Susanne Marie Knight (11 page)

She looked up at him. Her hazel eyes shone. “That is most kind of you, sir.”

He felt as if he had slain one hundred dragons. The truth of it was, he had not vanquished a single one. Bethany had the gift of increasing his own self-importance.

Fortunately, when they rounded the grand staircase down to the entrance hall, the Duke of Sussex was unavailable to bid them farewell. Good. He had no desire to share his houseguest with any of her admirers.

After they donned their outer garments, Bethany turned to the liveried footman to confirm her appointment with the Duke for the next day

Again, jealousy rose in David’s heart.

He banished the emotion and helped her into his well-sprung carriage. “So tell me, what stories did the Duke talk about?”

She lowered her dark lashes. “I cannot reveal the Prince’s confidences, sir.”

“No, of course not.” Hatchards’ glass-paned storefront came into view. “Here’s the lending library now. We were not able be stop yesterday, but now — ”

“There is no need, my lord. I visited Hatchards before my appointment with the Prince.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Indeed, I had the good fortune to chat with your sister there. And also Mr. Penning.”

“M’sister.” David ran his hand over his head and sighed. “Petunia’s a thorn in my side that is for certain.”

“Sir?”

There was no use wrapping it up in clean linen. “She is acting like a woman scorned. Weatherhaven is not pleased with his new wife’s histrionics.”

Bethany leaned forward in the barouche and placed her hand upon his. “Petunia is so unhappy, my lord. Can you not do something to help?”

It was such an innocent gesture — her hand on his — intimate and endearing at the same time.

He sandwiched her hand between his, savoring the special connection. He could not savor it for long; she quickly removed her hand.

“What would you have me do, Miss Branford?” He paused and took a chance. “Bethany, if I may?”

She met his gaze, then looked away. “Certainly, sir.”

“David,” he insisted.

Once more she stole a glance , then studiously studied her folded hands. “David.”

He watched the rise and fall of her bosom through the woolen material of her fashionable grey pelisse. This woman enchanted him in every way possible.

Bethany took several more deep breaths. “Perhaps you can talk with Lord Weatherhaven. Tell him Petunia longs for his good opinion. How she thinks of nothing but to heal their breach.”

“I might tell him that, but Weatherhaven is a downy fellow. He will not believe me. I have it on good authority that earlier this afternoon, he spied Petunia with Henry Penning.”

“Oh no! I suggested that your sister take up with Lord Penning. To make her husband jealous.” She worried her lower lip with the edge of her teeth. “Oh, what a muddle I have made. I am the most addlepated ninnyhammer that ever walked the earth.”

His poor darling was close to tears.

“No, no, my dear. You are nothing of the sort. You are the most upright, trustworthy female in my acquaintance.”

His sentiments did not seem to soothe her. As she stared out the window, her naturally rosy cheeks deepened in color. “You must not say so, sir.”

Sweet jasmine filled his head with inappropriate longings. Or, perhaps those longings
were
appropriate. With his fingers he gently guided her face to his. “I will think of something, Bethany. You are not to concern yourself with my sister’s problems.”

As he looked into Bethany’s gold-brown eyes, his heart skipped a beat. More than anything, he wanted to kiss her, not think about Petunia. What he could do, how he could solve his sister’s dilemma was unknown. Contrary to what Lord Liverpool believed, David was no expert on women.

The barouche suddenly stopped, jerking both of them forward. The door flew open. A cosmetically enhanced female stuck her unkempt head inside the carriage.

The devil!

He recognized the woman. Unfortunately. She was one of his fancy pieces from the previous year — Mrs. Sally Lippincott.

Bethany knew exactly who the woman was. Muddy green eyes ringed with kohl gazed up at David. Her full cheeks were impossibly reddened while her lips, also red, curved into a coquettish smile.

The strong fragrance of gardenias emanating from the interloper nearly overpowered the inside of the carriage.

“Lord Ingraham, please forgive me for being so bold.” The woman raked her gaze over David, then came to rest on Bethany. The smile widened. “And you, miss, you also must forgive me for interrupting your little tête-à-tête.”

Bethany gasped at the implication. She looked over at David. He had unobtrusively shifted position so there was more space between them.

“There can be no forgiveness, Mrs. Lippicott,” he thundered as a cold draft made its way into the carriage. “You
are
too bold. What is the meaning of this disturbance?”

Sally smiled archly. “I only have your well-being at heart, milord. I always think fondly of our time toget — ”

“Mrs. Lippicott.” David leaned forward, stretched out his arm and put his hand on the edge of the open carriage door. “You will be leaving now.”

“But you should know, milord. Your mother, Lady Ingraham — my news relates to her.”

Bethany had kept silent up until this point, but at the mention of Lady Ingraham, she blurted, “Has anything happened to the Countess?”

The woman glanced at David, then back to Bethany. “Nothing has happened yet, miss. I come to Lord Ingraham to warn him. His mother is getting in deep with that weak-kneed wretch, Randolph Fenwick. ’Tis sure as rain she tends to marry the scoundrel.”

David’s cool blue eyes narrowed. “What concern is this to you?”

“Only that I dunna want to see the great lady hurt. I dunna believe she is aware that Fenwick’s affections are previously engaged. Fenwick, well, you should know, he and me, we have an understanding, if you comprehend.”

Sally had the audacity to wink.

This frightful news would break dear Lady Ingraham’s heart.

David detached Sally’s clinging arm from the door. With a rap on top of the carriage, he signaled for the coachman to continue their journey.

The he took Bethany’s hands. She flushed. Even through the cotton material of the gloves, he could probably feel the coldness of her skin.

“Bethany, I apologize for subjecting you to that unseemly display. That woman…” He tightened his hold on her hands. “Blast, Mrs. Lippicott overstepped the bounds of propriety.”

He was embarrassed. Bethany knew that instinctively. But he had no need. She was the one who should be embarrassed. She was deceiving him so egregiously. .She had to tell him. Her consciousness urged her, egged her to confess all. She
couldn’t
keep this secret any longer.

“David, I must tell you — ”

Bam!

Something crashed into the side of the carriage. Bethany flew up into the air, then smashed down against the opposite window. Outside, far away, she heard horses neighing and excited voices approaching the carriage.

Her head suddenly stopped spinning, and instead, throbbed as if someone had taken a hammer to it. She felt herself being lifted, and held in strong arms. David’s arms.

“Bethany! Bethany, are you all right?”

“I-I think so.” She fluttered her eyelids open, but the light seemed to increase the pounding.

Closing her eyes, she then lost unconsciousness.

Dear God, I must get control of myself.

David gathered his unmoving darling back up in his arms. He’d had to leave her unattended for a few minutes whilst he took charge of the pandemonium out on the street. A coach, driven by a most incompetent whip, had swerved right into the path of David’s barouche.

Stalling the stuttering apologies from the bungling driver, David pressed a young street lad into service. The lad ran over to Harley Street to fetch an available physician.

Bethany remained limp and quiet. Her slow breathing stirred the French lace peeking out from her pelisse, and her eyelashes occasionally fluttered, as if in the throes of a vivid dream.

He untied the ribbon strings on her silk-covered bonnet, then carefully smoothed stray hair off her injured forehead. The dear girl must have sustained a concussion. God be merciful that her injuries were only minor.

By the time the barouche reached Grosvenor Square, he was consumed with worry. Fifteen minutes had passed since the collision. Bethany still hadn’t awakened.

Carrying her in his arms, he made his way into the townhouse. He briefly advised Stevens to be on the lookout for the doctor, then he continued up the staircase, heading for the next floor. David stopped at the entrance to her bedchamber. Should he enter and place Bethany on the bed?

Petunia, naturally, was at her own residence. Or out. And who knew where his mother could be found? Stevens sent for the maid, but as yet, Elsie was unaccounted for.

Indecision stayed his movements.

Don’t be a half-wit, Greyle. Bethany’s reputation will not be compromised. Besides, you are going to marry her.

He looked down at her adorable face, still captivating even though she wasn’t awake.

If she will have me.

He banished that disturbing thought and walked into the bedchamber, carrying his precious burden. Laying her down on the gold-motifed bedspread, he stood back a moment, thunderstruck by his passion for her. Sitting beside her on the bed, he lifted her right hand to his lips.

A ruckus beyond the door startled him. Disconcerted, he returned Bethany’s hand to her side.

“Oh, your lordship!” Elsie entered the bedchamber in a rush. She stopped mid-step and strained her neck to peer over by the bed. “I didn’t expect to see you. Stevens let it slip that the young miss had a terrible accident. Is it true? Is she…is she…”

“Miss Branford hit her head.”

The maid’s chin quivered. “I’ll take over, your lordship. I’ll make her comfortable, honest I will. Mayhap I can get her to come to.”

David refused to budge. “A doctor will be attending to Miss Branford shortly. Some of her belongings are still in the barouche. If you would, Elsie, could you fetch them?”

“Oooh, how pale she looks.”

“Elsie?” he prompted.

“Of course, your lordship.” She curtsied. “Right away, sir. I won’t be lon’.”

Sighing, David turned back to continue his vigil. He could be assured of only a few more minutes before the Harley Street doctor arrived.

“Please wake up, dear one. I could not bear it if you…”

He could not finish his thought. Placing her hand over his heart, he pressed it tenderly against him.

Bethany frowned.
Why does my head hurt?
With her eyes closed, she struggled to gather fragments of memory.
Why am I in bed, in the middle of the afternoon? Or is it afternoon?

For the life of her, she couldn’t place just where she was. On a settee? In her bed? Was it Monday? Tuesday? She lightly massaged her temple. What on earth happened?

“Oooh, you finally be awake, miss.” Elsie’s cheery voice filtered through Bethany’s foggy mind. “The doctor, he said you’d pull through, but I pined and fretted so.”

Bethany opened her eyes. The maid’s good-natured face loomed over her. “What happened, Elsie?”

That was the wrong question. Elsie’s lower lip trembled and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Gorblimey! You haven’t become dicked in the nob, have you, miss?”

“No, no, I am quite well. I just cannot remember why my head aches.”

Elsie nodded her understanding. “There now. It’s all right.” She fluffed up the pillows. “You had a carriage accident comin’ back from Carlton House. Thrown clear across the squabs, you were. Hit your head on a solid fixture, his lordship says.”

A spark of pain reminded Bethany. “Yes, of course. How could I have forgotten?”

Another item jogged her memory. She needed to let David know the ruse she and Prince Augustus were perpetrating. She didn’t want to give up her writing, of course. But if she explained, surely he would understand her situation.

But could he understand? Would he understand?

Bethany darted her gaze around her stylish bedchamber. When she spotted her leather portfolio leaning against the cheval looking glass, she froze. The portfolio contained her manuscript pages.

Her guilty secret was out in the open, waiting for someone to find it. She couldn’t let that happen. Not before she told David, at any rate.

She cleared her throat. “Elsie, would you be a dear and fetch me a nice hot cup of tea?”

“Certainly, miss. A nice cuppa is sure to calm you.” The maid bobbed a curtsey. “I will be back in a trice.”

Bethany waited until Elsie closed the door, then pulled the bedcovers back. When she sat up, her head started spinning, but she couldn’t pay it any mind. She had to retrieve those papers and hide them in the writing desk’s cubbyhole — safely out of sight.

The bedroom door opened.

“Whatever are you doing, Bethany?” Petunia charged inside, took control of the blankets, then firmly guided Bethany back down on the mattress. “You dear girl, if my brother were to see you out of the bed, he would have a fit.”

Bethany eyed the portfolio and sighed. Stashing her manuscript would have to wait until she was alone.

“Please, have a seat, Petunia. Elsie will be right back with tea.” Bethany scooted up against the pillows, then folded her hands in her lap. Someone had removed her muslin gown, replacing it with a short-sleeved chemise. She turned her attention back to her guest. “It is so kind of you to visit me, Petunia.”

Petunia scraped the legs of a creamy white armchair over to the bed. “I hurried here as soon as I heard about your dreadful accident. David is beside himself. He and I had a little chat downstairs before I came up. Let me take a look at your poor head. It must be aching so!”

“I am fine. Truly. But how are you? Do you have any news about…Lord Weatherhaven?”

Petunia shook her head so furiously her golden locks lit up the darkened room. Then she made an inelegant noise. “Tosh! I am so incensed. You have no idea, Bethany. The man claims I am too needy. That I require more attention than a child. He actually said I was behaving like a spoiled schoolgirl.”

I wonder what gives him that idea?

“Weatherhaven saw me with Henry. He did not like having a rival, and I’m glad. Glad, I say. Only…”Petunia turned a watery blue-eyed gaze on Bethany. “Only I’m not certain if…if he still wants to be married to me. We were to go to Paris together, but now he says he will leave for France without me.”

Tears sprang from her eyes, and she hastened over to the window. She drew aside the sheer curtains, then stared out at the cobblestone street below.

Bethany shifted in the bed. Newlywed spat aside, this was a serious development. Besides, she felt partially responsible for this bumblebroth. After all, she had suggested Petunia flaunt Henry Penning in front of her husband.

Bethany held open her arms. “My poor dear!”

Like a child running to her mother, Petunia scampered over to the bed and threw herself into Bethany’s arms. After a moment, she pulled away. “You see? I-I am such a silly widget. I have come to minister to you, yet here you are reassuring me.”

Bethany patted the distraught woman’s hand. “When is Lord Weatherhaven planning to leave for Paris?”

“In a week.” Petunia sniffed. “Next Monday.”

A week. Bethany tapped her chin. She’d tasked David with finding a solution but there wasn’t much time to arrange a reconciliation. Perhaps…with his mother as hostess, perhaps David could sponsor a ball.

Magical things could happen at an elegant ball.

“I will think of something that will help, Petunia. I promise. But for now…” Bethany closed her eyes for a moment. “For now, I think I need to rest.”

“Gracious me, of course!” Petunia leaned over and kissed Bethany’s cheek. “I’ll leave you to sleep now. Don’t worry about anything. Everything will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She tiptoed to the door, and with a half-hearted smile, left the bedchamber.

Once Petunia had closed the door, Bethany threw back the covers again. She stood, swayed a fraction of an inch, then slowly walked barefoot to the cheval looking glass. The distance was about ten feet.