Chapter Sixteen
Christmas morning
The longcase clock on the second floor softly chimed the midnight hour. It was officially Christmas morning in London, but Barr felt anything but joy.
In fact, he was nearly worried sick.
After Cate’s accident, the party had ground to a halt, and rightfully so.
He’d taken charge of the situation while the housekeeper and Mrs. Travers sprang into action to fetch supplies they might possibly need.
Barr had carried her upstairs, tucked her into a guest room, then the women had fussed over her while he and Professor Pickwick stood ineffectually by her bedside.
However, she hadn’t regained consciousness in that bit of time.
When he’d put forth the idea that he should summon a doctor, Mrs. Travers said to let her be for a few hours, then she kicked everyone out of the room.
The professor had gone home, but cautioned that if things made a turn for the worse, he needed to be informed immediately.
Most of the staff had gone home as well, since the morrow was Christmas and they were given that day of the year off anyway.
Travers and the cook stayed behind to help with things should Cate take a turn.
With nothing else to do, Barr retreated to the study to think over everything with his head in his hands and his heart in his throat.
Good God, but that had been a singular moment in time where the thought of seeing Cate hurt or possibly killed due to this curse or whatever it might be had acted as a bucket of water thrown into his face.
She’d made quite the impression on him in the past week, and now he admired her more than he probably should.
To the point of having his heart involved.
Strange but true, and what was more, he didn’t mind.
Was it too soon? Did it matter? At his age and with his title, should he steer clear of anyone not of the ton?
There were no easy or ready answers, yet his mind felt as if it would spin free of his head.
And he remained sitting like that, agonizing over his thoughts, but when the long-case clock chimed the next hour, Travers came into the room.
“Your Grace, you should be abed.”
Barr snorted. “How can I retire knowing that Catherine might be fighting for her life? Knowing that she’s fallen into this state in my own house during an absurd celebration?”
“None of that.” The valet sat in one of the leather chairs that faced Barr’s desk. “The impromptu party was everything proper and lovely. What happened to Miss Pickwick was naught but an unfortunate accident. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Well, I am. If it wasn’t for me and finding that damned book, perhaps she would even now…
” His words faltered. “I never should have engaged her to work the translation. Then she would have been safe from the fucking curse upon that book.” Unshed tears rose in his throat, graveling his voice and urging him to give into that emotion.
He shook his head. “Now, because of me, because of that curse, she’s lying unconscious with an uncertain diagnosis. ”
Heavy silence met that statement.
Then Travers cleared his throat. “In light of this new development, I feel that I should confess to something.”
With a frown, Barr took his head from his hands and stared at his long-time friend. “What do you mean?”
“Uh…” Travers tugged on the knot of his cravat, which was a sure sign that he was bothered by something. “Regarding the curse…”
“Yes?” Barr straightened his spine. “What of it? Spit it out, man.” It wasn’t like his valet to dicker about.
“I am embarrassed to report that the curse was something my wife and I came up with.” His swallow was audible. “We, uh, invented such a thing in an effort to bring you and Miss Pickwick together after I saw how well the two of you got on, especially since you have been so taken with her.”
For the space of a few seconds, Barr stared at his friend. “I beg your pardon?” Shock plowed into him as if Travers had physically punched him.
Slowly, Travers nodded. “There is no curse. It is completely made up a bit of fiction to help bring you and Miss Pickwick together as a couple.”
“You did this? How?” He couldn’t make sense of the admission.
“My wife and I, yes.” The valet blew out a breath. “It was simple enough. Mention a curse to you both, and the power of suggestion did the rest. However, we did help things along a bit, like loosening the fastenings on the mirror—”
“She could have been seriously injured!”
“—or string a bit of fishing line across the stairs when you were on the move—”
“I could have killed myself in that fall!”
It seemed that Travers wouldn’t be interrupted, for he sailed on. “Of course, I couldn’t arrange for you to fall out of the tree in Hyde Park, so I… urged Ronald to perhaps jostle you enough during the climb that you might lose your balance.”
“Bloody hell, Travers, I could have broken bones.”
“But you didn’t, and that resulted in Miss Pickwick rushing over in concern, allowing you to kiss her.
” The valet shrugged. “However, I couldn’t have predicted that her father would have stepped on her hem or that she would have fallen and hit her head.
” He sobered, and there was immense concern in his eyes, heightened by the guttering candlelight.
“I am very sorry, Your Grace. We meant no harm, just wanted to see you happy with this woman who has apparently captured your attention.”
He supposed he couldn’t hold the invention of a curse against his friend, for he meant well, yet Cate was doing poorly, and for that, he just couldn’t grant forgiveness. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? She might die.”
“She won’t.”
“What if she doesn’t wake?”
“She will.”
Barr heaved out a breath. “I need advice.”
“Obviously.” When the valet chuckled, a slight growl escaped Barr, and his friend once more went serious. “If I may speak freely? Don’t be daft, Your Grace. Declare yourself. Ask for her hand.”
“What?” Another round of shock slammed into him. “That’s a bit mad, don’t you think?”
“Then stay here for another few hours and give it a think. Don’t you truly believe it’s madness, what you feel for Miss Pickwick?”
“I…” He shook his head. “Love? Is that what I’m feeling? Surely not. That wasn’t how it went when I was with my wife.”
“Gammon.” Travers briefly rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Perhaps you are more of an arse than I thought.” With a huff, he narrowed his gaze. “Here’s the truth. Any fool can see you’re besotted with her.”
A grunt escaped him. “Only because we’ve been copulating like frantic rabbits.”
“Clearly.” The valet chuckled. “However, it’s more than that. I can see it in how you look at her. And the fact that you are so worried? How devastated you were when she was hurt accidentally? There is more there than just heat.”
That brought back the unsettled feeling into his chest, where the pressure there sought to steal his breath.
Would she come out right? He blew out a breath.
“I might not forgive you this, Travers. It was bloody rude of you. And reckless.” However, the longer he thought about it, the more it perhaps made sense, for each of those incidents had brought him and Cate closer in ways that sharing carnal pleasures with her never did.
“You will, especially once you secure her hand.” The valet offered a slight grin. “That is the next logical step, you know.”
“Secure her hand?” He stared at his friend. “You want me to ask her to marry me?” The shock broke through his melancholy and guilt from the accident. “Is it possible? So soon after meeting her?” Why did he suddenly feel so scattered?
“Why not?” Travers shrugged. “Life is odd at best. No two women are the same. Neither are any two courtships.” One of his blond eyebrows rose in question.
“Keep in mind that you are at a different time in your life now. What you needed twenty-five years ago isn’t the same as what you need in this stage. ”
That made more sense than it should have. “What if she declines?” That was always a fear of offering one’s heart to someone.
“Then she does.” His expression suggested it wasn’t the end of the world.
“But you have enjoyed yourself since making her acquaintance. You’ve stopped hiding so much, and have even made a friend.
” When he paused, apparently thinking over his next words, Travers slowly shook his head.
“I’ll wager you have even learned that life isn’t as frightening as you thought since losing your wife.
You can try again for love and romance, and with the advent of Miss Pickwick, you’ve been given the perfect opportunity. ”
“Perhaps, but love? Do you truly believe I’m in love with her?” Why was this concept so difficult for him to grasp?
“Only you can answer that, Your Grace, but I have known you for years. I saw how you were with Her Grace, and there was no denying you loved her to distraction.” A sigh escaped him.
“Yet that romance ended, sadly, when your wife died. That is the natural way of things. You’ll always remember her in a portion of your heart, but you have so much capacity for more, and Miss Pickwick has certainly caught your interest, in more ways than one, I’ll wager. ”
“This is… true.”
Where he’d previously thought that he might be gutted once her translation services weren’t needed because he wouldn’t see her daily, those feelings went deeper than that.
She brought excitement and new meaning to his days.
He looked forward to her arrival each afternoon, for she lifted his spirits and kept him from retreating into himself.
But love? Did he have those feelings for her? After a week?
Perhaps. What would his life be without her in it? If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he wished to share the remainder of it with her, and in a greater way than just coming together in carnal ways.
He stared at Travers as the sweet confirmation of the decision he didn’t realize he’d been struggling to make sent a feeling of peace through his form.
Then he nodded. “Perhaps you are correct, Travers. I shall, uh, talk it over with Miss Pickwick the moment she wakes, and perhaps that will happen today. It is Christmas, after all. The season of miracles.”
“Please relieve your mind. I don’t believe her injuries are as severe as you think.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.” Slowly, Barr nodded as his spirits began to lift.
“First, I need to go through the jewels in my safe for a certain parure, a certain ring.” In fact, the collection he had in mind had sat in that safe for years and years.
It wasn’t something his wife had favored, and he hadn’t wished to gift it to his daughter because it didn’t seem fitting.
Now he knew why, because it was perfect for Cate.
Waiting all along.
“Good man.” The valet nodded as he stood. “I wish you the best and with good tidings. The arrival of Miss Pickwick has been the best thing for you in recent years.”
“Perhaps.” As much as Barr wanted to say humbug, the fact was he no longer felt that way. “Go home, Travers. Take your wife and go home. Snuggle with her. Hell, fuck her senseless tonight of all nights and be grateful.” With a laugh, he gave his friend a wink. “Happy Christmas, my friend.”
The valet’s grin was a cheeky as his own. “Thank you, Scarborough. Happy Christmas to you as well.”
Barr waved him off. “The household has already retired. There is nothing else for you to do at the moment. I don’t want to see either you or Mrs. Travers until noon on Boxing Day.” When the valet began to offer a protest, he shook his head. “If I require breakfast, I’ll get it my damned self.”
“Yet Christmas dinner, Your Grace…”
Damn, he’d forgotten those plans. “Right. Well then, you two enjoy yourselves until the evening. Dinner will be a small affair, with just Miss Pickwick—if she’s feeling well—and her father in attendance, as well as the two of you. For now, go.” Again, he gestured him away.
“Very well.” Travers laughed. “Might I insist you go to bed as well?” Then he winked. “Perhaps sharing that bed with a certain ruined librarian might prove the best thing for you during this season.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” And he grinned.