Scandal's Bride (43 page)

“I have to say that seeing your eyes open is a great improvement.” Devil perched on the end of the bed. “I've had quite enough of watching over you while you sleep.”

Richard grinned. Devil was three years older; they'd shared a nursery—his comment harked back to the untold nights when, scared of the dark, he'd only fallen asleep because he'd known Devil was there to protect him from imagined monsters.

“You gave us a shock.” Honoria leaned down and kissed his stubbled cheek. “At least you had the good sense to marry a lady who could save you.”

Richard smiled and accepted the compliment graciously. Over the next half hour, they exchanged family news, heavily biased toward the emerging talents of one Sebastian Sylvester Cynster, Marquess of Earith, Devil's heir.

“We would have brought him,” Honoria declared, “but we didn't know what the state of things here might be.”

That, of course, was the cue for Richard to fill them in, which he did in glowing terms, quite unable to contain his satisfaction on that score—his happiness in his new life. “Now you're here, I'll be able to show you around.”

“Once you're released from
durance vile
.” Devil nodded at the bed.

“Tomorrow,” Richard said.

Devil grimaced. “Don't get your hopes up. You didn't seem too strong while we were walking you yesterday.”

“Walking me . . . ?” Richard frowned, then shook his head. “I didn't even know you were here . . .” Still frowning, he glanced at Devil. “Actually, I do remember—was it you who warned me
Maman
was coming?”

Devil grinned. “We were testing to see if you'd respond.”

Richard shuddered. “Just as long as it's not true.” He caught Devil's eye. “You didn't tell her, did you?”

Devil raised his brows exaggeratedly. “What do you think?”

Rising, Honoria shook out her skirts. “Naturally, we left a note.”

Devil's head snapped around. “We did?”

Honoria stared at him. “Well, of course. We couldn't simply leave and not tell Helena, not even leave a message—she is his mother, after all.”

Richard groaned and fell back against his pillows.

Honoria turned her gaze on him. “She was away with the Ashfordleighs—she'd think it very strange to return to Somersham and find Sebastian alone with the staff. So I simply explained and told her not to worry.”

Devil raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Honoria—”

Sudden shouts from outside cut across his words; a second later, the rattle of carriage wheels and the sharp clack of hooves rose from the courtyard.

Richard groaned again; Devil grimaced.

Honoria stared at them. “It can't be.”

“It can,” Devil assured her.

“It is,” Richard gloomily prophesied.

It was. In the courtyard, a cavalcade of two carriages with outriders drew up.

Hearing the commotion as she crossed the front hall on her way back to Richard's side, Catriona went out onto the front porch to investigate.

The scene in the courtyard was bewildering—as if a house party from London had lost its way and turned up at the manor. Coachboys, outriders, grooms and maids rushed hither and yon, opening carriage doors and setting steps in place, tugging at the straps that secured bags and trunks to the backs and tops of the carriages. A tall, exceedingly elegant gentleman stepped down from the second carriage; he cast a swift glance about the teeming courtyard—his gaze halted, and lingered, on her, before returning to the scene of chaos about the first carriage. Despite his fairer coloring—brown hair, not black—Catriona felt certain the gentleman was another Cynster.

Just as she felt certain the small, dark-and-silver-haired lady he helped down from the first carriage was the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives—Helena, Richard's stepmother. With the brisk energy of a whirlwind, the Dowager waved the elegant gentleman back to his own carriage, where a second lady was waiting to descend. Behind the Dowager, two young ladies, their lowered hoods revealing a wealth of golden curls, were gaily piling out of the first carriage. Claiming the arm of one of her grooms, the Dowager made straight for the front porch, her cloak billowing about her.

She came up the front steps with the force of a military charge. “My dear!”

Catriona only just had time to brace herself; flinging her arms wide, the Dowager enveloped her in a warm embrace.

“Now you may tell me he is better—he is better, is he not? But of course, he is! You would not otherwise be standing here so calmly, welcoming a garrulous old woman!” Green eyes twinkling, the Dowager hugged her again, then released her; holding both her hands wide, she stepped back and, with every evidence of shrewd consideration, quickly looked her over.

“Oh, yes!” Looking up, the Dowager caught Catriona's eye. “You will do very well for him, I think.” She smiled, brilliantly. “And you will not let him down—you will always be there for him, yes?” For one instant, green and hazel eyes held, and touched, then the Dowager beamed. With Gallic exuberance, she kissed Catriona on both cheeks. “Welcome to the family, my dear.”

Touched to the heart by the profound love that shone from the Dowager's eyes, Catriona blinked rapidly. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Helena,” the Dowager firmly declared. “I am Helena to both my sons' wives. But tell me—Devil and Honoria have arrived, have they not? And how is Richard—is he eating? Has he risen? Has—”

“Aunt Helena, you're liable to give poor Catriona a very strange notion of the family.”

Turning, Catriona beheld the elegant gentleman with a graceful lady on his arm. They both smiled warmly; he bowed. “Vane Cynster, my dear—and I assure you we don't all rattle on so.”

“I am
not
‘rattling on,' ” Helena declared. “I am merely exercising the right of any mother to learn of her son's health.”

“But he isn't about to die, is he?” The question came from one of the blonde beauties, now lined up behind the Dowager.

“Surely not Richard?” The second young lady fixed Catriona with huge blue eyes. “But you're a healer aren't you? You'd save him.”

There was an element of absolute confidence in that last, uttered with a nod, that touched Catriona anew.

The graceful lady sighed and touched the Dowager's arm. “Perhaps, Helena, if we move inside—I rather think there's another snow shower coming.”

Catriona stepped back and gestured the Dowager in; as the Dowager swept majestically across the threshold, the graceful lady touched Catriona's arm and met her glance with a smile.

“I'm Patience, my dear. Recently married to Vane, another of the family's reprobates. And these are Amanda and Amelia—and”—she paused to draw breath and met Catriona's eye—“I'll explain how it all happened later.”

They followed the Dowager in; the scene in the hall quickly achieved the same degree of chaos that had held sway in the courtyard. Boxes and trunks were ferried in and piled in corners under Henderson's dour direction. Mrs. Broom looked as stunned as Catriona felt; wide-eyed, the housekeeper struggled to take in her instructions, then rushed off, calling to maids and footmen to open up and air rooms for the latest guests.

A cacophony unlike anything the serene manor had known rose in the hall as the two young ladies checked which bandbox was whose and where the Dowager's shawl had gone; Vane and both coachmen were in earnest discussion with Irons over where to stable the extra horses. The Dowager had discovered McArdle and was inquiring after his stiff limbs as if she'd known him all his life—and he was responding as if she had. Rushing maids and footmen stopped now here, now there, to put a question, then dashed off about their duties.

Catriona stood just inside the front doors and took it all in, let it wash over her. The noise, the boisterousness, the enormous well of energy that swelled within her hall; it was an immensely powerful force. It was there in the swift, neat movements of the Dowager, in the set of her head as she tilted it the better to consider McArdle's replies. There in the crisp directions Vane Cynster issued, in the innate grace, redolent of harnessed power, with which he moved. There in the glow that lit the young ladies' faces and invested their bodies with a taut grace reminiscent of fawns about to spring into flight.

Coming to stand beside her, Patience looked over the hall. “The Cynsters are here—what more need be said?” But she was smiling. She turned to Catriona. “I do apologize for descending on you like this, but as you were going to have to cope with Helena come what may, it's probably just as well the rest of us are here to help you.”

The clear affection in Patience's tone, in her eyes, as they returned to the Dowager, stripped her comments of any implied criticism.

“Perhaps,” Catriona murmured, “I'd better take her up to see Richard.” Patience nodded. “Do. It'll set her mind at rest. Don't worry about the rest of us.” She smiled at Catriona. “If you don't mind, I'll speak directly to your housekeeper if there's any problem—I rather think you must have enough on your plate.”

Catriona returned her smile. “Please do.” Looking back at the Dowager, she drew in a deep breath. “It's possible I may be rather busy for a while.”

With that, she stepped boldly into the fray and fetched up by the Dowager's side. “Helena, if you wish, I'll take you to see Richard—I'm sure he'll be anxious to see you.”

The Dowager shot her a shrewd glance. “No, no,
ma petite
—it is I who am anxious to see him. He”—with a Gallic gesture, she dismissed all males—“is but a man. He does not understand these things.”

As she took the arm Helena offered, Catriona saw two blonde heads lift; two pairs of blue eyes fastened on them.

“Amelia! Amanda!”

Both heads turned; Patience beckoned. With a sigh and a last look, they went.

“Vane, you can see Richard later—I want to get our rooms sorted out first.”

Her gaze on the stairs, Catriona smiled and bore the Dowager upstairs to see her second son.

Richard felt trapped—deserted by Devil and Honoria—left to face his stepmother alone. When the door opened and swung wide, he contemplated groaning and acting much iller than he was, but then he glimpsed his wife's fiery halo and thought better of any deception.

Only God and Her Lady knew where it might land him.

“Richard!” Helena—she who he'd always known as
Maman
—came sweeping down upon him.

Smiling reassuringly, he returned her hug, and squirmed when he glimpsed tears in her eyes. To his relief, she blinked quickly and they were gone, and she beamed her brilliant smile at him.

“
Bon!
You are already much recovered, I can see.”

To his surprise, instead of taking possession of him, his sickbed and his room in short order, she contented herself with taking possession of his hand, and cast a questioning glance at Catriona, standing at the end of the bed.

Catriona inclined her head. “He is much better—he was unconscious for five days, but with Devil's help, we managed to walk him so the poison wore off sooner.”

“This poison.” Helena tilted her head, still regarding Catriona. “How was it given him?”

Catriona looked at Richard. “In his morning coffee.”

“And the person who put it there? Will they try again?”

“No.” Steadily, Catriona held Richard's gaze. “The poisoner is no longer in the manor, or the vale.”

“Ah!” Helena nodded sagely. “They have run to safety, yes?” She looked at Richard, then squeezed his hand. “You will go after them, I know—but not until you are well again,
hein?
”

“I'll be perfectly well by tomorrow.” Richard tried to catch Catriona's eye but failed—she was looking at Helena.

“You will know best, of course,” his impossible stepmother was saying, “but how quickly he recovers will depend on the poison, yes?”

“Indeed.” Looking back at Richard, far too calmly for his liking, Catriona informed him: “You were given wolfsbane, and probably henbane as well. But it's the wolfsbane that's the most lingering. It weakens muscles, and it takes far longer than one thinks to release its effect. For the amount you must have taken in, it would generally take weeks for full recovery.”

“Weeks?” Horrified, Richard stared at her.

She smiled reassuringly. “In your case, you have a very robust and . . . er, vigorous constitution. If you remain in bed and eat what Cook sends you until you can stand and walk alone, you may be well enough to leave this room inside of a week.”

“
Eh, bien
—your wife has spoken. She is the healer here and you must pay attention.” Placing his hand under the sheets, Helena covered it and patted his arm. “You will be good and recover quickly, so that I will not worry, no?”

Richard stared at her, then he looked at Catriona and saw the militant light in her eye.

With a long-suffering groan, he sank back into his pillows. He was rolled up—horse, foot and guns.

“Damn it—why couldn't you stop her!” Grumpily, Richard mock-glared at Vane.

Who merely grinned. “Me and which army?” Settling on one corner of the bed, his back against the post, Vane raised a resigned brow. “You've known what she's like all your life.”

Richard humphed.

“And if you'd seen what faced us when we arrived at Somersham, you'd be thanking me for managing to leave Mrs. Hull and Webster behind. As it is”—Vane glanced at Devil, similarly ensconced on the other side of the bed—“I'm sure the only reason they consented to remain at Somersham was because Sebastian was there.”

Richard looked at Vane in only partly feigned horror, then shook his head. “What I can't understand is what you're all doing here.”

“
We,
” Vane said, clearly referring to himself and Patience, “were returning from visiting the Beuclaires in Norwich and thought we'd stop by to tell Devil and Honoria our news.”