Kitabı oku: «Regency Secrets», sayfa 6

Chapter Seven

By the next afternoon Beau was once again out of charity with the vicar. Apparently the reverend had spread word of Ellie’s arrival and Kit’s improvement throughout the county, for beginning that morning they’d had a steady stream of callers. Having been interrupted three times already while trying to assimilate the contents of the satchel his courier had delivered at dawn, Beau nearly told the apologetic footman who’d just appeared once again to convey his regrets.

Then, knowing his kindhearted sister would never be so uncivil as to refuse to receive the local gentry, and realizing the task of entertaining the curious would fall on her delicate shoulders should he shirk a duty he was finding particularly irksome today, he relented.

With a sigh he set his papers aside and followed the footman to the parlor. The striking blonde seated beside his sister surprised him out of his irritation.

The lady rose and followed him to the window where, after bowing a greeting, he’d gone to join the squire. “Lord Beaulieu, what a pleasure to see you again!”

She held out her hand. Compelled by courtesy, he accepted it, his initial appreciation of her striking beauty dimming. Forward baggage.

“You’ll remember me from Lord Greave’s house party last fall at Wimberley. Lady Ardith Asquith.”

As usual, the business reasons behind his attendance at that event had limited his time among the female guests. He scoured his memory, finally coming up with a flashy blonde accompanying an elderly peer.

His eyes narrowed as he swiftly assessed the daringly low-cut gown, the guinea-bright curls, the perfect skin, pouting lips—and bright, hard eyes. A self-absorbed beauty.

“Yes, I remember, Lady Ardith,” he said, bringing her fingers to his lips for the obligatory salute. “And how is your husband, Lord Asquith?”

She flapped long painted lashes and gave him an overly familiar smile whose hint of shared intimacy he immediately resented. “Preoccupied as usual, my lord. Poor me—I so often have to find my own … amusements.”

He knew he wasn’t imagining the barely veiled innuendo, and his assessment of her character dropped lower. So Lady Ardith enjoyed collecting titled lover pelts, did she? He determined on the instant to discourage the connection.

But when he tried to reclaim his hand, she clutched it, causing him to automatically glance at his fingers—straight at the lavish breasts just below them, revealed to any downward-gazing eye all the way to the taunting pink edge of the nipples. A quick sideways glance confirmed the squire’s gaze was riveted on the view.

He looked back up to catch his sister’s amused but sympathetic eye. “Lady Ardith tells me her husband owns property in the neighborhood,” Elspeth said, “and they often spend a few weeks here when not occupied in London.”

“On those occasions when Lady Ardith—and Lord Asquith, of course—choose to honor us, their company is always a valued addition to our society,” the squire said.

Lady Ardith leaned further forward as she squeezed the squire’s hand. “Dear Squire Everett! How could I not attend your gatherings as often as possible when I know such a gallant gentleman awaits me?”

The squire paused, apparently too distracted for speech while he struggled between the propriety of raising his eyes to her face and the titillation of visually fondling the display beneath his nose.

Beau watched a knowing smile curve the corners of Lady Ardith’s lips and his disdain increased. He’d bet the price of her elegant gown that, even bored to flinders in what she no doubt considered a rustic outpost, Lady Ardith would never consider adding the middle-aged, balding squire to her list of indoor sportsmen. Yet she seemed driven, as beautiful females often were, to captivate every male who crossed her path, whether she valued his regard or not.

Attracting a man of Beau’s wealth and rank likely would interest her, he thought cynically. Since he had no desire whatsoever to help Lady Ardith beguile the tedium of her country sojourn, he’d end this game at once.

While she toyed with the squire, Beau crossed the room and usurped her seat beside his sister. Lady Ardith’s self-satisfied smile wavered briefly when she discovered his move, but brightened again after the squire led her by the hand to a chair beside his own.

“Squire Everett, you must give a ball in honor of Lord Beaulieu and Lady Elspeth!” the lady exclaimed. “I should do so myself, but since we open the house here for such short periods, we do not maintain sufficient staff.”

A pinch-penny, as well, Beau thought, disgusted. “With my brother’s health so uncertain, I do not believe we could consider a ball. And at present, Lady Elspeth’s health is too … delicate for dancing,” he replied.

“His lordship’s got the right of it,” the squire agreed. “With young master Kit still so ill, ‘twould not be fitting to disport ourselves at a ball.”

“You are right of course, my lord. A dinner, then,” Lady Ardith persisted. “Something rather more quiet, with just the first families of the neighborhood in attendance. That would not tax Lady Elspeth’s strength, for she could retire early. I should be happy to preside over the tea tray for you, Squire Everett.”

“His sister, Lady Winters, could do so,” Beau said.

His repressive tone didn’t seem to dampen the lady’s pretensions a bit. “Ah, dear Lady Winters? Is she visiting you currently? I thought she’d removed to Bath.”

“No, surely you remember, Lady Ardith, she returned here when her husband died two years ago,” the squire said.

Lady Ardith trilled a laugh. “Oh, yes, how silly of me.” She waved a hand, dismissing Lady Winters. “I fear I have no head at all for dates and figures.”

“A dinner would be lovely,” Elspeth intervened, wary of the growing irritation she no doubt perceived in Beau’s expression. “Assuming Kit continues to improve, Dr. MacDonovan will want to depart by the week’s end. Before he goes, we should like to do something to honor him. And Mrs. Martin, of course.”

“Aye, it could be a tribute to both our angels of mercy,” the squire concurred.

Beau opened his lips to squash the idea. He had no intention of providing both the forum and the target for Lady Ardith’s next hunt.

But then he reconsidered. With a little arranging he could pawn that lady off on Mac and the vicar—and arrange to have himself seated near Mrs. Martin.

Mrs. Martin, her auburn hair freed from the ubiquitous cap, her form garbed in something more becoming than the awful brown sacks she habitually wore. His Sparrow in evening dress.

To savor that vision would be worth fending off a dozen Lady Ardiths.

“A capital idea, Squire Everett,” he said. “The doctor and Mrs. Martin deserve our most warmest gratitude.”

Lady Ardith’s look of triumph faded. “Mrs. Martin? That local—herb woman—was allowed to tend your brother!”

“She saved his life, as the doctor will testify,” Beau said, “and deserves the highest commendation.”

“Your desire to acknowledge her is most kind, my lord, but … at a dinner?” Lady Ardith interjected. “Such a lowly personage would doubtless be most uncomfortable to be seated at a social gathering among her betters.”

“Nonsense,” the squire returned. “Mrs. Martin’s gentry-born—her late husband was an army officer—and has dined with us on several occasions.”

Better and better, Beau thought, his enthusiasm for the dinner party growing. Since Mrs. Martin had apparently already appeared at neighborhood social gatherings, she would not be able to escape with that excuse.

“It’s settled then,” Beau said. “On Friday, shall we say? Dr. MacDonovan told me this morning he hopes by then to declare Kit finally out of danger.”

“Squire Everett, will arranging a dinner party on such short notice be too much for your sister?” Elspeth asked.

“Not a bit,” Squire Everett replied cheerfully, obviously taken with the idea. “If she falls prey to the vapors, Mrs. Martin can help out. She’s assisted Emily before. A lady of many talents, our Mrs. Martin.”

“So it appears,” Beau murmured.

Lady Ardith continued to haggle over the wisdom of including an unattached lady in the gathering, but convinced the squire would go through with the plan whether Lady Ardith chose to attend or not, Beau let the conversation fade to a babble while he set about reviewing the pleasing implications.

This dinner might be just the thing to breach Mrs. Martin’s reserve for good. If she appeared at the party to receive the admiration and respect he knew her loveliness would generate, perhaps that acclaim would cause some of her nervous reticence to fade. Even better, he’d be able to pay her gentle, persistent attention in a forum where such behavior was entirely appropriate, nothing to inspire alarm. Once she grew less wary and more comfortable around him, he’d finally be able to get close enough to demonstrate his genuine respect and concern.

Surely then she would come to trust him—and heed the call that impelled her to come to him.

The next afternoon, in a pretty note begging her pardon for the inconvenience, Lord Beaulieu’s sister asked Laura to join her in the sitting room attached to her chamber, as she found herself too weary after her journey to come downstairs. Bowing to the inevitable, Laura steeled herself for the interview.

As Lady Elspeth was several years older, she had already come out, married, and left London to raise a family by the time Laura made her debut. So there was no chance whatsoever, Laura told herself, trying to squelch her ever-present anxiety, that Lord Beaulieu’s sister might recognize her.

Deliberately garbing herself in the ugliest of Aunt Mary’s gowns and the most voluminous of the lace dowager caps, Laura forced her face into a mask of serenity and knocked at the door of Lady Elspeth’s sitting room.

But as she entered, a small figure bounded up. “Did you nurse Uncle Kit and keep the angels from taking him to heaven?” she demanded.

“Catherine!” her mother protested from her reclining position upon the sofa. “You mustn’t pounce upon people like that. Greet Mrs. Martin properly, if you please.”

With a sigh the girl straightened, then dipped a curtsey. “Good day, Mrs. Martin. I trust you are well?”

The speech was so clearly parroted—and practiced—Laura had to smile. “Good day to you, Lady Catherine. I am quite well, thank you. And you?”

“Very well, but Mama’s not. That’s why she’s so cross. Uncle Beau said you kept the angels from taking Uncle Kit. I’m so glad! He’s ever so much fun, and I’m not finished with him yet.”

The vision of angels tussling over Kit Bradsleigh’s bed tickled Laura’s whimsy, and some of her nervousness fled. She took the hand Lady Catherine held out and walked with her to the sofa.

“Perhaps God wasn’t ready for him yet,” Laura said. Unlike my Jennie. A dull ache permeated her at the unbidden thought, and wearily she suppressed it. “But Dr. MacDonovan did most of the work, you know.”

The little girl looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Angels would surely leave Dr. Mac alone. He talks too loud and he makes you drink nasty medicine.” She gestured to Lady Elspeth. “I think that’s why mama is sick.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Catherine,” her mama reproved with a frown. “If you cannot confine your conversation to more proper subjects I shall send you back to the nursery.”

The small face grew instantly contrite. “I’ll be good, Mama. Please let me stay. Uncle Beau said we can’t ride for hours yet and Mary doesn’t know any games, and the books Uncle Beau left are full of big words.”

Lady Elspeth, looking in truth very pale and weary, sighed and leaned over to ruffle her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry, pet. Mrs. Martin, I’m afraid Catherine’s nurse came down with a putrid sore throat this morning and has taken to her bed. I can’t seem to summon the energy to go out, which leaves poor Catherine stranded in the nursery with only Mary for company. She’s a kind girl, but not at all used to dealing with children.”

Laura felt an instant sympathy for the spirited, active little girl forced to remain cooped up indoors. “Should you like to take a walk, Lady Catherine? The gardens are still pretty with the late roses blooming. That is, if you would permit, Lady Elspeth.”

Lady Catherine’s face lit. “Oh please, Mama, may I?”

“Are you sure, Mrs. Martin? I wouldn’t like her to tease you, and she can be quite—energetic.”

“I would love to! I used to tend my older sister’s girls when their governess was—” Alarmed, Laura caught herself before she blundered into revealing more details. “Occupied,” she finished, hoping Lady Elspeth hadn’t noticed her sudden dismay. “I do enjoy children.”

“Then I should be grateful. Mind, Catherine, that you let us drink our tea in peace.”

“Yes, Mama.” Lady Catherine looked up to give Laura a beaming smile. “You’re nice, just like Uncle Beau said. I like you, even if you do wear such ugly gowns.”

Lady Elspeth’s eyes widened and she straightened, as if to make a grab for her lamentably plain-spoken child. But as she leaned forward, her face grew paler still. Clutching a handkerchief to her mouth, she struggled from her seat and seized a nearby chamberpot.

“Ugh,” Catherine said over the ensuing sound of her mother’s retching. “I hate Mama being sick. Uncle Beau says soon she’ll be better, but she’s been sick ever so long.” The small chin wavered. “It scares me,” she admitted, tears forming in her eyes.

Laura had intended to keep this meeting as brief as possible. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave a frightened little girl in need of comfort, or depart without attempting to help alleviate the distress of her suffering mother.

She hugged Catherine, who came into her arms with no resistance, her body trembling. “Your uncle Beau is right, Catherine. Your mama won’t be sick for too much longer.” Not knowing what the child had been told, she decided not to explain further. “I’ve nursed lots of people, and I can tell when someone is very ill and when they’re about to get better. Your mama will get better.”

“You’re sure?” The child looked up at her, anxious eyes huge in her troubled face.

“Cross my heart,” Laura promised. The girl sighed. “If you could keep the angels from taking Uncle Kit, I suppose you can keep them from Mama.”

“Why don’t you go back to the nursery and find your cloak and some heavy shoes. Then you’ll be ready to walk when your mama and I finish tea.”

The child nodded. “She won’t drink any, though. She doesn’t drink anything at tea now, and we don’t have the pretty pink cakes anymore ‘cause she says the smell makes her ill.”

“How disappointing,” Laura said. “You know, if we meet Squire Everett on our walk and you ask him nicely, I wager he’d have his cook bake some pretty pink cakes. You could share them with your uncle Beau in the nursery, where the smell wouldn’t bother your mama.”

The small face brightened. “He would? I shall ask today!” The child leaped up and hugged her. “You must have some cakes, too. Oh, I do like you! I’m sorry I said your gown was ugly. Though truly it is.”

Grinning, Laura bent down until her lips were close to the girl’s ear. “I know,” she whispered, and winked.

With a giggle, the little girl skipped out. Laura turned to the mother, who was now wiping her face and trying to gather the remnants of her dignity.

“M-Mrs. Martin, I do apolo—”

“Please, Lady Elspeth, there’s no need! I’m a nurse, you will recall. Come, sit down and try to get comfortable. Has your physician given you any remedies to help alleviate the sickness?”

Wearily Lady Elspeth settled against the cushions. “He said an overheating of the blood causes it, and ordered Nurse to mix up some vile concoction that was supposed to cool the humors, but I couldn’t keep it down. Nor would I let him bleed me, as he urged and Wentworth pleaded. I—I’m already so weak, I cannot see how bleeding would help.”

Laura nodded. “My uncle found, after much study, that bleeding does tend to weaken the patient. He recommended more gentle means—teas blended with chamomile and peppermint to soothe the stomach, and lozenges composed of sugar, ginger root, and lavender to suck on when the queasy feeling strikes. I—I have a stock made up and could obtain some for you, if you should like to try.”

“Just now I’m willing to try anything short of a pistol bullet to the head,” Lady Elspeth replied grimly.

“I shall make up a tea at once. Here, recline with this pillow to your back. A cloth dipped in cooled rosewater applied to your temples may help, as well. I’ll fetch one. Try it while I brew the tea.”

“You truly are an angel of mercy, Mrs. Martin,” Lady Elspeth sighed as she settled back. “But I did so want to chat with you.”

“Later. First, you must rest and rally your strength.” Laura paused. “By the way, does your daughter know the nature of your illness?”

Lady Elspeth opened one eye. “No. I thought it best not to tell her. For years she’s begged me for a baby brother or sister. I feared if … if this ended as the previous two have, she’d be disappointed—and upset. When her dog died last summer, she was distraught for days.”

“She’s upset now, worrying about her mama,” Laura said gently. “‘Tis your choice, my lady, but if it were me I’d tell her what afflicts you is normal and shall soon pass. Children that young do not understand how babies arrive. If you tell her only that a new sibling is a happy possibility, she would probably be no more than mildly disappointed should your hopes … not be realized.”

“She worries?” Lady Elspeth said. “Ah, my poor babe. I suppose I’ve been too ill and cross to notice. Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Martin.” She forced a tired smile. “A wise angel as well as a guardian one.”

“Rest now and I’ll fetch your tea. We’ll talk later.” Much later, if I have any say in it, Laura thought.

She’d brushed through that well enough, and the idea of walking in the garden with Lady Catherine—someone with whom she needn’t be always on her guard—was enormously appealing. Perhaps she’d slip invisibly through the last few days of tending Kit Bradsleigh and reach home safely after all.

Chapter Eight

Feet clothed in sturdy walking boots and hands encumbered by a linen cloth filled with jam tarts fresh from the oven, two days later Laura entered the garden.

Though she still spent much of her time alone, keeping vigil over Kit Bradsleigh at night and dining in her room, she now had these afternoon outings with Lady Catherine to look forward to. Dr. MacDonovan had informed her this morning that, unless their patient took a sudden turn for the worse, he expected to leave at week’s end. By then, Kit Bradsleigh would no longer need round-the-clock care.

Which meant surely Kit’s older brother would be leaving soon, as well. A departure which she viewed with increasingly mixed feelings.

Removed from his too perceptive scrutiny, she’d be safe once more. And if life without the surge of mingled elation and alarm he sparked in her whenever he appeared would be less energizing, she’d do well to remember why she’d previously rejoiced at a life of dull monotony.

She’d also be able to return home, though she’d still spend much time at Everett Hall tending the recuperating invalid. And visiting her new friend Lady Elspeth.

Laura shook her head ruefully. Lady Elspeth insisted Laura called her “Ellie,” claiming she could not remain on formal terms with the woman who’d saved her brother’s life and the practitioner whose treatments had considerably eased her own misery. She treated Laura with such beguiling warmth that, having been so long deprived of the companionship of a woman her own age, Laura had great trouble maintaining any reserve.

Catching sight of Lady Catherine, whose nurse, though recovered from her ailment, was happy to let Laura walk her energetic charge about the garden, Laura waved.

She loved spending time with Catherine, despite the ever-present ache of regret for what might have been and now would never be. She’d grown up the youngest child of a large family. When her elder siblings returned to visit with their offspring, it was only natural that the aunt, hardly older than her nieces and nephews, should join them in the nursery. Only natural, as well, that with only adult companions most of her days, she reveled in their company.

Better even than the warm memories Catherine’s chatty escort revived, or Laura’s freedom when with the child to relax the constant guard she otherwise maintained, was the precious ability to wander the grounds as long as she liked, protected by Catherine’s small hand in hers from having to worry about encountering the earl alone.

In fact, Laura and her charge had met “Uncle Beau” every single afternoon. Always delighted to see the earl—who seemed to take equal delight in his niece, Laura noted with approval—Catherine had no qualms about monopolizing Lord Beaulieu’s time and attention. Laura was able to observe him and indulge in the heady thrill of his company, freed of the stomach-clenching anxiety that normally afflicted her in his presence.

Since Catherine had confided her uncle planned to meet her after their walk to take her riding, Laura was not surprised when, soon after she and Catherine seated themselves on their favorite bench beside a fragrant hedge of late-blooming damask roses, Lord Beaulieu approached.

Awareness of him flashed over her nerves like a wind-driven ripple across a lake’s calm surface.

“I saved you a tart!” Catherine cried, running over to offer him the crumbling remains of a pastry.

Ignoring the grubbiness of the jam-stained fingers, the earl accepted the treat. “Kind of you, princess. And I must thank the little wizard who coaxes the squire’s cook to come up with these delicacies for tea every day.”

“Not me,” Catherine pointed out with scrupulous fairness, munching the last bit of her tart. “Laura does. Cook likes her. I do, too. Don’t you, Uncle Beau?”

The earl turned his smiling face toward Laura—and caught her staring. She felt the warmth of embarrassment flood her cheeks and tried to look away, but his smile fading to something deeper, more intimate, he held her gaze … one minute, two. “Very much indeed,” he said softly before turning his attention back to his niece.

While her cheeks burned hotter and fluttery wings beat within her stomach, Catherine continued, “Uncle Beau, I have a secret! Only Mama said I could tell you and Laura, so it’s all right to share, isn’t it?”

“If she said you could, poppet.” The earl flashed Laura a brief but oddly intense look. “I love secrets, and I never tell anyone.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she grabbed her uncle’s coat sleeves. “It’s wonderful, and you’ll never guess. Mama said next Easter, I might get a new brother or sister!”

So Lady Elspeth had confessed, Laura thought, pleased.

“That’s indeed wonderful news,” Lord Beaulieu said. “Which should you prefer—a sister or a brother?”

“I don’t suppose it matters. I’m ever so much older, it shall have to mind me. Mama says getting a baby is a curious sort of game. Playing it makes her sick sometimes, but if she wins, she gets to keep a baby. But not everyone wins, so I should not be disappointed if we don’t get a baby after all.” Lady Catherine wrinkled her brow. “It’s a very odd sort of game, don’t you think?”

Lord Beaulieu laughed. “I wonder what your papa would say to that?”

“Well, I much prefer ball and spillikins, but Mama says I can’t play the game anyway until I’m a lady, and married. If we should get a boy, he can ride and play catch with me. And if it’s a girl, I shall give her my old dolls and my dresses when I outgrow them. But only pretty ones. Not ugly ones like Laura’s aunt Mary gave her.”

Laura stifled a gasp, and Lord Beaulieu caught his breath. “That was very rude, brat!” he said after a moment. “Apologize to Mrs. Martin at once!”

A little daunted, Catherine raised pleading eyes to her uncle. “It’s all right, Uncle Beau. Laura knows they’re ugly—she told me so herself, didn’t you, Laura?”

Her cheeks pinking, Laura merely nodded, carefully avoiding the earl’s gaze.

“See?” Catherine turned back to her uncle. “Laura told me she wears the dresses even though they’re ugly because her aunt Mary gave them to her, and she loved Aunt Mary. But I shall give my sister only pretty ones, so she’ll love me even better.”

“How could she resist?” Lord Beaulieu said, with a rueful glance at Laura.

Focusing her attention on Lady Catherine, Laura said, “I expect your uncle came to tell you the horses are ready. Since we’ve finished our snack, you’d best be off before it’s too late to ride.”

“Can you not ride with us?” the child asked.

Laura hesitated. “I—I have no horse.”

“Uncle Beau can get you one. He knows all about horses. He brought me the wonderfulest pony.”

“Another time, perhaps. You mustn’t keep your mounts waiting, so off with you now.”

“Go to the stables, and make sure Manson had your pony ready,” Lord Beaulieu said. “I’ll be right along.”

“Can we race today?”

The earl rolled his eyes. “Perhaps—it depends on how wet the fields are. I make no promises!”

Lady Catherine angled her chin up and grinned at him, a mixture of precocious coquette and childish charm. “Bet I’ll beat you.” Evading the earl’s mock punch with a giggle, she scurried off down the path.

The earl sighed and turned to Laura. Knowing their chaperone was even this moment racing out of sight, all her nerves alerted.

“I must apologize once again for my niece. She has a deplorable tendency to say exactly what she thinks.”

“I’m not offended, truly.” She attempted a smile, a difficult matter when her lips wanted to tremble and her heart was beating so hard she felt dizzy. “Children usually do speak the truth as they see it, even when it might be better sugar-coated.”

At that he turned his face to once again snare her with a searing gaze that would not allow her to look away. “‘Tis always wise to tell the truth. Especially when those who hear it are friends who seek only our good.”

Laura’s breath caught in her throat and her lips went dry. He was speaking of much more than hand-me-down gowns, and they both knew it.

Trust him, a small voice deep within her whispered. He will be that sort of friend.

But the legacy of fear and a now-ingrained compulsion for concealment drowned out the voice. “No, my lord,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “‘Tis not always wise. Enjoy your ride.”

Pivoting on her heel, she made herself walk back to the house, calm and unhurried. Feeling with every step the weight of his thoughtful gaze heavy upon her back.

Chest tight and mind seething with frustration, Beau watched Mrs. Martin escape to the house. In her expressive face, her guileless eyes, he’d read how very close he’d come to breaking through that wall of silent reserve. So close he could feel the acquiescence trembling on her lips, and now tasted the bitter sense of loss.

Still, the very fact that he had come so close was cause to hope that very soon the remnants of her reserve would crumble.

He could assemble all the small clues she’d let drop, add them to the information he’d extracted from the squire, set his team to work on it, and probably within a fortnight be able to reconstruct the whole of her life up to now. He could, but he didn’t want to.

With a determination that grew daily more intense, he wanted Mrs. Martin to come to him, confide in him, trust him of her own free will.

He really ought to be making plans to leave. The information in the latest dispatches confirmed the careful theories he’d previously constructed, and if events continued in the same manner, he’d soon have enough evidence to complete the dossier and turn it over to Lord Riverton. Perhaps he ought to do that immediately and then return, free to devote as much time as necessary to finish winning over his Sparrow. He could then leave Merriville for good—with Laura Martin.

Still, the dinner party Friday night might allow him close enough to finally gain her trust. Tonight before Mrs. Martin went in to tend Kit, the squire would tender the invitation. Beau had primed both his sister and his brother Kit to press her to accept. He wasn’t above enlisting Catherine, as well, if necessary.

He already had his niece to thank for one piece of information that, if handled correctly—and he was a master of handling information—should insure Mrs. Martin appeared at the party garbed in evening attire far more attractive than the hideous gowns she normally wore.

Yes, his niece—who was doubtless at this moment bedeviling the grooms while she waited impatiently for her uncle to arrive.

Beau took one more look at the door through which Mrs. Martin, with a calm belied by the agitation he’d read in those stark blue eyes, had just disappeared. Soon we will be together, he promised himself and her. Soon.

* * *

“Dinner on Friday?” Laura echoed the words in dismay. “That’s very kind of you, Squire Everett, but I thought we agreed my uncertain schedule made it wiser that I not dine in company.” With a nervous glance she surveyed the group who’d greeted her in the small salon when she returned from her walk with Lady Catherine.

“But ‘tis my farewell party, ma’am,” Dr. MacDonovan argued. “Sure, and you’d not be sending me off with a wave of a bandage roll across our sleeping Kit’s bed?”

“You’re to leave Saturday?”

“Aye. I’ve just examined the lad’s lungs again, and it’s clearer still they be. Under your competent care, I’ve little doubt of his eventual recovery, and it’s needed I am back home.”