The Hopeless Hoyden (29 page)

             
“After this, can you be pleasant to Caldwell?" Gabriel asked.

             
The smile Tom gave Gabriel bordered on a grimace.  “I can take my cue from the enemy.  In the end, what matters is that he's made to suffer."

             
A light tap sounded on the door, and the housekeeper entered carrying a tray loaded with strips of linen, a pitcher of hot water, an assortment of apothecary jars and the makings for a cup of tea.  “These men will have to leave, milord."

             
As each man filed by Gabriel for the door, a silent pact was made as every man met the Gabriel’s eyes.               

             
“Rest easy, Emily," Tom said, reaching across Gabriel to awkwardly pat his sister's hand.

             
“Give the young lady this to drink, milord," Mrs. Hopkins said, handing a delicate tea cup to him.

             
“What's in it?" Gabriel asked suspiciously.

             
“Nothing that will hurt the young miss.  'Tis nothing more than tea with a little laudanum added," she said pointedly.
              Gently Gabriel lifted Emily's head and put the cup to her parched lips.  After she drained the contents, he eased her back onto the pillow and helplessly watched her slip back into unconsciousness.

             
When Doc Larson arrived, Gabriel remained by the bed to make sure the good physician didn't bleed Emily.  After extracting the bullet, Larson held it between the forceps and eyed it speculatively.  “A poacher's bullet you say, my lord?  Don't know of any of the locals who need to poach your lands.  Your game warden keeps them well supplied.  Let's them lay traps from time to time as well."

             
When Gabriel didn't answer, Larson went about liberally applying balsam powder to the wound and binding Emily's waist with strips of muslin.  “The gel's a lucky one.  This is no flesh wound, but it's not so bad that it should cause her too much difficulty.  Biggest worry is infection, of course.  Watch her closely for the next day or so.  Call me if she gets feverish.  May have to cup her yet."

             
“Don't you think she's lost enough blood?" Gabriel was barely able to keep his tone civil.

             
“As to that, fever is one thing you can't be too careful about.  Cupping’s the only way to rid the body of poisonous humors, you know."

             
Observing Emily's shallow breathing, her pallid face, her pinched features, Gabriel knew a moment of panic.  He hadn't been able to protect his wood spite from his cousin's murderous plot.  How often on the battle field had he witnessed the stoutest soldier, who’d sustained a slight wound, succumb to that insidious enemy, infection? 

             
Suddenly Gabriel felt like he could cry.

*** Chapter 13 ***

             
Deborah saw Cecil pelt down the stairs and make for the library.  By the scowl on his face, there was no doubt she'd have to deal with his foul temper.  Still, he might be able to shed some light on what had happened to Emily Pendleton.  Entering the library, she glanced at her brother's bowed head and closed the door. 

             
Without raising his head, Cecil cut hard, cruel eyes to her and growled, “Get out.  I'm in no mood for histrionics."

             
“Pray tell, why should I enact a Cheltenham tragedy?"

             
He returned her haughty gaze with a malevolent one, then rose and began a slow, predatory pacing about the room.  “Because, my dear sister, we are completely undone, as you would say.  That imbecile, Anslow, hit the wrong target today."

             
“Emily is dead?"

             
“Not yet, and were I a believer, I'd, myself, pray the foolish hoyden recovers.  But little does it matter since our cousin has vowed vengeance."

             
“He has called you out."  Deborah dropped into a tapestry chair and raised a shaking hand to her breast.

             
Cecil stopped his pacing only long enough to glower down at her.  “Would that he had.  Then, at least, I could run him through and win the title.  More likely, you and I will be banished from the Park in disgrace, for he swears the truth will come out."

             
“But, then, we will not be received. . . anywhere."

             
“You and I,
persona non grata
."  He laughed evilly.  “At last, you perceive our dilemma."

             
“If what you say is true--"

             
“'Tis true enough."  He threw up a hand in disgust. 

             
“But I just left Tom and Chesterfield in the drawing room when they came to tell us that Emily had been shot by a poacher.  They did not snub me."

             
Cecil halted his pacing and leaned over the back of a wing back to face her.  “A poacher’s shot?  No direct cut?"  He pondered this for a few moments before straightening.  “Then, perhaps they were able to assuage our cousin's lust for my blood after all."

             
“So what do we do?"

             
“Bide our time.  They'll be watching me, but it appears all is not yet lost."

             
“If they know--"

             
“Suspect, Deborah.  They can only suspect, for there is no evidence.  Of that, I've been very sure.   At any rate, we've little choice in the matter."  He turned his mocking eyes on her again.  “There is no where else for us to go, my dear sibling.  We haven't the funds or the wherewithal to even make a proper dash to the continent."

###

              For Emily, time blurred.  She saw images of a haggard Gabriel, eyes hollowed from lack of sleep, a shadowed jaw from a heavy growth of bread, all filtered through a haze.  He always seemed to be bending over her, placing a wet, cool cloth on her hot brow.  She dreamed his strong arms lifted her onto cool clean sheets.  Alternately, those same arms cradled her feverish body, wrecked by chills, in blankets and provided the only warmth that stopped the convulsive shivering.

             
In a distant part of her consciousness, she was aware of late night conferences in hushed voices held around her bed.  Tom, Chesterfield, and then Freddy came and went at odd hours.  As time passed, Emily became more lucid, her body less plagued by fevered heat and chills, and the worried scowl marring Gabriel's brow lessened.

             
Then one morning, she woke to find the sun flooding the room and Jane Taber's sweet countenance bending over her.

             
“How do you feel, Emily dear?"

             
“Thirsty," Emily croaked.               

             
Jane helped her drink a glass of barley water.  After resettling Emily, Jane sat in a chair by the bed.  For the first time, Emily noted the cheery yellow and white striped papered walls and gold satin chaise lounge before a white marble fireplace.  The massive four poster bed she occupied had towering posts, supporting a creamy satin and lace canopy that matched the striped stain coverlet.

             
“Whose room is this?"

             
“Do you mean this is the first you have noticed the beautiful furnishing?"  Jane gave a merry laugh.  “You must be getting better."

             
“I was not myself after being shot yesterday."

             
“Yesterday?  Oh, no, Emily.  It has been nearly a week now that you were injured."

             
That gave Emily reason to pause.  It also explained her ravenous hunger.

             
A short, though timid knock on the door heralded Aunt Esmeralda, and Jane excused herself to freshen up.  Plied with questions from Emily, the old lady was most willing to provide more insight on the happenings over the past week.

             
“What a to-do you caused, my dear."  Lady Spivey said, sharing tea with Emily. 

             
Emily smiled to herself.  She'd seen the old lady spike her brew with an amber liquid from a flask hidden in the voluminous folds of her skirt.  Some things never changed. 

             
“Though I will say it did serve to get rid of Lady Raines and that jealous puss she has for a daughter."

             
“You mean the Lady Raines and Sylvia have left?"

             
“Indeed, left with their noses out of joint," her aunt reported with a satisfied smirk.  “When it became clear that Lindemann would not leave your bedside even to entertain his guests for dinner, those two packed their bags and left the very next day."

             
“But Jane is still here?"

             
Lady Spivey was slow in answering as she indulged in a liberal sip of her tea.  “Sylvia allowed Miss Taber could stay for a couple of weeks and only then at the urgings of the Viscount.  You know, Emily dear, Sylvia hung around after your engagement was announced because she thought she might still have a go at Lindemann.  After all, Lindemann Park is in the wilds of nowhere, and not many people would hear of the engagement for some time."

             
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."

             
“If you had done as I said and had Lindemann throw a ball to announce it to the neighborhood, you might have been spared some of Sylvia's nasty tongue."

             
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."

             
“Word of such a thing does make the rounds, though I would not count on those two putting about your engagement.  A case of sour grapes there, if you know what I mean."

             
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."

             
“Of course, Lindemann claims he sent the announcement in to the
Morning Post
immediately.  But a ball...a ball will fix it right and tight."  She fixed Emily with a gimlet eye.  “You will hint to Lindemann about one, my dear?  You know, to seal this thing up, right and tight."

             
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."

             
“That’s my girl.”  Aunt Esmeralda eyed her suspiciously.  “I do believe that fever has made you more agreeable, Emily dear.”

             
When Jane returned, Emily pounced on her.

             
“You never said you would be leaving?"
              “I am here for several more days.  Then I must join Sylvia and Lady Raines in Brighton.  The Prince Regent is already in residence at the Pavilion."

             
“Are the Raines going to their home in Lancashire for the summer?"

             
“No, Lady Raines is hounding Sylvia to marry, for she says she is tired of gadding about on wild goose chases.  This is Sylvia's third Season, and Lady Raines thinks it will be easier for Sylvia to nab one of the Carlton set."  Jane gave Emily a small smile.  “You were right, Emily.  The gentlemen do run from poor Sylvia when they find out she can be such, ah . . ."

             
“A shrew."

             
Jane laughed.  “Yes, and it appears to be a family trait.  Her mother is much of the same temperament."

             
“What about you, Jane?  What will you do after Sylvia marries?"

             
“It has been mentioned that I could become Lady Raines' companion."

             
“What an abominable thought.  I will not let you do it.  Come and live with me."

             
“Truly Emily, I will not mind.  Besides, I cannot live with you after you marry the Viscount."

             
“Oh pooh, I cannot marry him."

             
“Why not?  You do care for him, and he dotes on you.”
              “Oh, he has come to care for me some.  Still, it would not be fair.  He never would have proposed if Cecil had not come, er . . . ."  Watching Jane duck her head in embarrassment with the implication of her words, Emily quickly added, "At any rate, we would not suit."

             
“Now you are talking nonsense."

             
“No, it is true.  Tom even pointed it out to me.  Although,” she said thoughtfully, “I dare say he would never have said a word if he knew I meant to beg off.  I lack the panache needed to be a viscountess.  Gabriel deserves someone who can wear his cornet without having it slide off her head or tripping on her train."

             
Jane laughed, but seeing that Emily meant every word, she said, “You are wrong, Emily.  Someday you will regret not fighting for the one you love."