The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess : A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

Chapter Twenty

Jocelyn knew when he had caught her hand. She had been drifting in and out of a long dark shadow. She was aware when Mr. Darcy assisted another man who had a deep male voice. They had turned her over so the other man could administer to her wound. She had wished to crawl closer to Mr. Darcy, for he was excessively warm, and she was so cold. Now, the man who had haunted her dreams for the last few weeks held her hand and stroked her arm, while heat again slid into her chest.

“I must leave you in the care of the Darcys, and I beg you to listen to their advice. I wish to return and find you well, my—”

She knew he meant to say “my girl,” though she would prefer he said “my love.”

“I am to give pursuit of Philip Jennings. I captured the man who shot you, but, now, I must locate Jennings and his family, all of whom are reportedly seeking passage to Italy, but I imagine anywhere in Europe will do. I do not know how long I will be gone, but I charge you with coming back to us. I cannot consider a day without you as part of this family. We all require your wisdom and your stubbornness. We all require you.”

Jocelyn wished to open her eyes and assure him she would never leave him. If she could wake, they could be together. They were promised to each other, but he did not know her true identity. Yet, all she could manage was to wrap two fingers about his thumb. What felt to be a warm drop of water landed on the back of her hand before he lightly kissed where their fingers were joined. He stood then and placed her hand back across her body and covered it with a blanket. Even so, the warmth of his touch eased back into the cold spiral taking her downward into the darkness once more.

* * *

Edward had not been surprised to discover no one within Babbrooke Place, Jennings’s manor house. Not even a servant could be located within. Though the main door was locked, the servant entrance was not. As he made his way from room to room, all he discovered was chaos. Drawers had been dumped on the floor, as if whoever upturned the items had searched for specific items. “Likely something which could be sold for cash. However, it was what he found in the master’s study which made him sad. “This will devastate the children.”

Three portraits leaned against the wall. Something sharp had been taken to each canvas. Ripping. Slicing. Edward wished his father was near. The earl would know who to contact to restore the portraits or manage a repair until a new portrait could be painted. “Another task for Darcy to undertake. Thank God my cousin is always prepared to assist me.” With a sigh of resignation, Edward began his search once more. In a little over a half hour, after securing all the doors and windows, he was again on the road. He did not think Jennings truly meant to travel to Hull, but he had to start somewhere. When he reached Hull, he must send Captain Carlson a message regarding his need for an extended absence. He would send a message to Matlock also, to apprise the earl of what had been exacted against Lindale’s stepchildren.

* * *

It was late in the day when Edward reluctantly claimed his horse again. As Darcy had predicted, the Jennings family found no ship available at Hull that would serve such a large party of passengers. Most ships were commercial, not passenger oriented.

“Told his lordship he must either travel to Scotland’s coastal ports or to London. His lordship’s family said it would be easier to find shelter in London,” the harbormaster explained. “The fellow provided me his calling card.” The man dug through a small metal box to come out with a card.

Edward accepted it to read, “Lord Stephen Babcock.” He slipped it in his pocket. Apparently, he would be chasing a dead man, as Philip Jennings obviously meant to steal his brother’s identity. Likely, Jennings found a stack of cards in his brother’s desk at Babbington Hall.

He provided the harbormaster several coins for the man’s troubles, before returning to the town for a meal and few hours of sleep. As Jennings was traveling with his wife and children, they would be doing so at a slower pace.

Edward claimed the opportunity to write to his father, chronicling his plan to chase Jennings, but he also included something of Jennings’s plan to pretend to be the Earl of Babcock, the attempt on Lord Vincent’s life, the condition of Miss Lambert, and a statement regarding his aversion to a marriage with Miss Romfield. “I cannot think of marrying where my heart does not lie. I know such will anger you, and, for that, I beg your forgiveness; yet, I remain adamant in my denial.”

He also wrote to Darcy to explain how Jennings was pretending to be his brother and something of the condition of Jennings’s house and a warning regarding the condition of the family portraits. “If you know of a reputable portrait artist who could recreate the images, please contact him for a consultation. I originally hoped the canvas could be repaired, but the destruction is extensive.”

Then he added, “When I return, if your offer is still available, I would accept a gift of a purchase of a commission for major general or, at a minimum, brigadier. Those opportunities are few, and I would be foolish not to claim my share of the British Army’s higher ranks before this war knows an end. I have also written to the earl regarding Miss Romfield. I will not stand in duty for a marriage not of my choosing.”

Edward wanted to send his regards to Miss Lambert, but he had no right. Instead, he said a prayer for the woman’s recovery. “Whether the lady is my future or not, please oversee her recovery, God. The children require her good sense and her loyalty.” He would not mention what he required from the woman. He told himself he would be satisfied with the lady’s return to health. “It will be enough,” he said as he blew out the candle, though he wanted more. Much more.

* * *

Jocelyn felt something or someone crawl up on the bed. She had been lying ever so still as she attempted to move each of her limbs—her toes—her fingers. She was not confident she had succeeded, but she required a purpose.

A soft voice said, “You must recover, Miss Rose.”

She knew it was the voice of Lord Vincent. Jocelyn wanted to assure him she meant to recover, for the colonel had charged her with living, and she would not permit him to know sorrow; yet, her lips would not form the words. Instead, as she had done earlier, she raised two fingers. Within seconds, the child caught her fingers in his hand.

“I am sorry I walked so fast,” the boy said, “I should have waited for you. I was afraid because I did not know what to do.”

Jocelyn wished to caress his hand—to tug him into her embrace, but she dared not reach for him for fear it would be too much and the pain would draw her back into the darkness. When she did not move, the boy laid his head on her midsection and snuggled closer to her, his lower limbs bumping against her good arm. “I will guard you,” he said. “No one will harm you again.”

With focused concentration and will power, she managed to lift her hand to rest it on Vincent’s leg; however, the effort had proved just as she feared. Before she could act against the motion, her soul tumbled backwards over and over again as the cold filled her being, that is, except where the boy’s head rested against her. His presence kept death at bay.

* * *

“Come, Miss Lambert,” a familiar voice was saying. The person behind the voice, as well as another, lifted her to her side. Instinct had her reaching to support herself, but her arm would not move, and, for a brief moment, she panicked. “We tied your injured arm in place. We must dress you in clean clothes and give you a bath. You still have blood on your face and in your hair. You must be rid of it before you can begin to heal.” The words came in puffs of exertion, as the woman tugged and lifted Jocelyn upward.

“Mrs. Dar—?” Jocelyn managed.

“Yes, I am here to oversee your care. I could not permit my husband to view you unclothed, as the colonel would disapprove, as would I.” The woman expelled a huff of satisfaction. “I have her, Mrs. Murray. Cut away the gown so we might wash her and place her in something clean.”

For the next quarter of an hour or more, the pair prodded her and washed her with warm water and cut away her clothes. When they stopped their systematic torture, the lady called out, “Mr. Darcy, I require you.”

Within a heartbeat, his very masculine voice could be heard. “Yes, my dear.”

“Would you carry Miss Lambert to the chair before the fire and cover her with an additional blanket. Mrs. Murray and the maids will change out the bedding and turn the mattress.”

Jocelyn knew when he came along beside the bed, for she could smell the cologne he wore. “I am glad to view you without the spattered blood on you.”

“The boy?” she grunted as he jostled her a bit and quickly crossed the room to set her in a straight-back upholstered chair.

“When I woke last evening, I realized the young earl had sneaked back into your room. I carried him to his bed so you might rest properly,” he explained as he tucked a blanket about her.

Mrs. Darcy appeared on the other side of her. Jocelyn opened her eyes and quickly closed them again. The room held a sharp light. “Vin . . . cent . . . kept . . . me . . . warm,” she stated.

“Lord Vincent blames himself for your brush with death,” Mr. Darcy explained. “Please, when you have enough stamina to maintain a conversation, assure the boy if it was not then, Mr. Jennings had other plans in the works.”

“The girls?” she asked.

“Have been staying in Lady Annabelle’s quarters. In truth, I have spoken little to them, for I assisted Mr. Harwell with your care and oversaw the release of Jennings’s servants from Babbington Hall, that is to say, along with our own Lord Babcock. Today, the young lord and I will examine the estate books, but I hold no confidence they have been overseen properly by Jennings.”

Jocelyn wished to ask more, but she was too exhausted; therefore, she simply nodded her head in appreciation.

“I will be in the adjoining room when you require my assistance again, Elizabeth,” the gentleman said.

“Thank you, Fitzwilliam. We shan’t be long.” The woman knelt close to Jocelyn’s chair, tugging a foot stool closer. “We will have you back in the bed again in a few minutes. If possible, while you are upright, I was hoping to coax you to swallow a bit of broth before you return to sleep.”

“Some . . . thing . . . to . . . drink?” Jocelyn asked.

“Some tea? Yes,” Mrs. Darcy assured. “I must order it, though.”

“I have the broth, Mrs. Murray,” a young maid declared as she swept into the room.

“I shall take it. Set the tray on the low table, and, if you would, please assist Mrs. Murray in replacing the mattress.”

“Yes, ma’am.

Mrs. Darcy tucked the foot stool closer. “This is warm,” she instructed, “but not so warm as to burn you. Now, open your mouth for me.”

Jocelyn sincerely attempted to do as the lady asked, but hers was an unproductive effort.

Mrs. Darcy chattered on as dhe tended Jocelyn. “You are doing an imitation of our Bennet. He holds his lips tight when his nurse offers him gruel, which I agree is disgusting, but this is simple broth. Warm and nourishing.” The lady wedged the tip of the spoon between Jocelyn’s teeth and tilted the liquid gently into Jocelyn’s mouth. She quickly wiped away the few drops on Jocelyn’s chin. “That was a good first attempt. Let us share another spoonful.”

Jocelyn found she liked the taste of the warm, highly seasoned liquid. Foolish as it was to think so, the fact she could enjoy something so simple meant she was no longer a few steps away from death’s door, and so she stubbornly accepted the woman’s efforts. At length, though, she could swallow no more, and she lifted her hand to prevent Mrs. Darcy’s continued efforts.

“About half a bowl. Very good,” Mrs. Darcy announced. “Later, if I am not near, if you are able, signal the maid who will sit with you if you require assistance with your personal needs. We do not want you to have a terrible rash or bed sores.”

Jocelyn had not considered the reason for the change in mattresses was her bodily fluids. She nodded her understanding. “I . . . apolo . . . gize.”

“Nothing of which to complain,” the lady confided. “You are our hero. You protected Lord Babcock.”

Jocelyn opened her eyes briefly to view the woman. “The . . . colonel?” she asked.

“Is a man built for such stratagems. He will return to us, and, most assuredly, to you, as quickly as possible, but Mr. Darcy believes it will take his cousin a week to a sennight to be done with this business with Philip Jennings. Plenty of time for you to be well on your way to recovery. Did he not speak to you of his parting?”

“Brief . . . ly,” Jocelyn admitted. “Will . . . hate . . . me,” she argued.

“I have no doubt Fitzwilliam will be surprised, as was I when you told me of your identity while I tended you in Cambridgeshire. God has ways we cannot comprehend. He guided you to the road upon which I was traveling. More importantly, I have been proven correct in placing you in the colonel’s path, so you two could discover a deep devotion on your own terms. Edward will quickly realize he may claim the woman he affects. The worst part for him will being required to extend his gratitude to Lady Catherine for her ladyship playing matchmaker.”

“I did . . . not know . . . until . . . Vin . . . cent . . . told me . . . of his . . . family . . . tree . . . being . . . connect . . . ed . . . to the . . . De . . . Bourghs,” Jocelyn explained.

“Trust me. All shall be well. The colonel possesses a good sense of the absurd. Just think on the story you will be able to tell your children. Edward will laugh his way to the altar,” Mrs. Darcy declared.

“The bed is prepared, Mrs. Darcy,” the housekeeper said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Murray. Excellent work,” Mrs. Darcy assured, before the woman called out to her husband.

Jocelyn managed to open her eyes to view the look of satisfaction on Mr. Darcy’s face as he reentered the room carrying his son in his arms. The boy was patting his father’s cheeks and repeating “Papa.” The man deposited the boy in his mother’s arms. “Your turn, Mrs. Darcy. After I return Miss Lambert to her bed, I must assist Lord Vincent.”

“Gladly done,” the woman said with a smile as she reached for her son. Something like an ache lodged in the area of Jocelyn’s middle. At first, she thought it was another injury, but she quickly realized it was the desire to experience what the Darcys had. Yet, first, she must recover and then confess it all to her mother and, finally, convince Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam that they had been designed for each other.