An Inconvenient Wife (25 page)

“Guy has gone out with Banks
to see to his pony,” Mary Caxton explained. “I thought it might be wise. Banks
is a sensible sort and might reassure the boy. He was very shaken, my lady.”

Anne nodded, grateful for
the woman’s calm good sense. “Not at all surprising! A bad experience for a
child, but he did admirably.” She smoothed Sarah’s hair and forced a small
smile. “I must go. Nurse and Miss Caxton will take you back to the schoolroom.
I want you both to try to eat a little supper. I promise to come to you after I
talk to the doctor. Once your father is resting more comfortably you can see
him for a few minutes.”

“Can’t we stay here? We will
be very, very quiet. Please,” Sarah begged, clinging to Anne’s hand.

Anne looked at her tear-stained
face, and Danielle’s frightened expression. Better they were a distance away,
but if she were in Sarah’s place….

“We can read quietly, Lady
Westcott, but if it’s found we are disturbing anyone, we promise to go to the
schoolroom immediately.”

The governess gave Anne a
look that clearly said she felt it better for Sarah to remain close to her
father. “Stay then, if you wish,” Anne said and gently detached Sarah’s hand
from hers. “Child, I must go.” Anne knew her mouth was tight-lipped with impatience
and tried to smile. “Truly, he will recover.”

Sarah stared at her, hope
and despair warring in her eyes, but Anne had no more time or patience, every
fiber of her being concentrated on what was happening in the nearby bedchamber.
Her heart a lead weight in her chest, she hurried through her room and slipped
into Westcott’s. The doctor
must
in attendance by now.

Chapter Nineteen

Candles blazed throughout
the room, throwing a harsh light on the faces of the four people ranged around
the wide bed where Westcott lay, propped up now with Maggie’s arm under his
shoulders. Harman stood at the foot of the bed with an almost empty decanter,
while the surgeon removed a variety of instruments from his bag and placed them
on the side table. Dear heaven, what were they planning to do? Hesitant, but
too anxious to stand back, Anne went to stand beside Maggie, her gaze never
leaving Nicholas. His face was flushed, unnaturally so, and she mouthed a
question at Bill. “His colour?”

“‘Tis the brandy, my lady.
The bullet has to come out and the less aware his lordship, the easier for
all.”

“I see.” Anne felt the blood
drain from her face. She clutched a bedpost until the momentary weakness
passed.

“If you are planning to
stay, make yourself useful,” Maggie said in a no-nonsense voice as bracing as a
slap of cold water. “Wash your hands, thoroughly, mind you, and you can hand
Mr. Jameson whatever he needs.” She narrowed her eyes and stared critically at
Anne. “If you are going to faint or fall into hysterics, then this is no place
for you.” She pushed aside the pillow and laid the viscount flat on the bed.

“Anne.” Nicholas focused on
her with obvious effort. “You shouldn’t be here. Stay with Sarah.”

His voice was slurred with
the drink. Anne smoothed back the lank hair from his forehead. “Sarah is fine.
I’ve promised she can see you later, so best to get this over with quickly. Go
to sleep, Nicholas.” She waited until his eyes closed, unsure if he had heard
her, and turned to Mr. Jameson. “I will do whatever I can.”

The man, middle-aged, with a
reassuringly competent way about him, looked her over, taking her measure.
Donning a calm expression she prayed disguised her inner turmoil, Anne met his
gaze straightly. “I will not falter, Mr. Jameson.”

Jameson raised a brow, but there
was humour in his piercing black eyes. “I don’t believe you will, Lady
Westcott.” He jerked his head at Harman. “You can put the brandy aside. It’s
done its job. Bring some of those candles closer and make sure there are plenty
of bandages to hand.” He turned to the Fentons. “Hold him as still as possible.
The faster we get through this, the easier it will be on him. I won’t tell you
your job, since I suspect you’ve done this before, but it’s a painful matter,
and Westcott is a strong man.”

Anne washed her hands and
took her place beside the surgeon. Nicholas was asleep, thank God, snoring
heavily, and she watched with horrified fascination as the surgeon took up his
probe.

“Hand over the smaller
probe, my lady, on the left there.” The man’s voice seemed to come from some
distance away. Blessedly so, Anne thought in some corner of her mind. Nicholas,
aware now, and twisting under his captor’s hands, was again pale as death, and
she clenched her teeth together, heartsick to see him in such pain.

With a grunt of
satisfaction, Jameson held up a bloodied piece of metal and tossed it onto the
table. “There’s the culprit. Now we’ll just make sure there is nothing else in
there.” He pressed around the oozing wound, probing gently, and picked out
several tiny bits of Westcott’s shirt. “You’ll do, my lord. Give him some
water, Fenton, if he wants it. Harman, a clean cloth and some basilicum powder,
please.”

Mr. Jameson cleaned the
wound, dusted it generously with the powder, and applied a bandage. “Laudanum
as needed for the next few days, if you can get him to take it.” He glanced
down at the viscount, who was awake enough, just, to mutter “No.”

“I’ll call in tomorrow to
see how he does, but I expect a full recovery. He was lucky. If it had hit just
a few inches lower and nicked a lung….” Jameson nodded curtly, put his
instruments in his satchel, and picked up his coat. “Mrs. Fenton, walk outside
with me, please.”

Vaguely wondering why he
wanted to speak to Maggie, Anne dipped a cloth into the remaining water and sat
on the edge of the bed to wash her husband’s face. “Go to sleep, Nicholas. I
will bring Sarah to you in a bit.” He lay quiet, sleepy-eyed, until she set the
cloth aside and went to rise.

“Anne, I am sorry.” He
fumbled for her wrist. “This has been horrible for you.”

She smiled, faintly perhaps,
but an actual smile nevertheless. “It has been far more horrible for you.”
Which
was true. No need to tell him how scared you were at the thought of losing him.
She wrapped her hand around his for a moment. “Will you rest now?” But his
eyes were already drifting shut, and she lowered his arm to the bed and pulled
the sheet up before getting wearily to her feet.

“He will be fine, won’t he,
Bill?” Fenton had used this time to remove the bloodstained bandages and douse
some of the candles. Anne moved the nearest candelabra further away, and with
Bill’s help, set a screen near the bed to dim the light.

“Should be, my lady.
Westcott’s a strong, healthy man, but it all comes down to the fever. That’s
what kills, more often than not.”

“Of course.”
No, no,
please don’t tell me that
. The memories of her father’s death from the
fever were still fresh in her mind. “Is there nothing we can do to prevent it?”

“Maggie has some potions she
will start giving him, and he’ll need careful nursing. No, Maggie and I will
take tonight’s watch,” he added, guessing her intent. “You can take some of the
time tomorrow, to spell Harman.”

“I can do more….”

“You’ll have your share, but
you’ve those children to care for, and I don’t doubt Miss Sarah is all but
beside herself by now.”

Anne’s shoulders slumped.
“You are right, of course, but I
will
take part in caring for him.”

“Sure and you will,” he
agreed readily, easing Anne’s mind.

After a long study of the
sleeping viscount, she trudged to the door. The children first, then she meant
to find St. Clair, who may have something to report by now. How could this
happen, a man shot on his own land? Was it an accident, a mischance? Perhaps,
but the ill feeling in her belly said not.

~* * *~

St. Clair was with the
children. Anne checked at the threshold and took a quick survey of the room’s
occupants. Mrs. Timmons was hard at her knitting—what
did
the woman do
with all those socks—and Miss Caxton was playing checkers with Guy. Sarah and
Danielle flanked the earl, Sarah in her chair and Danielle on the arm of the
well-worn sofa.

He will be a good father.
Juliette is fortunate.
Westcott, too, was a prime example of
responsible fatherhood, and she felt a pang of loss that she would never have a
child of her own to experience such care.

“You are a brave soul to sit
on that sofa, St. Clair,” Anne said, walking over to join them. “People have
been known to disappear forever in it.”

“Ah, that’s where Mr. Sutton
went! I wondered when he was not in church on Sunday,” St. Clair said with a
grin.

“He is on holiday, Uncle
Devlin!” Sarah cried out and giggled.

“Oh, a holiday, is it?
Vicars don’t go on holiday. You are very sure?” He made a pretense of searching
under the cushions.

“A person could not fit in
there,” Sarah declared with mock indignation, but she sobered immediately when
Anne stooped down beside her.

“Your father is resting now,
Sarah. The doctor has been and said,” Anne dropped her voice to mimic the
surgeon’s growl, ‘“his lordship will do’ and you know Mr. Jameson always speaks
the truth.” Indeed, Sarah knew him well, as the man came often to visit her and
do what he could to help her leg. If only he had been in practice here when the
accident occurred! Anne was convinced that if Sarah’s ankle and foot had been
set properly, she would be walking about like any other child.

“May I go to see him?” Sarah
clung to Anne, not crying, no, but tears were close.

Unsure whether the child
should see her father incapacitated, Anne looked up at St. Clair, who was quick
to realize her unspoken question.

“A few minutes will do
neither of them harm, and Sarah will sleep much better once she knows her
father is not badly hurt.”

“So she will.” Anne turned
her head toward Danielle. “Might you like to come with Sarah?”

Danielle nodded, her face
set in the stolid expression she had not seen on the girl for weeks.
She is
scared all to pieces, poor child.

“Will Blackwell really get
better?” Guy jumped up from the table, ran to Anne, and wrapped his arms around
her neck. “I was afraid, Mother Anne.”

“I was, too. You were very
brave, Guy, and we are all proud of you.” She released Sarah, and pried open
the boy’s hands to hold him at arm’s length. “Yes, Westcott is going to be
fine.” She looked at his face and sighed. “You want to come as well, I see.”

Unsurprised by his “Yes,
please,” she took St. Clair’s hand and rose, glad of his help. Exhaustion
threatened to undermine her will and she remembered it was past time for the
evening meal. No wonder she felt light-headed.

“I suppose you want to look
in on Westcott, too, my lord?”

“I do, of course,” St. Clair
said promptly, with a lift of his brows that indicated his surprise she even
asked.

“Of course,” Anne agreed
with a resigned smile. “You all go on whilst I have a word with Nurse.”

St. Clair grasped the
handles of Sarah’s chair and started it forward. “I need to speak to you before
I return home, Anne,” he said in a low voice.

“And I you!”

Anne stayed behind long
enough to give Nurse Timmons a personal assurance that her ‘lad’ was going to
be fine; ask Miss Caxton if she would sleep on a trundle in Sarah’s room in
case she had nightmares, and then hurried to catch up to St. Clair and his
entourage.

“Mind you, just a few
minutes and
no noise
,” she warned them as she knocked lightly on the
door before opening it cautiously. Bill was settled in a chair by the bed.
Westcott’s man was busy attending to something or other, but came over to them
immediately.

“How does he, Harman? Awake
enough to see Miss Sarah?”

“Awake and asking for her,
my lady. If you’ll just give me a moment?” He went to the viscount, said
something in a low voice, and then he and Bill placed some pillows behind
Westcott so he could sit up. All evidence of his bandage was hidden by a loose
shirt, Anne was relieved to see, and St. Clair pushed Sarah’s chair to the bed.

“Hello, muffin. Come to see
the patient, have you?” Westcott took her hand.

“Papa.” A little sob escaped
her and she held his hand to her cheek. “I was afraid.”

“I am sorry you were
frightened, child, but it’s all over now and before you know it, I’ll be up and
about, ready to take you into the garden.” He looked at Guy and Danielle,
lingering hesitantly by the door. “Come take a look, children, see that I am
hardly ill at all, and then you can go off to bed.” He raised his brows.
“Sarah? That includes you. You can visit longer tomorrow. Mr. Jameson insists I
stay in bed for a few days, so I will need you to keep me company.”

Sarah brightened. “I can
read to
you
, Papa.” She released him and patted his arm. “You must get
better very soon, because we have a surprise for you.”