Black Sheep's Daughter (29 page)

She found Annie in her dressing room, huddled in a chair weeping. The maid raised a tearstained black face as she entered and leaped to her feet.

Gayo flapped his wings with a bright "Hello."

"Miss Teresa!  I made sure you was dead. Gracious heavens, you're worn to the bone. Let me undress you and it's straight into your bed you go."

Teresa shook her head. "No, I'm leaving, Annie. Please pack a few of my simplest dresses and some linen in a couple of small portmanteaux. Hurry, I must go at once."

"You're never going out at this time of night!"

"It is not five yet, it grows dark early these days. Please Annie, I am by far too tired to argue."

The abigail pulled a couple of bags out of a cupboard and began to pack, but she said firmly, "You're not going anywhere without me, miss, that I can tell you."

"I am going home to Costa Rica."  Teresa took two small leather sacks of sovereigns from a drawer. "And I shall ride the first few miles so you cannot come."

"I'll hold on behind, miss, but you shan't leave without me."

Too exhausted to argue, Teresa emptied the guineas onto the bed, and sat down to count them.

* * * *

Andrew recovered consciousness to find himself the target of four pairs of worried eyes. Every breath felt like a dagger in his side.

“Where is Teresa?” he demanded, ignoring the pain.

“She is on her way back to Five Oaks,” said Lord Danville soothingly. “She is quite exhausted.”

The look of hurt reproach in Andrew’s eyes was meant for the woman he loved, who had deserted him in his hour of need, but Muriel intercepted it.

“I…I must explain,” she stammered.

Lord Danville realised he still had his arms about the injured hero’s betrothed. Hurriedly he let her go.

Lord Jordan and Mr Wishart, not knowing what was going on but sensing deep waters, glanced at each other, shrugged and went to check the captives' bonds.

Muriel knelt beside Andrew. “I’m sorry, Andrew. I ought not to have run to Tom—Lord Danville—like that.”

Andrew shook his head, wordless, then moaned as the unconsidered action lit a fire beneath his ribs. Mr. Wishart caught Lord Jordan’s eye and they hurried upstairs to explore the rest of the cottage.

“It is difficult to explain,” Muriel went on bravely, dismayed at Andrew’s silence. “I have behaved very wickedly, I know. Somehow I could not help myself.”

Painfully he reached for her hand. “Little goose,” he said affectionately, “I believe some of Teresa’s courage has rubbed off on you. I must tell you that I have accepted that assignment in China. I know you cannot like it and I shall quite understand if you feel you do not wish to marry me after all.”

Lord Danville moved forward to stand with his hands on Muriel’s shoulders. “I, too, must apologise, Graylin, and thank you for releasing Miss Parr so graciously. Believe me, it was never my intention to fall in love with another man’s wife.”      

“If you love each other, what more can I have to say?”

The way they smiled at each other assured him of their mutual regard. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight as a spasm of envy shot through him. “Why did Teresa leave?”

“She was exhausted,” repeated Lord Danville. “You saved her life, Graylin, and I know she will express her gratitude when she is a little recovered from her ordeal. He went on to express his own gratitude in somewhat flowery periods.

“It’s not her gratitude I want,” Andrew muttered fretfully under cover of the viscount’s words.

“How are you doing, Graylin?” asked Lord John, coming in. “I must say I’ve lost my faith in the Diplomatic Corps, seeing you resort to physical measures like that. Dashed heroic thing to do, all the same.”

Unwisely, Andrew shook his head. He groaned.

“Don’t move, man!” said John in alarm. “Just how badly did you come off?”

“Wishart thinks the bullet glanced off his ribs,” his brother told him. “Probably broke one or two, but it is not serious. Deuced painful, though, and he has lost considerable blood. He certainly can’t ride home.”

“I told Marco to send a couple of carriages.”

“Good man.”

Meanwhile Muriel had been pondering Andrew’s muttered words and had come to a conclusion as welcome as it was unflattering. With newfound self-confidence, she said to Andrew, “Does she know you love her? You are so often at odds that I never guessed till now, and I know you are too much a gentleman to have spoken to her while you were engaged to me. You do love her, do you not, Andrew?"

"Who?" asked Lord Danville, bewildered.

"Teresa," said his brother and his beloved together. The former went on, "Never say, Tom, that you had not noticed the pair of them smelling of April and May. Too busy doing the same yourself, I daresay."

"I love her to distraction," groaned Andrew.

"A deuced appropriate word," said Lord John with a grin. "What the devil is going on up there?"

The stairs were shrieking a protest as Lord Jordan and Mr Wishart descended with a heavy burden. They dumped the third kidnapper on the floor, where he continued to snore stertorously.

Muriel, back in Lord Danville's arms, looked down at him in distaste. "That's Brawny Bert," she announced.

"Brawny Bert?"

"His name is Bert, and the little man is Sid. Teresa called them Brawny Bert and Scrawny Sid."

"If that ain't like my cousin!" said Lord John with a crack of laughter. "Joking in the midst of deadly peril. How the devil—begging your pardon, Miss Parr—did the two of you overcome this great oaf?"

Muriel told the story, her listeners all agog. Lord Jordan was the only one startled to hear that Teresa had been wearing pistols and had used them to such good effect. The others were admiring but unsurprised by her ingenuity, bravery and capability.

"Poured a bottle of gin down his throat!" said Lord John, grinning. "Dashed if she ain't just what you need with you in China, Graylin. Better tell her you love her soon as may be, if you ask me.”

“I am so happy,” said Muriel with a long, quavering sigh.

John looked at her happy but worn face. “And fagged half to death. Tom, why don’t you take her up on your horse instead of waiting for a carriage?  We’ll manage here between us.”

“Not at all the thing,” Danville protested.

John, Wishart, Jordan, Andrew and, after a moment, Muriel all laughed. “My dear brother-in-law,” Lord Jordan observed, “can you imagine anything less proper than the current situation?”

“I will go with you, Tom,” said Muriel, then glanced anxiously at the wounded hero. “But Andrew…”

“Go on,” he said wryly. “I’ll do. I daresay these fellows will not let me bleed to death.”

“Teresa would know what to do to make you more comfortable, but I confess, I do not,” she responded. “I shall make sure there are plenty of cushions and rugs and hot bricks in the carriage that comes for you.”

“I’ll send for the sawbones,” promised Lord Danville. “Again, my thanks, Graylin.”

Andrew smiled ruefully as he watched the duke’s heir pick up his quondam beloved and carry her out. It was good to have matters settled between them, but the long conversation had tired him and the ache in his side spread throughout his body. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe shallowly.

As the pain eased a little, he tormented himself with wondering why Teresa had left him so abruptly when he had risked his life to save her. Had she really not guessed that he adored her?  Even if not, it was most unlike her not to have stayed to nurse him, however tired she was.

So perhaps she had guessed his love but did not return it. Seeing him freed by Muriel, she had fled for fear that he would demand more than she was able to give.

In either case, it seemed she did not return his love. Yet John spoke of the two of them as “smelling of April and May.”  Try as he might, Andrew could not quite crush a tiny seed of hope.

Despite his agony, despite her exhaustion, he would talk to her this very evening and discover his fate.

Chapter 21

The carriage ride back to Five Oaks severely tested Andrew’s endurance and made him doubt Wishart’s diagnosis of his injury as not serious. However, the doctor from Billingshurst concurred. So cheerful was his report that the duchess recovered from her hysterics and the duke ventured to repair to Andrew’s chamber. Marco followed his uncle.

“My dear fellow!” cried his Grace, approaching the invalid’s bed. “I shall never be able to thank you enough for saving my niece’s life.”

“It was nothing,” mumbled Andrew, embarrassed. “I beg you will not refine upon it.”  He sent a beseeching look at Marco, hovering by the door.

Always considerate, the duke stayed only a few minutes. When he left, Marco remained at Andrew’s bedside, his face troubled.

“I must see your sister. Has she retired already?”

“She don’t want to see you. Or anyone else,” Marco added fairly.

“I
must
see her. I shall go to her chamber.”  Andrew winced as he tried to throw off the bedcovers. “Ouch!”

Marco gripped his shoulder and held him down. When he had followed his sister to her room, prepared to escort her to Portsmouth, he had found Annie philosophically unpacking again and Teresa fast asleep on top of her bed.

He had grinned and said to the maid, “Good!  I daresay she will have more sense in the morning.”

But though he could see that his friend’s anguish was as much mental as physical, he did not understand what was going on between Teresa and Andrew. He didn’t want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing.

“She’s fast asleep,” he said gruffly. “I cannot let you wake her. Besides, the doctor said you are not to move for at least three days, lest your ribs pierce your lungs.”

Andrew subsided. The laudanum the doctor had given him had not yet taken effect, but he said, “To the devil with my ribs!  I cannot wait so long. Marco, tell her in the morning that I must see her. I love her.”

“Love her?  Then why is she carrying on as if the world is coming to an end?  No, it’s all right, don’t try to explain.”  He grinned. “I ain’t likely to join the petticoat line for a few years yet. You really love her?  What about Miss Parr?”

“I’m happy to be able to inform you that Miss Parr is going to be the next Duchess of Stafford. Will you ask Teresa to come and see me?”

“Yes, but I ought to warn you that she is planning on going home to Costa Rica.”

“To Costa Rica!  Does your uncle know?”

“No, not yet. She was going to leave tonight, and to stay at an inn on the way to Portsmouth. She was going to write to Uncle Stafford from the inn, and to you.”

“To me?”

“To thank you for…”

“Damnation, am I never to be allowed to forget that I saved her life?  You say ‘she was going to.’  She has not left?”

  “She fell asleep, and I was not about to wake her, I promise you.” Marco eyed Andrew thoughtfully. “You really love her?” he asked again.

“I adore her. I want to marry her, but if she cannot bear the sight of me I shall leave in the morning—or as soon as I am allowed to travel—and she need never set eyes on me again. I will not let her flee the country because of me.”

“Good. Then I will not let her flee the country before you have spoken to her.”

Andrew relaxed with a sigh of relief. Suddenly drowsy, he smiled sleepily at the thought of Teresa dashing off to Portsmouth, a navel dockyard, when what she really wanted was Bristol. The courageous woman was also a green girl, in need of someone to guide and protect her. Who better than himself?

Marco tiptoed out of the room.

* * * *

Teresa dreamt she was back at home on the hacienda. It was one of those nights when, even up in the mountains, the air was still and hot and oppressive. She threw back the covers. The sudden chill on her skin awoke her.

She was lying fully dressed on top of her bed. Someone had draped a couple of blankets over her. She sat up and looked around, dazed by the sudden transition from the dream of her simple whitewashed room to the reality of the luxurious furnishings of an English mansion. It was winter, she remembered, yet still she was unbearably hot.

A fire glowed on the hearth and a strange white light outlined the window. It was morning, then. She slipped down from the bed and went to draw back the curtains. That cold light would cool her. Feathers of frost on the glass melted at her breath; she looked out and gasped.

The strange light was sun reflecting on snow. The world sparkled and gleamed. Every branch of the great cedar was outlined in white. Entranced, Teresa leant her burning forehead against the windowpane.

Two dogs gambolled across the lawn, oblivious of cold feet. Teresa realised that her own feet were icy. She began to shiver uncontrollably, though she was perspiring and her cheeks felt on fire. It dawned on her that she was feverish. As if the knowledge had somehow intensified the symptoms, her head began to ache and her limbs grew leaden. Overcome by lethargy, she forced herself to stumble into her dressing room to find her medicine chest.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Gayo greeted her. When he received no response, he grumbled irritably, “Misbegotten son of a sea snake.”

Teresa was not amused. The catch on the chest was inexplicably recalcitrant to her fumbling fingers. She had just decided to give up and go back to bed when Annie came in.

“You’re never up already, miss!” she exclaimed in surprise. “After all those goings-on yesterday, I made sure you’d sleep late.”

Teresa’s memory flooded back. Yesterday she had been kidnapped. She had shot Harrison. Muriel had thrown herself into Cousin Tom’s arms.

Yesterday Andrew had been shot, and in his agony he had called for Muriel.

Teresa astonished herself and her abigail by bursting into tears.

Annie ran to her and hugged her. “Heavens above, miss, you’re frozen to the bone,” she scolded, dismayed. “Back to bed with you this instant. And your forehead’s hot as coals of fire. Lawks, you’ve taken a chill, and no wonder. Come now, miss, just slip out of your dress and into your nightrail—that’s it--and let me tuck you in and I’ll bring you your herbs. You just tell me what you need and I’ll see it’s made proper. You’ll be right as rain in no time at all. There, let me fluff up your pillows. Here’s the medicines now. This one, is it?  Cinchona?  Made into tea, isn’t that right?  I’ll take it down to Cook right away.”