Fenella J Miller Read online

  He pushed himself onto his knees with a satisfied smile. “This is an ideal spot. I must remove my jacket and roll up my shirtsleeves before I attempt this amazing feat. Young man, do you have a receptacle in which I can put my trophy?”

  Peter scrambled to his feet and delved into his pockets. “I have my handkerchief. Will that do?”

  Ned laughed derisively. “A handkerchief, Peter? Lord Bentley means a jar of some sort, do you not, sir?”

  “Your handkerchief will do perfectly. If you soak it first, the fish will come to no harm the short time it will be out of the water.”

  Eleanor followed Bentley as he walked away from the edge of the stream to remove his jacket. “Thank you. I’m afraid that sometimes Ned can be a little harsh in his dealings with his younger brothers. He does not suffer fools gladly.” She could have added he had more reason to be aggressive than the other three, but refrained. How the children behaved was none of this man’s business. What went on in her family was a private matter.

  Mary hurried across to take his jacket, carefully draping it over a convenient branch. When Eleanor turned he was beside the water, his shirt sleeves rolled up. She flushed. Surely a man should not be displaying his forearms? Should she not go and join him at the bank? Ignoring the possible breach of etiquette she hurried over to stand as before, just behind him. The children resumed their places, prone on the grassy edge.

  The only sounds in the dell were the gurgle of the water and the songs of the birds in the trees that surrounded them. The children had never been so quiet or remained so still. She peered over his shoulder as his strong brown arm slipped into the water. He held it stationary for a few moments. Then with a flick of his wrist, a small scrap of wriggling silver flew into the air to land at her feet. Immediately Peter was beside it and rolled it tenderly into his wet handkerchief.

  “Good gracious! That was amazing! Look children, before we put it back. Isn’t it a beautiful fish?” She had no need to urge them for they were already exclaiming in admiration. Peter, who had taken charge of the stickleback, decided it had been out of its element long enough and tipped it back. The fish swam away unharmed.

  “I believe I have just won the challenge, Lady Eleanor. Shall we stroll around the wood whilst the children attempt to emulate my amazing skill?”

  The last thing she wanted was to be private with him. If Jane or Edward learnt of this there would be horrible repercussions not only for herself but also for Lord Bentley. “I cannot leave the children alone at the water’s edge, my lord. We shall have to postpone questioning until another time.”

  He was not so easily dissuaded. “Mary, come and watch the children. Lady Eleanor and I wish to sit under the tree and converse.”

  The maid curtsied and rushed to obey his command. How dare he issue orders to her servants? “I am sorry, Lord Bentley, but I’m no longer amused by this silly charade. I think it would be better if you return to the abbey.” She nodded her dismissal and his jaw hardened. “I am sure you would not wish to be the subject of idle gossip any more than I would.”

  He snatched up his jacket and attempted to ram his arms in without bothering to roll down his shirt sleeves. The top coat was close-fitting. This was an impossible task.

  He had his back to her. Should she offer to help before he lost his temper and blamed her, or one of the children, for his plight?

  She shrank back against the tree. He spun around and she flinched.

  God’s teeth!

  Alex was firmly jammed, both arms half in his jacket and unable to extricate himself. His lips twitched. This ridiculous situation had put paid to his storming off in high dudgeon. He would have to ask for her assistance or he would be stuck there like a clodpole when the children came for their lunch. No doubt she would be laughing already at his predicament.

  He turned and his amusement faded.

  What had happened to turn a confident young woman into a shivering heap? “What is it? What has frightened you?”

  There must be something in the trees. He could not protect her, restricted as he was. He would be free regardless of the ruination of his new jacket. He punched his arms out and heard a shocking rip as the sleeves tore from the shoulder seams, leaving him unfettered.

  He froze. He could hear his breathing in the silence. The children had stopped playing, Lady Eleanor was clutching the trunk of the tree for support. Angrily he ripped the sleeves from his arms and tossed them down. He must reassure her, tell her he would not let anything harm her. He took one step forwards and then a small body launched itself onto his back knocking him to his knees.

  “You shall not harm her. You’re a bad man. I hate you. I hate you.” Each statement was accompanied by punches and kicks. Fortunately the youngster was still barefoot. Alex reached round and gripped Ned’s arms, swinging him around to face him.

  “Enough. Enough, young man.” He shook the boy to emphasize his command. From nowhere Eleanor appeared, a length of stick in her hand. There was a searing pain in his head and his world went black.

  Eleanor dropped the piece of wood she had used to strike Lord Bentley. She was frozen to the spot. Her limbs were leaden. She felt as if she was viewing the unconscious man through the wrong end of a spyglass. Amanda whimpered and her brain refocused.

  “I have not killed him, darling, he shall be perfectly fine in a little while.” She had no idea if this was in fact the case. He had fallen as if pole-axed. Unless she turned him over to view the injury she would have no idea if the damage was as serious as it appeared. Ned was not so squeamish.

  “He is still breathing, Aunt Eleanor, but there is a prodigious amount of blood. What are we going to do?”

  The children must go back to the house. They could not be involved in this disaster. “Mary, quickly, take the children away. If you follow this path it will lead you to the maze. Take them in there and don’t return to the abbey for an hour at least. Pretend you have been there all morning. I shall deal with this matter.”

  She guided the children back to the stream and helped Mary refasten their boots. Gathering them within the circle of arms she kissed each in turn. “My dears, you must not speak of this to anyone—ever. Do you understand? Whatever happens to me, this has nothing to do with any of you. I can only bear the consequences of my actions if I know that you are all safe.”

  Amanda dried her eyes on her sleeve and Peter sniffed loudly. The two older boys exchanged worried glances, but nodded their agreement. Ned said what they were all thinking. “I didn’t think there could be another gentleman with the same temper as our father. Whatever anyone says, he deserved it.”

  Eleanor squeezed Ned’s shoulder. “You’re brave, young man. I am proud of you. You must now take care of your siblings. I love you, all of you. God bless you.”

  She remained on her knees until they were out of sight. Would this be the last time she ever saw them? She had not known herself to be a violent woman. Her repressed rage had surfaced in a moment of madness when she had seen Bentley about to hurt her nephew.

  Bandages were needed and a clean wet cloth to clean the wound. When she had tended to the injured man she would run to the house and fetch help. To leave him to die was unthinkable even if his recovery would mean her possible arrest and certain incarceration.

  Would it be better to claim insanity and be confined to an institution or tell the truth and pray that the magistrate would believe her? She shuddered. Would her title protect her from the hangman’s noose if poor Lord Bentley died?

  After tearing several strips from her petticoat she dipped one into the stream to clean the wound. She must not procrastinate further. This man had not deserved to be struck down. Her eyes brimmed. He had children of his own. What would the poor things do if they were left orphaned by her dreadful actions?

  He was so still; he had not moved nor made a sound since she had hit him on the forehead. Dropping to her knees beside him, she placed her fingers at the juncture of his jawbone and his neck. To her astonish
ment, and relief, she felt a regular pulse. Lord Bentley was alive, and perhaps not as badly injured as she had feared.

  With some difficulty she rolled him over. The gash running across the right-hand side of his head made her stomach lurch. He must have lost half a pint of blood already and if she did nothing to stem the flow he would die. Folding the wet material, she cleaned away the traces of bark and dirt from the wound then quickly pressed a second pad across the gash.

  Holding this in place, she deftly tied several strips of petticoat around his head and didn’t release the pressure until she was certain the bandages were doing the job for her. Throughout this procedure he had been comatose, his breathing regular, but he showed no sign of waking. Satisfied she had done all she could, she ran across to fetch the picnic rug and placed it over him. Retrieving the sleeves from his coat she folded them up and put them carefully under his head.

  There was nothing more she could do.

  Her gown was blood-spattered, no doubt her face and hands also. Would it help to clean herself and appear at the abbey calm and dispassionate? Or would running pell-mell to report her crime in her dishevelled state give weight to her plea of insanity? The blood-stained cloths she had used were scattered on the grass. She could not bear to look at them. When they were safely buried she was ready to return and report what had happened.

  The strain of the past thirty minutes caught up with her and her knees folded. She collapsed under the tree, unable to stop the violent trembling. She drew her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them as if by holding on tight she could prevent this catastrophe from overwhelming her. Why had she not reserved this rage for her brother? If Ned had not attacked Bentley, she was sure he would have done no more than shout at her.

  Perhaps it would not hurt if she remained where she was a moment longer. This was her last opportunity to breathe in the sweet scents of the countryside before she was taken away by the constables. When her head stopped spinning and her limbs remained still she would check once more on the patient and then fetch assistance.

  Slowly her wits returned and she inched her way up the tree trunk until straight. She stumbled across to the man she had so grievously injured and stooped to check his pulse. Relieved to find his skin was warmer and his heart beating firmly, she straightened.

  With one final glance around the clearing, she turned and hurried back along the path. She rehearsed several versions of the event but could think of none that would serve. Unless she involved the children or suggested that Lord Bentley had made an unprovoked attack on her chastity, there was no explanation that made sense.

  When she arrived at the rear of the house she came face-to-face with her host. Haverstock’s shocked expression reminded her she had neglected to remove the blood from her person.

  “My dear child, what has happened? Has there been an accident?”

  She found she couldn’t speak. The enormity of what she’d done completely overwhelmed her.

  “Lord Bentley—in the woods.”

  She managed no more before collapsing into welcoming blackness.

  Chapter Four

  Alex opened his eyes to find himself alone in the woods. What the hell had happened? His memory was fuzzy and his head hurt like the very devil. He could remember nothing after deciding to follow Lady Eleanor and the children. He had obviously been injured and someone had tended to his wound.

  Gingerly he touched his forehead. His fingers encountered a neatly wrapped bandage. How extraordinary! What had happened to the sleeves of his jacket? Who had covered him up with a picnic blanket? He wished he could recall how he had come to be injured. He must assume that Lady Eleanor had been the one to look after him, but why had she left him alone?

  He should get up, not lie on the ground waiting for someone to assist him. He pushed himself up to his elbows and a wave of nausea accompanied by a blinding pain across his eyes sent him plunging back into oblivion.

  The next time he regained consciousness, he was in bed and a doctor stood beside him.

  “Lord Bentley, I am Dr. Smith. I am going to remove your bandages and suture your wound.”

  “Is it that bad? I can remember nothing. I have no idea how I received the injury.”

  “Judging by the quantities of blood upon your person I imagine you have a serious gash. If you are ready, I shall begin my treatment.”

  The doctor did not speak to him again. In fact, his whole manner was brusque to the point of rudeness. As Alex drifted in and out of consciousness, he tried to force his wandering mind back to the events that had caused the damage to his head. The whole procedure left him faint. He was glad to see the physician depart and be replaced by his valet, Foster.

  “Foster, tell me, how did I come by this injury?”

  His man looked grave and shook his head. “Lady Eleanor struck you with a piece of wood. She is too distraught to explain her reasons.”

  Lady Eleanor? God’s teeth!

  He was more confused than ever. Why on earth should this young woman make an unprovoked attack on him? “I can remember nothing. I followed Lady Eleanor and the children into the wood, but my mind is blank from that point onward.”

  “The children spent the morning in the maze with their nursemaid. Lady Eleanor took a picnic hamper into the wood to spend time alone enjoying the countryside.”

  Alex closed his eyes. Why was his valet to being so stiff? Like Smith, Foster was showing no sympathy for his master. Apparently, everyone considered the attack to be his fault. A most terrible explanation occurred to him.

  There could only be one possible reason why a quiet, nervous young woman should be so desperate as to knock him out.

  He had to face it. Was it possible he had tried to force his attentions on Lady Eleanor and she had protected herself in the only way available? He had never raised a hand to a woman or child. He would never hurt someone weaker than himself. So why had she done it? He must have…he couldn’t complete the thought.

  Such an act would explain the way he was being treated, as though he was a social pariah not a well-respected peer of the realm. “Foster, did I attempt to…did I force my attentions on Lady Eleanor?”

  “There is no other explanation, Lord Bentley. If you require anything, sir, I shall be sitting close by.”

  Despair overwhelmed him. That poor woman, had she not enough to endure from the bastard Thorrington without him adding to her problems? He was certain he had intended her no harm; she must have misinterpreted his overtures. Somehow he must get on to his feet and put things right. He had almost decided to make her an offer before his appalling behaviour. Now he had no choice.

  “Foster, I need to get up. I must see Lady Eleanor.” He tried but got no further than his elbows before a wave of pain and sickness overwhelmed him. When he had recovered sufficiently to think clearly he knew he must write to her, he was in no state to approach her in person.

  “Fetch writing materials. If you hold my hand steady I think I can manage to pen a note.”

  “Would it not be easier, my lord, for you to dictate and me to act as scribe?”

  What the hell! His man knew more about him than any living soul. He would trust him with his life, why not let him do this?

  “Very well, get yourself organized whilst I marshal my thoughts.”

  The chamber was dark, and for a moment Eleanor was disoriented. Then she remembered everything and her throat tightened as tears spilt down her cheeks.

  “My dear Eleanor, do not cry. That monster did not harm you. Thank God you were able to protect yourself from his outrageous attack.”

  “Jane? Why are you here? I don’t understand, who attacked me?”

  Her sister-in-law patted her hand and stepped away to talk quietly to someone Eleanor could not see. “Kitty, this is far worse than we feared. Poor Eleanor does not even remember what took place. The event was so upsetting she has blanked it out. I am so relieved that Thorrington has gone to Town this morning; he would have been most displeas
ed.”

  Edward was away; that was indeed the only good thing about this morning’s activities. The ladies obviously thought that an unknown assailant had attacked both her and Lord Bentley, so she would do nothing to disabuse them.

  “Jane, how is Lord Bentley?”

  “He will recover, but you must not consider him. Dr. Smith says you have had a great shock and must rest quietly for the remainder of the day. Is there anything that you need?”

  “No, thank you. I should like to sleep, I’m sure I shall feel more the thing when I wake up again.”

  “Here, my dear, I shall place this little brass bell on your bedside table. You can ring it if you need assistance of any sort. Lady Haverstock has supplied you with a girl; she is in the dressing room and will hear you easily.”

  Eleanor realized she was no longer in the little attic room she always used on their visits. For some reason she was now in a guest chamber, not as grand as some, but twice the size of her usual abode. As soon as she was certain she was alone, she pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed.

  A pretty wrapper was draped across the end of the bed. She recognized it as one of Jane’s. Things were becoming more strange by the minute. Her sister was not in the habit of lending out her garments in this way. Why was she being treated so royally? Was this like a condemned man’s last supper?

  Even with the shutters closed she could see how well appointed the chamber was. She was not accustomed to such luxury and having it thrust upon her now made her feel even worse. She did not deserve to be treated well; she was little better than a murderer.

  A tap on the door, too soft to be heard by the girl in the dressing room, stopped her maudlin thoughts. Without thinking she walked across to open it. She did not know who was more startled—the smart grey-haired gentleman or herself. He recovered first.

  “Lady Eleanor, I have a note for you from Lord Bentley. Would you be so gracious us to read it? I shall remain outside for your response.”