The Outrageous Debutante (21 page)

‘Elspeth.’ He stepped away from the bed, putting a distance between them. ‘I will leave Miss Thea in your care for now. She needs to eat and drink. Then let her sleep. But leave one of the
maids with her.’ He did not want her to awake alone and be afraid.

‘Of course, my lord. The young lady will do very well.’

‘Let me know if there is any problem—if the lady needs anything.’

‘Of course, my lord.’ Elspeth almost swept him from the room. Clearly in her eyes, this situation held no role for a man.

With a final glance towards Theodora, who had raised her hands again to hide the ravages of her tears from him, Lord Nicholas took his leave.

He took himself to his own rooms where he proceeded to strip off his soiled and damaged coat and shirt, to flinch as the movement put pressure on his arm and shoulder. There were already signs of livid bruising, as he could see, although the skin was not broken. As he shrugged carefully into his clean linen, he let his thoughts roam over the past few hours. A serious affair, perhaps more serious than he had first believed. It had been diffused of course, thanks to Lewis Bates, and he was not the target of the violent hatred, but it was not a situation he could ignore when he and his guests came under attack. There were troublemakers amongst that little gathering who might not be willing to listen to the dictates of reason and the law again in the future. Samuel Dyer was a name to remember, perhaps. And the deliberate disguise of women’s clothing showed a depth of organisation that he would not previously have considered. Perhaps he should talk with Lord Westbourne to find out the background. But Westbourne was known as a harsh landlord, with little sympathy for those who might stand in the way of what he saw as progress. Nicholas grimaced as he worked his arm back into a coat. Whatever the cause of today’s disturbance, he did not want such discontent to spread to the Faringdon estates.

But such matters, serious as they might be, did not retain his attention beyond the changing of his clothes.

For there was Theodora. The complications and contradictions of that beautiful girl swamped his thoughts. There was so much that he did not understand.

As he headed towards the stables to check on the progress of The Zephyr, he remembered Thea’s first reaction to him when he had intercepted her horse in Hyde Park. Not as extreme as this, of course, but the same uncontrollable panic that robbed her of thought, the same inordinate amount of fear. When he had asked her before, she had refused to explain further than that one obscure statement. Shrugged it off as of no account. Obviously it was not.

Well, if Thea would not tell him, he must use other means to discover the truth. He would have an honest and direct conversation with Mistress Drew. Because he was forced to acknowledge the fear in his own heart at the thought that she might have been injured, a fear that had been sharp and lethal when he saw her at the mercy of that rabble of a drunken mob. His blood still ran cold as the scene replayed itself in his mind, when he had been helpless and outnumbered against their hostility. He could no longer deny the strength of his feelings for Theodora. It would be foolish to even try.

Thea woke from a restless sleep where dreams had chased her relentlessly. Of faceless riders who shouted orders at her. Forced her to rein in her horse and dismount. To stand under the beating desert sun. Riders wrapped in the loose robes of the desert meshed into men who wore skirts and shawls, men with hard, merciless hands and cruel smiles. It was a relief to escape into reality, into the still quietness of the familiar room. She lay for a little while, allowing her fears to subside, her breathing to quieten, enjoying the rays of sunshine through the window. She could not remember where she was at first, but it did not seem to matter. The bed was soft, the air warm and comfortable, the atmosphere still. She lay and drifted, making no attempt to draw her thoughts back to the present. Until she heard a little movement. Turning her head, she saw a maidservant sitting beside her, with sewing in her lap. The young girl smiled as she waited for Thea to speak.

‘Hello.’

‘There, mistress. You look so much better.’

‘I don’t remember very much.’ Did not wish to remember!

‘You fell in with some of the rioters from Lord Westbourne’s estate. The Maidens, Mr Furness said.’ The word had spread around the household with the rapidity of a heath fire. ‘Lord Nicholas came to rescue you. You were a bit shocked, that’s all. You fell from your horse. But now you are safe.’

‘Oh.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Am I at Aymestry Manor?’

‘Yes, miss. Don’t you recognise the room?’ The girl smiled with gentle encouragement.

Of course. She remembered everything, allowing the vivid pictures to slide back into her mind. And how frightened she had been, how useless when Agnes had been struck, incapable of doing anything of any value to help herself or her escort. The humiliation and shame ran deep. What on earth would Nicholas think of her? And had she really wept in his arms? She feared that it was so.

‘I must get up.’

‘No need.’ The maid’s voice soothed with its Marches’ burr. ‘You did not sleep for very long, miss. His lordship says you need rest. There is nothing to get up for. Lord Nicholas will take care of everything, you’ll see.’

‘I suppose he will.’

Which she accepted, and allowed herself to sink once more into sleep. Deep and dreamless and healing. For some strange reason that she could not comprehend with her tired mind, she felt totally reassured that Lord Nicholas would indeed take care of everything.

‘Mistress Drew. Are you sufficiently restored to talk to me?’

Agnes Drew sat in Mistress Grant’s little parlour, that lady having taken herself off to overlook preparations for the evening meal, giving his lordship the opportunity for a private conversation as he had requested. Agnes’s wrist was bandaged and immobilised against her flat chest. The wound in her hairline had been bathed, but she had refused a bandage. The headache was
unimportant, she would simply ignore it. A restorative glass of claret stood at her elbow, a book lay open on her lap. Perhaps there were lines of strain around eyes and mouth, and a faint frown between her brows, but, considering her ordeal, she was remarkably composed.

‘Of course, my lord.’ She would have struggled to her feet, but Lord Nicholas restrained her with a gentle hand to her undamaged wrist. ‘It will take more than that rabble to see me off. I have to thank you. And for Miss Thea. If any harm had come to her …’ For the first time there was fear in Agnes Drew’s eyes.

‘It is no matter, Mistress Drew.’

‘It is. I know the dangers we were in today. I have been to see my mistress. She is resting well.’

‘It is about Thea—your mistress—that I wish to speak.’

Agnes’s brows rose a little in some surprise at his direct approach, his use of Thea’s name, but she waited for him to speak.

He did, without preamble. ‘Will you tell me what happened to her, Mistress Drew? Some time in the past. Something that causes her to react with such withdrawal, such extreme shock, when faced with certain situations.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I have seen it twice. I know that I have not imagined it. Please do not denigrate my intelligence by denying the existence of any problem. Thea herself once hinted at it.’

Mistress Drew flushed at the gentle criticism. ‘I think that Miss Thea would not wish me to say. It is not my story to tell. My loyalty is to her, my lord, not you.’

‘But it causes her considerable distress. I would know what it is.’

Agnes pursed her lips, sharp eyes considering his lordship. Here was a man of strong will, as wilful as Theodora. And there was undoubtedly that
connection
between them. But should she tell?

‘I will not tell her what you tell me, if you do not wish it.’ Nicholas’s lips twitched into a dry smile as he acknowledged Mistress Drew’s silent and frank assessment of him. ‘But I find that her well-being has become a concern for me.’

Such honesty! Perhaps he deserved to know. And there was no doubt that they owed him much.

‘Very well. I will tell you what I know.’ Agnes waited as his lordship pulled up a chair. ‘I was not there when it happened. But I can tell you of the effects that I have seen for myself. As have you, my lord.’ She took a sip of the claret as she marshalled her thoughts, then proceeded to tell him of Theodora’s terrifying experience in the desert near Palmyra as a child. ‘It was a frightening experience for a young girl and has left a lasting fear, a weakness if you will.’ Agnes hesitated. ‘Miss Thea is as brave as a lion, but not when surrounded by noisy yelling crowds who might be interpreted as a threat. In Constantinople she was caught up in a large family group who were celebrating a wedding. Her reaction was just the same, even when there was no threat at all to her, only noise and high spirits. She has no control over it, poor girl, but then recovers as if nothing was amiss. That is all I can say—but it explains her withdrawal from reality today.’

‘Yes. It does.’ It explained much. ‘Thank you, Mistress Drew. I value your confidence.’

‘I would rather you did not say that I told you.’ Mistress Drew’s face was stern even as she asked for Nicholas’s silence. ‘It embarrasses her—because she can not control it. She sees it as a
fault
, you understand—and would not have it known.’

‘No.’ He smiled at the lady, deliberately taking possession of her good hand and raising it to his lips. ‘I will not tell her. Your secret is safe in my keeping.’

Agnes found herself blushing—as if she were a young girl, indeed!—at the unexpected and completely charming gesture, but her voice was firm, her gaze direct when she made her answer with deliberate honesty for her reading of the situation between her mistress and Lord Nicholas Faringdon. ‘Take care of her, my lord.’ Their eyes held, united in understanding and concern for Theodora. ‘She is worthy of your love.’

‘Of course.’ He rose to his feet and bowed. ‘It is my intention.’

He made his way down to the library, deep in thought. He had not thought himself to be so transparent, but perhaps where
Theodora was concerned, his emotions were clear to all. And now he knew. That was one of her secrets laid bare. Would she be willing to tell him herself? But there was, of course, a far deeper mystery. Would she ever be willing to tell him why she had worked so hard to end any relationship between them? Her explanation that it was too complicated to explain her aberrant behaviour was no answer at all.

And that, he knew with some disquiet, was no sound basis for any lasting relationship, no matter the undoubted attraction between them.

Yet after all that, did it matter? The connection between them, some basic inexplicable attraction, had not been severed in spite of all Theodora’s amazing efforts to give him a disgust of her. His mind might say that it did, but his heart would deny it.

Thea awoke from a deep healing sleep and stretched luxuriously, at one with herself and the world. No dreams had troubled her, no memory of the horror of the Maidens’ attack now assailed her. She pushed herself up on to her elbows, her spirits fully restored. It was late evening, as she could see by the quality of the light—she must have slept for hours. Shadows lurked in the corners of the room and encroached on to the edge of the bed, yet she felt alert and restored.

The little maid who still sat beside her smiled.

‘Are you well, mistress?’

‘Yes.’ Thea returned the smile. ‘I feel alive again.’

She got up, dismissed the maid with grateful thanks, and lifted the cover on a little tray that had been left for her, since it seemed that her appetite had been restored also. She drank a glass of wine, ate a little bread and cheese and fruit. Having no clothes other than the riding habit in which she had arrived the previous day, she donned her riding skirt—brushed clean of the dust of her adventures—and the long-sleeved blouse, pinning her sapphire and diamond brooch at the high neck.

She must see Agnes, of course.

One of the maids escorted her to Mistress Drew’s room. Since
she found that lady tucked comfortably into bed and sleeping, with no sign of fever or discomfort, her bound wrist resting easily on the coverlet, Thea withdrew. And then her courage wavered. She stood outside Agnes’s room and thought as the somewhat hazy memories crowded in. She must now find Lord Nicholas. She must thank him for his timely rescue, apologise for her appalling weakness when she had lost all control over her senses and actions. Overcome the embarrassment which even now brought colour to her cheeks as she recalled how she had wept in his arms and, with so little will of her own, had allowed him to carry her to her room. Not that she remembered much of that. What must he think of her? She must explain somehow. It was not a task she relished.

So first she would see how her mare had fared.

It was an easy matter for her to find her way to the stables. They were now deserted of the grooms and Master Furness, dim and warm at the end of a sun-filled day. Silent except for the shifting of hooves on straw, the occasional snort and wicker of a restless horse. Stray beams of sun, the final gleams, still lanced through the windows, layers of brightness in the gloom, the dust motes dancing. But the shadows were deep and calming, the scents of straw and leather and horses familiar and welcoming. What a restful place it was at the end of a day.

Thea looked in on a mare and foal, who looked back at her with large unblinking eyes. A chestnut mare stretched her nose over the stall door for her visitor to scratch. And then there was The Zephyr. The mare turned her gleaming body, the faint dapples in her neck glowing in the light, and limped towards her as Thea softly called her name. And leaned against her hand, allowing Thea to scratch along the soft line of her jaw.

‘Poor Zephyr! You are safe now. How frightened you must have been. I was afraid too.’

But now there appeared to be no residue of that fear. The Zephyr returned to pulling strands from a hay net, tossing her head. If she were well enough to eat, there could be little wrong. Somewhat like herself, Thea mused. She leaned her
arms along the top of the door and watched, content simply to be still and quiet.