Airborne - The Hanover Restoration (34 page)

I stopped watching. “Now,” I declared sternly, “will you go home?” Julian simply stared at me, his eyes shining as brightly as the sun. “You were right,” he said. “The old man did it.”

My momentary euphoria exploded as my guilt came rushing back. “I failed you,” I wailed. “I never saw—”

“The leaves were thick—”

“No, no, I should have seen—”

“Save your recriminations, if you will,” the doctor barked. “We must get Rochefort home.”

I looked up to find a carriage making its way through the crowd, with Matt leading the way. Of course. Who else would keep his head in the midst of such an earth-shaking event?

Meekly, I followed Matt’s orders to enter the carriage first so I could take Julian in my arms, with the doctor and Matt fitting themselves onto the opposite seats. Terror came crashing back. What if I should lose him?

Chapter 27

“I’d had a enough schooling before m’ma died of the typhoid, so’s I c’d read and write,” Matt said, his voice hushed in the darkened bedchamber where we kept vigil over Julian. “I read about this nob what was making grand things—automatons what could clean, cages that c’d move up and down, engines small and lightweight enough to steer a balloon. And I had to see it, be part of it, no matter what it took.”

I could swear I heard the wet cloth hiss as I pressed it to Julian’s fevered skin. He was burning up, and there was little we could do to alleviate his suffering except cooling cloths and drops of laudanum at regular intervals. It had been four days now, with Julian growing worse with each hour that passed. Tonight was the worst.

Earlier, the doctor had left his instructions and then paused, looking grave. “Lady Rochefort, I have done everything in my power to treat his lordship—hot and cold compresses seem to have drawn out some of the infection—but I must warn you he may not see the dawn. Fortunately, his constitution is strong,” he added, “and if he survives the night, I believe he will mend.”

I sent for another pitcher of water and a fresh supply of cloths, then resumed my seat by Julian’s bed, the bed in which my father had died. After four days of hovering by his side, my movements as I poured water into the basin, dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and once again bathed his face were automatic. My mind whirled into a chaotic montage of scenes from the day Elbert brought me to Stonegrave Abbey and its owner, Baron Julian Rochefort, right up to the moment I crashed, feet first, into the tree at Hyde Park.

Julian groaned and thrashed about. Matt, on the opposite side of the bed, lifted his mentor’s shoulders, and I poured a small amount of water between his parched lips. Matt laid Julian back on his pillows and pulled up the covers, before turning his face abruptly away to hide what I suspected were tears.

On a table in the front hall a chased silver bowl had replaced the
small
salver where calling cards usually rested. Half London, it seemed, had stopped by to pay their respects. Of this startling number, the only people I had spoken to outside the household were the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Princess Victoria, and, most amazingly, His Grace, the Duke of Wellington. The Lord Protector wished me to know, he declared, that he admired bravery second only to meticulous planning, and he wished me to pass along his admiration for the baron on both points. Stunned, I could only offer my thanks. I almost offered my best wishes for a long and peaceful retirement, but fortunately had the sense to keep my tongue between my teeth.

I blinked, realizing I had been woolgathering while yet another cloth grew warm against Julian’s pale skin. When I’d wrung out a fresh cloth and bathed Julian’s face and hands, I transferred my gaze to Matt, whose eyes were fixed on his Guv, as if he could will him back to this world as easily as he could set an automaton in motion.

“You were telling me you read about Julian’s inventions,” I said, “but however did you get to the Abbey?” Even in the dim light of a single brace of ca
ndles I could see Matt’s flush.

“I’d been on the streets a while, long enough to do just about anything to survive.” He paused, considering. “Not murder,” he conceded, “nor torture, nor bein’ some gent’s plaything, but there was little else I wouldn’t stoop to.” He shifted in his chair, his face screwing up in a grimace. “My fingers was swift and so were my feet—right expert at the jostle and dip I was—but there was never enough to cover more than a safe place to sleep and food for my belly.”

“Go on,” I urged as he seemed to wind down, unwilling to finish his story.

“One night, I was heading back to m’crib, the place I shared with others like me, when I stumbled over a gent alaying flat out in an alley outside a gaming house in Piccadilly. Why no one else had snatched his purse I’ll never know, but it was a hefty one. Next morning I was on the train to Tring, walked to the Abbey, near got tossed on my ear by that devilwoman, Mrs. E, but bulled my way to the Guv’s workshop anyway. And for some reason he took me on. To this day, I don’t know why.”

“How long ago?”

“Three years, seven months, ‘n’ thirteen days.”

“And a rare handful you were.”

I gasped. “Julian?”

“Guv?”

His eyes were closed, he didn’t speak again, but I suddenly realized the cloth resting on his brow was wetter than when I’d placed it there. I grabbed up the brace of candles and held it close to his face. Rivulets of sweat were running down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. I pulled back the covers and found his nightshirt soaked through. The fever had broken.

I covered my mouth with both hands and cried, as silently as I could. Matt, his emotions too strong to sit still, did several fast circuits of the room before dropping back into his chair and resuming his vigil.

Julian did not rouse, even when we called in help to change his nightshirt and his sheets. But we knew, the whole household soon knew, that the worst was over. Julian was coming back to us.

Another full day passed before he was ready for conversation, but his first words after being assured I was well and Princess Victoria was well was to ask the fate of the assassins.

“Nearly torn apart by the mob,” I told him. “By the time Horse Guards dragged them off, I think they considered it a rescue. They are expected to hang.”

“But not before they’ve revealed their paymaster.”

“No difficulty there. They were paid assassins with no loyalty to their employer. The way Matt tells it, they had only to be threatened with being tossed to the mercy of the mob and they confessed all.”

“Well?” Julian demanded, his eyes once again looking almost fevered.

“Hanover. Lexa’s Uncle Cumberland. A bad seed when he lived in England, grown worse with age and the title of king.”

“And likely behind the bullet that nearly killed you,” Julian muttered

“And a reigning monarch. Inviolate,” I added with a sigh.

“The sooner the coronation the better,” Julian intoned. “Has a date been set?”

“There is talk of late September,” I told him, “if all the details can be accomplished by then.” I offered an impish smile. “Evidently, there is a great deal of fuss over such a grand event.”

Julian snorted. “Don’t tell me Wellington plans to walk the princess down the aisle, like a fond father giving away the bride.”

I laughed, I couldn’t help it. The thought was simply too ludicrous. Poor Lexa. She was living in Kensington Palace, where she had begun her life, with Lady Carlyon and Lady Wandsley to fend off the aggressive overtures of the Duchess of Kent, her mother. No one, not even Rochefort, would be more happy for Coronation Day than Lexa herself.

“You should know,” I said carefully, “that the coronation awaits your recovery. No date will be set until the Princess is assured that you will be there, prominently placed in the box opposite the choir.”

“Oh, good God,” Julian groaned.

I took his hand, playing with his fingers, keeping my eyes down. “I’m to be there also,” I said. “It seems we are both heros, each of us having saved the princess from assassination.”

Julian laughed, squeezing my hand. “My lovely Minta, the girl who would fly. And you surely did. Without you, the princess could well be dead.”

“But I failed you,” I wailed.

“Good God, Minta, you may be marvelously talented, with a mind like quicksilver, but you’re not omnipotent. You stopped one sniper, I stopped the other.”

“I should have seen them both!”

“Peace, Minta.” Julian took my hand. “It’s over. We are alive, Victoria will be queen.”

I could see the new lines in his face, the weariness in his eyes. “Julian, I’m so sorry,” I cried. I’m the veriest wretch. If we keep this up, you’ll be back in a high fever.”

He patted my hand. “No, I won’t,” he said with a fond smile. “I have too much to live for. All those things we haven’t had time to do. All the children we’ve yet to make.”

“Julian!” Undoubtedly, my face was more scarlet than a Horse Guard’s coat.

Julian pulled me closer, with a grin I can only term lascivious. “You may inform the powers-that-be that Baron Rochefort approves September for the coronation. The baron and baroness will occupy their appointed places in Westminster Abbey with no difficulty at all.”

“Yes,” I murmured, “the sooner the better. I would not wish to make a spectacle of myself if, say, the coronation were put off until the new year.”

Julian frowned, drew in a deep breath. “Min-ta?”

I studied my lap. “It’s fortunate you look forward to being a father.”

“You were in that demmed swing, attacking an assassin,” Julian exploded, “when all the time you knew you were increasing—”

“No, no,” I burbled, “I wasn’t sure.”

“And wouldn’t have said a word even if you were!”

I leaned forward until we were nose to nose, my lips hovering close to his. “It’s over. Done. We did what we set out to do. It’s time to put it all behind us and live in the new world that’s about to be. No recriminations, no second thoughts. Just hand in hand into the future.”

“Making babies,” Julian murmured as his lips met mine.

“And machines,” I breathed into his mouth. “The sky’s the limit. Or perhaps not,” I added softly. “Who knows what the future will bring?”

~ * * * ~

About the Author:

Believing variety is the spice of life, I also write traditional Regency, Romantic Suspense, Suspense/Thrillers, Mystery, and Futuristic. (Below is a list of books currently available.)
Airborne - The Hanover Restoration
is my first Steampunk.

The Golden Beach books are not a classic series. Some have connected characters; others, only a connected setting, a very real Florida Gulf Coast resort and retirement community whose name has been changed because the residents would like to keep its uniqueness a deep, dark secret.

I am always delighted to hear from my readers. I can be contacted at
[email protected]
. My website is
http://www.blairbancroft.com/
. My blog:
http://mosaicmoments.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @blairbancroft

Blair
’
s books currently online:

Airborne - The Hanover Restoration

Limbo Man

O’Rourke’s Heiress

Love At Your Own Risk

Mistletoe Moment

The Sometime Bride

The Captive Heiress

The Courtesan’s Letters

The Temporary Earl

The Harem Bride

A Season for Love

A Gamble on Love

Lady Silence

Steeplechase

Tarleton’s Wife

The Golden Beach Suspense

  & Mystery Books:

Orange Blossoms & Mayhem

Paradise Burning

Shadowed Paradise