Chapter Two
Jasper
The march back to Mulgrave Hall was arduous.
The woman was not an issue. Jasper had been an athletic man all his life. He barely registered her weight as he cradled her to his chest, more worried about the paleness of her skin and the steady trickle of blood from her wound.
Christ, she needs a doctor.
It was the snow he struggled against, knowing that each passing minute could be bringing her closer to death. He couldn’t lose someone else under his charge. He banished even the thought of it from his mind. He must focus.
He forced his labored breaths into a rhythmic pattern, the puffs of white reminding him of the cold he no longer felt, due to his exertion, until finally the arches of Mulgrave Hall came into view. It was a stately Georgian mansion, classical in its design and understated in its elegance. His mother had never liked the sedate symmetry of the building, choosing to plant climbing ivy the day she’d arrived, newly wedded to the Earl of Belhaven. The veins of that ivy now spanned the entirety of Mulgrave Hall, spiderwebbed over the stone facade. In the summer, the leaves were lush and covered the estate fully, lending the graciously proportioned mansion an air of whimsy his mother strove to cultivate. In the winter, the ivy looked almost ominous, but never more than now, as Jasper approached with a bloodied woman in his arms.
They were met by Helena and Battersby, Mulgrave Hall’s long-suffering butler.
“Come, Jasper. Every pot has been set to boil and I’ve had a fire built,” said Helena, guiding him into the dwelling, where Nash, his valet, awaited. They walked to the grand staircase and Jasper paused, adjusting the woman in his arms. Helena walked backward ahead of him, efficient as ever. “I thought we’d use the Lavender Room, as it has the best light and a great deal of space.”
Jasper nodded and turned left at the top of the stairs. “And the doctor?”
“Has been sent for, shouldn’t be too long, if he remained in the village tonight. But the snow will slow them down.”
“And Isobel?”
Helena gave him a tiresome look. “She went with the carriage.”
“I should not be surprised,” he replied, picturing his sister atop the boot with the footman Thomas. She was never one to miss the action by sitting safely in a carriage.
They reached the Lavender Room and Jasper walked right to the bed, laying the woman on it gently. He gazed down at her, his heart in his throat as he waited to see her chest rise and fall. And then she took a shuddering breath, sinking deeper into the mattress, and Jasper himself breathed again.
He pulled the covers over her small frame as maids lifted the sheets at the bottom of the bed and placed two warming pans with fresh embers alongside her. Helena removed the woman’s boots, revealing her delicate, stockinged feet, and Jasper’s eyes shot back up to the top of the bed.
Who is she? And why on earth is someone chasing her?
Helena came to stand beside him, handing him a warm, damp cloth. “I’m sure she’d appreciate someone cleaning her up a bit.”
He removed his frock coat and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up over his forearms before taking the cloth and kneeling next to the woman, forgetting about propriety or etiquette or anything else, for that matter. He was careful, never scrubbing too firmly, but sure to get as much as he could without causing her any more pain. He couldn’t help but note that her features were quite pleasing when not covered in blood. Despite the bluish tinge, the stranger’s lips were full and welcoming. She had a fine dusting of freckles over her cheeks and nose, uncommon among the sun-shunning ladies of the Ton, and strong, almost incongruous brows that framed her delicate bone structure. Taken as a whole, she was memorable, unforgettable even. He only wished she were conscious.
“There, that looks a great deal better,” said Helena, perhaps a bit too brightly. “Blood can make even a minor injury look terribly dramatic.” Jasper looked back at his sister but he did not speak, knowing she was likely lost in memory.
Helena had faced the life-altering loss of her husband, the duke, before they’d lost their parents and brother to scarlet fever. Since that day, she’d borne the evidence of the carriage accident that had taken the duke’s life in a long scar that cut from her temple to her jaw, as well as the pain she suffered—the pain she did her best to hide from the world.
“Marcus’s injury looked like nothing at all.” It was almost a whisper. It had been a little more than three years since her husband had died. She brought her fingers to her scar absentmindedly.
In a way, she and Jasper were alike in their losses, both altered by the trials that had befallen them so early in their lives. But where he knew Helena’s warm heart would see her through her grief, his own heart had hardened into something cold and unrecognizable in order for him to survive.
Before Jasper could comfort her, a commotion at the door stole their focus.
Battersby appeared, looking perturbed. “My lord, the doctor has arrived—”
“Wonderful, send him in,” replied Jasper.
“—and your sister requires your attention,” he finished.
“Isobel?” It wasn’t like her to admit to needing help, but it was entirely like Battersby to frame his disapproval of her as something that required Jasper’s immediate action.
“No, my lord. I am referring to Lady Viola.”
Jasper winced. His youngest sister was not yet thirteen, and Jasper feared he was failing her most of all. A child so young needed a parent, not an errant brother balancing far too much responsibility on unworthy shoulders. He stood just as the doctor was ushered into the room, bringing the outdoor chill with him.
“Welcome, Dr. Ramsay,” said Helena, when words failed her brother.
The doctor was a tall man with extravagant whiskers and a kindly countenance. He had delivered each of the Maycott siblings and for the past two decades had tended to their various illnesses and accidents. After seeing the remaining Maycotts through last year’s tragedy, he had become something of a de facto uncle in the absence of their parents. Jasper swallowed thickly, banishing the memory of the doctor holding Annabelle’s impossibly small hand in his rather large one, as he’d checked her wrist for a pulse he hadn’t found.
“What seems to be the problem?” Dr. Ramsay prompted, looking from Jasper to Helena when he, once again, proved incapable of speech.
“We came upon this young lady on the road to the cemetery,” Helena spoke for Jasper as Dr. Ramsay approached the bed. “We surmised that she must have been thrown from her horse, not too long before we found her, though she’s been unconscious the whole time.”
Not the whole time , but Jasper didn’t correct Helena. Only he had been privy to the young woman’s plea, and it didn’t feel right to share it with everyone else. Not yet, at least.
Dr. Ramsay rubbed his hands together for warmth and placed them at various points of the woman’s head and neck. After some gentle prodding, he looked back to Helena. “Neither her skull nor neck bear any signs of fracture.” He moved on to cradling the girl’s face, opening her eyelids and studying her pupils in the light. He lifted the counterpane at the foot of the bed and tapped on the soles of her feet. He looked up to Jasper and Helena and grinned. “Her reflexes are intact,” he told them as he stood. “She doesn’t seem to have entered a lasting stupor.”
“Then what ails her? When will she waken?”
“She is in shock, Belhaven.” Jasper managed not to wince at the doctor’s use of his father’s title, somehow both too familiar and too formal in that moment. “Her condition is delicate. You must take pains to ensure she is not distressed or excitable for the foreseeable future.” Jasper thought back to the fear in her eyes when she had begged him to protect her from them , whoever they were. Distressed barely covered how she had appeared then. “She must remain recumbent, and warmth should be applied to the legs. If she worsens, then strychnine can be administered, though I’d start with camphor—”
“Yes, yes, good, but when will she waken? We know nothing about her, or where she came from. Surely her family is worried about her.”
Dr. Ramsay shook his head. “She cannot be rushed into wellness, Belhaven. An impairment of the head can be immensely damaging, so she may awaken confused.” He rose to his full height and sighed. “Her injuries are largely invisible but they must be treated as if they were observable. She needs rest. Her symptoms must be managed and she must not be overly stimulated.”
Ramsay was being professional but there was no stopping Jasper’s descent into panic. He had been here before, had watched helplessly as first Annabelle, and then his parents and Anthony had died. He could not bear to stand by and lose someone else, even if that someone was a perfect stranger. “You say she will recover but then you speak as if she could succumb to her injuries. Which is it, Ramsay?”
Helena gave him a look that suggested he was being unreasonable, while the doctor’s expression was pitying, reading all too easily into Jasper’s true meaning. “There is always a risk of hemorrhage, Jasper.” The use of his given name smarted. If anyone outside his family had a right to it, it was Dr. Ramsay. But to go from Belhaven to Jasper in the span of a conversation only served to remind him of what he had lost, and how adrift he had become. “The best thing you could do for her is to let her rest comfortably.”
He pressed his lips into a firm line. “Then that is what we will do.” She would be the most rested woman in all of bloody England. He’d make sure of it. But the moment she awoke and revealed who she was and where she came from, Jasper would see to it she was returned to her home—and the relative peace he had fought so hard for would be restored to Mulgrave Hall.
Battersby cleared his throat from the door. “My lord, your sister—”
“Right, I must attend to that—”
Dr. Ramsay clapped his shoulder. “I will clean the young lady’s wound while you do, and perhaps instruct your sister in the proper application of camphor.”
Jasper nodded, but found himself reluctant to leave the woman, even in hands as capable as the doctor’s and Helena’s. She seemed so small in the large bed, so defenseless. But it wasn’t as though whoever pursued her could get to her in Mulgrave Hall.
She was safe for now.
The walk to Viola’s chambers was short and didn’t leave Jasper much time to come up with a plan for how best to explain the events of the evening. His sister must be near hysterics, especially if she had caught a glimpse of the woman.
Her door was very nearly closed, the room within dimly lit. Jasper took a deep breath and knocked softly.
“Come in,” came a small, trembling voice.
He steeled himself against his fears of inadequacy and put on a brave face as he entered the room, expecting to find his sister consumed by fear. Instead, Viola sat bolt upright the moment she saw it was her brother who had come to her, her eyes alight and her body practically vibrating with excitement.
“Jasper, is it true ? Did you really save a woman’s life?”
He swallowed his shock at finding her so unaffected. “I don’t know about saving her life but yes, Isobel, Helena, and I did come upon a woman who needed our assistance.” He came to her bed and sat on the edge.
“Isobel said she was covered in blood, I heard her. And there’s blood on your shirt!” She pointed, her eyes wide. “And she’s here ? In Mulgrave Hall? Is she dying?”
He had anticipated her curiosity but he hadn’t expected her to be so frank and unafraid. Viola had only been eleven when their parents died, and Jasper had long assumed her to be the most affected by their loss. But here she was, full of questions and glee, as though a strange woman falling from her horse was the most interesting thing that had happened to her in months. “No, she is not dying, Viola. She has a head injury and must rest in order to recover.”
“And she will do that here?”
He frowned, not wishing to encourage an attachment. “I daresay once we discover who she is, she will be on her way.”
She pulled out a piece of parchment and a pen from beneath her pillow. Viola was always scribbling away, recording her thoughts and observations. Jasper sensed it was a symptom of the vast amount of turmoil that she had been through at so young an age, a way to make sense of what remained. She licked the tip of her pen and pressed it to the paper. “What is she like?”
He sighed. “I haven’t the faintest idea, Viola. She’s been unconscious this entire time.”
“I suppose she’s quite brave,” she said dreamily, chewing on the pen.
Jasper poked her lightly in the ribs. “And you got a sense of that from what exactly?”
“Well, she was alone on horseback. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“No,” he said, thinking it was a rarity indeed. “And don’t you go getting ideas.”
“I’m not allowed on horseback as it is,” she said, her eyes narrowed, but Jasper didn’t take the bait. After all that had befallen their family, he thought he had a right to be a tad overcautious as a guardian. “Do you think perhaps she was running from something?”
Jasper froze, though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by how close his acutely observant sister had come to the truth. “Why do you ask?”
“As brave as she may be, fleeing into the night couldn’t have been her first choice. She must have been very frightened.”
Jasper cleared his throat. “Or perhaps she ignored the warnings of a wise older brother and now she’s paying the consequences,” he teased, but Viola was barely listening to him, lost in her own train of thought.
“She’s all alone and she could be in danger,” she mused, not entirely unexcited by the woman’s plight. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “We’ll help her, won’t we?” she pleaded, and when Jasper did not immediately respond, she reached for his hand. “It’s what Annabelle would have wanted.”
Hearing her name was a shock, though it shouldn’t have been. In the course of Annabelle’s work with her father, she had always been drawn to widows and unwed mothers and other vulnerable women, insisting that Society failed to protect them at every turn, if not outright harmed them with unjust and prejudiced laws.
Before Annabelle, Jasper might have felt a shred of sympathy or made a nominal donation for some women’s charity or another, never giving it a further thought. But Annabelle had opened his eyes to the injustice of it all. It had only been four years since the Custody of Infants Act had passed in Parliament, allowing mothers access to their own children in the event of a divorce. Hell, it had only been twenty years since Parliament recognized that violence was grounds for a divorce. And while, in Annabelle’s eyes, any progress made was to be celebrated, the passing of these laws had not been the dawn of a new utopian age. Rather, they were too little and came far too late for the many thousands of women who had suffered for so long without any other choice.
But this was different. He thought back to the woman’s fine clothing. “She has a family, Viola. We simply need to find them.”
“When can I see her?”
“Certainly not tonight. You should be asleep.” He rose and pulled the pen and paper from her hands, placing them out of reach on her desk, knowing very well she’d retrieve them the moment he was gone.
“It’s quite a lot of excitement, isn’t it?” she asked innocently. “Almost makes you forget about—”
“Good night, Viola,” Jasper interrupted. He swiftly kissed her forehead and left the room, never giving her a chance to speak, but acknowledging to himself that she was right. The last two hours had been the first in a long time he hadn’t spent consumed by memory. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of Annabelle, or his parents or Anthony, but the pain was almost bearable. Maybe his sisters were right. Maybe he should open himself up again. Perhaps there was enough left in the world to distract him from his misery.
Then again, perhaps not.
Helena met him in the hall.
“Dr. Ramsay left,” she said before he could ask.
“Has she woken?”
“Not yet, Jasper, but look.” Helena held out a small gold ring in the palm of her hand. He picked it up and held it to the light, noting the initials carved into the facade: JHD . “This was in her pocket,” Helena offered.
“ JHD ,” he said. “Who do you think that is?”
“I don’t believe many women wear signet rings of their own names.”
He met Helena’s eye. “You think she is betrothed? Married?”
Helena shook her head. “Betrothed or married women don’t take their rings off, least of all before a journey on horseback.”
He closed his fist around the ring and looked back at Helena. “What does any of this mean?”
“We have no way of knowing,” she said. “Save for what she may tell us when she wakes up.”
Isobel reappeared, her cheeks pink from the cold. “Dr. Ramsay is quite the conversationalist; I doubt I’ve spoken as much in the past month as I did while walking him to the carriage.” She noted their grim expressions. “Have we determined the identity of our mystery guest?”
“Not even close,” said Helena, before telling her about the ring.
“Why, how dramatic,” exclaimed Isobel. “Perhaps she’s a bandit.”
“Perhaps, but her clothing suggests otherwise,” said Helena. “She wears the finery of a lady, even if a lady would never ride horseback alone during a snowstorm.”
“My kind of woman,” remarked Isobel. “There must be an interesting story behind her late-night sojourn.”
Jasper thought back to the woman’s desperate plea and tried to piece together a theory. Was she fleeing an abusive fiancé? Heavens, an abusive husband ? There wasn’t much the Maycotts could do for her, if it was the latter.
Helena nudged him. “I can see the wheels in your mind turning, Jasper. We don’t know that she’s a damsel in need of rescuing.”
“Who said I mean to rescue her?”
Isobel smirked. “More so than you’ve already done?” She gasped when Helena pinched her. “I simply mean it’s rather romantic, isn’t it?”
Jasper went cold. “There is nothing romantic about this, Isobel.”
Something in his tone must have warned his impertinent sister against arguing further. By then, they had reached the Lavender Room only to find the woman stirring within.
Isobel began to speak but Jasper shushed her. “She’s waking,” he hissed as he and Helena crept toward the bed.
“Are we perhaps aiming to frighten the girl to an early grave?” whispered Isobel.
“We should let her come to awareness gently, Jasper,” said Helena, straightening.
His sister was right, but Jasper was entranced by the fluttering of the woman’s eyelids in the candlelight. He should leave, heavens knew she would be distressed if the first thing she saw upon waking was a strange man. But perhaps she would remember him as the one who had carried her from where she lay injured in the road.
He didn’t have time to make a decision before her eyes opened in earnest. He froze, waiting for them to focus on him as they had in the road. Her brow creased as her eyes darted around the room. An arm escaped the counterpane and moved sideways until her hand slapped the nightstand.
“What is it?” Jasper asked without thinking. “What do you require?”
If she was frightened to hear a man speak in her immediate vicinity, she didn’t show it. “My—my spectacles,” she croaked, her voice entirely hoarse.
Helena stepped closer. “You’ve been in an accident.”
“An accident?” The woman raised herself up on her elbows only to gasp out in pain.
Isobel stepped closer and eased her into a prone position. “Thrown from your horse, we suspect. You mustn’t overexert yourself. Dr. Ramsay was very clear about that.”
The woman was understandably confused. Helena sat on the side of the bed. “If you tell us your name, we will be able to inform your family of your whereabouts. They must be worried.”
“My name?” she asked as though the question itself were perplexing.
“Yes, your name,” replied Jasper, perhaps a little too forcefully. But he couldn’t help her unless he knew who she was. Helena gave him a look nonetheless.
“I…” she began, and Jasper braced himself for the information that would set his course. He had said as much to Viola. If she was the daughter or wife of a peer, haste would have to be made in order to inform her family of her accident and injury. Then, they could come retrieve her and the Maycotts could return to their quiet mourning, surviving one day after the other. Enduring as best they could. All he needed was for her to speak her name.
She looked around the room, her brows crinkling, before speaking at last. “I do not know.”