Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) (15 page)

While they waited, Hannah encouraged the girls to say a
prayer for David’s recovery, but they had not finished before Mr. Asheram
appeared in the door to the sitting room. He looked tired, but not devastated,
which could only mean that David was still alive. Hannah jumped to her feet and
ran to him.

“What are you doing here!” she demanded, ready to shove him
back to David’s side if needed.

The girls had leapt to their feet as well, and the
gentleman’s eyes widened as if he’d noticed their militant stances.

“You didn’t leave Lord Brentfield alone with her?” Daphne
accused.

“Return to your post at once!” Lady Emily ordered.

“Ladies, please!” He held up his hands as if in surrender.
“I am not neglecting my duties, I assure you. I left Lord Brentfield in the
fine care of Dr. Praxton.”

Their anger melted. Hannah took a deep breath and forced
herself to relax.

“How is Lord Brentfield?” Ariadne asked.

“Dr. Praxton feels there is reason to hope. Aside from the
scrapes on his face, his lordship’s external injuries appear to be minor.”

Hannah let out her breath. “Is he awake?” she asked
hopefully.

“Not yet. That is the one area of concern. The longer he
remains unconscious, the more likely there are internal injuries. Dr. Praxton
says he must be monitored until he awakens. We thought he was coming around for
a moment, but he lapsed back into unconsciousness.” He paused, eyeing Hannah.
“He spoke your name, Miss Alexander.”

Her heart leaped, and she clasped her hands tightly together
to keep them from shaking. Again she fought the desire to run to his side.
First she had to tell Asheram of their fears about Lady Brentfield.

He listened patiently while she explained, the girls chiming
in to reinforce or clarify the information. When she finished, his face was
tight with obvious anger.

“I suspected as much,” he told them. “Unfortunately, we have
no proof. Lady Brentfield is influential in Society. We cannot simply accuse
her and expect anyone to take us seriously. But don’t worry. I promise she
won’t come near David again without someone there to stop her.”

Hannah put her hand on his arm. “You do not know how long
you will have to hold vigil. The servants fear her, so you cannot leave the
work to them. Let me help you.”

“Let us all help you!” Priscilla insisted, and her friends
chorused their willingness as well.

Mr. Asheram shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, ladies,
but I must think of your safety. As you noted, she has already lashed out at
Miss Alexander. I cannot take the chance that she might attack you as well.”

“Surely she would not attack me,” Priscilla protested.

“Surely you would not want to be in a position to find out,”
Hannah countered. “I agree with Mr. Asheram. The four of you should remain as
far out of this as possible.” She turned back to the steward. “Mr. Asheram, may
I have a word with you, alone?”

Priscilla stuck her nose in the air and flounced to the
other side of the room. With an apologetic smile to Hannah, Ariadne and Daphne
moved to join her. Lady Emily squeezed Hannah’s hand.

“Be careful,” she murmured before going to her friends. Mr.
Asheram eyed Hannah expectantly.

“You must know I would do anything for him,” Hannah told
him. “I feel as if I failed him. Please, won’t you let me help you keep watch?”

His face softened. “Miss Alexander, I understand your
worries. I’m afraid they are blinding you to the circumstances. You are neither
related to Lord Brentfield nor his servant. You should not be left alone with
him in his bedchamber.”

“These are hardly normal circumstances,” Hannah protested.
“Surely no one would judge me for caring for an injured man!”

“Lady Brentfield would judge you. And she would see your
reputation ruined. You could lose your post, your commissions.”

“I don’t care!” Hannah cried, then bit her lip as the girls
glanced at her. She swallowed before continuing with a lowered voice. “None of
that matters, sir. What matters is that David recovers. Her ladyship will leave
the room eventually. Let me watch when she’s asleep.”

“If you’re seen,” he started.

“I won’t be,” she promised. “I’ll come and go through the
secret passage.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It just might work. Truth be told, I
wasn’t sure I could stay awake longer than she could. I’ll send someone to
fetch you when she leaves for the night. You’re right--I can’t see her ladyship
inconveniencing herself, even to finish her nasty job. You’ll see to the girls
until they retire?”

“They’ll be safe with me,” Hannah promised.

And so it was settled. The girls kept at her for a time, but
she maintained a severity that ultimately defeated them. This time she did not
vacillate. For once, she had no doubts as to how a chaperone, or a teacher,
should act.

It was a long afternoon, but somehow they made it to dinner
and through dinner until it was bedtime. By the time she had made sure each of
the girls was in bed, there was still no change in David’s condition. Dr.
Praxton had visited again before retiring to his own home. He had confirmed
David’s unconscious state. All they could do was wait.

Hannah knew she should rest so that she could take Mr.
Asheram’s place later, but when she lay fully clothed on the bed, sleep refused
to come. She tried praying again, but after a while she realized she was
repeating the same pleas over and over and stopped. God had surely heard her
and would respond as He saw fit. Belaboring the issue wasn’t helping anyone.

She thought about drawing and went to fetch her sketch book.
One look at the half-finished picture of David, however, and she found she
could not put charcoal to paper. His eyes gazed back at her lovingly. She ran
her hand down his cheek. A tear threatened, and she snapped the book shut
before the drawing could be damaged.

A tap on the door jerked her upright, and she realized she
had fallen asleep in the chair. The maid Clare poked her head in. “Mr. Asheram
wanted you to know that Lady Brentfield has retired.”

Hannah thanked her for her trouble. The minute the maid
closed the door, Hannah was moving toward the secret passage. Opening the
panel, she took the already-lit candle from the bedside table and stepped
inside the passage. She climbed the stair carefully, thinking of the fire only
a few days ago. When she reached the corner, she took a deep breath and plunged
down the eastern corridor.

Darkness wrapped around her, her candle a tiny circle of
light. Funny that she had never noticed how deathly silent the passages could
be. When she had been with David, he had been teasing or explaining, and she
had seldom felt afraid. Now she began to hear other noises in the darkness,
furtive rustlings and creaks. She told herself it was only the house settling,
until a squeak directly in front of her assured her she was not alone. She
continued resolutely forward, and whatever it was scuttled away into the
darkness.

By her reckoning, she was crossing behind the grand
staircase when an even worse sound assailed her. A gurgling moaning came from
overhead, rising and falling. It sent a shudder through her, and goose flesh
pimpled her arms. Could Brentfield be haunted? She had a vision of a hideous
ghost dropping from the ceiling to confront her--The Banshee of Ancient Eire.
Just when she would have faltered, she heard a muffled, “Keep it down in
there!” and the sound shut off with a swallowed grumble. She had been passing
under a snoring servant! With a nervous laugh, she continued on.

As David had told her, the descending stair led her to his
bedchamber. She paused to wonder whether it was appropriate to just appear and
decided to knock. Mr. Asheram opened the panel and let her in.

Her first sight of David wrung a cry from her. He lay on his
back in the center of a great box bed, so pale and still that for a moment she
thought he had indeed passed on. Then she saw the steady rise and fall of the
emerald comforter, ever so slight, and knew he was still alive. She took a deep
breath and let it out slowly.

“He hasn’t stirred,” Mr. Asheram explained, leading her to
an armchair beside the bed. “I won’t leave you for long. I just need a few
moments to close my eyes.” He shrugged his shoulders as if to loosen cramped
muscles. “It’s times like these when I realize I’m not young anymore. Are you
sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine. What should I do to help?” She could barely
take her eyes off David. The scrape down the side of his face was puffy and
raw, but at least it was scabbing. His long thick lashes fanned his ashen
cheeks. Someone had removed his clothing and put him in a white lawn nightshirt
with an open neck. It made him look all the more pale and vulnerable.

“Just stay with him,” Mr. Asheram told her. “You don’t even
have to stoke the fire. Dr. Praxton thought the room might be too close, so
we’ll let the fire burn down. Send Weimers for me if David awakens.” He paused,
and she could feel him watching her. “You should know that Dr. Praxton says
there may be some damage to his mind.”

“D-d-damage?” Hannah faltered, facing him. “What kind of
damage?”

Mr. Asheram’s face was sad. “He may not remember the
accident. He may not remember us. He may not even know himself. In extreme
cases, Dr. Praxton tells me, the victim becomes like a little child.”

“But it’s momentary?” Hannah could hear the pleading tone in
her voice. “He’ll recover?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. He’s young and strong, Miss Alexander.
Most likely he’ll be fine. It’s simply best to be prepared.” He eyed David for
a moment, and a slow smile spread over his face. “There’s not much will keep
this one down. Did he tell you we met on the boat over from America?”

“Yes. And he said you were descended from the King of
Ethiopia.” She hoped she did not sound skeptical.

He chuckled. “A family legend. We are English through and
through. There has been an Asheram tutoring members of Parliament since the
first parliament was formed. We teach them how to walk and how to talk, how to
display a gentlemanly bearing, how to win a debate. My last client, the Duke of
Kent, was sufficiently grateful for my services that I was able to retire and
tour the world as I’ve always dreamed. I have friends on every continent, in
shockingly high places.” He chuckled again. “Imagine my surprise when on a trip
home from America, the captain asked me to give up my place to a solicitor from
London who was fetching the new Earl of Brentfield home. Of course I refused.
Bumptious fellow. But the new earl intrigued me. He was so different from the
gentlemen I had tutored. I found it rather discomposing, and rather
refreshing.”

“And now David is your client,” she concluded.

“Oh, no, Miss Alexander,” he corrected her. “David is not my
client. David is my friend. I’m staying on only long enough to see him become
acclimated. He’ll make a marvelous earl.” He winked at Hannah. “But don’t tell
him I admitted that. Take good care of him, my dear. I’ll return shortly.”

She nodded, and the door closed as she took her seat at the
bedside.

She watched David in silence for a time. Her fingers
twitched in her lap, and she wished she’d brought her sketch book. His face was
so serene, his lips slightly open as if he were about to speak. His dark hair
curled damply about his face. Now would have been a perfect time to capture
him; she doubted she’d ever get him to sit still otherwise. Yet she felt
something was wrong. It was the same something that was wrong in her current
drawing--his smile.

The need to pray tugged at her again. Her grandfather had
always insisted that nothing was accomplished without prayer. He had also
insisted that King James had misinterpreted a portion of the Bible.

“I don’t care what he says about charity,” the old man had
told her once when he had visited. “I’ve read the Greek. First Corinthians
13:13 should read ‘There are but three things that last--faith, hope, and love.
And the greatest of these is love. ’”

She wondered for a moment why she had remembered that now.
Certainly she was finding it difficult it have faith in David’s recovery. She
wasn’t very hopeful of the future with him either. Then she realized that it
was the final issue, the most important thing, that was the crux of the
problem--she was afraid to rely on love.

The realization stunned her. She had always considered
herself a loving person. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea
seemed plausible. Perhaps it had started as early as her father’s death. She
remembered feeling so lost for a time afterward, fending off kindnesses from
her mother, grandfather, and friends. Her isolation had only continued when her
mother and grandfather had been unable to understand her passion for painting.
Teaching at the Barnsley School had further alienated her from those around her
as she struggled with how to work with her students. Yet she saw with clarity
that if she had simply reached out in love, she might have overcome all those
difficulties.

In fact, when she had reached out to the girls in love and
understanding, they had responded more positively than she had ever imagined.
After today, she could honestly say that they respected her. And she no longer
dreaded having to be alone with them. In fact, the idea of having children of
her own was no longer so troubling. She might not be the best disciplinarian,
she might not have the answers to all their questions, but she could love them.

And then there was David. She had been afraid to be his
countess, but even that might be overcome if she were willing to give herself
over to her love of him. What did that passage her grandfather was so fond of
say about love? “Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,
edureth all things.” Surely if she let love triumph, she and David could find a
way after all.