Carola Dunn (17 page)

Unexpectedly, the Duke’s whooping laugh rang out. “He’s already learning to write with his left hand. I expect to have him back as my secretary in short order.”

Felix went directly to the Somersets’ lodgings. They welcomed him, and he was glad to see how well Fitzroy was adjusting to the loss of his arm, but it was a somber visit. Gordon’s memory hung between them, and Canning’s, and other mutual friends.

To raise his spirits, on the way home he stopped at the Marché aux Fleurs and bought lilies-of-the-valley for Fanny. As an afterthought he added a posy of pansies for Anita. Then, crossing the Grand’ Place, he bought hothouse grapes for Frank and some strawberries, and a basket to carry them in. Compared to the events of the past week, the ignominy of the heir to the Earl of Westwood carrying a basket through the streets paled to insignificance.

Fanny was sewing at the table in the parlour, with difficulty for Anita had pulled up a chair right to her side as if she couldn’t bear to be more than a few inches away. She tended to cling since Fanny had had to spend so much time with Frank. However, when Felix entered she jumped down and ran to him.

He handed her a posy of flowers, then set down a basket on a small table by the door. Fanny raised her eyebrows. Lord Roworth gone a-marketing? She had not expected him to take her words to heart.

Crossing the room, he bowed deeply, and with a flourish presented a nosegay. “Madam, I beg your acceptance of this small token of my regard.”

“My lord, you are too kind,” she responded, matching his implausible formality, forcing the words past the catch in her throat. Flowers for her? Feeling silly tears rising, she lowered her eyes as she raised the bouquet to breathe in the sweet fragrance of the delicate blooms.

“Tía, look, my flowers has faces. Look!” Anita insisted, tugging on Fanny’s arm, forcing her to regain her equanimity.

“Have faces. Pansies--how clever of you, Roworth. The very thing for a little girl. Anita, love, did you thank Tío Felix?”

“Not yet. Will you hold my pansies, Tía?” The flowers safe, she spread her pink muslin skirts and carefully curtsied. “Thank you, Tío Felix. Do you want a kiss?”

“Yes, please.” As he picked her up, over her head he cast a teasing gaze at Fanny.

Blushing, she prayed that he had not the slightest notion how happy she’d be to follow the child’s example. She hurried into speech. “When she is a little older, I shall have to teach her not to pay with kisses when a gentleman offers flowers.”

“A pity.” He heaved a heavy sigh and watched with shameless amusement as her cheeks grew still hotter. “I daresay at least she must learn to be discriminating about whom she kisses. Thank you, Anita. I’ve brought some strawberries, too. May I have another kiss?”

She giggled and complied. Fanny went over to the table where he had put the basket.

“Grapes, at this season!” she gasped.

“I hoped they might tempt Frank’s appetite.”

“They will, I’m sure, but they must have cost a fortune.”

“Only a small fortune. You needn’t worry that I’ll land in the River Tick; I can stand the nonsense,” he announced grandly, setting Anita down and striking a pose. “I’m rich.”

“Rich! Not a week since, your valet was ready to quit because you had naught but rags to your name. Have you been gambling?”

His face darkened. Fanny was momentarily afraid her query had crossed the bounds of impertinence and she was about to receive a set-down. But that would be unjust, since he had frequently confided to her the irksome details of his purse-pinched condition!

That thought must have crossed his mind, for he said mildly, “I haven’t played for more than chicken-stakes in years.” Nathan Rothschild had rewarded him most generously, he explained, for the early news of the victory that had enabled the banker to make a fortune.

“And the Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary, and the War Minister all refused to believe you?” she said, as incredulous as those gentlemen. “What fools!”

“But their folly was to my advantage,” he pointed out, grinning.

“So you will not need to pinch pennies any more to keep up your position in Society,” she said with forced cheerfulness. At least while his pockets were to let they had had something in common. She returned to the table and bent over her sewing. “I hope, for Trevor’s sake, you mean to buy a new coat.”

He laughed. “That was my first thought. He will appreciate removing to decent lodgings, too, and not having to travel on the stage.”

Of course, he would not stay at Madame Vilvoorde’s now he could afford better. With an effort, Fanny dismissed a lurking sense of desolation and reminded herself that he had offered his escort and a refuge with his friends in England. There were practical matters to be settled.

“I wanted to ask you about that. Frank cannot travel on the stage, even if a doctor says he is fit to be moved. I was too tired last night to think of it, but this morning I realized that we cannot afford the journey to England. Only, if you can afford it, we could pay you back gradually, over a period...”

“Gammon! There is not the least need...”

“Even if I agreed, which I shall not,” she said obstinately, “Frank would never consent to hang on your sleeve.” She’d accept Miriam Cohen’s charity for Frank’s sake, but to accept Felix’s was unthinkable.

Felix drew himself up with a haughty stiffness belied by a quizzical glint in his blue eyes. “Then permit me, ma’am, to pay the reckoning for your services to Mr Rothschild’s agent and couriers over the past several months. Housekeeping, hospitality...”

“You odious, odious man!” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You know perfectly well that I did not do that for money.”

“If you will permit me to finish a sentence,” he said, grinning at her indignation, “I wish to point out that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Mr Rothschild will absorb some of the cost of the journey, since I have to make it anyway and we shall use his yacht. For the rest, I shall consider myself grossly insulted if further mention is made of the word ‘money.’ I may even call you out.”

Fanny had to laugh, and Anita came running to her. Strawberry stains about her mouth betrayed the way she had taken advantage of her elders’ preoccupation.

“What’s funny, Tía?”

“Your face, lovie.”

Felix swept up the child and held her up to the tarnished looking-glass. “See?”

“Strawbies is good,” she explained earnestly. “I didn’t eat some of Tío Frank’s grapes.”

“Didn’t eat any,” Fanny corrected, “--at least, I hope that is what you mean!”

“Can I give them to Tío Frank?”

“If you promise to be very good and quiet. It’s time I checked on him anyway. Or do you wish to present your gift with your most elegant bow, Roworth?”

“No, go ahead.” The last thing he wanted at present was to find himself next at odds with the invalid over accepting his aid. He was well satisfied to have put Fanny in a position where she’d find it difficult to refuse anything further he chose to do for her. “I’ll wait here for the surgeon. He should turn up at any moment.”

“You persuaded a doctor to come? Oh Roworth, thank you. Why did you not say so sooner?”

“Because, ma’am, you have scarce let me get a word in edgewise since I came home!” Nor had he yet told her that he was now in a position to offer for Lady Sophia. That news could wait.

The young doctor arrived a few minutes later. Felix took him up to Frank’s chamber and brought Anita down to the parlour. He kept her amused for what seemed like an age with a story about a little girl who ate too many strawberries and turned bright red all over.

At last he heard footsteps on the stairs and went out to thank the man. “Do you think Captain Ingram can safely travel?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord, as long as he makes no attempt to exert himself. He must be carried, helped to sit up and lie down. Any effort of the limbs is likely to break open wounds which are just beginning to heal. You see...”

“You need not explain, doctor. I know you are needed elsewhere. Miss Ingram will tell me the rest.”

The doctor looked at him in tired surprise. “But all I told Miss Ingram was that her brother can be moved, with care. I would not wish to alarm a lady with the unpleasant details of his condition.”

Felix was affronted on Fanny’s behalf. She was no milk-and-water miss to have the truth kept from her. On the other hand, he himself had a squeamish lack of desire to delve into the intricacies of healing wounds. However, someone had to know, and the doctor’s weariness was evident.

“You had best come and sit down.” He led the way into the parlour and waved him to a chair. Anita appeared to be tucking her soldiers into a bed composed of Fanny’s sewing. Crooning a lullaby, she ignored the men. “Go on,” Felix said.

“You see, my lord, the scar tissue over a wound is inflexible, so that stretching is liable to crack it. When the wound is near a joint, healing is often delayed by excessive motion. The captain has many wounds--indeed, he could scarcely have survived had he not been standing at an angle to the explosion. I deeply regret having to tell you that, even with straightforward healing, an accumulation of scarring will probably limit your cousin’s freedom of...”

“My cousin? Captain Ingram is no relative of mine.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” His shoulders slumped. “I assumed, since you were seeking care...”

“No matter. I beg your pardon, for interrupting.” He hadn’t wanted to hear, but the worst must be faced. “If I understand you aright, whatever we do, Ingram is going to be crippled.”

“I would not put it so harshly. As I was about to say, his freedom of movement will be limited to some extent. The resultant lack of use, unfortunately, may atrophy the muscles.”

Felix’s mind flew back to a tiny chamber under the rafters of a cottage in the Pyrenees. Miriam had forced him to exercise his agonizing shoulder to stop it stiffening, to stop a permanent loss of function. She had succeeded--he was as strong as ever and rarely felt the least twinge. “We must get Frank to England at once,” he said.

The doctor appeared to think he was slightly mad, but he gratefully pocketed a small supplement to his army pay and took his leave.

On second thoughts, Felix decided there was no need to disclose Frank’s gloomy prognosis to Fanny. He could not bear the thought of her horror, when Miriam might be able to prevent the terrible outcome.

He went to rescue Fanny’s sewing from Anita’s depredations. It was a plain white chemise, unadorned with lace or ribbons except for a tiny satin bow. The hint of a sternly suppressed longing for finery touched him, and the intimate garment reminded him all too clearly of the feel of Fanny’s slender body in his arms. That bow would nestle between her breasts...

Hastily he folded the chemise, set it aside, and started picking up the pins scattered on the table. Their quantity suggested that he had arrived rather too late to save the sewing, but Anita happily helped him stick them in the pincushion. In fact, her neat little fingers managed it much better than he did. He was sucking a pricked thumb when Fanny came in.

“Will you go up to Frank?” she entreated. “He is fretting about something, he will not tell me what, and he asked to see you.”

Felix could think of any number of matters that might be worrying the captain, from the doctor’s report to the cost of travel. He had no wish to discuss any of them with a sick man. Reluctantly he went upstairs.

Frank was lying with his eyes closed. Felix paused in the doorway to study him. The resolution that had characterized his face was missing. Defenceless, vulnerable in his weakness, he appeared much younger than his twenty-five years, his likeness to his sister more pronounced.

Not that anyone could accuse Fanny of a lack of resolution!

“Ingram?” Felix said softly.

The captain’s brown eyes, so like Fanny’s, were alert and watchful. “My lord. Fanny tells me you want to take us to England. Why?”

Felix told himself the man’s bluntness was due to the pain caused by speaking, not to discourtesy. “Because I believe I can procure you better medical attention there,” he said with deliberate patience.

“There are many others in worse case than I.”

“But I’m not acquainted with them as I am with you.”

Frank hesitated, then blurted out, “Lord Roworth, what are your intentions towards my sister?”

So that was what troubled him. Felix hadn’t even considered the possibility that might be a source of worry. Guilt flashed through him. Only a moment ago he had been thinking of Fanny in a way that would have justified her brother in taking a horse-whip to him, had he acted on his thoughts.

But she was not the sort of female one might set up as one’s mistress, any more than she was a conceivable bride for the heir to an earldom. He did his best to reassure Frank.

“My dear fellow, I have none, neither honorable nor, I assure you, dishonorable. I have the greatest admiration for Miss Ingram and I am concerned for her welfare, and for Anita’s, but as for tenderer feelings...” He felt the oddest sense of betrayal when he said that. He hurried on. “You are aware, I daresay, that I have been attempting to fix my interest with Lady Sophia Gerrold.”

“So I have heard.” The captain’s lips quirked.

Of course he knew. Half Brussels knew. All the same, Felix would hardly have spoken of so personal a matter if it had not been necessary to remove Frank’s doubts. “At last I can declare myself to Lady Sophia with some hope of success. Fanny must have told you that it’s high tide with me?”

“She did, and that’s another thing. High tide or low, I cannot allow you to pay our way to England.”

His protest was expected. Felix put on an air of arrogant disdain and said, “You mean you cannot subdue your pride for the sake of your sister and the child. What do you suppose will become of them if you insist on repaying with scanty funds a debt I don’t even recognize? Or do you prefer to linger here in a decline while Miss Ingram struggles to support you?”

With that unsporting leveller, Felix departed.

He had a certain sympathy for Frank’s pride, though, so when he went in search of a comfortable, well-sprung carriage he decided to borrow one if he could. Without the expense of hiring a vehicle, he hoped, the Ingrams’ sense of obligation would be that much less.