The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (30 page)

Read on for an excerpt from
Linda Rae Sande’s
next book
The Promise of a Gentleman

June 17, 1802, London

As sometimes happens in southern England in mid-June, a powerful storm of driving rain and wind can force even the most stalwart people indoors. Pubs are stuffed with wet, cold workers, the hotels have no vacancies, and inns across the countryside are filled with travelers seeking the warmth of a fire and the comfort of hot food and warm ale.

It was on such a Thursday night when Thomas Wellingham found himself at the main warehouse of Wellingham Imports. Its West End location wasn’t particularly convenient considering other import businesses in London, but it was close to shops and businesses that had him transport British products on their behalf. And it was located directly on the River Thames. Goods could be loaded onto a cart from a ship down at the docks and be quickly pulled by shire horses to the warehouse for inventory and storage or dispersal by overland transport. The last of three ships had completed off-loading at the docks, and Thomas was waiting for all of the loads to be delivered before locking down the warehouse and sending everyone home. His warehouse manager usually handled these last tasks of a busy day, but the man had come down with an awful cold, and Thomas sent him home before the luncheon break.

When he finally left after seven o’clock, the rain was coming down hard enough to hurt an uncovered head. He donned his hat, mounted his horse, and took off for his men’s club, hoping for a hot meal and a room for the night. When he arrived nearly a half-hour later, his topcoat soaked through to his clothes, his hopes for dinner were dashed – the smoke-filled club was packed with weary and wet businessmen, and the kitchen had used up its available stocks of meat and vegetables whilst catering to those driven indoors by the rain earlier in the afternoon.

Overhearing several of the men complaining of full inns and hotels, Thomas decided he had no choice but to head for Woodscastle. It was possible the worst of the rain was over; if not, he was sure his Cleveland Bay could handle the wet roads through western London and beyond. With the lower cloud cover and constant rain, it was nearly impossible to see the road once he left the city limits of London and its feeble light sources. The horse, which could do no better than a fast walk through the crowded city streets, could now barely walk in the deep ruts and mud of the Great West Road.

When lighting struck a nearby tree, a deafening thunderclap sent his horse rearing and he was forced to dismount. Pulling as hard as he could on the reins, he finally got the bay back onto the road. It was several minutes before he could determine which way to walk, and that was only because an occasional lightning bolt would light the sky and the countryside around him. The temperature seemed to drop with each step he took, and he started to shiver uncontrollably. With the road turned into a muddy river, he trudged through the pasture next to it, not always sure if he was walking in the right direction. He nearly missed the turn onto Burlington Road, but the horse seemed know its way as he kept a tight hold on the reins.

When he finally spotted a constant light up ahead and above the trees, he realized he was nearly to the turnoff for Woodscastle. Yellow candlelight glowed brightly from the window of one of the upstairs rooms.
The guest bedchamber
, he thought.
Emma!
Relieved she hadn’t tried to make her way back to the city in the rain, he mounted the horse and let it find its way to the front of the estate.

The sound of the rain drowned out his voice as he called for a servant. When none came, he took the horse to the stables on the west end of the estate. Not having the strength to remove the saddle and having a hard time controlling his shivering, he simply closed the stable door and made his way back to the house.

When he opened the front door, Humphrey was not to be found, but Emma, barefoot and dressed in only a nightgown, stood at the top of the stairs holding a lamp from the hallway sconce. In his feverish state, he stared at her, trying to decide if she was real or an apparition.

“Mr. Wellingham? Oh, my God,” she whispered as she seemed to float down the stairs towards him. “I was sure I heard someone call out a few moments ago.”

Dumbfounded, Thomas stared at her.
I have died, and she is my angel coming to take me to heaven
. He continued to stare at her even as she hurried into the vestibule, left her light on the round table, and took his hand in hers, its tug urging him forward.
We’re going now
, he thought in a daze.
I shan’t get to say good-bye to Christiana.

It took a great deal of her strength, but Emma was able to pull Thomas into the vestibule and get the storm-battered door closed behind him. As she undid the fastenings of his coat, she kept her attention on Thomas as much as on her fingers, trying to determine if he was merely too chilled to speak or suffering from the same illness that had gripped most of the household.

She removed his soaked coat, its weight nearly too much for the coat rack in the corner. When she realized Thomas was shivering, she placed a hand against his forehead and felt for a fever. Although his skin didn’t feel hot, she realized from his trembling that he was, at the very least, chilled to the bone.

Water dripped from everything he wore; his hat had disappeared long ago, and his wet hair was plastered to his forehead and ears. The once-white cravat was mud-spattered and limp, its tie now a knot of wet linen.

“Where….where’s Humph…phr… phrey?” he tried to ask, his shivering making it hard for him to talk.
And why haven’t we left yet?
he wondered, his mind still muddled.

“He had better be asleep by now. He is very ill,” Emma said quietly, taking a moment to be sure he wasn’t injured. “Most of the household staff is sick with colds,” she whispered as she unbuttoned his tailcoat. “’Tis nearly midnight …,” she started to say, but she realized from his uncontrolled shaking that Thomas was at least as sick as everyone else. “Come. Let’s get you to your room and get these wet clothes off of you.” She wrapped her arm under his shoulder and led him up the stairs whilst she held onto the lamp with her other hand. Water ran off his clothes in rivulets, leaving small puddles all over the vestibule and on the stairs. By the time they reached the top of the staircase, her muslin nightrail was nearly as wet as Thomas’ clothes. The thin fabric clung to her body, and had there been enough light, she would have appeared naked to anyone seeing her.

Once in his room, Emma led him to the fireplace and let go of him, hoping he could stand in front of it without falling. Humphrey kept the fireplace prepared in case a fire was needed at night; she used the flame from the lamp to light the kindling and then blew gently on the embers until they flared. Then she hurried to the bath and returned with several towels. Wrapping one around his head and neck, she dropped the others to the floor. Moving quickly, she pulled the bench from the end of his bed to just in front of the fireplace.

Thomas used the towel to dry his hair and face, barely conscious that he was doing so. Emma unbuttoned his waistcoat and unwound the soaked cravat while he continued to shiver uncontrollably. Dropping to one knee, she undid the laces on his boots and pulled them off along with his soaked stockings whilst he balanced himself with one hand on her shoulder. She considered undoing the buttons on his breeches, thought better of it, and then proceeded to unfasten them as fast as she could. Once the breeches were loose, she handed him a towel to cover himself as she pulled the dripping breeches to the floor. Then she took off his waistcoat and shirt, wrapped the last towel around his shoulders, and sat him down on the bench. Gathering up the wet clothes, she carried them into the bath and draped them over the copper bathtub.

“Are there any extra blankets?” she whispered loudly as she returned to the room, wincing as she stepped in several wet spots on the Aubusson carpet.

Thomas was staring into the firelight, hypnotized by the flames whilst he continued to shiver. When he turned to look at her, he saw that her hair was loose and long, framing her face with waves of gold.
My angel is back
. Her nipples, the curves of her breasts, indeed, even the entire shape of her body were visible through the wet fabric of her nightgown. Part of him wanted desperately to kiss those breasts, to fondle them and hold them and gently bite their hardened peaks. To have that body pressed against him promised warmth for his chilled skin, her silken hair a pillow for his hurting head.
A perfect woman
, he told himself. And he realized he wanted her, more than anything else he had ever wanted in his life. But another other part of him was so cold and sick that he could only shiver and double over to try and get warm.

When he continued to stare at her, but didn’t answer her question, Emma finally moved to the bed, pulled aside the counterpane, and removed a quilt. She draped it around Thomas, removing the wet towels from around his head and body and taking them to the bath. Once she had the boots placed near the fire, she surveyed the room to be sure she’d picked up all the wet clothes.

“Are you getting any warmer?” she asked quietly as she wrapped the quilt more tightly around his legs and feet.

Thomas nodded but said nothing, his attention back on the flames.

“I am going to get you some hot tea. Are you hungry?”

Still shivering, Thomas nodded. “Wear … wear my... my dressing gown,” he said between chattering teeth as he nodded toward the bath. At her questioning stare, he added, “Your nightgown ...,” as he pointed from under the blanket.

Emma looked down and realized for the first time that she was nearly as soaked to the skin as he had been. Nodding, she turned and hurried into the bath to find his robe on a hook near the tub. Wrapping it around herself, she was vaguely aware of his scent on it as she took the lamp and rushed out the room. She was careful as she negotiated the stairs; there were puddles on every step and a pool of water near the vestibule.

Once in the kitchen, she found that the water kettle was more than hot enough for tea. A small fire still burned in the stove from her earlier efforts to make dinner for Christiana and herself. She heated the leftover medallions of meat, gravy, and hunks of potatoes until they were steaming, grabbed a small loaf of bread, and prepared a tray with the teapot, cups, honey, half of a lemon, and the food. When she returned to Thomas’ room, she found him still wrapped in the quilt and staring into the fire.
Perhaps he is not so ill,
she hoped as she moved to his dresser.

At the scent of the food and tea, Thomas sat up straighter and watched Emma as she set the tray on his dresser. After the tea was poured, she added lemon and honey to his, stirred it, and brought it to him.

Thomas gladly took the steaming cup and held it in both his hands, allowing the heat to penetrate his chilled fingers as he sipped the hot liquid. Although he did not care for the flavor, he knew she intended it as a medicinal drink and said nothing.

Meanwhile, Emma returned to the dresser for his meal. She carried the plate and a fork in one hand and her teacup in the other, taking a seat next to Thomas on the bench. Holding the plate up, she said quietly, “’Tis not much, but it is warm.”

Thomas set down his cup on the bench and reached for the plate, his eyes focusing on the steam as it rose from the gravy. “’Tis a veritable feast,” he whispered as he took the plate from her. As he tasted the meat, he closed his eyes. “You made this, didn’t you?” he whispered, his shaking finally subsiding. He continued chewing as he stared at the fire.

Emma looked at him from over the top of her cup as she took a sip of tea. “Yes. But how did you know?”

Thomas finished another bite. “My cook isn’t this good,” he said as he stabbed a potato, his attention still on the fire.

“And Mr. Tanner is not very well, either,” Emma whispered, wondering if she should mention his sister. Christiana’s illness had come on very suddenly during breakfast, but the girl had insisted she felt much better as the day progressed. “Christiana was sick this morning, and before lunch, nearly everyone else in the household was as well.”

News of Christiana made Thomas sit up straight again, and the quilt fell from one of his shoulders as he turned to face Emma. “Is she well?” he asked urgently. It was the first time since his arrival that he showed any emotion.

“She is now,” Emma assured him as she pushed the quilt back up around his bare shoulder, suddenly very aware of how little covered the man. “I didn’t get many ledgers done today, I’m afraid, but I will try to catch up tomorrow.”

Thomas nodded and returned his attention to the plate. They sat in silence for several minutes whilst Thomas finished his dinner. After he placed the empty plate on the floor, he held out one side of the blanket. “Come here. You must be freezing,” he said as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and pulled her against the side of his torso.

The warmth of her body against his was a welcome sensation, but Thomas sensed a sudden change in Emma. He took one of her hands in his still-cool hand. “What is it?” he whispered.

At first, Emma was shocked into silence. It was bad enough to be in a man’s bedchamber. It was worse to be in his bedchamber whilst he sat naked covered only by a quilt. And here she was pressed up against his naked flesh while under the same quilt. Wearing his dressing gown!

Emma finally turned and looked at him, her face mere inches from his. “Other than my father’s, I have never been in a man’s bedchamber…,” she started to say and then turned to face the fire, a bit of panic rising inside. “This is a bit…inappropriate,” she whispered as she shook her head, sure that he could see how flushed her face had become from her sudden embarrassment.

“No one else need know this happened. No one else will know,” Thomas replied quietly as he watched her profile. “And it shouldn’t have,” he added as he leaned forward and used the heel of one hand to scrub his eyes. A sudden weariness settled into his bones, and he found it difficult to hold up his head.

Emma cocked her head and turned to look at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

Thomas shook his head as he dropped his hand and then pulled his hand inside the quilt. “I was such a fool tonight,” he whispered finally. “The weather was horrible all afternoon. I sent my warehouse manager home because he was sick, and then I ended up staying so late that there wasn’t a room at the men’s club. All the inns were full. And then I believed I could make it home on horseback in a blinding rainstorm, and the wind…” He paused for a moment and turned to face her. “If you hadn’t had that lamp in your window, I would have walked right past the road to this house,” he said, suddenly realizing he could have spent an entire night in the cold and wet. “Surely, I would have died,” he whispered as he turned to stare at the fire again. A moment later, he pulled her into a hug and clung to her as if his life depended on it.