Unsuitable Wife Page 8

  “My lord!” Phelps stammered as he opened the door to a loud and persistent knock. “But we didn’t expect you!”

  “Who the devil are you?” Justin paused inside the doorway, drawing off his gloves and slapping them against his palm. “Ah, yes. The footman. Where is Jenkins?”

  Phelps moved forward to help Justin out of his greatcoat. “Gone, my lord.”

  “Gone?” Justin turned his head. “Where?”

  “He and Mrs. Jenkins were sacked, my lord,” he said, and in his voice was a trace of the pleasure that still gave him, nearly a week later.

  “The devil they were!” Justin stared at him. “What the devil else has been taking place here in my absence?” he asked, and as his eyes went around the hall he could see that for the first time in years it was clean. “Good God. Never mind that. Who are you, anyway?”

  “Phelps, my lord. The new butler.”

  “Phelps. I will be in the drawing room. Tell the countess to wait on me there.”

  “Yes, my lord. But I believe her ladyship has gone for a walk on the estate.”

  “Then find her,” Justin snapped, and climbed the stairs.

  In the drawing room, more surprises awaited him. Though the furniture had yet to be reupholstered, the plasterers and painters had been in. The chipped and peeling moldings had been repaired, the walls were again a sunny yellow, and new drapes, this time of light blue brocade, hung at the windows. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of new paint, Justin walked further in. The drawing room looked almost as it had when he was a child, even to the portrait of his mother, rehung in its place of honor over the mantel. Justin gave it a long look, and then turned on his heel. He wouldn’t wait tamely for his wife to come to him. He would find her, instead.

  The house was, at last, beginning to shape up. The hall had been thoroughly cleaned; the marble tiles shone, the brass balusters gleamed, and the paneling glowed with the patina of age and beeswax. The drawing room was improving as well, and at last Melissa was turning her thoughts to her own suite of rooms. Clad in a rough woolen gown, with her cloak pulled around her and sturdy half-boots on her feet, she strode through the Home Woods on this crisp autumn afternoon, her mind filled with plans. Light colors, cream and teal and gold, and crisp chintz bedhangings, and perhaps the massive dark furniture wouldn’t loom so, anymore—

  A howl split the afternoon peace, the cry of an animal in pain, and the little noises that filled the woods, the rustling of small animals and whatever birds remained, suddenly ceased. Melissa stopped dead, and the cry came again, so mournful, so frightened and frightening that it raised the hackles on the back of her neck. For it wasn’t just any animal. There were words in that cry.

  “Where are you?” she called, and the cry came again, from everywhere, from nowhere. “Where are you?”

  This time there was no answer. Melissa stood irresolute on the path, glancing back in the direction of the Hall. If someone were hurt, perhaps she should run for help? But then the cry came again, and this time she thought she knew its direction. Onward, ahead of her.

  Without thought, she broke into a run. “I’m coming!” she gasped. “I’m coming, hold on,” and with that, she burst into a little clearing. There, on the forest floor, his leg caught in a trap, was a small boy.

  “Oh, no!” Melissa dropped to her knees as she recognized him, the son of one of the estate’s tenants. “Georgie?”

  “Oh, milady, I’m that sorry,” the boy gasped.

  “Never mind, Georgie, how did this happen? Never mind, I’ll get you out. Oh, dear!” For the teeth of the trap, cruel, strong iron, refused to budge, no matter how hard she tried. “Oh, no, I’ll have to get help, Georgie.”

  “Oh, milady, don’t leave me—”

  “Just for a moment. Here.” Pulling off her cloak, she draped it over him. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” She set off at a run again, past trees whose huge trunks looked menacing, down a path that had previously seemed short and pleasant but was now interminable. She had to reach the Hall and summon help before Georgie lost more blood, he’d already lost a prodigious amount, it stained her dress, and there, the trees opened ahead of her, there was a stitch in her side, but if she could just make it…

  From somewhere Melissa summoned strength. Putting on a burst of speed, she dashed out from the last of the trees, onto the smooth lawn—and into the arms of the earl.

  Chapter Seven

  The air went out of Justin’s lungs with an “oomph!” “My lord,” Melissa gasped, pulling back, and his hands grasped her arms.

  “What the devil—what are you doing?” he demanded.

  Her breath came almost in sobs. “My lord, a boy, caught in a trap—”

  His grip suddenly tightened. “Where?”

  “In the woods. Back there.”

  “Get help.” Justin abruptly released her and set off into the Home Woods, his long legs making nothing of the distance. Melissa, dazed, watched him for a moment, and then turned, breaking again into a run. Her part was not yet done.

  At the stables she gasped out her tale. Jeffrey, the groom, ran out, followed by a man who, though unknown to her, looked at her with narrowed eyes. Winded, Melissa leaned against the wall to catch her breath, her hand pressed against her side. She had done her part, but in her mind she could see Georgie’s eyes, huge and dark with fright and pain. He was only a boy, even if, as she suspected, he was poaching at his father’s behest, and he would be surrounded by strangers. She couldn’t let him face that alone.

  Once again she set off into the woods, running as fast as she could, in spite of her burning lungs and aching legs. Finally, panting, she reached the clearing, where Justin already knelt by the trap. The other man was kneeling at the boy’s head, holding down his shoulders.

  Justin glanced up, looking briefly surprised. “No place for you here,” he said. “Jeffrey, see if there’s a stick we can use to wedge it open. Go on back to the Hall.”

  This last was addressed to Melissa, who dropped down onto her knees by Georgie’s head. “Hallo, Georgie. Holding on?”

  “Yes, milady. But it hurts,” he whimpered.

  “I know it does. I’m staying.” She raised her head and stared defiantly at Justin, and he frowned.

  “Then stand back out of the way,” he said gruffly.

  “Oh, milady,” Georgie whimpered again, and Melissa took his blood-stained hand in hers.

  “Don’t you worry, Georgie, I won’t leave you.” Brushing back Georgie’s sweat-darkened hair from his forehead, she looked up.

  Justin’s eyes were opaque. “Very well. Can’t help you if you faint,” he said, and went to work, as Jeffrey came back with a stout stick. He had already discarded his coat, and the muscles in his arms, corded and strong, stood out against his shirt as he strained with the stick, thrusting it between the teeth of the trap to pry it apart. For a moment Melissa was transfixed, as an image came to her mind: Justin standing in the tiny attic room in the Hart and Hind, filling it with his presence, his naked chest blatantly masculine. There were strength and power in those broad shoulders, and gentleness in his hands.

  The stick slipped. Georgie moaned through gritted teeth, and Justin swore. Confused by her feelings, Melissa dropped her eyes. Heavens, such things to be thinking of, at a time like this!

  “Hold onto him,” Justin said. “About ready to go.”

  “Now, just you hold on, lad,” the man who held Georgie’s shoulders said. “His lordship will have you out in a trice.”

  “Milady,” the boy whimpered.

  “Yes, Georgie, I’m here,” Melissa said. “You must soldier on, my Papa would always say.”

  “Your father was a soldier?” Georgie looked up at her, interested in something beyond his pain for the first time.

  “Indeed he was. Met his end at Talavera, I’m afraid. Major Selby.”

  The man kneeling across from her lifted his head sharply, but at that moment the trap let go and there was no time for speech. “Damn!” J
ustin exclaimed, ripping frantically at his neckcloth as blood spurted from the wound. “Damn thing must have hit an artery.”

  “Need a tourniquet, sir,” the man said, pulling off his own cravat. Justin took the neckcloth without comment, knotting it swiftly about the boy’s leg. The stick he had used to pry open the trap did double duty as he thrust it through the knot, turning it to tighten the pressure and thus stem the flow of blood. Dimly he was aware that his wife had jumped up when the trap had let go, and his lips twitched in annoyance. Just what he needed at this time, a female having the vapors.

  “Here.” A pile of cloths was thrust at him, and he looked up to see Melissa. “You’ll need these for bandages.”

  “Thank you,” he said, briefly. Melissa dropped down beside him, reaching for Georgie’s wrist. The boy had fainted, from the pain and loss of blood, but to her relief his pulse, though weak, was steady.

  “There’s a pulse.” Again she reached out to smooth Georgie’s hair, and then brushed her own curls back, leaving a streak of blood on her cheek. “Will he lose his leg?”

  “Might, my lady,” said the strange man. “Seen things like this on the Peninsula.”

  “We’ll do what we can, Alfred,” Justin said, loosening the tourniquet just a bit. The blood spurted again but then, to his relief, the flow eased. “He’ll need a leech.”

  “There’s a new doctor in the village, a young man. He’s said to be quite good,” Melissa said, and Justin glanced over at her.

  “You don’t faint at the sight of blood.”

  “No. Do you?”

  In spite of himself, Justin grinned. “Hardly. Thing to do now is get him inside,” he said, looking up at Alfred. “Best get back to the Hall and get something to carry him. And take her ladyship with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alfred said, and at the same time Melissa shook her head.

  “No. I promised him I’d stay with him, and I shall.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Justin spoke briskly as he began bandaging the wound, using the strips of cloth Melissa had handed him. The bits of lace trimming them puzzled him, until he realized what they meant. She must have torn her petticoat to provide bandages. Justin’s eyebrows rose briefly in surprise. “Nothing more you can do here.”

  “He wanted me to stay, my lord.” Melissa’s chin was outthrust. “So I shall stay.”

  “He doesn’t even know you are here.”

  “Nevertheless. Do you even know who he is?”

  “Dickie Turner’s son, isn’t he?” Justin knotted the last bandage and knelt back, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “Like to know what he was doing here. And who, I wonder, has been setting traps in my woods?”

  “Your agent, I believe, to catch poachers. Poor lad.”

  Justin stared at her. “Before you become sentimental, you might like to know that Turner is a known poacher.”

  “And would he deserve this?” she retorted. “Georgie certainly didn’t”

  Justin’s face softened briefly. “No, he didn’t, poor lad. But I must have a word with his father.”

  “I understand Turner only takes rabbits, and other small game.”

  Justin’s gaze sharpened on her. “Yes, so?”

  “So he only poaches because his family is hungry.”

  “None of my tenants are hungry,” Justin retorted.

  Melissa shrugged. “You are never here, my lord. How would you know?”

  Justin glared at her, but she was spared his response by the return of the other men, carrying a litter piled high with blankets. Melissa stepped out of the way and watched as Justin lifted Georgie, unconscious still, and placed him upon it. She had been right. There was gentleness in her husband’s hands.

  “Take him to the Hall, now, no time to lose,” Justin said. “Doctor been sent for?”

  “Yes, sir,” Alfred said. He glanced past Justin, and frowned.

  “Then, go.” Justin watched them off and then turned to see what had caused that look on Alfred’s face, seeing only his wife, leaning against a tree. “Well, madam?”

  Melissa looked up. She was suddenly so tired that every movement was an effort. “Yes?”

  “Do you intend to stay there all day?”

  “No, of course not.” Melissa let out her breath and took a step away from the tree. She swayed, and her face went pale.

  Justin crossed the clearing in two quick strides and caught her about the waist. “Thought you didn’t faint,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “I don’t.” Melissa closed her eyes, briefly giving into the temptation to lean against his broad shoulders, to be enfolded in his sheltering arms. But this was the man who had once called her “whore,” she reminded herself, and stiffened. “I am quite recovered, my lord.”

  “Are you?” Justin peered down at her. “Doubt that. Long walk back to the Hall.”

  “I can make it. I’m not such a poor honey.”

  “No, you aren’t, are you?” He crossed to pick up his discarded coat and, to Melissa’s surprise, draped it over her shoulders. “Must be cold.”

  “A little,” she admitted, grateful for the coat’s warmth as they set off together. “But what of you?”

  Justin shrugged. “Faced worse than this in Spain.”

  “I wish you would tell me about that sometime,” she said, startling both of them.

  Justin glanced down at her, his eyes opaque. “Best save your breath, madam. Long walk back to the Hall.”

  Melissa looked up at him and bit back her retort. He was looking very grim. That odd moment of closeness had been an aberration, something that was not likely to happen again. She wasn’t sure why that depressed her so.

  They stopped at the stables to check that Georgie, installed in a room in the servant’s quarters, had been properly cared for, and then went onto the house, Melissa’s steps dragging. All she wanted to do was sleep, she thought as the massive door opened.

  Phelps stood back from the door. “My lady!” he exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”

  Melissa tried to smile. “No, Phelps, not me,” she was starting to say, when Mrs. Barnes came bustling in from the back of the hall.

  “There, lamb, I heard what happened,” she said, coming forward and putting her arm around Melissa.

  “Nanny?” Justin stared at her. “Is it really you?”

  “And who else would it be, Master Justin?” Once she had been nursemaid to Justin and his brother. Both were tall, strong men now, but one thing hadn’t changed. She could still cut him down to size. “What were you about, Master Justin, to let your lady walk home in such a state?”

  “Well, uh.” Justin shuffled his feet. “She didn’t want—”

  “I’m all right, Mrs. Barnes,” Melissa interrupted, “only rather tired and dirty, so if you’ll send Liza to me, I’ll go change—”

  “One moment, madam,” Justin said, his voice crisp, and Melissa turned from the stairs. Nothing was as he’d remembered. The old servants were gone and new ones had been installed, and his wife seemed to have won the respect that should have been his. “I require a word with you.”

  “For shame, Master Justin,” Mrs. Barnes scolded. “Can’t you see her ladyship’s burnt to the socket?”

  “No, that’s all right, Mrs. Barnes.” Melissa slipped Justin’s coat from her shoulders and held it out to him. “If you will give me a chance to change out of all this dirt I shall wait upon you in the drawing room.”

  “Very well,” Justin said, and, turning on his heel, walked out.

  “Now, lamb, don’t let him worry you—”

  “I’m not,” Melissa interrupted, smiling. Mrs. Barnes meant well, but on this Melissa was not inclined to listen to advice. Whatever lay between her and her husband could not be settled by anyone else. She wasn’t afraid of Justin. What frightened her was her reaction to him.

  Sometime later, having bathed and changed into her black sarcenet gown, Melissa walked into the drawing room. Justin, his hands in his coat pockets, was standing at a window,
staring out onto the drive, but at the sound of her footsteps he turned. He, too, had changed, exchanging his soiled buckskins for pantaloons of a pale fawn color that complemented the forest green of his coat. His hair, still damp from washing, had been carefully brushed, and his entire appearance had almost a military precision.

  Melissa took a deep breath. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  “Good afternoon, madam,” he said, formally. His eyes flickered up to his mother’s portrait as he walked over to her, and then away.

  “Have you heard anything of the boy?” she asked, sitting on the sofa nearest to the fire. The afternoon sun was golden and mellow, and the room was growing perceptibly cooler.

  “Yes. Won’t lose his leg, so I’ve been told.” He sat beside her, and she suddenly jumped up, crossing the room to tug on the bellpull.

  “Thank heavens for that, though I imagine he’ll be lame. What will happen to him?”

  “We’ll find him something on the estate.”

  “Oh, good, I understand he loves horses and he’s very good with them,” she chattered. “Would you like tea, my lord? I could do with some.” Justin’s face had grown dark. “Especially if you’re going to scold me.”

  “Scolding is hardly the word, madam,” he began, when Phelps came in. Justin waited impatiently as Melissa told him what they required, tea for herself and burgundy for his lordship, and some of Mrs. Barnes’s rock cakes, if she had made any. Justin’s face grew darker throughout this, and when Melissa came back to the sofa, it was his turn to rise. “And what is Nanny Barnes doing in the kitchen?”

  “Cooking. Somebody has to. Of course, it will only be until we can hire somebody new, but there’s hardly been time for it, and—”

  “Madam, enough!” Melissa stopped at the look on his face. Until this moment, she had not realized that he had a temper. “I would like to know why you saw fit to change the staff without consulting me.”

  Melissa’s chin went up. “I did consult you, my lord! I wrote to you—”

  “Asking for things.”

  “Asking for permission! I never asked you for a penny. Not once.”