded as his wife!’
Arabella smiled in amusement. ‘Remember that I am four and twenty, Tilda. I am not an innocent girl—I have been married. Besides, this inn is so quiet that it is not likely to be patronised by the ton. No one who knows me will visit—so no one need ever know. I suppose I may rely on your discretion?’
‘You must know I would never betray you! But why do you wish to do this for a stranger? Why take on this responsibility, Arabella?’
Arabella was silent for a moment. She did not know why she was prepared to abandon her plans for a man she did not know—for, even if he truly was Charles Hunter, she could not claim to know him. Yet he had been one of Ben’s friends and perhaps she was doing this because she had been unable to nurse her husband as he lay dying in a foreign land. She had been haunted by the thought of his dying alone, in pain and calling for her, praying that a kind woman had stooped to comfort in him in his last hours. She could do at least as much for this man.
‘I am not sure that he is a stranger,’ Arabella said, still pensive. ‘I believe we may have met—at my wedding, if memory serves me right. I think he was a friend of Ben’s.’ She was certain of it in her own mind, even though he had not seemed to recognise her at the inn.
‘You did not say earlier.’ Tilda looked at her suspiciously.
‘No, for it was not important. We met only once—and I may be mistaken, but I am willing to take that chance. For Ben’s sake, I cannot abandon him.’ Tears stood in her eyes. ‘I have often prayed that there was someone to care for Ben…’ Her throat was tight and she shook her head. The thought that her husband might have died alone was too painful.
‘I see…’ Tilda did not understand such sentimentality. The expression on her face was plainly one of disbelief and disagreement, but there was really very little she could do to dissuade Arabella. ‘If you are set on this madness, I suppose you must do as you think fit.’
‘Oh, I do not think it so very foolish,’ Arabella reassured her. ‘It will only be for a day or so. Aunt Hester will be happy to see you, Tilda, and I shall join you both quite soon.’
Tilda’s mouth pursed, but she gave up her efforts to change Arabella’s mind. However, when she reached the house in Hanover Square, she would consider whether it was right to confide in Lady Tate.
Her silent disapproval became almost oppressive when Arabella left her three times during the evening to visit the patient’s bedchamber. Iris had taken it upon herself to sit with him at her mistress’s request, but to Tilda’s mind it seemed that nothing would do for Arabella but to sit with him herself while Iris ate her supper. Had Tilda known that Arabella crept out from the bedchamber they shared that night to relieve Iris from her vigil, she would have been most distressed. Fortunately, she was a heavy sleeper and remained in ignorance.
However, Iris looked relieved when her mistress entered the sick room. It was now the early hours of the morning and Iris had been finding it hard to keep awake.
‘Has there been any change, Iris?’
‘No, my lady,’ the maid replied, yawning. She was a plump girl, plain faced but agreeable and devoted to her mistress. ‘He muttered something a while ago—a girl’s name, I think—but he hasn’t woken.’
‘Go and rest now,’ Arabella told her. ‘We may have to nurse him for some days and nights. We shall both need our sleep.’
‘Are you sure, my lady? Mrs Blackstone said that she would help us and she seems a good woman.’
‘I imagine she has enough to do looking after her customers, Iris. I shall sit with the gentleman for the time being. You may return in the morning.’
‘Poor gentleman,’ Iris said. ‘He has a handsome face, my lady, but he looks gaunt, as though he has been ill—before this, I mean. When the doctor undressed him, he discovered that he had a wound to his thigh. It seemed to have recovered, but the scarring was fresh. There were other wounds on his body, and the doctor thought he might have been a soldier.’
‘Yes, I dare say he may have been. I thought that he had suffered recently,’ Arabella said. Her thoughtful eyes moved to the man in the bed. ‘I believe he may have suffered a great deal, Iris. I saw him briefly earlier today and remarked it. You see, I think I may know him. He was a friend of my husband’s.’
‘Did he come for your wedding, my lady? I did wonder if I had seen him before, though I do not know his name.’
‘Mr Charles Hunter, if I am right. For the moment it is best if we do not speak of him by his name. It will be easier if Mrs Blackstone continues to believe him my husband.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Iris bobbed a curtsy and went out, leaving Arabella alone with her patient.
Arabella crossed to the bed, bending over him to lay a gentle hand on his brow. He seemed hot and his forehead was damp. Noticing that Iris had left a bowl of water and a cloth by the bed, she wrung the cloth out, laying it on his brow for a moment before gently wiping away the perspiration. However, in a moment or two he was sweating again, and Arabella thought that he seemed feverish.
‘Poor Charles,’ she murmured, feeling strangely drawn to him. She felt that he had experienced some terrible grief quite recently. She had seen it in his face earlier and it touched her, arousing her sympathy. ‘You have suffered much already and it is unkind of Fate to offer you this further blow,’ she said and stroked the damp hair back from his forehead. ‘Rest now, Charles. We shall take care of you.’
He was so hot! She must do something to cool him.
Arabella removed one of the heavy quilts, and then, on impulse, pulled back the sheets. His body was damp with sweat and she could feel the heat coming from him. She took the cloth Iris had been using to bathe his forehead, wringing it out in the water again and beginning to sponge his arms, chest and then his legs. She would have bathed his back, but was not sure she could turn him alone. But perhaps it would not be necessary, for at last he seemed easier. He sighed and murmured something that might have been a name, but too softly for her to hear.
For a while after she had bathed his heated body he seemed to rest more comfortably, but after an hour or so he became hot again, throwing his arms and legs about as if he were in distress. His head moved restlessly on the pillow and Arabella soothed him as best she could, whispering words of reassurance and stroking his hair. Pity wrenched at her heart, and she felt a flicker of tenderness stir inside her. He looked so vulnerable, so needy as he lay there tossing in his fever, that she longed to comfort him. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he stared at her.
‘Sarah,’ he croaked. ‘Thank God I have found you, my dear one. Forgive me, I beg you. Forgive me…’
‘Charles…’ Arabella said, but his eyes had closed and she knew that he had fallen back into the unconscious state in which she had found him. ‘Please do not die. I do not want you to die.’
Arabella did not know why his survival was so important to her. It could only be that she was transferring her longing to help Ben to his friend, almost as though by saving Charles Hunter she could atone for not being able to save her beloved husband.
‘You must get well,’ she whispered and stroked his forehead. ‘I shall stay with you until you are able to fend for yourself, Charles. I promise that I shall not desert you.’
‘Are you sure you will not give up this nonsense and come with me?’ Tilda asked the next morning. ‘I do not like to leave you here like this, Arabella—and without your carriage. I could travel in the baggage coach…’
‘No, indeed, I shall not put you to such torture,’ Arabella said, a smile on her lips. Her companion was not the best of travellers at any time. ‘Both vehicles may travel with you—I need only my small trunk here. My baggage may as well go with you, and the coachman will come back for me in a day or so after the horses are rested. There is no reason for you to worry at all, Tilda. I shall be quite comfortable.’
Tilda was doubtful and had to be coaxed into the carriage, but at last it was accomplished and Arabella sighed her relief. She tried not to think it, for she did not wish to be unkind, but she would be much happier here alone. Her companion’s fretting had begun to seem tedious after two days’ travelling. She felt relieved that for a short time she need not consider anyone but her patient and herself.
Going upstairs to her own chamber, she tidied her hair and smoothed the skirts of her serviceable gown. She had chosen one of her oldest, which was normally kept for working in her stillroom. She preferred not to dress too richly while staying at the inn, for she had now realised that she and Mr Hunter were not the only guests. She had seen another gentleman as she came downstairs that morning. By his dress he was a countryman, perhaps a merchant or a farmer of ample means, for though well turned out he did not aspire to fashion. Arabella was glad that she had allowed her hosts to believe Charles was her husband. She would not care to be thought fast in any way, which she might have had they known that she was regularly visiting the bedchamber of a stranger.
Entering Charles’s room a little later, she saw that Iris was bending over him, trying to give him a little water from a pewter cup, and he seemed to be fighting her. When she went closer, Arabella realised that he was once again in the grip of a fever.
‘What are you giving him?’ she asked because she could see now that the cup contained more than water.
‘The doctor has been again and he left a powder to be mixed with water and administered every few hours. As you can see, my lady, the gentleman is much worse this morning than he was last night.’
‘Yes, he is,’ Arabella said and laid a hand on his forehead. ‘He is burning up, Iris. We must do something to help him. I think we should bathe him. Strip back the bedcovers while I bring fresh water.’
She went over to the washstand and poured water from the jug into a bowl, bringing it back to the bedside as Iris folded back the heavy cover. Charles was naked and the girl blushed—she had only ever seen one naked man before and that was her young brother. She placed a towel over his private parts, turning to wring out her cloth and recover her composure. Arabella came to join her, a little amused that the girl had thought fit to protect his modesty. She had felt no shame in looking at his body, finding it beautiful. He had strong firm legs, and was well formed without the slightest hint of anything to spoil the perfection.
‘We shall do it together, Iris. You bathe that arm and I shall do this one. That way we can hold him more easily if he fights us.’
‘He seems quieter now,’ Iris pointed out. ‘I think it was the sound of your voice. He kept trying to push me away, but he settled when you touched him.’
‘Yes, he has,’ Arabella agreed. ‘I think he mistook me for someone he cares for last night. He woke for a moment, though I do not think he knew what he said, because in seconds he had gone back into his unconscious state. The fever had not gripped him so much then, but we shall do what we can ourselves to care for him; then, if he is no better in an hour or so, I shall send for the doctor again.’
They carefully bathed most of his body in the cool water, turning him one way and then the other. Arabella stroked the red marks on his thigh where he had been wounded previously, thinking that the flesh still looked sore. She had some healing creams in her baggage, and instructed Iris to fetch the pots for her once they had dried his skin. While the girl was gone, Arabella stroked his forehead, speaking him to him tenderly. It was true that the sound of her voice did soothe him. He was not quite as hot now, and, when Iris returned, she smoothed a little cream into his thigh, massaging it for some minutes before drawing the covers over him again. Then she applied the ointment to the wound at the side of his head. He had received a nasty cut, but it was not deep and she thought it would soon heal.
‘There, I think he will do for the time being,’ she said. ‘I shall go and have my breakfast now, and you can have yours in half an hour. I shall order it made ready for you, Iris.’
Glancing at the man in the bed once more before she left, Arabella was aware of a warm glow inside her. He was resting now. Their nursing had certainly helped him. It might be only a temporary respite, but it could be a turning point. She prayed that it might be so.
When Iris came down to partake of her meal, Arabella went back to the sick room. She sat by the bedside for more than an hour and then went to fetch a book from her own room. Charles Hunter was sleeping peacefully and she would be better with something to do for a while.
After another hour, Iris came to take her place as they had agreed. Arabella went out for a walk, feeling the need for a little air. The inn was quite warm and rather stuffy as it had only small windows. She felt pleased with their patient’s progress, for he seemed to be throwing the fever off. However, when she returned, Iris told her that he had begun to sweat heavily and throw the bedcovers off once more.
Arabella resorted to the same remedy as before, and once again he quietened under her hand. She was a little concerned and sent Iris to ask the landlord to send for the doctor again.
When he visited later that morning, the doctor declared himself satisfied with the patient’s progress.
‘You must expect a little fever,’ he said. ‘I warned you that he might be violent, for brain fever can be dangerous, though you seem to be nursing him very well, Lady Arabella. I had expected your husband to be in a worse case than this. Continue to give him the powders I left you and I am sure all will be well.’
Arabella thanked him, forbearing to tell him that her patient had not taken much of the doctor’s remedy. She walked downstairs with him to the parlour where she took her midday meal alone. There was no sign of the country gentleman she had seen earlier and she was pleased that the inn seemed not to get too many visitors. It was as she was preparing to go back upstairs once more that Mrs Blackstone came up to her with a smile.
‘Your husband is much better, Lady Arabella. He woke a few moments ago when I went in with some more water. He asked me where he was and I told him that he was staying at the Fox and Hounds in Thornborough, and that his wife was caring for him. He seemed a little mazed, my lady, but I am sure that is only to be expected in the circumstances. The poor man said he had no wife, but he will remember when he sees you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Arabella said and went hastily up the stairs. It was little wonder if Charles Hunter felt confused by being told his wife was caring for him! She entered the bedchamber and found Iris wrestling with him as she tried to keep him from leaving his bed.
‘You must not, sir,’ Arabella said and crossed to the bedside. ‘You have been ill and I think you should stay in bed for a little longer.’
‘And who the hell are you?’ he demanded, looking angry. ‘Are you the designing wench who has been masquerading as my wife? I have no wife and if you hope to force me into proposing because you have compromised yourself, let me tell you that you are much mistaken. I have no intention of taking a wife—and certainly not a female I have never met before in my life!’
‘Thank you, Iris, you may go,’ Arabella said. She fixed a cool stare on Charles, lifting her head proudly. Now she became the lady of the manor, wealth and power at her back. ‘You are the one who is mistaken, sir. I found you lying on the road and in a parlous state. Had I not taken you up in my carriage, you might have died. Indeed, the rogue who attacked you might have returned to finish his work.’
‘Was I attacked?’ Charles stared at her, his eyes narrowing. Something about her voice was very attractive. He found it soothing, despite his shock at the discovery that he was supposed to have a wife. ‘Who are you, ma’am—and why does the innkeeper’s wife imagine I am your husband?’
‘Because I was determined to nurse you,’ Arabella told him calmly. ‘It seemed easier to allow that good lady to think us married, but I assure you that you stand in no danger of being coerced into offering for me. I have no intention of marrying again—and, I assure you, nothing would make me marry you, sir.’
Charles stared at her for a few seconds, a frown on his face. ‘You are a widow?’
‘Yes, that is so,’ she replied. ‘I had thought you might know me, Mr Hunter, but it seems that you have forgot me.’
‘Have we met?’
‘Once—at my wedding. I am Lady Arabella Marshall. My late husband was then your good friend. It was for his sake that I have done what I have. I always prayed that someone nursed Ben when he was dying and thought it my duty to help you.’
‘Good grief,’ Charles said and gave a little moan of anguish. He lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘Forgive me. My head aches like the very devil and I thought…I have been damnably rude!’
‘Yes, you have,’ she said and smiled a little wryly. ‘However, the doctor told me that you might be violent or abusive. Indeed, I was prepared for much worse. Forgive me for taking a liberty concerning my relationship with yourself, Mr Hunter—but it did seem the best way at the time. I could hardly have cared for you as I have if I’d confessed that you were a stranger to me. I am four and twenty, no longer a green girl, but I do not think it would have been thought proper even so.’
He opened his eyes and looked at her again, a wry expression on his lips. ‘I am a fool. I tend to think the worst of people these days. Of course I remember Ben’s wife. I am sorry for not having known you—and even more sorry that Ben died. It was a terrible thing to happen so soon after you were wed.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Arabella agreed, her eyes shadowed with sadness. ‘Now, sir, may I have something brought for you? A little nourishing broth or some wine?’
‘I detest nourishing broth,’ Charles said with a grimace. ‘I will eat some bread and cold meat—and a glass of wine if you please.’
‘I think a little brandy might be restorative,’ Arabella said. ‘But not the meat and bread just yet. I shall ask Mrs Blackstone if she will cook a coddled egg for you.’ She laughed as he pulled a face. ‘Yes, I know what you will think of that, sir—but red meat might not suit you for the moment.’
‘Do you think it might make me violent? I promise I shall not attack you, ma’am.’
‘I have no fear of it,’ Arabella laughed huskily. Her eyes lit up and in that moment she was very beautiful. ‘You may have a little chicken this evening if you do not relapse into the fever again. Please, for my peace of mind, be sensible, sir.’
‘Only if you call me Charles,’ he said, looking rueful. ‘We should be friends—if Ben had lived we would have known each other well. Besides, it would look odd if you called me sir in front of our good hostess. She will think me quite mad for not knowing I had a wife.’
‘Just a little mazed, understandably so after the blow to your head,’ Arabella told him. ‘Lie still and rest, Charles. I shall order your meal and then perhaps you will sleep again.’
Smiling at him, she went out, leaving Charles to rest against the pillows and remember the soft voice and hands that had soothed him in his fever…had done things for him, intimate things that he could not possibly have expected of her. Yet perhaps it had been her maid. He had thought she was Sarah…a swift slash of pain cut through him as he remembered that his sister was still lost.
As soon as he was able he must continue his search for her, but he would say nothing to Lady Arabella. She had been generous to him despite her own troubles. It would not do to lay his burdens on her when she could know nothing of the matter.
