Читать книгу: «The Bride Trilogy», страница 2

The beefy man swallowed, moving his Adam’s apple up and down. “The lady …? Is she … is she all right?”

Worry gripped him. A woman had been in the carriage. Royal glanced back at the overturned conveyance, noticing for the first time the opulence of the gleaming black coach. His gaze shot to the four blooded bay horses in the field, animals of the finest caliber, and a chill went down his spine.

“Jocelyn …” Rising swiftly to his feet, he began a second search of the area around the coach. Vast fields of white blinded him and for a moment, he couldn’t see. A further search and he spotted her, lying like a broken doll in the thick layer of white covering the field. She was dressed in a modestly cut gown of rose velvet, her fur-lined cloak bunched beneath her still figure.

Royal hurried toward her, knelt at her side. He checked for a pulse and felt a strong, steady throbbing beneath the soft skin at the base of her throat. She was unconscious, but he saw no blood or other obvious injuries. He gently checked her limbs for broken bones but discovered none that he could see. He prayed her injuries were not internal and that she would soon recover.

When a soft moan slipped from her lips, he took her cold hand and rubbed it between his gloved fingers, hoping to warm her, hoping she would awaken. “It is all right,” he soothed. “I’m the Duke of Bransford and I’m going to take you home.” He was hesitant to move her, but when her eyes fluttered, lifting long golden lashes away from her pale cheeks, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Your … Grace,” she whispered.

“Just lie still. There was an accident. You’re safe now and everything is going to be all right.”

For the first time, he allowed himself to look at her. She was as beautiful as his father had said, with a slender figure and delicate features. Lying in the snow, her skin was nearly the same white hue. Her mouth was full, her lips delicately curved, though paler, he imagined, than they usually were. A bonnet fashioned of the same rose velvet as her gown lay several feet away. Her golden hair had come loose from its pins and tumbled around her slender shoulders. Her eyes opened wider, a lovely pale shade of green.

She moistened her lips. “I think I … must have hit my head.”

“Yes … Perhaps when you were tossed from the carriage.” He removed his glove and felt her cheeks, her forehead, as smooth and clear as glass. “Are you hurt? Can you tell where you might be injured?”

Her pretty mouth faintly curved. “I am too cold to know.”

He almost smiled. He could feel her shivering and wondered how long she had been lying out here in the snow. He thanked God he had come along when he did. “I need to get you somewhere warm. I’m going to lift you. If it hurts in any way, tell me and I will stop.”

She nodded and her eyes slid closed. Very carefully he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. The big gray stallion stood a few feet away. Royal set her sideways in the saddle then swung up behind her, settled her gently in front of him and eased her back against his chest.

“All right?” he asked, sliding his arm protectively around her waist to hold her securely in place.

She turned her head and her sea-green eyes fluttered open. When they settled on his face, something tugged deep inside him. Royal felt as if a hand had reached inside his chest and begun to squeeze his heart.

“Just a little … dizzy.” Her eyes slowly closed, then flashed open again. “The coachman … Mr. Gibbons … is he … is he all right?”

Royal’s gaze went in search of the man. The driver was on his feet and walking into the field to collect the horses.

“He appears to be fine. Was there anyone else in the carriage?”

“No, just me.”

Her mother was to have come with her, he thought. It seemed odd she would be traveling without so much as a ladies’ maid.

The explanation would have to wait. Royal rode toward the coachman, careful to keep a firm hold on the lady in his arms.

“Can you make it back to the village?”

The driver grunted a yes. “Just a bit of a bash on the head, is all. I’ll ride the wheelhorse back to town, get the animals properly stabled till I can put the carriage to rights.”

“Good man. I’m the Duke of Bransford. I’ll see to the lady. If you need anything, just send word to the house. Everyone knows where it is.”

“‘Twere highwaymen,” the man said darkly. “Tried to outrun ‘em, but there were ice on the road. They were gone when ye got here?”

“I saw no one, just the overturned carriage.” A jolt of anger followed his answer. Brigands had attacked the coach! Perhaps they had searched the overturned vehicle and taken anything of value. A similar incident had happened a month ago on the road outside Swansdowne, a nearby village. Royal had hoped it was a onetime occurrence.

He flicked a last glance at the coachman, caught a wave as the stout man began leading the horses onto the road then swung up on the back of the wheelhorse. Royal watched him ride away, thinking of the highwaymen who had caused the accident. He gazed out across the fields but saw no sign of them.

An angry sigh whispered out, turning white in the frosty air. He would worry about the highwaymen in due course. In the meantime, his lady needed care.

Royal returned his attention to the woman in his arms—the woman he was going to marry. As he looked into the serenity of her lovely pale face and recalled her sweetly feminine figure and soft green eyes, he thought that perhaps being married wouldn’t be such a terrible fate after all.

Three

Handing Jupiter’s reins to a waiting groom, Royal eased Jocelyn off the horse and down into his arms. Greaves made an odd, sputtering sound as he opened the door and saw the Duke of Bransford carrying a half-conscious woman up the wide stone steps of the porch.

“There was a carriage accident on the road a few miles this side of town,” Royal explained. “Miss Caulfield was tossed out of the vehicle. Send someone to fetch the physician.” Greaves scurried toward a footman who stood at the back of the entry, one of only fifteen servants in the house, all that were left of the eighty-five men and women the household had once employed.

The footman bolted for the door while Greaves dispatched orders to various other servants, including instructions to fetch the lady’s trunks from the overturned rig. Royal didn’t slow, just continued up the wide, carved mahogany staircase, the lady nestled against his chest, her rose-velvet skirts draped over his arm.

“She needs someone to attend her,” he said as Greaves hurried to catch up with him. “Has Aunt Agatha arrived yet?”

“She sent word ahead. She should be here within the hour.”

He nodded, looked down at his future wife. “Which room is to be hers?”

“The duchess’s suite, Your Grace. It was the nicest in the house.”

Because his father couldn’t bear to sell the elegant furnishings in his beloved wife’s bedroom. Though it wasn’t quite the thing to ensconce a duke’s future bride in a room adjoining his before they were married, it was probably the right decision.

Royal turned the silver handle on the door and kicked it open with his boot. Greaves raced ahead to turn back the covers on the big four-poster bed, then headed for the windows to draw back the heavy damask curtains. The chamber was done in a soft, sea-foam green with lovely rosewood furniture, a room his mother had loved.

He wondered if Jocelyn would approve, looked down at her as he laid her on the bed, and realized her eyes were open and that they were the exact soft green hue as the chamber.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Pulling off his gloves, he reached down to take hold of her hand. It was icy cold and he realized she was shivering.

“The fire, Greaves. The lady needs warming.” But the old man had already set to the task and low flames were even now beginning to lick the hearth. A soft knock sounded and, with his permission, the door swung open to admit one of the chambermaids, who carried a longhandled warming pan hot from the kitchen. Another

maid appeared to help remove the lady’s gown and get her settled beneath the heated sheets.

“I’ll come back once you are at rest,” he promised, stepping impatiently into the hall to wait. He could hear the maid chattering away while she warmed the sheets and found himself smiling at Jocelyn’s sigh of pleasure as she settled into the deep feather mattress.

Another maid appeared. “I’ve a heated brick, Your Grace.”

He nodded his approval and she disappeared into the room to place the warm brick beneath the lady’s feet.

“It feels wonderful,” Jocelyn said to the women as they quietly fled the room. “Thank you all so much.”

Royal didn’t wait for the door to close, just eased it open and walked back into the room. He smiled down at the woman in his mother’s bed and tried not to think that once they were wed, she would be spending most of her nights in his. “I hope you are feeling a little better.”

Jocelyn smiled up at him. “My head still hurts, but now that I am warm, I am feeling a good deal more myself.”

“The physician should be here soon, and my aunt is due to arrive at any moment, so you will be properly chaperoned.”

“I look forward to meeting Lady Tavistock.”

“As she looks forward to meeting you.”

She moved to sit up a little and winced.

“Are you certain you are well enough to sit?”

“I need to get my bearings.”

He reached over and helped her adjust the pillows.

“Thank you. I appreciate your care of me, Your Grace. When the highwaymen attacked, I wasn’t sure I would ever reach this place alive.”

Instead of leaving as he had planned, he sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Tell me what happened.”

Jocelyn nibbled her lush bottom lip and Royal felt a stirring in his loins it was far too soon to feel.

“I am not completely certain. It all happened so quickly. The coach was rolling toward the house and of a sudden I heard men shouting, then the sound of galloping horses.”

“Go on,” he gently urged.

“I leaned out the window and saw them. They were pounding down on us, four men, each wearing a cloth tied over his nose and mouth. They had almost reached us when the carriage hit a patch of ice. I remember the coach tipping sideways. I remember seeing the doors fly open. That is the last I recall.”

He squeezed her hand. “It is over now. Do not think of it anymore. Just try to get some rest.”

She smiled at him so sweetly his chest tightened. “I’m immensely grateful you came along when you did. If you hadn’t, I should probably still be lying out there, frozen utterly stiff by now.”

He smiled. “But I found you and now you are safe.”

She gave him a last soft smile and her eyes slowly closed. Royal resisted an urge to lean over and press his lips against her forehead. “Sleep well, Miss Caulfield.”

Her lovely pale green eyes popped open. “Oh, I am terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, Your Grace. But you see, I am not Miss Caulfield. I am her cousin—Miss Lily Moran.”

Royal stalked down the hall toward his study. He shoved open the door and walked straight to the sideboard, dragged the crystal stopper out of a decanter of brandy and poured himself a liberal drink.

Upending the glass, he swallowed the burning liquid in one big gulp, hissed out a breath and poured another, then turned and started toward the fire blazing in the hearth.

“As you rarely imbibe before nightfall and not much even then, I take it your day has not got off to a very promising start.”

Royal’s head jerked toward the sound of his best friend’s voice. Sheridan Knowles, Viscount Wellesley, lounged in a deep leather chair in front of the fire.

“So far, it’s been a rotter.”

“I heard about the brigands. Greaves says your lady was in the carriage that was attacked. I hope she is all right.”

“The lady is going to be fine. Unfortunately, she is not mine.”

Sherry sat forward in his chair, a tall man with light brown hair and a slightly long, aristocratic nose. His eyes were green, but a far more brilliant shade than the soft color belonging to the woman upstairs.

One of Sherry’s finely arched eyebrows went up. “An interesting statement. Care to explain?”

Royal sighed. “The woman in the carriage was not Jocelyn Caulfield. Her name is Lily Moran and she is Jocelyn’s cousin.”

“I see … Well, actually, I don’t understand a’tall. What exactly is your future fiancée’s cousin doing here instead of your unofficial fiancée?”

“Apparently, Miss Moran acts as companion to Miss Caulfield. She came ahead to prepare things for her cousin and Mrs. Caulfield.”

“Prepare things …? She sounds more like a servant than a companion.”

Royal took a drink of his brandy, felt the comforting burn. “I am not exactly sure what role she plays. I only know she is beautiful and gentle and if I am to be married, I should have been happy to take her to wife.”

“Ah, I think I am beginning to see.” Sheridan rose gracefully from the chair, walked over and poured himself a brandy. “After meeting the lady, you had begun to resign yourself to the inevitable. Now you are back where you started, uncertain what might lay ahead.”

“I suppose that’s about it.”

Sheridan slid the stopper back into the decanter, making the crystal ring. “Best to think positively. You were satisfied merely with the cousin. Perhaps your future bride will be far more beautiful and even more to your liking.”

But Royal didn’t think so. There was something about Lily Moran that had struck him from the moment he had laid eyes on her lying there in the snow. The feeling had grown stronger as he had witnessed her worry for the coachman and sensed her gentleness, a quality that would have complemented his more aggressive nature. And of course there was the powerful physical attraction he had felt the instant he lifted her into his arms.

He would have to subdue it. He would soon be betrothed to another. Miss Lily Moran was never meant to be his.

Royal lifted his glass and downed a goodly portion of his brandy.

“So what of the highwaymen?” Sherry asked. “That is the reason I am here. As soon as the coachman reached the village, word spread like a snowstorm. As there was also an incident last month, I thought perhaps we should discuss what might be done.”

Sheridan lived at Wellesley Hall, his country estate, lands that bordered Bransford to the east. Royal and his brothers had grown up with Sherry, who was Royal’s same age. They’d been chums at Oxford, both of them members of the school’s famous eight-man sculling team. Royal and Sherry and four others of the eight had remained close friends ever since. The other two team members had joined the military but still kept in touch as much as they could.

Sherry had even traveled to Barbados for an extended visit when he realized Royal did not intend a quick return home.

“I had hoped the first robbery might be an anomaly,” Royal said. “I hoped the men might take their ill-gotten gains and hie themselves off somewhere to spend it, never to be seen or heard from again.”

“Apparently that is not the case.”

“No, apparently not.”

“The sheriff has already been informed. He will probably wish to pay a call on your … excuse me, on Miss Moran.”

Royal glanced upward, as if he could see through the ceiling into her bedroom. “I’ll tell her. At the moment, she is still not feeling well enough for visitors.”

“And the robbers?”

“It’s been a month since their last attack. I doubt they will strike again anytime soon. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to organize some sort of nightly patrol.”

“Good idea. I’ll see to it myself. My men will take the first two weeks. If nothing happens, yours can take the next.”

Royal nodded. He felt better knowing the roads would be protected. He did, after all, still have a bride making her way to his house.

Royal swore softly and swallowed the last of his drink.

Lily slept the rest of the day and didn’t awaken until the following morning. She glanced toward the window to see a dense layer of clouds hanging low in a gray-purple sky and a spray of white flakes floating down to earth. Noticing she lay in a huge four-poster bed and the walls of the room were a soft pale green instead of the cream color of her room at Meadowbrook, her mind spun, trying to recall exactly where she was.

Then it all came tumbling back: the trip to the country, the highwaymen and the overturned carriage.

The Duke of Bransford coming to her rescue.

His image came sharply into focus and her heart began thrumming as she remembered her first sight of him. Kneeling beside her, against the white of the snow, he looked like a tall, golden angel come to earth. If her head hadn’t been pounding like the very devil, she might have believed she was dead.

Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could recall the way it felt to be held in his arms, remember his worry for her safety, his gentle care of her.

Lily shook her head to dislodge the memory, making her head throb again. The duke belonged to her cousin, a woman far more capable of dealing with a man of his power and social position.

Lily knew the duke needed money to rebuild his family holdings. It was the reason for the alliance being made between the Dewars and the Caulfields. Lily didn’t even have a dowry. And even were she wealthy as Croesus, her past would never allow her to enter into such a lofty union.

Which, of course, didn’t matter in the least.

Jocelyn would be arriving a few days hence and her cousin’s stunning beauty and voluptuous figure would snare the duke’s interest as it did most every male. One look at Jo would offset the brief flash of disappointment Lily had glimpsed in the duke’s tawny eyes when he had learned she was not his future betrothed.

If it hadn’t been entirely imagined.

Lily took a deep breath and reached for the silver bell the chambermaid had placed beside the bed. She rang it briefly and a few moments later the door swung open, admitting one of the young women who had attended her last night, Penelope, she recalled.

“Good morning, miss.” The red-haired girl made a very proper curtsy.

“Good morning, Penelope.”

“It’s just Penny, miss.”

“All right, then, Penny. Could you please help me get dressed? I am still a little weak.”

“Aye, miss. Your trunks were collected from the carriage. I’ll have them brought up to your room while I fetch tea and cakes for your breakfast.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely.”

It was less than an hour later that Lily was dressed and ready to face the day. Descending the stairs, careful to keep a hand on the banister in case she experienced a fresh round of dizziness, she went in search of the duke.

She looked much more presentable this morning, in another simple, remodeled version of one of Jocelyn’s gowns, a warm russet velvet with cream lace trailing from the sleeves and running in small rows down the front. The maid had drawn Lily’s silver-blond hair into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck and she had pinched her cheeks to add a bit of color.

At the bottom of the stairs, she encountered the butler, a thin, elderly man with milky blue eyes. “I am sorry to bother you, Mr …?”

“Greaves,” he said, looking her up and down. “May I help you, Miss Moran?”

“I am looking for His Grace. Would you see if there is a convenient time I might have a word with him?”

“I shall inquire, miss. If you will please follow me, you may await him in the Blue Drawing Room.”

“Thank you.”

He led her in to a once-elegant room off the entry. It had high, molded ceilings, robin’s-egg-blue walls that were in need of a coat of paint and heavy, dark blue velvet draperies. The Persian carpets, a deep royal blue in a paisley design accented with dark green and crimson, were worn but serviceable and immaculately clean.

Her bedroom had also been clean, she reflected, a concern she wouldn’t have to address. She sat down on a blue velvet settee to await the duke’s presence, wondering if he would truly be as handsome as she recalled.

Wondering if now that he realized she was little more than a servant, the duke would see her at all.

She shifted on the sofa, watched the hands on the ormolu clock slowly turn. She glanced up as he walked into the drawing room and her breath hitched. The golden-haired duke was even more beautiful than the angel she recalled. Now that her vision was no longer blurred and her head not throbbing, she could see that he was stunningly good-looking.

And even with his well-formed features and slanting dark gold eyebrows, there was no question of his masculinity. He wore it like the long scarlet cloak that had swirled around him when he had knelt beside her in the snow.

She rose to her feet a little uncertainly and dropped into a curtsy. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

He strode toward her, stopped just a few feet away. “Good morning, Miss Moran.” His eyes were as golden as his hair and as they skimmed over her, she thought she caught a glint of appreciation.

“You appear to be recovering very well. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, I am happy to say. Again, I thank you for your very timely rescue.”

“I assure you it was my pleasure.” The glint was there again, as if there was a secret meaning to his words. She basked in it as his gaze ran over her even more thoroughly. And yet in just a few days, once he met the incredibly lovely creature he would marry, that glint would disappear.

Lily lifted her chin. “I wished to speak to you, Your Grace, in regard to Mrs. Caulfield and your future betrothed, my cousin Jocelyn. The reason I traveled here ahead of time was to insure their visit would be comfortable. Both Mrs. Caulfield and my cousin have rather … specific needs. I am here to see those needs are met.”

His eyebrows drew slightly together. “And your cousin and her mother didn’t believe my staff would be able to handle those needs?”

She had angered him. She could see it in the set of his jaw. “Oh, it isn’t that—truly. Please, I didn’t mean any insult. It is merely that they are used to having things done in a certain fashion. If you would be kind enough to put a few members of your household at my disposal, I am sure I could have everything arranged before they arrive.”

“You are Miss Caulfield’s cousin, is that correct—a member of the family?”

“A distant cousin, yes. The Caulfields were kind enough to take me in after my parents died of the cholera.” She didn’t mention it was four years later and they were barely aware of her existence until her uncle sought them out and asked them for help. Still, she was extremely grateful. It was one of the reasons she worked so hard to please them.

“So you were orphaned,” he said softly, and for an instant she felt the burn of tears. Even after all these years, her parents’ death remained a difficult subject.

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

His look seemed to gentle. “I see …”

And to her humiliation, she thought that indeed he did see. That he realized she was merely a poor relation who lived by the Caulfields’ charity, that she was utterly dependent upon their goodwill. Still, it was far better than living on the street, or in an attic garret, as she had done before.

“The servants won’t be a problem. You may have the use of whomever you wish. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

He studied her a few moments more, assessing her in some way, then he turned and strode out of the drawing room. The instant he disappeared, Lily released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Her heart was clattering, beating a frantic tattoo.

It was ridiculous. Things were exactly as they should be. The duke understood her lowly position and his interest was now very properly fixed on Jo.

Ignoring the little pinch in her chest, Lily lifted her skirts and started across the drawing room. She had a great deal of work to do if she was going to be ready for the Caulfields’ arrival. She had almost made it to the door when a frail, silver-haired woman stepped through the open drawing-room door.

“You must be Miss Moran.” The woman smiled, digging creases into her powdered cheeks. “I am Lady Tavistock. My nephew told me I would find you in here.”

Lily sank into a curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

“I arrived yesterday afternoon while you were asleep. I gather you had a rather nasty accident on the road.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Dreadful thing. My nephew said your carriage was attacked by highwaymen and overturned, and that you suffered a head injury. I hope you are feeling better.”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Why don’t we sit down in front of the fire. The weather outside is dismal. A cup of tea should be just the thing.”

She had so much to do before Jocelyn arrived. And yet there was no refusing the wishes of a countess. “That would be delightful, my lady.”

They sat down on the sofa in front of the fire blazing in the hearth and a few minutes later the butler arrived with the tea cart. Tea was served. Casual conversation was made. Lily tried not to glance at the clock on the white marble mantel, but apparently she failed to hide the urgency she was feeling.

“I can tell you are eager to begin your tasks.”

Lily flushed and wished she had been more attentive. “It is only that I have a great deal to do before my cousins arrive.”

“Are your cousins, then, difficult taskmasters?”

She rarely thought of Matilda Caulfield as a cousin, though by her marriage to Henry she certainly was.

“It is nothing like that. It is just that my cousin Jocelyn … depends on me. She trusts me to see to her needs, as I have done these past six years. I do not wish to fail her, or Mrs. Caulfield.”

“I see. And exactly what did your cousin Jocelyn and her mother send you here to do?”

More color rushed into her cheeks. Taking over the duke’s household and assigning tasks to his servants was hardly the proper thing. Still, it was what the Caulfields expected of her and she meant to see it done.

“Only small things, really. I—I need to inform the cook that Miss Caulfield prefers biscuits and cocoa up in her room each morning instead of a meal downstairs. And I’d like to make certain the room she occupies has a nice view of the garden.”

She bit her lip, thinking of the endless items on her list. “My cousin doesn’t do well with dust. I shall need to speak to the housekeeper, make certain the carpets in her bedroom have recently been beaten.”

“I see.”

“Just very small things, truly, my lady. I hope it won’t be too much of a bother.”

Lady Tavistock set her gold-rimmed porcelain cup and saucer down on the table in front of her. “You may do whatever you think is necessary to make our guests comfortable.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

The dowager rose from the sofa and Lily rose, as well.

The lady reached for her cane. “I suppose I had best let you get on with your work.” She smiled. “I enjoyed our visit, Miss Moran.”

Lily relaxed. “As did I, Lady Tavistock.” She watched the dowager countess leave the drawing room, silver hair gleaming in the light of the whale-oil lamps lit to offset the dark, cloudy day, her head held high though her movements were slow and a little wobbly. She was the late duke’s aunt on his mother’s side, Lily knew, a widow who lived in a manor house on one of her late husband’s estates.

Happy to have the meeting behind her, Lily made her way back out to the marble-floored hall. The list of tasks to be completed awaited her upstairs. It was time she got to work.