Isabelle Goddard - One Night with a Regency Lord - Reprobate Lord, Runaway Lady / The Return of Lord Conistone

The doctor rose from the bedside and looked thoughtfully at Amelie, his face shrewd and enquiring. ‘His fever is unusually severe. Apart from his physical ills, he seems unquiet in his mind. You wouldn’t know, I suppose, if there is something disturbing him?’

She avoided his question. She could not imagine that the events of the previous day had seriously bothered such a cool, audacious man. But Gareth Wendover was certainly a mystery and she sensed that there were dark shadows in his life which might complicate his recovery. She sat down by the rickety table, troubled and very pale.

The doctor clasped her hand warmly. ‘Don’t worry, Miss Wendover. I’m sure this fever is only temporary. Your brother looks a tough man, certainly not one that a few hours in a ditch will finish off.’

He continued bluffly, ‘I’ll leave you with a stronger remedy. Give it to him every three hours. If his condition worsens, send for me immediately. Hopefully, he should be back to his normal strength within a few days. His ankle is already showing signs of improvement.’

As Gareth’s supposed sister, Amelie had also to be his nurse. Pitchforked into intimacy with a man she hardly knew, she could not protest without drawing attention to their false relationship. Fanny’s horror would know no bounds, she reflected, but this was no time to be missish. Gareth needed her constant attention.

Throughout the next two days she bathed his forehead, administered medicine and kept his bedclothes as comfortable as possible. All the time his fevered ramblings punctuated the endless routine. He seemed greatly exercised about escaping from a room and needing to find a boat, but none of it made any sense to Amelie and she was too busy to worry over his words.

Mrs Skinner was invariably difficult, grumbling incessantly about the additional work Gareth occasioned. At times Amelie nearly came to blows with her. Fortunately, her husband was of a different disposition. He took Amelie’s place by the bedside at nuncheon and dinner to allow her to eat and to stretch her limbs; at night he insisted on taking over Gareth’s care and sent her to bed in the early hours of each morning. By then she was too tired to protest and retired gratefully to her little attic room, not caring that Betsy beside her was snoring heavily. She was so weary that she could have slept in Gareth’s ditch.

On the third morning Mr Skinner reported that the fever had broken around dawn and that the patient was at last sleeping peacefully. After a hasty breakfast, she tiptoed quietly into Gareth’s room with a bowl of chicken broth that the formidable Mrs Skinner had been persuaded to make. He lay supine, a still-powerful figure, but the days fighting fever had taken their toll. She felt a sudden surge of tenderness as she saw the leanness of his face and the pallor beneath the tanned skin.

At her approach, he opened his eyes and a puzzled look flitted across his face. He appeared to be in a bedroom, but it was certainly nowhere he recognised. He felt amazingly tired and cursed himself for his weakness. The events of recent days slowly began to filter through his brain—a nightmarish ride, exquisite pain and a pair of gentle, soothing hands in the midst of the threatened inferno. He recalled some kind of accident an age ago, or so it seemed; this ravishing girl had been there, she’d ridden away on his horse. So what was she doing in this room? For a while he considered the matter dispassionately but it remained inexplicable.

‘You’re still here,’ he murmured.

She bent over him, gently arranging the pillows to support his shoulders. He was sharply aware of her soft warmth so close to him and her fragrance drifting on the air.

‘Take some of this excellent broth Mrs Skinner has made for you. You haven’t eaten for days.’

He gave up the challenge of trying to make sense of the world and meekly sipped from the spoon she held out to him.

A few days later he was well enough to leave the stuffy bedchamber and make his way with Will’s help down the stairs to the inn garden. Amelie brought up the rear of the procession with a stool and blankets in case it was chilly. But the sun shone blithely from a cloudless blue sky and Gareth, his ankle supported by the stool, lay back in his chair and gratefully soaked up the warmth. Beside him Amelie savoured the perfume of apple blossom and the rich smell of new grass.

He looked disparagingly at the glass she handed him.

‘The doctor said you should drink as much milk as you can,’ she chided. ‘It will help you regain your strength.’

‘You need strength to drink the stuff,’ he protested. ‘I think I’ll settle for my present state of health.’

‘You’re a stubborn man.’

‘And you’re a stubborn woman. Why are you still here? I seem to remember sending you on your way.’

‘You did and more than once—but it would be strange behaviour for a sister to abandon her brother.’

‘Ah, yes, I’d forgotten that I’d acquired a new relative. Quite a surprise for me—though entirely beneficial.’

His blue eyes held the warm glow that she found so unsettling, but instinctively she returned his smile.

‘It can’t have been pleasant for you, forced to tend a sick man you barely knew and with no help from that bracket-faced termagant.’

She wanted to say that she knew him a great deal better now, but instead limited herself to murmuring neutrally, ‘Even less pleasant for you, I fear. But Mr Skinner has been so very helpful. He’s watched over you constantly and even persuaded his wife to cook for us.’

‘Has she been very tiresome?’

‘Shall we say she’s not best pleased to be entertaining two vagrants.’ Amelie grinned, remembering the skirmishes she’d endured while Gareth lay helpless above.

‘One thing does occur to me,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The Skinners must be wondering why no one has come from our supposed home to look for us.’

‘I told them that I’d sent the local carrier with a message when he passed here the day before yesterday.’

‘And they believed you?’

‘Mrs Skinner probably didn’t, but then she wouldn’t believe anything. She decided from the outset that we were impostors, and of course she’s right.’

For a moment he was startled, wondering how she could possibly have guessed that he was not the man he appeared.

‘I mean,’ she explained seeing the surprise on his face, ‘that we’re playing this charade of being brother and sister.’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘Do you have a sister, in fact?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any family—won’t they be wondering where you are?’

‘No and no,’ he said shortly, then added in a more conciliatory tone, ‘My only relation was my grandfather and he’s now dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The compassion in her voice touched him on the raw.

‘Don’t be,’ he said roughly, ‘it’s a matter of indifference to me.’

But she was not to be deterred. ‘If you have no family in Bristol, why do you want to go there?’

He shifted his position, but remained sitting in silence.

‘While you were suffering from the fever you mentioned taking a boat and escaping,’ she persevered. ‘What did you mean?’

‘I’ve no idea. When people are feverish, they talk a lot of nonsense,’ he retorted.

She had the distinct impression of an iron gate being swiftly clanged shut; she would learn no more. And in a trice he’d deftly turned the tables on her and begun to probe her own story.

‘And why were you determined on travelling to Bristol?’

He must know that she’d been less than honest with him, at the very least that she’d lied about her destination.

‘A family there are advertising for a lady’s maid and I intended to apply for the position.’