The Truth About Lady Felkirk. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘She is quite the finest woman in Wales, my lord. Gentle and kind, with a way about her that makes all in the household easy about the change. She has not spent much time with us, as yet. Your brother deemed it easier to keep you here than in your own home.’ Will smiled to himself. For the first time in the discussion, there was the slightest hint of disapproval, and it was because a duke had the gall to overrule his servants in doing what was best for him.
Stewart was smiling again. ‘We shall soon have you back with us, now that you are better, and all will be right again. And we shall have her ladyship as well.’ The smile grew even broader, as though this addition was not so much a bother as the candied violet on top of a sweet.
Very well, then. All of Wales adored his wife. Logic dictated that he should as well. Had it not been pleasant to see her face, to hear her voice and to feel her gentle touch as he awoke? If he was still whole in body, he should have found it arousing to think that this lovely creature was familiar with the most intimate features of his anatomy. Those soft white hands had touched him as a lover, even as he’d lain helpless.
‘Be careful, my lord.’ His shudder at the thought had brought a caution from Stewart, whose scissors hovered near to Will’s ear as the hair around it was trimmed.
Will took a deep breath and steadied himself. ‘That is my intention, Stewart. From now on, I will be very careful, indeed.’
* * *
Despite the difficulties involved, Will took supper in the dining room with the family. Though his legs were still too watery to hold him, he could not stand the thought of a meal on a bed tray. Nor could he repress the nagging suspicion that if he was absent, he would be the main topic of conversation. On his way to the ground floor, he held tight to the stair rail and managed to ward off the sudden vertigo as he walked. A footman supported his other arm. While crossing the hall, he’d tried and rejected a walking stick, for his arms were not strong enough to hold it. By God, he would practise in his room, all day if necessary. He would be himself again.
Once he was seated at the dinner table, he felt almost normal. He’d practised sitting up in a chair until he was sure he was steady. And while he might not have an appetite for all the courses, he was still damned hungry. According to Stewart, they’d been giving him nothing but gruel from a pap cup for weeks. The very act of holding knife and fork was enough to raise his spirits, though the use of them was problematic.
It was after dropping yet another bite of fish, as he tried to guide it to his mouth, that he realised the hush that had fallen over the table. They were all watching him intently, as he ate.
He threw his fork aside. ‘It is not any easier, when one is being stared at, you know.’
‘Perhaps, if I were to cut your...’ The woman, Justine, was leaning towards his plate, ready to slice his food as though he were too young to manage it himself.
‘Certainly not,’ he barked at her. In response, there was a nervous shifting of the other diners and his brother cleared his throat, as though to remind Will of his manners.
‘I am sorry,’ he grumbled. He was annoyed with her offer and even more so with himself for behaving like a lout. ‘It is difficult.’
‘Soon it will be easier,’ she promised and signalled a footman, whispering a request.
With that, another course appeared, just for him. A ragout of beef had been poured into a tankard and there was a soft bit of bread as well. It was peasant fare and his table manners were a match for it. His hands shook as he brought the mug to his mouth and he wiped away any spillage with the bread. It embarrassed him to be so careless. But the others at table seemed so happy that he could eat at all, they ignored the manner of it and conversation returned to normal.
He could feel his strength returning with each bite. By the time he had finished, his hands had stopped shaking and he felt warm and comfortably full inside. Though it annoyed him to have to do so, he gave Justine a brief nod of thanks.
In response, she gave a modest incline of her head as if saying it was her honour to serve him. He might not know what to make of her sudden appearance in his life, but she seemed to feel no such confusion. Though she barely looked at him over dinner, she was ever aware of his needs and quick to see them tended to. The moment she’d realised his problem, she had moved to help him, while allowing him some small amount of dignity.
Would it be so bad to find that he had married a beauty willing to devote her life to his health and happiness? Tonight, she was wearing a dinner gown of moss-green silk. It might have seemed dull on another woman, but it brought out the colour of her eyes. The cut was lower than her day dress had been, but still quite modest. While it revealed a graceful neck and smooth shoulders, the hint of bosom visible made a man wonder all the more about the rest of her. And on her head was the same starched cap from the afternoon, hiding most of her curled hair.
It was hardly fair that he could not remember knowing her before she’d put on the modest trappings of marriage and covered her head. His brother’s wife rarely bothered with such things. But that was less from a desire to display her white-blonde hair and more from a total uninterest in fashion.
In Justine’s case, such attire felt less like modesty and more like a desire to hide something that he most wanted to see. It was the same for her pretty eyes that were cast down at her food instead of looking at him, and her beautiful voice, which did not speak unless spoken to. She was like a closed book, careful not to reveal too much. She stayed so quiet and still until the dessert was cleared away. Then she offered a curtsy and retired to the sitting room with Penny, leaving the men alone with their port.
‘Can you manage the glass?’ Adam asked, pouring for them both, ‘or will it be too difficult?’
‘For your cellars, I will make the effort,’ Will said, wanting nothing more than a stiff drink to relieve the tension.
‘See that you do not snap my head off, if you fail,’ his brother added with a smile. ‘Your wife may not mind it, but if I have any more trouble out of you I will call for the governess to put you to bed like your infant nephew.’
‘Sorry,’ Will said, still not feeling particularly apologetic. ‘I have the devil of a megrim.’ He frowned. ‘But do not call for laudanum. If, as you say, I have been asleep for months, I do not relish the thought of drugged slumber tonight.’
‘If?’ Adam looked at him with arched eyebrows and took a sip of his drink. ‘Tell me, William. You have known me all your life. In that time, have I ever lied to you?’
‘Of course not,’ he said, staring down into his drink and feeling foolish for sounding so sceptical. Then he added, ‘But I have known you, on occasion, to believe the lies of others.’
Adam nodded. ‘Who do you think is lying to me now? And how could they have managed, against such clear-cut evidence? I have watched you insensible in that bed upstairs for nearly two months. There was no question about the severity of your injury, or your nearness to death.’
‘But you were not there at the time of the accident,’ he prodded.
‘No,’ Adam agreed, ‘I was not.’
‘And you believe the story told by this Justine de Bryun?’
‘Yes, I believe her story,’ Adam replied. ‘But her name is Lady Justine Felkirk. Because she is your wife.’
‘How do you know that?’ Will slammed his fist down on the table in frustration, making the crystal glasses shudder. I know that you were not at the wedding. ‘Have you seen the licence?’
Adam did not hesitate. ‘You married in Gretna, just as I did. No licence was necessary.’
‘Then why do you believe her?’ Will pressed him. ‘What evidence do you have, other than the word of this stranger? How do you know that she is not responsible for the state I am in?’
His brother responded with a quelling look and said, ‘Because I can find no reason to explain why she would injure you, then arrive at my home, exhausted from days