Chapter 47
Gervaise rolled over with a groan. He felt like death. Where the hell was he? He frowned up at the whitewashed ceiling and felt the hard mattress beneath him. It wasn’t even a mattress, he realized, just a couple of blankets.
“You alive, milord?” asked a voice nearby. “Only, I got coffee for you here. It’s better than tea when you’re suffering the morning after.”
Gervaise squinted up into Jeb Morris’s face. “Where am I?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was still wearing his dress shirt and trousers, though he had lost his jacket and cravat. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He ran a hand over his face before taking the proffered cup.
Jeb snorted. “You dossed down in the scullery in Reg’s bedroll.”
Gervaise glanced around, realizing he was indeed tucked away at the back of the scullery. “And displaced poor Reg from his bed?”
“He’s alright,” Jeb said callously. “You don’t need to worry about ’im.”
“Ugh, God, my head,” Gervaise whimpered, taking a sip of hot coffee. “What the hell happened?”
Jeb shrugged. “You had a skinful, what else?”
Gervaise regarded him dubiously. “I remember leaving the tables around one. It was still in full swing up there,” he said, frowning with the effort of recall. “I left Barty there, lording it over his victims.”
“Made a killing, did he?” Jeb asked without surprise.
“Then what happened?”
“You joined me, Reg, and Effie here in the scullery.”
“Did I?” He had some vague memory of joining them, now he came to think of it. “We had a nightcap…” he said, piecing it together slowly. “Effie was sat on your knee!” he suddenly recalled.
Jeb smirked. “She was.”
“She’s taken you back, then?”
“Yes, thank God. We’re going to church on Sunday to see about getting the banns read.”
“Good for you.” Gervaise nodded slowly.
“That’s not what you said last night,” Jeb replied. “Last night you called me a lucky bastard and started raving about how you wasn’t really an earl.”
“Wasn’t really…what?” Gervaise asked faintly.
“Said you was a fraud and your real name was Captain Gerrard and Miss Caroline knew it. That’s why she wouldn’t marry you.”
Gervaise beheld him speechlessly a moment. “Ah,” he said at last. “It sounds as though I reached a somewhat maudlin state in my drunkenness.”
“Effie was spittin’ mad at you deceivin’ Miss Caroline like that. Read a proper peal over your head, she did.”
“And what did I do?”
“Just held your head in your hands and groaned,” Jeb replied cheerfully. The restoration of his relationship seemed to have given him a decidedly more genial air. “Don’t worry. We ain’t told Barty, nor that Carstairs neither. Your secret’s safe wiv us, Captain.”
Gervaise blinked at him. “It is?”
Jeb shrugged. “Yeah. You’re a good tipper, even if your title ain’t legit.
Effie will likely tell that Violet though, and you’ll want to stay out of her way.
Proper vindictive, she is. You should see what she did to my sister for bad-mouthing Effie.
Chipped her tooth and sent her flying clear across the pavement.
Not that she didn’t deserve it,” he added judiciously.
Gervaise sipped his coffee. “I appreciate the warning,” he answered, closing his eyes.
He felt quite unequal presently to untangling this particular knot.
He finished his coffee and then dragged himself upright.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had been reduced to such a state. Maybe at Oxford?
Unbidden, the image of Caroline declaring she would sooner die than marry him burst forth from his memory and he winced. So that had been why he had drunk himself stupid. That had hurt far more than the aching in his skull. Damnation.
And now he would have to go upstairs and let her see him in this appalling state.
And he was supposed to be moving out to Uncle George’s this morning, he thought tiredly.
Fucking Jeremy. Coming along with his righteous indignation, claiming Gervaise had seduced an innocent under his own roof, and demanding he act decently over the matter.
He couldn’t really blame his oldest friend for not believing Caroline was the one dragging her feet to the altar, not him.
“She went out early,” Jeb said, deducing who he was thinking about.
“What? Where?”
“Said she had to go and see her solicitor,” he answered, quite confounding Gervaise. “Took Reg with her, she did.”
“Her solicitor?”
“Yeah.” Jeb nodded. “That’s what she said.”
For a moment, the whisper of a memory crossed his mind. Caroline had mentioned a solicitor once before. When had that been? It was no good, his head was fuzzy and paining him. He needed to drink more coffee, to shave, and then to lie down awhile. Then he really should pack.
The idea held no appeal, even if Caroline did not want him for a husband.
Before Jeremy’s appearance, his plan had been simply to wear her down.
He still thought this plan had merit. Why the fuck had she gone running to a solicitor?
he wondered with misgiving. He had no idea, but he did not think it boded well, whatever the reason might be.