Miss Truelove Beckons (Classic Regency Romances Book 12) (23 page)

The woman hurried out and True turned back to the bed where the gallant soldier, Drake’s batman, not much taller than herself, held the powerful viscount in a hard grip. He gave her a wry grin and said, “He’s a mite restless, ya might say, miss. Don’t want ’im to hurt hisself.”

“I see.” She approached the bed. The room was gloomy, though it was midday. Drake seemed to be settling down some, and she said, “Horace—that is your name, is it not?—will you open the curtains a little and let some light in? He has not been complaining of aching eyes, has he?”

“No, miss. It ain’t the scarlet fever.”

“I didn’t think so. You’re a good nurse.”

The batman hesitantly released his charge and slid off the bed to do as True bid. Given her first real look at Drake’s face, True felt tears well up. His eyes were glazed, his face gaunt, and his nightshirt soaked from perspiration. His golden curls were plastered to his head with sweat.

As she watched, he began to thrash and struck out with his fist at some phantom enemy. An inarticulate yell erupted from him and his body arched as though from some great pain. Horace galloped over but True held up one hand. “Go see what her ladyship is doing.”

Horace looked doubtful. “He be headin’ fer another bad turn, miss, an’ I’ll have to hold him down.”

In the distance, thunder rumbled across the sky and a patter of rain started up against the windowpane.

“The guns,” Drake yelled. “F-French artillery, boys, but we’ll . . . we . . .”

“Just go,” True commanded. Horace scuttled to the door, and with one last look left the two alone.

Drake yelled again, this time for his gun, then a string of obscenities. True cautiously, her heart pounding, said, “Wy, I am here. Do you know me?” More incoherent, garbled battle talk. “Wy, it is me, Truelove. You asked me to come, and I’m here.”

Lightning flashed suddenly, thunder rumbled and crashed and Drake let out a long, keening cry. True could not bear it and hopped up beside him, pulling him to her, rocking him in her arms. He struggled but she locked her arms around him with all the strength she could muster, more than she thought she possessed. “Wy, it’s all right,” she said gently. “You’re going to be all right. Please, Wy, listen to me; hush and listen, my love.”

To her surprise the viscount stilled. His body was damp. She could feel the heat of him, his fever burning bright in his cheeks and through his whole body. He moaned, but then quieted, and nuzzled her neck.

“Oh, my poor dear,” True whispered, pushing soaked curls off his forehead. “I would never have left if I had known.” But of course if she had it to do all over, she would have done the same. When she left, she had thought her father ill, and she would never have ignored that loving duty to her father. What had happened that had brought back the viscount’s nightmares? He had seemed healed of them finally. Was it just the fever, or did the nightmares precede the fever? From what the countess had said, the nightmares came first, and it was his inattentiveness to his health as a result of exhaustion that had caused his problems.

When the countess and batman came back, True demanded clean cold water, fresh cloths, a change of nightshirt for Drake, and she set about making the infusions of willow bark and feverfew into tea. It was going to be a long day, but True was emboldened by a feeling that perhaps Lady Leathorne had been right to fetch her. She had experience with fever patients, and no one could want him well more than her, unless, perhaps, it was the countess herself. Also, she had the feeling that Drake had heard her, that he was listening somewhere in there, behind the glazed eyes.

If that was so, if he could hear her, she would find a way to bring him back. Drake was strong; he would not succumb to a mere fever.

• • •

 “It is scandalous,” Lady Swinley muttered. “Utterly scandalous, and so I shall tell Jessica when she comes down,
if
she comes down! I have not seen her in days. I cannot believe she went away and came back, all without saying a word to her houseguests! Abominable treatment. And now this. She has shut my cousin in with that raving lunatic and has left them alone.
Alone!
Together!”

“Drake is hardly in a condition to ravish her, Mother,” Arabella said sulkily.

Lord Conroy entered the saloon just then and crossed to the two ladies. “I’ve heard a report I cannot but think must be false. M’valet says that your cousin, Miss Becket, has returned and is closeted alone with Drake!”

“Absolutely true,” Arabella said. She sniffed into a handkerchief, daintily, then eyed the gentleman. He looked gratifyingly concerned. “I am so afraid for her! I tried to help, but he . . . he beat me!” She held out her arm to show a bruise she had gotten the day before when she had accidentally knocked against the bedpost.

Lord Conroy, his dark eyes wide with horror, swiftly knelt beside her and, taking the handkerchief from her hand, dabbed at her dry eyes. He daringly pressed a kiss to the bruise. “You poor, delicate child! What were you thinking? You haven’t the strength for sickroom nursing.”

Lady Swinley turned from the window and gazed at the nobleman, appraising him from his polished Hessions, to his immaculate jacket and breeches, to his gold watch fob, gold seal fob, and gold quizzing glass fob, all dangling on display on his waistcoat. “Of course not,” she said slowly. Then she came to a decision. “My darling girl is a delicate flower, and her bloom would soon be faded if she spent all her time in a house of sickness. And a place of such . . . such immoral goings-on! To shut an unmarried girl like True up alone with a lunatic like Lord Drake . . . anything could happen.”

“But she went in willingly, Mother!” Arabella reminded her with a side glance.

“Yes, well, I always did say the minx had an eye for the main chance. No better than she should be, even though she is my kin.”

Arabella felt a little queasy at the havoc her mother was wreaking with poor True’s reputation. But her cousin had chosen her course knowing what it entailed. It was no longer any of her business, and perhaps True’s betrothal to her dull vicar protected her in societal eyes. At any rate, she must start thinking what to do for her and her mother now that a marriage to Lord Drake seemed out of the question. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Arabella announced, making a sudden decision. What was there to stay at Lea Park for? “With or without you, Mother.”

“I shall escort both of you ladies anywhere you like, if I may be so bold as to offer. I would not rest knowing you were alone on the road.”

Arabella turned her dimpled smile on him, full force. “We would be delighted, sir,” she said. She laid her hand on his arm and felt him quiver at her touch. How delightfully susceptible he was! And good-natured, and
rich!

Lady Swinley smiled, too. “Delighted, sir. So nice to know true gentility still survives in this world.”

Chapter Seventeen

Darkness had fallen, the storm had played itself out and a light rain fell against the window, and still True held Drake. Horace had changed his nightshirt, and a maid had brought a fresh bowl of water. The countess had helped prepare the tea of the infusions True had brought. Then, on True’s orders they had all left, just as Drake was beginning to get restless again.

Once more he had started the downward spiral of nightmare visions and fevered delusions, but through it all True talked, calmly, about anything and everything. She told him stories of her childhood and her sister, and about her village. And all the while she held him, stroked his hair off his forehead and fed him, bit by bit, the herbal tea, dripping it down his throat with infinite patience whenever he would let her. She felt a tension ease out of him, draining like a bad humor from his body, leaving him limp in her arms.

Soon she knew every inch of his sleek shoulder and arm and neck muscles under the light linen of his nightshirt. Her own arms ached with the effort, but still she held him close. Once a maid came, at Lady Leathorne’s request, to bring True some broth and toast.

“Her ladyship’s order, miss. She does not want you to be taking ill from your nursing,” the girl said, timidly advancing with the tray, eyes wide to see True holding the viscount in such a close and intimate way.

Drake started to toss and turn at the maid’s sharp voice.

“Thank you . . . Bess, is it? Bess. Tell her ladyship I thank her. It is just the thing. Will you bring me some fresh water for his lordship and more of the tea infusion? Lady Leathorne knows how it is to be prepared.”

Alone again with just True, Drake settled down. He could not seem to bear anyone’s voice but her own. The evening wore on, with just occasional interruptions from the maid, and once from the countess looking in on the two of them.

“Has the fever broken yet?” the worried mother whispered, putting her hand to his forehead.

“Not yet,” True had to admit. “But it has had enough time to take a fierce hold of him; it will take some time to conquer. I have seen worse recover, though. I’m so touched that you trust me to nurse him. We were strangers just a month ago.”

“Quite frankly, my dear, I’m desperate. We have had all the medical men in the area to see him, and they cannot seem to heal what they all agree is a simple fever. My fear was that he did not
want
to get well, and I have always thought that a necessary part of recovery. When he asked for you, I knew that you would be his good angel. How could I not trust you when Drake so clearly does?”

True was silent, not knowing how to answer.

The countess perched on the edge of the bed. Keeping her voice quiet, she whispered, “I believe he missed you, when you left. He expected you to come back, I think. He asked every day if Miss Swinley had received word from you yet. The nightmares started when . . .” She stopped and shook her head and looked away.

True thought she heard the woman say,
“Not fair to do that to you,”
but she said no more.

“I never promised to come back,” True said. Drake shifted a little in her arms, and she rolled her shoulders, trying to drive the ache from her body. “I was silent when he asked, though. He may have had the impression . . . but we were just friends; I didn’t think . . .” She broke off, not sure what she was trying to say.

“You were nothing more than friends? Are you sure?” With a kind smile, and a caress for her son, the countess left, saying, “Try to get some sleep, my dear. I would not have you making yourself ill nursing my son.”

True thought about the woman’s question. She could not say for his side, but she knew that she loved him. Drake shifted again, threw his arm over her and pulled her closer to him. She smoothed the damp cloth over his forehead and threaded her fingers through his soaked curls, lifting them off his neck and patting away the sweat.

She must have been mad to think that, loving Drake as she did, she had a right to marry another man. It would not do. It would have been unfair to Mr. Bottleby, and even more unfair to herself. Better to remain single. When the viscount recovered she would have to decide on her future, now that she had refused the vicar, but for now she must concentrate on helping her patient.

It seemed that for some reason she had a way of keeping him calm. Not once since she had come had he needed to be restrained, nor had he fully descended into his nightmare world. His arm tightened around her waist, and for the first time she realized how scandalous was her position, lying with a man on his bed, alone in his room.

And yet she was among friends here, and all must understand the exigencies of this particular case. With her there he did not thrash nor suffer the awful nightmares that kept him from getting well. Surely no one would think indelicately of that which necessity demanded. Her patient murmured and shifted, and raised his face to True.

“Please get better, Wy! Please. So many people love you, and I miss the brightness of your eyes, the sweetness of your smile.” Gently she laid a kiss on his lips and he murmured against them.

“Truelove.”

It was just a faint whisper, but she was almost sure it was her name. “I’m here, Wy, and I will not leave until you are better.” She kneaded his shoulders and back muscles, for one thing she did know was that the sick suffered from inactivity. Muscles must be kept from stiffening. He lapsed back into the deep peaceful sleep that she hoped would break his fever, with the help of the herbal infusions she had been feeding him on and off through the evening.

Somewhere a clock sounded the hour, but time had ceased to have meaning for True, and she did not count the chimes. Hour after hour had passed, and she didn’t know if the household slept or if somewhere they were gathered playing cards, or listening to Arabella play the piano. Her body ached from staying in one position so long, but as long as Drake slept, she would not move.

In the dim lamplight, True could see the door open. She expected Horace or Lady Leathorne, but it was Arabella who slipped in and shut the door behind her.

“Bella,” she whispered, glad to see her cousin. “Are you better, love?”

The girl crept up to the bed and gazed down at the entwined twosome with a mixture of curiosity and censure. “How can you . . . how can you do this?” The distaste in her voice was sharp and clear.

Restlessly, Drake shifted.

“This? What do you mean?”

“Lie with him like that! Does he not become violent? What if he should take advantage of you?”

True felt a giggle well up in her throat, but suppressed it. She did not want to shake with laughter, for it would inevitably disturb Drake. “Take advantage of me? Bella, he’s desperately ill. Fevered! It would take some sort of miracle for him to ‘take advantage’ of me. I have spent days in the sickroom before, you know; perhaps not quite in this position, but at the bedside of men and women, children, even yours, when you were little, if you remember.”

“I know that. It’s not that I suspect you of any immoral actions, it’s just . . . he is so very large and has such strange fits.” Arabella eyed the sleeping viscount with distaste, but took a seat in a chair beside the bed. “I did not come just to visit. True, I told you an untruth before you left, and I want to get it off my conscience.”