A Season for Love (6 page)

“Thank you.” Isabella slanted a sideways glance at him and smiled before moving on to pour Darian’s drink. “I hoped you both would like it.”

Elizabeth looked from her to a dismayed Anna and then back again. Was Isabella going to take credit for Anna’s work? Before she could make a remark, her uncle did.

“It is excellent,” the earl beamed. “My Isabella is always full of surprises.”

It would be surprising if Isabella could
find
the kitchen, Elizabeth thought snidely and then was immediately overcome with shame. Papa would be so disappointed in her for that unkind thought. A marchioness wouldn’t be expected to actually cook anything or even enter the kitchen. She would only need to leave orders for staff. And that was something Isabella would excel in
.

* * * *

Darian watched Elizabeth covertly at the dinner table that evening. She’d been unusually quiet during the noon repast and had disappeared into the bowels of Newberry House shortly after they’d eaten. Even now, she seemed subdued and toyed with the pudding in her bowl. The venison on her plate had barely been touched.

“Are you feeling all right, Miss Townsend?” he asked. Her face flushed, then paled and he began to wonder if she were truly ill.

She glanced at him quickly and then looked away as though afraid to hold his gaze. “I am fine. Thank you for inquiring, Lord Bingington.”

He frowned slightly. Why was she being so formal? This was a casual, country dinner, not court. Everyone here could call him Darian.

“Oh, she has had her nose in that Jane Austen book all afternoon,” Isabella said. ‘No doubt she is reliving some long-winded philosophy of Miss Austen’s. I find her an incredible bore.”

Twin flames flared in Elizabeth’s cheeks, but before she could respond, Julianna chimed in. “Miss Austen is a successful writer! I admire her.”

“What is admirable about sitting for hours on end penning a story?” Isabella tossed her head so the ringlets of curls framing her face danced. “I could not abide it. She should be
doing
, taking part in society, not sitting around thinking. How dreary.” She flashed a smile at Darian and then Edward. “Might I suggest a game of charades this evening instead of that dull whist?”

“Charades would be delightful,” Edward replied.

Lord Newberry laughed. “An excellent idea. We ‘old folks’ may even join you. What say you, Stafford?”

The duke nodded. “I think we are all due for some fun. Shall we move to the parlor?”

Darian noticed that Elizabeth seemed to lag behind. She whispered something to Julianna, who looked concerned and then nodded, before joining the others. He poured ratafia for everyone while his mother tore slips of paper for Isabella to write the phrases on. His father produced a beaver hat and Isabella placed the papers inside.

“Who will go first?” she asked.

“I will.” Edward stepped up to the hat.

Darian slipped into the hall unnoticed as everyone tried to guess Edward’s passage. Elizabeth hadn’t returned. She wasn’t in the dining room. An inquiry of the doorman assured him she’d not asked for a carriage to go home. The library, maybe? He walked down the hall and opened the door. She sat in a leather chair, an oil lamp on the table beside her, engrossed in a book.

“Jane Austen?” he asked.

Elizabeth started, the book slipping from her hands. “My lord! You startled me.”

“I am sorry. That was not my intention.” Darian moved toward her and picked up the book.
Le Morte d’Arthur
. “Not Jane Austen.” He handed it back to her.

“No. Mallory’s knights of the Round Table have always fascinated me. Their tales of chivalry and duty and honor are inspiring.”

Darian lifted a brow. “Are you not forgetting that King Arthur’s best knight betrayed him?”

Elizabeth looked up at him, her grey eyes like luminescent pearls in the flickering lamplight. “Did he? Maybe Gwenhwyfar should not have married Arthur. Maybe she only married him—
”
She stopped abruptly. “Pay me no mind, my lord. I am a bit out of sorts, I fear.”

“I do not blame you. Isabella’s remarks were uncalled for.” He took the book and laid it on the table and held out his hand. “Would you care to take some air?” He could have sworn she blushed in the dim light.

“I—I hardly think it proper, my lord.”

“Just a short stroll in the gardens.” He quirked up a corner of his mouth. “The paths are very well lit and I promise not to take you into the maze.”
             

She
did
blush at that. He found it endearing and suddenly yearned for the privacy the dark paths of the maze would give them. To complete the kiss that almost happened, to feel her soft lips opening slowly to him, to feel the silky, smooth, creamy skin of her exposed shoulder. To put an arm around her slender waist and draw her up against him while his hand slid slowly down her bodice… 
Jesu
! What was he thinking?

Elizabeth stood. “We should return to the parlor. I have been most rude about not participating in charades.”

Darian nodded and offered his arm. “As you wish, Miss Townsend.” As he escorted her down the hall, acting every inch like a chivalrous knight of old, his unruly mind could only focus on what it might be like, having the sweet, luscious, enticing Miss Townsend writhing naked beneath him on the floor of the gazebo in the center of the maze. He shook his head, reminding himself that, like Arthur’s knights, he had honor and duty to uphold as well.

But it was a thought that wouldn’t go away, even as they stepped into the bright light of the parlor and Isabella smiled coyly at him.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief when, three days later, Darian and Edward brought the last wagonload of materials to Newberry. These past days had been stressful, trying not to be too obvious in avoiding Darian and feeling like she had a knife twisting in her stomach when she watched Isabella flirt with him. Although, Elizabeth had to admit, Isabella also flirted with Edward, to a point where the brothers often glared at one another.

The evenings were worse. After her refusal to walk with Darian in the garden, he waited on Isabella attentively, preparing her plate at dinner and making sure the footman kept her wine goblet filled. At whist, Isabella claimed Darian for her partner and Edward, no doubt to salvage his pride, doted on Elizabeth as though he actually desired her. She honestly didn’t know which was worse—having the man she wanted ignore her or having a beau whose attentions she didn’t want.

Well, the structure was almost finished. Tonight, Newberry’s staff would be able to prepare the evening meal in their own home
.

Yesterday, they built an icebox for the kitchen so that ice, along with its insulating straw, would be contained and the straw not as liable to catch fire should another candle fall. It was all the rage in Rome, Edward declared. Today, they were also going to build a vault, of sorts, in the cellar using huge pieces of tin that would slow the process of the ice melting.

The servants, along with the earl and his family, watched in fascination as large sheets of tin, mined in Cornwall and manufactured in South Wales, were taken carefully down from the wagon. Elizabeth winced as one of the razor-sharp edges hooked the corner of the wagon and carved a deep groove in it. Men with thick leather gloves carried the sheets down the steps that led underground.

“How nice to count on having ice when we return from London in July,” Julianna said. “We will be able to enjoy a cold lemonade.”

“Well, it certainly will make the provincial country more bearable,” Isabella replied. “I always miss the conveniences of Town.”

“It will be just like having our own Gunther’s!” Julianna beamed. “Are you not excited, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth didn’t have the heart to tell Julianna she probably wouldn’t be returning with them. If she were to be a chaperone, she fully intended to use society gatherings to ferret out information about a possible governess post.

“I suspect a cold lemonade would be most welcome on a hot, summer day,” she said.

A loud shout from below, followed by a heavy clang and more shouting, had all three of them on their feet and rushing from the parlor to the courtyard. Julianna gasped and put her hand to her mouth as two workers struggled up the stairs from the cellar, Darian draped with an arm over each of their shoulders, his feet dragging between them. His shirt was torn and a trickle of blood dripped down his chest, but worse was the blood flowing from his thigh.

“I think I am going to faint.” Isabella clutched the side of the house.

“Take your sister inside,” she said to Juliana as she brushed by her. “Then have Anna bring me some clean linen strips. Tell your mother to send for the physician. And
hurry
!” She hardly noticed Julianna’s frightened face as she nodded and pulled Isabella inside.

Elizabeth ran toward Darian, lifting her skirt to tear at her muslin petticoat. “What happened?” she asked as she reached him.

“The tin slipped as we were trying to cut it,” one of the workers said in a shaky voice. “It would have sliced straight through Andy’s arm. His lordship caught it instead.”

Andy staggered up the steps, looking shocked, as Elizabeth sank to her knees in front of a barely conscious Darian. “Wait. I have to stop the blood before we take him inside,” she said. “Andy, break off a twig from the tree.” She wrapped the strip of muslin around Darian’s thigh and wrapped the ends around the twig, twisting it until it was tight enough to halt the flow of blood.

Lady Newberry met them at the door and led them down the hall toward a guest chamber. “Put him there.” She indicated toward the bed that a maid had hastily pulled the counterpane back from. “I have sent word to Stafford.”

Anna appeared with the linen strips, her eyes wide and frightened. Behind her, another maid carried a small kettle of steaming water. Edward pushed past them into the room and came to Elizabeth’s side. Julianna stood in the doorway.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked in a small voice.

“Get me some whiskey,” Elizabeth said.

“This is hardly the time to partake of spirits,” her aunt said reprovingly.

Elizabeth glanced at her quickly as she reached for the buttons of Darian’s shirt. “It is to cleanse the wounds. And,” she added as Darian moaned, “to help relieve his pain.” She began to remove his shirt. “Edward, cut away his breeches and have a care not to disturb that tourniquet.”

He nodded and slipped a dagger from his boot. The fabric made a harsh, rending sound as he sliced through it.

“It is not proper for a single woman to see a man in a state of undress,” her aunt said firmly. “Edward can tend to him until the physician comes.”

“That will take at least an hour.” Elizabeth slipped her arm under Darian’s shoulders and tugged at the shirt. “By that time, infection can have set in. His wounds need to be cleansed now.”

“You have some knowledge of attending the wounded?” Edward asked as he cut through the other legging.

“My mother volunteered at a hospital,” Elizabeth said. “As soon as I was old enough to help, I did. I have watched the surgeons tend knife wounds from street fights often enough.”

“Here is the whiskey,” Julianna said as she started into the room. Lady Newberry quickly turned and pushed her back, but not before her eyes grew round at the sight of a nearly naked man lying on the bed.

“That will do,” her mother said. “Go join your sister wherever she is.”

“She is lying down.” Julianna backed out of the room. “She has been quite overcome with the sight of blood.”

Edward took the bottle and handed it to Elizabeth. “I will hold him, while you pour.”

She held the bottle to Darian’s mouth first. “Drink a little,” she said. “It will help take away the sting.”

His laid his hand over her fingers and his eyes, dilated black from pain, looked into hers. Slowly, he nodded and then took three hefty gulps. He let his head fall back. “Do it,” he said
.

The shoulder wound wasn’t bad, more of a deep scratch that crept across the  sculpted bicep of his arm and partway across the hardness of his chest. Elizabeth soaked a cloth in steaming water and gently pressed it to him, allowing the steam to do the initial cleansing. She dabbed carefully and then dribbled the whiskey over it. Darian’s jaw set, but he remained still.

Elizabeth moved alongside the bed to his leg. She willed herself to stay focused on the wound in Darian’s heavily-muscled thigh and not let her attention stray to another area where, thankfully, Edward had left a scrap of the breeches intact. Elizabeth forced herself to concentrate on the wound. It was much deeper and would require stitching. She eased the tourniquet slightly and a small amount of blood began to flow.

“Should you not leave that on?” Edward moved toward her on the other side of the bed.

“Yes, but I have heard the surgeons say it must be eased for circulation else amputation might result.” Elizabeth wiped the blood gently from around the wound. “And to have it bleed fresh while I pour the whiskey on it will cleanse it.” She looked at Darian. “Would you like some more to drink?”