Regency Secrets: My Lady's Trust. Julia JustissЧитать онлайн книгу.
in tending the lad until I arrived stand us in good stead, my hopes are high of his making a full recovery. But mind ye, ‘tis early days yet. He mustn’t be moved, and the fever’s like to get much worse afor it’s agleaning. It’s careful tending he’ll be needing. Have ye a good nurse aboot?”
The squire glanced from the doctor to Mrs. Martin and back. “Well, there’s my sister, but I’m afraid her nerves are rather delicate—”
“I shall be happy to assist until his lordship can find someone,” Mrs. Martin inserted, her face downcast.
“Excellent. I recommend you accept the lady’s offer, Beau. At least until ye can secure the services of another such reliable nurse.”
“I’ve already sent a message to Ellen. That is, if it will not be an inconvenience for you to house my sister and her daughter, squire?”
“An honor, my lord,” the squire replied with a bow. “And yourself, as well, for as long as you wish to remain.”
“Then I should be most grateful to accept your help until my sister arrives, Mrs. Martin.”
After she murmured an assent, the squire turned to the physician. “If you tell me what I must do, Doctor, I’ll sit with the lad while Mrs. Martin takes her rest. She’s been at his side since morning yesterday and all night, too.” The squire directed a pointed look at Beau, a reminder he owed the man an apology—and a humble thanks to the quiet woman who’d so skillfully nursed his brother. “Lord Beaulieu, you must be needing your rest, as well. I’ll just see the lady on her way and then return to show you to your chamber.”
He bowed. With a nod and a curtsey, Mrs. Martin turned to follow the squire.
Delaying his apologies to pursue a more pressing matter, Beau lingered behind. “Was that report accurate, or are you merely trying to ease the squire’s anxiety?” Beau demanded as soon as the pair were out of earshot.
Dr. MacDonovan smiled and patted his arm. “God’s truth, Beau. ‘Tis hard on you, I know, but there’s little we can do now but give him good nursing. He’s strong, though—and I do my job well. I canna promise there won’t be worrisome times yet, but I believe he’ll pull through.”
Beau released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thanks, Mac. For coming so quickly and—” he managed a grin “—being so good. Now, I’d best give the redoubtable Mrs. Martin a word of thanks. Probably should toss in an apology, as well—I’ve not been as … courteous as I suppose I might.”
The doctor laughed. “Frash with her, did ye? And lost, I’ll wager! A lady of much skill, Mrs. Martin. ‘Tis she more than me you’d best be thanking for keeping yon Master Kit on this earth. Lay in the icy water of the marsh nigh on an hour, I’m told. The chill alone might have killed him, had he not been carefully watched.” The doctor frowned. “Aye, and may catch him yet. We must have a care for those lungs. But away with ye. I can keep these weary eyes open a bit longer.”
Beau gave his friend’s hand a shake and started down the hall. Now that Kit was safe in Mac’s care, he noticed anew the ache in his back and a bone-deep weariness dragged his steps.
He saw Mrs. Martin by the front door as he descended the last flight of stairs, apparently in some dispute with the squire, for she was shaking her head.
“Thank you, sir, but ‘tis only a short walk. There’s no need for a carriage.”
Beau waited for the little courtesies to be observed, his eyes nearly drooping shut until he noticed the squire make Mrs. Martin an elegant leg, quite in the manner of the last century.
“No indeed, dear ma’am, you mustn’t walk. I’m fair astonished such a gentle lady as yourself has not collapsed from fatigue ere now. What fortitude and skill you possess! Qualities, I might add, which nearly equal your beauty.”
After that pretty speech, the squire took Mrs. Martin’s hand and kissed it.
Surprise chased away his drowsiness until he remembered the squire had called Mrs. Martin a “lady,” widow to a military man. An officer, apparently, since his host would hardly extend such marked gallantries to an inferior. Beau smiled, amused to discover the middle-aged squire apparently courting the nondescript nurse, and curious to watch her response.
“You honor me,” said the lady in question as she gently but firmly drew back her hand.
Coy? Beau wondered. Or just not interested?
Then the nurse glanced up. Illumined as she was by the sunshine spilling into the hall, for the first time he got a clear look at her face—her young, pretty face.
In the same instant she saw him watching her. An expression almost of—alarm crossed her lovely features and she swiftly lowered her head, once again concealing her countenance behind a curtain of cap lace. What remark she made to the squire and whether or not she availed herself of the carriage, he did not hear. Before he could move his stunned lips into the speech of gratitude he’d intended to deliver, she curtsied once more and slipped out.
By the time the squire joined him on the landing his foggy brain had resumed functioning. Mumbling something resembling an apology as the man escorted him to his chamber, he let his mind play over the interesting discovery that the skillful Mrs. Martin was not only a lady, but a rather young one at that.
He recalled the brevity of her speech, even with the squire, whom she apparently knew well, and the way she skittered off when she found him watching her. More curious still. Why, he wondered as he sank thankfully into the soft feather bed, would such an eminently marriageable widow be so very retiring?
Having the widow tend his brother would give Beau the opportunity to observe this odd conundrum more closely. Which would be a blessing, for as his brother’s recovery—and Kit simply must recover—was likely to be lengthy, Beau would need something to distract him from worry. Luckily, nothing intrigued him as much as a riddle.
Chapter Two
A few hours later Laura pulled herself reluctantly from bed and walked to the kitchen. A bright sun sparkled on the scrubbed table and Maggie, the maid of all work the squire sent over every morning to do her cleaning, had left her nuncheon and a pot of water simmering on the stove.
She’d remain just long enough for tea and to wash up before returning to her patient. The kindly Scots physician had ridden straight through, he’d told her, and would be needing relief.
She frowned as she poured water into the washbasin. It wasn’t fatigue that caused the vague disquiet that nagged at her. She’d learned to survive on very little sleep while she cared for her dying “aunt Mary.”
No, it was the lingering effects of working for so many hours in such close proximity to the Earl of Beaulieu—a man who exuded an almost palpable aura of power—that left her so uneasy.
He’d not recognized her, she was sure. Even when he looked her full in the face this morning, she’d read only surprise in his eyes—surprise, she assumed, that she was not the aged crone he had evidently taken her to be. An impression she, of course, had done her best to instill and one he might harbor yet if she’d not stupidly looked up.
A flash of irritation stabbed her. She’d grown too complacent of late, forgotten to keep her head demurely lowered whenever there might be strangers about.
‘Twas too late to repair that lapse. However, despite discovering her to be younger than he’d expected, there was still no reason he should not, as everyone else around Merriville had done, accept her as exactly what she claimed to be, the widowed cousin of the retired governess whose cottage she had inherited.
She felt again a wave of grief for the woman who had been nurse, friend and savior. That gentle lady, sister of Laura’s own governess, who had taken in a gravely ill fugitive and given her back not just life, but a new