Love for Lucinda (18 page)

“I shall not forget, Wilfred.”

Lucinda stood up on her toes to brush a light salute against his lean cheek. She smiled at his startled, reddening face. “My best of friends. I know that I may rely upon you.”

“And so you may,” said Lord Mays gruffly. He turned and went swiftly out the door and down the steps.

When the porter closed the door behind his lordship, Lucinda’s smile swiftly began to fade. She walked back to the drawing room and paused on the threshold. She had left Miss Blythe sitting on the settee, and now she stood in the open doorway and looked across the room at her companion. “Lord Mays is gone. Now I must go up to see about Ferdie.”

“I shall come with you, my dear,” said Miss Blythe, rising at once.

“I had rather hoped that you would,” said Lucinda.

Chapter Seventeen

In the back bedchamber allotted to Mr. Stassart there had gathered a rather large company. The butler and two stalwart footmen had carried Mr. Stassart up to the bedroom. Mrs. Beeseley had freshly warmed the bed and then with the warming pan still firmly grasped in one competent hand, she had supervised the careful deposit of Mr. Stassart’s lanky form on top of the sheets. The butler and the footmen had lingered to discuss the best way to divest the wounded man of his clothing. An occasional word was put in by Mrs. Beeseley who had her own opinion to offer.

A wide-eyed maid listened agog to it all while she poured water into the washing bowl. Unfortunately for the satisfaction of her curiosity, she sloshed the last of the water.

Mrs. Beeseley spoke sharply to the girl for her carelessness, and she sent her off to get the lint bandages out of the medicine cabinet.

“And mind that you do not dally about it!”

Lucinda and Miss Blythe entered the bedroom in time to hear the strict admonition. The maid dipped a hurried bob to the ladies before she rushed out.

Bunches of candles had been set close about the bed and burned so bright that the remainder of the bedchamber was thrown into dramatic shadow. Lucinda and Miss Blythe crossed the dim quarter of the room into the light. Their appearance was deferentially acknowledged by the servants, but was not of sufficient moment to deter the ongoing discussion.

“It be my opinion, Mr. Church, that ‘is boots should be cut off,” said one of the footmen with a zealot’s relish. His peer nodded in agreement.

“It is my shoulder that has been wounded, you fool, not my legs,” came an acid rejoinder from the bed.

Lucinda was amused. Her cousin was not only conscious, but he was fully aware of what was being argued over his supine body. She was inordinately reassured that there was nothing too wrong with him if he could so strongly object to the proposed ravagings of his elegant topboots.

“Don’t you worry, young sir. I shan’t let these great loobies lay a finger to your boots,” said Church soothingly. The butler then cast a sulfurous look over his subordinates. The footmen were duly cowed.

“Thank God! A voice of reason.” Mr. Stassart fell back on the pillow, seemingly too weak to rouse himself to further effort.

Lucinda moved to the head of the bed and looked down at her cousin’s flushed, sweating face. She said softly, “Well, Ferdie! What manner of coil have you managed to embroil yourself in this time?”

Mr. Stassart was breathing rather shallowly. At the sound of her voice his eyelids flickered, then opened. His eyes were surprisingly bright. Perhaps with fever, thought Lucinda. “Fair cousin. I bid you good evening,” he said hoarsely. “As for my situation, you may judge for yourself.” He made a listless gesture toward his left shoulder.

Lucinda glanced before she thought. She saw that blood garishly stained his coat. A clumsy pad had been thrust inside the shoulder of the coat, presumably by Lord Mays, but it had not served to stop the seepage onto the front of his green-striped waistcoat. Lucinda swallowed at the shocking sight. It was more blood than she had ever seen.

As butterflies churned in her stomach, she decided that Lord Mays had been perfectly correct in urging her not to oversee the entrance of her cousin as he was carried into the house. She wished now that she had taken even greater heed to his lordship’s warning and had waited to see her cousin until he had already been cared for properly.

However, Lucinda was made of stern stuff. She was determined that she would not give in to any weakness. Her reply as a consequence was somewhat cooler than it might have been. “Yes, you have bled, haven’t you? You appear to be in a rather bad way, Ferdie.”

Mr. Stassart’s half-hooded eyes widened. Indignation swelled his narrow chest. “Gad, you’re a cold creature. An expression of horror and compassion would not be out of place, cousin!”

Lucinda realized that her cousin was not suffering near as badly as he would have her believe. He was still attempting to gain whatever advantage there could possibly be in the situation. It was second nature to him, she thought resignedly. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had managed to overset her even for a moment.

Lucinda smiled at her cousin. “I assure you, Ferdie, my withers are quite wrung with pity.”

Ferdie threw his uninjured forearm over his eyes, making a grunt of disgust. “I lie at death’s door and not a tear to be shed. I thank you, cousin!”

“I am not precisely an hysterical sort of female,” said Lucinda, half apologetically.

“That
is apparent, at least!” was Mr. Stassart’s bitter rejoinder.

“My lady, here is the physician. He wishes a word with you,” said Church.

Lucinda turned away from the bed. The physician had just finished washing and drying his hands, she saw. She wondered at that. As yet the man had not had opportunity to soil his hands, for he had yet to examine her cousin except by sight.

“I only wished to reassure your ladyship. Judging from the young sir’s display of spirit, I do not expect to find a great deal to fuss over,” said the physician.

“Quack!” uttered Ferdie. He flung aside his arm so that he could glare at the surprised physician. He was incensed by the seemingly casual statement. “Much you know about it! Why, I could still bleed to death lying here whilst you dance attendance upon her ladyship!”

Lucinda laughed, the situation suddenly striking her as ridiculous.

Ferdie swore awfully.

“Sir!” protested Mrs. Beeseley, scandalized. “There’s ladies present.”

“Never mind, Mrs. Beeseley. I readily understand Mr. Stassart’s feelings of frustration. It was ignoble of me, indeed, to find humor at such a time,” said Lucinda. She turned once more to the physician. “I shall leave him in your capable hands, sir.”

“Good. We shall have to have him out of that coat and his boots for him to be comfortable, as these good people have already observed.” The physician dubiously eyed the tight-fitting garment on his patient. “It will not be an easy task to remove that coat. The struggle may well encourage the bleeding.”

“Aye, ‘e’ll likely bloody the whole bed before we can properly wrestle him out of that rig,” muttered one of the footmen.

The butler rebuked his subservient for speaking so plain in front of their mistress. “Her ladyship is undoubtedly already highly concerned for Mr. Stassart, considering that the gentleman is her cousin. She’ll not be needing your mouth adding to it, saucebox.”

“Not her! She’ll likely look on cool as you please and remark at the end that lilies would be a nice touch at the wake,” said Ferdie in a self-pitying voice. He cast a glance of loathing at those standing round the bed. “Ghouls! The whole lot of you!”

Lucinda thought that there had been quite enough said. “Church, you and the footmen will assist the good doctor in undressing Mr. Stassart. Cut that coat off so that he will be spared some pain.”

“A practical and compassionate suggestion,” approved the physician.

“You know nothing of the matter!” snapped Ferdie, suddenly roused to animation. He raised himself as far as he was able and pointed a quivering forefinger. “I forbid any one of you to touch one thread of this coat!”

“Pray be reasonable, Ferdie. The coat cannot possibly be cleaned to its original state. It is already quite ruined,” said Lucinda.

“My man will know what to do. He will, I tell you!”

“But your man is not here now, and you must be tended to properly,” said the physician. “The coat must come off now.”

“I shall defend myself, I warn you!” Ferdie snapped, the color hectic in his cheeks.

The butler looked at the doctor questioningly. The physician nodded. Church took out a pocket knife and bent to begin the task of slitting the sleeves of Mr. Stassart’s ruined coat.

Mr. Stassart swung a wild fist. Church ducked even as Mrs. Beeseley shrieked a shrill warning. The closer of the footmen caught the patient’s arm and bore it down. He then held the thrashing man down against the pillows. His fellow, with the greatest presence of mind, sat on Mr. Stassart’s legs.

“You must calm yourself, Mr. Stassart. I do not wish to hurt you,” reproved Church as he carefully slit open the coat. There was the loud sound of ripping cloth.

“Yes, do try to contain yourself, Ferdie, and allow yourself to be tended,” said Lucinda.

Ferdie did not appear to be listening. He cast rolling whitened eyes at what the butler was doing. “My coat! My new coat! It is utterly destroyed!” There was the hint of tears in the afflicted man’s voice. It cut him to the depths of his shallow dandy’s soul to witness the destruction of the exquisite garment.

There was a quiver in Lucinda’s voice that she could not disguise as she said soothingly, “I shall buy you another coat, Ferdie.”

Mr. Stassart’s starting eyes fixed balefully upon his cousin’s face. He panted, “This is your doing! Jade!”

“Sir!” The physician was shocked. “I beseech you, moderate your language. It is most unbecoming.”

Mr. Stassart took no notice of the physician’s disapproval. “Malicious witch! You have me at your mercy now, but I swear that I shall be revenged!” He gave a screech as Church tugged free the tattered remains of what had once been a fine coat. “It’s a
rag.
My beautiful coat is a rag!”

Miss Blythe laid her hand lightly on Lucinda’s arm. “My dear, Mr. Stassart has become suspiciously hysterical.” She gestured suggestively toward the bedroom door.

Lucinda nodded agreement. She glanced down at her cousin’s flushed countenance. “I shall leave you now, Ferdie. My presence does not appear to be in the least reassuring to you.”

Ferdie swore again, drawing another scandalized protest from the housekeeper. Unheeding of anyone else, he snarled at his cousin. “Good riddance, I say! I would as lief have a rabid dog attending me!”

Lucinda retreated across the bedroom. Just as she reached the door, she heard her cousin’s horrified uplifted accents. “Argh! No, no!
Not
the waistcoat, too! Have you no sense of decency, man?”

Lucinda was laughing as she stepped into the hallway. Miss Blythe followed her out of the room, as did the housekeeper.

Mrs. Beeseley shut the door with the suggestion of a slam. She clicked her tongue in shocked disapproval. “Such an awful young man!”

“Mr. Stassart is overwrought,” said Miss Blythe mildly.

The housekeeper sniffed. “One can tell quality from dross, Miss Blythe!” She bustled off down the hallway.

Lucinda laughed again. “Poor Ferdie! He has fallen short of Mrs. Beeseley’s expectations of a gentleman. Not that he would care one whit how a mere housekeeper views him, of course. However, he does think rather high of himself. I suspect that he
would
feel the slight if he were to hear himself referred to as dross.”

“Yes, undoubtedly he would,” agreed Miss Blythe.

The door opposite cracked open, and a single rounded orb peered out at them.

“Good evening, Agnes,” said Lucinda affably. “It is only Miss Blythe and myself.”

The door opened wide and Miss Mays poked out her head. Her face was anxious. “Lady Mays! Miss Blythe! What is happening? That man—he appeared to be in terrible pain! I was wakened by his awful groanings when he was carried past my door earlier. I have not been able to return to bed or still my fearful imaginations.”

“You are not to fret, Agnes,” said Lucinda. “That was my cousin, Mr. Ferdie Stassart. We have a physician with him now, who has assured us that he is not in immediate danger.”

Miss Mays emerged round the corner of her door, emboldened by Lady Mays’s mild tone. Lucinda was interested to note that she was still attired in the dressing gown but that her hair was now sedately confined by a prim sleeping cap.

“But whatever happened to him—your cousin, I mean—my lady? Did he perhaps run foul of footpads?”

“Oh no. Nothing so pedantic,” said Lucinda, smiling. Miss Blythe chuckled, appreciating the play on words. But Miss Mays merely looked puzzled.

Lucinda sighed. It was becoming more and more apparent to her that her sister-in-law was not in the least needle-witted. She would have to restrict herself to the black-and-white with Miss Mays.

“I do not like to cast aspersions, but I must confess that my cousin is a very foolish gentleman,” said Lucinda. “He was playing cards in a place where he should not have been. A low hell, in fact. There was a dispute of some sort and he was attacked.”

“How shocking!” breathed Miss Mays, her eyes widening in fascinated horror. “Was Mr. Stassart dreadfully wounded?”

“No ... yes. I really don’t know! Lord Mays, who brought him to us so that a physician could be got to him, seemed to think that my cousin was in some danger. However, Ferdie was quite coherent when I spoke to him. In fact, I must say that he was quite lively in the face of his hurt,” said Lucinda.

“An understatement, my dear,” said Miss Blythe in her driest tone.

“Yes, well, perhaps it was,” said Lucinda, laughing.

Once more, Miss Mays frowned at something that she had not understood. There was the hint of reproach in her expressive eyes as she gazed at Lucinda and Miss Blythe. Timidly, she asked, “Surely you should not make such game when Mr. Stassart lies wounded and in pain?”

Lucinda made haste to school her own expression to an appropriate soberness. “You are perfectly right, Agnes. Perhaps the shock has unbecomingly overset us. We must all await the physician’s verdict, but I am positive that Mr. Stassart will recover.”