Rhonda Woodward (14 page)

***

People were gathering on the south lawn, around the table holding the ornate silver punch bowl that had been in the Buckleigh family for more than a hundred years, when Marina stepped out wearing an exquisitely embroidered paisley shawl over her Turkey red gown.

Though crisp, the coldness that had made the days so bitter of late had left. The morning sky was nearly cloudless and scarcely a breeze moved the leafless branches. The mood was decidedly festive as Marina went to join the others as footmen circulated with trays full of silver punch cups.

Mama, looking stunning in an ensemble of cherry wool and ermine, stood next to Papa by the punch bowl. Mama sent her a wide, conspiratorial smile, showing her delight that all of Marina’s suitors were in attendance.

Gazing around the laughing, chatting group, Marina easily found any number of people she would prefer to avoid. Henry Willingham stood on the other side of the table, the smile he sent her full of hope and a hint of eagerness. George Halbury stood with his mother and Major Fielding, his cousin, with nearly the same expression as Henry.

To her great dismay, she saw the odious Mr. Sefton with Vicar Ralston and Mr. and Mrs. Tundale. He looked as he always did, handsome, his expression the picture of genial affability. It quite astounded Marina that he had the gall to brazen the whole thing out. She wished she could walk right up to him and order him off her father’s estate.

If his presence caused Marina anxiety, she could only imagine that the atmosphere at Ridgeton Abbey must be thick with tension and she wondered how Miss Brandon fared.

Instantly, she looked around for Miss Brandon and saw her approaching from a short distance away. Considering how pale and red-eyed she had looked the other day after baring her secrets to Marina, she seemed much recovered and very pretty in a cerulean blue pelisse over a pale green gown and large chipstraw bonnet with a wide pink band.

“Good day, Miss Buckleigh,” she said when she drew near enough, “what a perfect morning for the hunt.”

Marina’s heart went out to the other girl for her gallant attempt at normalcy, but Marina could still see the distress in her wide blue eyes.

“It is a lovely morning, Miss Brandon.” She wished she could say something else but, under the awkward circumstances, she knew not what.

The shorter girl gazed up at her for a long moment, then said, “Thank you, Miss Buckleigh. That is, I mean to say, well, just thank you.” With a brief curtsy, she moved off toward the denser part of the crowd.

Marina watched her walk away, nonplussed that she sensed an apology mixed with the gratitude.

If this meant that Miss Brandon had let go of her attachment to Sefton, then Marina was happy for her.

The hounds, held by the whippers-in, yipping and baying, drew her attention. Gentlemen, looking dashing in black coats and buff breeches rode in on their hunters, adding to the overall feeling of chaotic revelry.

Marina greeted her neighbors, agreeing that the day could not be finer, and crossed the lawn to stand with Jane Willingham, Lydia Hollings and Phoebe Tundale.

The expression on each young lady’s face revealed varying stages of anticipation as they waited for certain members of the hunting party to arrive.

“There is Lord Cortland! Oooh, look!” Lydia Hollings placed her hand dramatically against her heart.

Turning, Marina saw Lord Cortland and Mr. Penhurst ride onto the lawn. Stableboys rushed forward to take the reins of their horses when the men dismounted.

“Does not Lord Cortland seem to grow more handsome each time we see him?” Phoebe Tundale asked on a heartfelt sigh.

Suppressing a groan of irritation, Marina excused herself, saying she must greet the other guests.

Weaving through the guests, she caught sight of Lord Cortland making his way toward her with some deliberation.

Bracing herself, she did not change course, better to get this first meeting over. Better to show she was as unfazed as he by the unexpected kiss they had shared.

“Good morning, Miss Buckleigh.” He bowed briefly over her hand and she curtsied but could not reply. It was one thing to manage to look serene, it was quite another to school her voice as well.

To her surprise, he did not let go of her fingers, but pulled her hand through the crook in his arm and drew her away from the crowd around the table.

Bristling at the way he so confidently assumed she would walk with him, she nevertheless did not resist—she refused to let him see how much he discomfited her.

“Bravo, Miss Buckleigh, you look none the worse after the other day’s drama.”

Again, she felt that odd little ache that their kiss had no effect on him. However, she took refuge in his faintly amused, supremely confident manner and some of her nervousness left. He gazed down at her, his rugged features softened by the gleam in his eye and she found herself smiling back.

“Thank you, my lord. I must say, Mr. Sefton’s presence here today baffles me. The atmosphere at Ridgeton Abbey must be terribly tense and awkward—especially for poor Miss Brandon.”

He turned his gaze back to the group before replying. “She seems to be holding up fairly well. As for the atmosphere at the Abbey, it is not as bad as you might think. You see, my old friend Pen has no real notion of what has transpired between Eugenia and Sefton. I would prefer to keep it that way.”

Grudgingly, despite her discomfiture with Lord Cortland, she found much to admire about his protectiveness toward his cousin.

Coming to a sudden decision, she turned to him. “Lord Cortland, under the circumstances I think I should tell you that Sefton has asked my father if he may pay his addresses to me. My father, of course has no idea of Sefton’s thwarted desire to elope with your cousin, and I certainly have no intention of telling him.”

While she spoke, she watched the amused glint fade from his eyes, leaving him looking coldly dangerous.

“Alas, it is a shame that I’m too civilized to pull a rapier on a man who refuses to arm himself. Although I do hold out hope that I will eventually gain satisfaction. As regards to you esteemed father, I defer to your judgment on that score.”

Shaking her head in dismay, she said, “I would have thought that Mr. Sefton would have gathered what’s left of his dignity and taken himself away.”

“I would not have taken that wager,” he drawled, dry amusement back in his voice.

Concern flashed in her gray eyes. “This is most distressing. Everyone from Ridgeton Abbey is invited to dine after the hunt. Could he truly be so uncouth as to join us?”

“I should hope so. It could prove to be most diverting,” he drawled.

She looked at him, marveling at how, with no apparent effort, he heightened her awareness and excitement. “That’s terrible! How can you say so?”

One desultory black brow rose. “We have already established that I cannot call him out, so I must find amusement where I can.”

“Do you possess any proper feelings, my lord?” This was much better. Being irritated with him was easier to cope with than other, more confusing feelings.

“When it suits. As regards to Sefton, he does not. As long as he believes there is the faintest hope that he can still lure you, or Eugenia, to his side, he will impose on old friendships, family connections, and new acquaintances.”

“Lure me? I should like to see him try,” she scoffed then stopped. “Oh this is awful! My parents will surely begin to suspect something, and the worst part is that there is nothing to suspect. And I cannot explain to them without putting your cousin, and myself, frankly, in the worst light. ’Tis most vexing.”

“Indeed. Miss Buckleigh,” he began in a different tone of voice. “I shall soon be leaving for my home, Swangrove Court, in Gloucestershire—”

“Gather to me everyone!” cut in her father’s booming voice. “Day’s wasting.”

A footman rushed up and handed them cups, and feeling completely thrown by what Lord Cortland started to say, Marina said brightly, “Oh, we must hear the toast. It’s tradition.” She walked forward to join everyone circling the table.

“Welcome friends and neighbors!” Papa said, lifting his cup high, a look of pleasure and excitement on his handsome face. “Before we mount and ride to hounds we toast the Master, his staff and the Keeper of the Hounds. To the King and England forever!”

“To the King and England forever!” everyone shouted back with enthusiasm, raising their cups high, and then took a sip of the spiced-wine punch.

Without looking at the Marquis again, Marina moved off toward her mother.

Lord Cortland would be leaving soon. She absorbed this information with the oddest feeling in her heart. She really shouldn’t be surprised, after all, it was exactly what she told Deirdre she wanted to happen. Yet, there was more she wished to say to him, she thought, feeling some of the day’s excitement go flat.

She watched Lord Cortland, along with the other men, mount their horses and head out of the park.

It was then that she remembered, with some chagrin, telling him after their kiss that they had nothing to say to each other.

Chapter Fourteen

Looking around the large drawing room full of laughing chatting ladies, Marina struggled to tamp down her rising aggravation.

Since the women came indoors, several distinct camps had formed. The ladies of Ridgeton Abbey clumped together by the fire. Lady Darley and Mrs. Langford held court as if they were queens. They had brought bags of embroidery to work on and only acknowledged those other ladies whom they deemed worthy enough to be in their circle.

Mrs. Willingham, Mrs. Hollings and their daughters were part of their clutch, as well as the Vicar’s wife.

Mama and Lady Meredith sat on the settee with a wan-looking Miss Brandon. Marina truly hoped her devastation over Sefton’s treachery would be short-lived.

***

Now, Lady Darley directed the conversation and asked question after question, until Marina felt herself growing positively vexed every time she espied Mrs. Birtwistle on the other side of the room sitting with old Mrs. Grieves, Mrs. Ralston’s mother.

It was all too clear to Marina that Mrs. Birtwistle was being given the cut—politely and indirectly, but cut nonetheless. And because of this, some of the other ladies did not know how to go on, and stayed with their own little groups around the room.

Despite the surface geniality, Marina sensed that everyone was too intimidated by the high-ranking ladies in the room to behave as they normally would. And to make it all the more frustrating, Lady Darley had outmaneuvered Marina by calling her over earlier to sit next to her.

Enough. With a silent apology to her mother for her impending display of unseemly independence, Marina rose abruptly and said, “Pardon me, I have not had a chance to speak to Mrs. Birtwistle today.”

In the hollow silence that followed, Marina crossed the room, keenly aware of all eyes upon her, and sat next to a dumbstruck-looking Mrs. Birtwistle.

“Mrs. Birtwistle, you were brought to my mind the other day when I was in my garden.”

“Oh? Why is that, Miss Buckleigh?”

Marina almost smiled at her quick response. Mrs. Birtwistle seemed to sense what Marina was about and was willing to play along.

“In all these years, you are the only one of my acquaintance who is as passionate about gardening as I am. I was checking for frost damage on my rosebushes and I swear I saw signs of new growth, and perhaps even the beginnings of a bud or two. I wondered if you had noticed the same in your lovely garden at Fielding Manor.”

Mrs. Birtwistle fairly twinkled. “Indeed, I have. It has always been so amazing to me that in the depths of winter, there can still be the signs of spring if one takes the time to look closely.”

“Oh, I agree. That is one of the true joys of puttering around in a garden. One learns so much about life in general.”

Feeling a bit flushed with triumph, Marina sent a swift glance to Lady Darley and could see the searing anger on her haughty features, but surprisingly, Lady Meredith looked on with a faint smile touching her lips.

Marina watched Lady Meredith a moment longer. Her expression reminded Marina so much of Cortland that it caused a funny little catch in her heart.

After Marina’s defection, most of the ladies seemed to relax a little more. Cross-chatter and laughter escalated and Jane Willingham came over to join Marina and Mrs. Birtwistle by the window.

Now, there was some talk of having a couple of card tables brought in for those not inclined to talk, knit or embroider.

A movement drew her gaze to the window. Looking out, far into the distance, she saw the men returning. Frowning, for it was much too early for the day’s hunt to be over, she watched the group for a moment, but they were too far away to see who had abandoned the hunt.

In the distracting bustle of the footmen bringing in the tables, Marina quietly excused herself, ready to go out and commiserate with her father on the day’s poor sport.

Leaving the drawing room, she went toward the stairs to go to her room and retrieve her cloak, then looked out the window in the entry hall and saw, now that the group had drawn closer, that all of the men were leading their horses.

A preternatural sense of alarm had her running to the foyer, out the front door, and down the steps. Vaguely, she was aware of Holmes calling after her, “Miss Marina! Your cloak!”

Ignoring the butler, she paused on the gravel drive, and scanned the group. Lord Cortland led the others and she saw Sefton, Henry Willingham, Major Fielding and all the rest of them—except Papa.

No longer thinking, she picked up the front of her dress and started to run, oblivious to the cold. Blood pounded in her ears until she heard nothing but the whooshing thud of her heart. Where was Papa?
Where was Papa?

Drawing closer, she saw three men, one in front, two at the back, carrying a man on a wide plank, covered to the chin in a brown greatcoat.

Stomach plummeting in sickening dread, she made to run past Lord Cortland.

A strong arm circled her waist and pulled her close.

“Papa,” it came out as a gasp even though she felt like screaming.

“Miss Buckleigh, your father is badly hurt.” Lord Cortland put his other arm around her and held her close. Somehow, the calmness of his deep voice penetrated her shock at seeing her father being carried on a plank.

She stared, disbelieving, as the men carrying him drew closer. Her father looked shockingly pale and still.

She clutched Cortland’s shoulder and looked into his grim gaze with terrified gray eyes. “Tell me.”

“He took a hedge, and a covey of pheasants flew up as he landed. His horse startled, fell, and your father pitched over his head. He has been unconscious the whole time and has a broken arm and leg. Penhurst and Hollings are going to Wilford to bring back the physician.”

Turning back, she stared at her father’s prone body and serene face. With a tremulous sob, she whispered to Lord Cortland, “Are you sure he’s not? . . .” Her knees went weak and she was not able to stand steadily, even as she tried to follow the men.

His strong arm went around her waist and tightened a little, holding her up while they began walking toward the house.

“His breathing is shallow but steady. We must get him into the house, set his bones and make him as comfortable as possible. Have faith, Marina.”

“Yes. I must run ahead and tell Mama.”

He held her for another moment, as if to make sure she would stay on her feet, then let her go. “Clear everyone away, we must have room.”

“Yes,” she called over her shoulder and ran back to the front steps, bursting into the house and calling for her mother and Holmes.

Holmes was already in the foyer, and her mother came rushing out of the drawing room, the other ladies following.

As swiftly as she could, she shared the horrible news and after a brief, horrified look, Mama shouted for Holmes and the rest of the servants to make ready.

Once in the foyer, Lord Cortland, George Halbury and the Vicar took over from the other men who’d been carrying Papa on the board. Most carefully, with Lord Cortland in the lead, they took Papa down the long hall to his library, Cortland having suggested that navigating the sweeping staircase to his bedchamber might be too dangerous.

“Yes, yes,” Mama had picked up her skirts to run ahead and open the double doors. “Holmes! Bring a bed, and linens. Hot water and whatever else you can think of that might be of help,” she called frantically.

Marina hung back, making room for them to pass, when she saw Deirdre come around the corner.

“What has happened!” Deirdre clutched her arm. “Oh, Marina, say Papa is fine. Oh, please!”

She threw herself in her sister’s arms and it was only then that Marina gave vent to her terrified tears. They stood together in the hallway, pressed against the wall, listening to Lord Cortland’s firm voice direct the servants. With the help of Papa’s valet, the Marquis carefully cut off Papa’s jacket and boots, while the butler and footmen brought in a bed and set about making the library a convenient sickroom.

Despite the crowd of people and flurry of activity, all noise was hushed and not once during all the activity and ministration did Papa stir from his unconsciousness.

It seemed an interminable time until Dr. Gray arrived in Mr. Penhurst’s carriage. Holmes led him down the hallway and the doctor passed her and Deirdre without a word. Servants continued to bustle by with pans of hot water and linens.

“I’d appreciate the help of a strong constitution and a steady hand when I go to set the bones, my lord,” she heard Dr. Gray say in a low grim tone.

“I’m at your disposal, doctor,” Lord Cortland replied, shrugging out of his riding jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

After some minutes, everyone but the doctor, Mama, Lord Cortland and Gibbons, Papa’s valet, were shooed from the room and the doors closed. Deirdre clutched Marina and began to cry harder.

Kissing her sister’s head, Marina whispered, “We must pray very hard, Deirdre.”

***

A long time later, the library door opened and Lord Cortland stepped through, holding his jacket and looking grim. Marina straightened from the wall, her now-aching arms still around her sister. At her questioning look, he said somberly, “There is no change. Come in, your mother wishes you to hear what the doctor has to say.”

“Thank you, Lord Cortland.” Taking Deirdre’s hand, they cautiously walked into the room together.

Papa lay in a trundle bed, placed before the fire, his arm in a splint wrapped with strips of linen. As she drew closer, Marina could see a large raised bruise above his left eye, but his expression appeared serene. It seemed impossible that her vital, fit papa could be so pale and still—a stillness that was beyond sleep. She continued to stare at him, only turning to look at her mother when she saw his chest rise and fall a couple of times.

“Come, my loves,” Mama said in a fragile tone. Her complexion looked ashen and years older. “Sit next to me and listen to Dr. Gray.”

Deirdre rushed over and seated herself next to Mama, and began to cry again. Marina took the wing chair she had sat in the other day when Papa had told her with such pride and amusement of her unlikely suitors.

Dr. Gray, still struggling into his jacket, cleared his throat, sending each of them a look of compassion. “I do not believe that there is any internal bleeding, which, in and of itself, is a miracle. However, the major concern is that he has not gained consciousness since the accident. It is my experience that if he does not awaken within the next day or two, the chances are that he will diminish to nearly nothing.”

Marina gasped and covered her mouth.

“No!” Deirdre cried out, buried her head in Mama’s shoulder, and sobbed loudly.

“Please, Dr. Gray, what can we do?” Marina rasped, barely recognizing her own voice.

“We will keep him still and quiet. We will see if we can help him swallow a little liquid later, but, in truth, Miss Buckleigh, all we can do is wait and trust in Providence.”

Marina nodded and looked back to her father. Was his breathing even shallower than it had been a moment ago? Fear gripped her chest and she wanted to cry out as Deirdre had a moment ago.

“Alright, girls, you must leave your papa in peace so that he may recover. Marina, will you send Carter to me, please? I will be staying in here as long as your father needs me.”

“Of course, Mama.” She rose, went to the bed, and knelt down on her knees, her heart too full to speak for a moment. She bent over and kissed his uninjured hand as gently as she could. “I know you will wake up soon, Papa. For right now, rest and feel better.”

So distraught was Deirdre, Marina had to assist her out of the room.

“Hush, Deirdre,” she said gently, once they were in the hallway. “I must go fetch Mama’s maid and I must see to some food for her and the doctor as well.”

“He cannot die! Marina, what would we—”

Fearing hysteria was about to overtake her sister, Marina grabbed her arms tightly. “Deirdre, stop this at once and look at me. This will not help Papa, and it certainly won’t help Mama. Catch hold of yourself.”

Deirdre looked at her with huge, tear-filled eyes and gulped. “Yes, you are right. I am sorry.”

“Now go to your room and bathe your face.”

Deirdre, looking calmer, did as she was bid, though her shoulders still shook with tears as she walked away. Marina left the hallway and found most of the household servants waiting for her in the entry hall.

She found Mama’s anxious-looking maid amongst the crowd of servants. “Carter, please go to Lady Buckleigh.” She then turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Martin, please inform Cook that Lady Buckleigh and Dr. Gray will need a light meal brought in on trays and Miss Deirdre and I will have our meals in the morning room because it is closer to the library.”

“Yes, Miss Marina,” Mrs. Martin said, sniffing tears away before she hurried toward the kitchen.

Turning to Holmes, she quietly asked him to join her in the small drawing room for a moment. Once there, she shared with him what the doctor said.

Once she was done, she saw that he looked as stricken as she felt. “We will be praying for the Master’s quick recovery, Miss Marina. He has always been strong and never ill a day in his life; that will stand him in good stead.”

“Yes it will, Holmes, thank you. Until then, please come to me with any household concerns as my mother will be preoccupied with caring for Lord Buckleigh.”

“Of course, Miss Marina. The south drawing room is filled with all the gentlemen who rode to hounds this morning, as well as all the ladies, offering every assistance.”

Looking at him with dismay, she said, “Oh goodness, I had forgotten about everyone. Thank you, Holmes, I will attend them all in a moment.”

“Very good, Miss Marina.” He bowed and with a last look of concern, he left the room.

Moving swiftly to the gilt-framed mirror on the opposite wall, Marina checked her appearance. When Papa was better, she would not have him hear that she had lost her composure. At the reflection of her pale face and wide, frightened gray eyes, a deep sob escaped her. Turning away, she closed her eyes tightly and prayed;
Please, dear God, please make my papa well. We love him so much.