Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“ Y our Grace cannot expect to recover from such an illness overnight,” said Doctor Jackton.
He was of an age with Horatio, with red hair and bright blue eyes.
“I do not expect to recover overnight, Jackton. But it has been a month and I am no closer to full health. It was a flesh wound only. I do not understand this crippling weakness!”
Horatio was standing only with the aid of a walking cane. Having ambled from his bed to the bedroom window, his knees were shaking. He sat down heavily in a window seat, looking out over the forest beyond Ravenscourt Castle. HIs hand tightened on the silver head of the cane until the metal dug into his palm.
“There was clearly some contamination of your wound that brought on a fever,” Doctor Jackton said, patiently, standing before Horatio with hands clasped in front of him. “It is the fever that has so weakened you, not the wound. Such a fever can have lifelong consequences.”
“I have never known anything like it,” Horatio grated.
“The medicine I have prescribed will continue to combat the effects of the fever on your body. It will build your strength slowly, but over time.”
“It makes me sick to my stomach and leaves me weak as a kitten!” Horatio roared.
“ Temporary consequences, I can assure you. I have actually been reducing the dosage. But you must be patient.”
Horatio wanted to strike him down.
The man was infuriating, always patient. Always seeming to be on the verge of a smile, making Horatio feel that he was being mocked.
This was not the physician that Horatio would ordinarily call upon. That man had been indisposed. The servant sent by Hall to fetch him had returned empty-handed. Another physician had then been recommended from Harley Street.
Jackton had efficiently dealt with the wound in Horatio's side and had nursed him through three days of furious fever. Hall had told Horatio that the man's credentials were excellent and his skills evident. Horatio trusted Hall's judgment in such matters. Hall had assisted the sawbones aboard ship during his time in the Navy.
Horatio frowned.
It suddenly seemed a long time since he had spoken to Hall.
He looked to the nearest bellpull, thinking to summon his old friend. But it was beside the bed and Horatio's knees qualified at the prospect of crossing the room.
“Kindly summon my butler, would you?” Horatio scowled, resting his head against the windowpane and shutting his eyes.
“At once, Your Grace. While you are waiting, I have your next dose prepared.”
He turned to a side table and produced a brown, glass vial which he handed to Horatio, waiting silently for Horatio to drink it. Horatio held the vial up to the light. There was no doubt that it gave him a feeling of strength and vigor effective almost immediately.
After taking this dose, he had no doubt he would be able to walk by himself to the Red Study, catch up with his correspondence, and write to Juliet. Again.
Without it, the weakness would overwhelm him and there would be pain in his stomach and muscles eventually.
Unstoppering the bottle, he upended it over his mouth until the final few drops were gone. Then, he handed it back to Doctor Jackton.
More than anything, Horatio wanted to hear from Juliet. But she did not reply to his letters. He knew they had been delivered, Hall had personally arranged for them to be carried to Wetherby House. But he had heard nothing back.
He was not about to mention it in front of Jackton though. Having delivered the medicine, Jackton gave the bellpull a sharp tug, then excused himself and left. Horatio waited for his strength to return and for Hall to respond to the summons.
It was not Hall who responded though. It was Frances Godwin . She entered the room, dressed in a gown that left her chest bare to the slopes of her breasts. Her auburn hair was elaborately curled. Having entered the room she stood lips parted and cheeks flushed, ducking her head demurely.
“I did not send for you, Miss Godwin,” Horatio muttered, coldly.
“You did not, but I am afraid that Mr. Hall is unavailable presently. He has left the house on an errand.”
“So you are now a member of my household staff, are you?” Horatio asked.
“Merely trying to help in any way I can, Your Grace,” Frances replied meekly. “How may I serve Your Grace?”
Horatio sighed. “I have written to your cousin many times in the last month but have received no reply. Do you have any insight to give as to the reason for this?”
He was wearing a thick dressing robe that covered him from chin to floor, but was still hardly appropriately dressed to be alone in company with an unmarried female. Horatio could scarcely bring himself to care though.
Frances' blush deepened and she looked away from Horatio, glancing at him occasionally from beneath lowered lids. She seemed reluctant to meet his eyes. He rose, feeling some strength coming back to him already. He ambled across the room to her, looking down on her.
“I am waiting for an answer,” he muttered.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I do not know how to answer in a way that will spare your feelings,” Frances replied.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Horatio demanded.
“I believe you probably know that I am not my cousin's greatest ally. She has not been the easiest person to live with, and I believe has long been jealous of me...”
Horatio snorted, seeing the distortion of the truth based on what Juliet had already told him. And the lies he had seen first-hand from Frances as to Juliet’s condition when, in truth, she had attempted to leave Ravenscourt.
The only reason the Godwins still held residence at his house was to quell the scandal that might erupt if he confronted them on it—scandal he could not combat in his weakened state, with the bonus that perhaps he might get some insight on Juliet now that she had chosen to return to Wetherby.
“Please, hear me out, Your Grace. Perhaps it was arrogant of me to assume that Juliet was jealous of me. I can admit that. But she is not the woman you believe she is.”
Horatio had turned away, but now he whirled to face Frances, angered by her words. But the sudden movement made his head spin. As the room whirled around him, Horatio stumbled. Instinctively, he reached out for support. Frances took his hand. Then she was beside him, her body pressed to his side to hold him upright.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I have you,”
Her voice was husky, hoarse with desire. For a wild moment, Horatio thought it was Juliet that held him in her arms. The perfume was identical, different to the unsubtle aroma that Frances usually preferred. Her voice was similar, carrying the same accent as Juliet’s. His head still swimming, Horatio turned to the woman who held him.
“Juliet?” he whispered.
She smiled, nodded, and then lifted her lips to Horatio's. He closed his eyes instinctively at the kiss and his balance deserted him. He felt the bed beneath him and the soft, feminine body of… Frances atop him, her lips still in contact with his.
The illusion was shattered.
In a moment of blinding clarity, Horatio recognized Frances again and what was happening. He gripped her arms and lifted, pushing her away from him. As he opened his eyes, he saw her staring down at him with a look of vulpine need. Her lips curled into a smile that screamed of triumph.
“Frances!' Lady Margaret screamed from the doorway, “Your Grace, unhand my daughter this instant!”
Horatio and Frances both looked to see Lady Margaret standing in the doorway, horrified. A man stood next to her in the garb of a priest. He was crossing himself, mouth agape in shocked astonishment. Frances scrambled to her feet, smoothing her dress, and looking at the floor as though chastened. Her cheeks were scarlet.
“Mother, it is not how it looked!” she cried. “The Duke fainted and I caught him.”
“And did this aid which you rendered also require a kiss?” Lady Margaret demanded.
“I... it just happened... it was not his fault... it was mutual...” Frances stammered.
“Appalling behavior. You, sir, should be ashamed,” the priest shook his head.
Horatio sat up, frowning. There was something about the man's voice and face that was familiar, though he could not quite place it.
“Thank goodness you were here to witness this man's vile behaviour. It is not the first time as I'm sure you are aware, Reverend Ainsworth,” Lady Margaret said.
Then, Horatio knew precisely who the man was. Matthew Ainsworth . Brother to Jane, whom Horatio had once loved.
“I did not know you had taken holy orders, Matthew,” Horatio snarled.
“Now is not the time to discuss such matters,” Matthew exclaimed. “I see I arrived just in time. The reputation that the Templeton name has possessed for depravity is clearly well-earned. You have need of a man of God here.”
Horatio's eyes narrowed and he looked from Lady Margaret to Matthew Ainsworth. Finally, he looked to Frances. She looked ashamed and humble, a very different look to that which he had become accustomed to seeing from her.
“And what use do you believe I have for you, Matthew?” Horatio asked, coldly.
“I have the authority, in the name of God and the Church of England, to grant a marriage license and carry out the ceremony.”
“Ah!” said Horatio, grinning wolfishly. “And you would marry myself and Frances Godwin, would you?”
“I would prefer not to have to marry you to anyone, Your Grace. My sister narrowly escaped being tarnished by your name, I would not have this young lady suffer a similar fate!” Matthew said hotly. “Alas, my duty is clear. And your only course of action should be clear too. If you are, indeed, a gentleman.”
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” Frances said, tearfully, “I was only trying to help. Now I have made everything worse!”
There were tears in her eyes which she tried to hide with her hands. There was no disguising her sobs though.
“I wish it could be another way,” Lady Margaret said, wringing her hands, “but I fear this is the only way to avoid scandal. Once more, I offer you a way out, Your Grace. A chance to save your family name by allying yourself with my family.”
“I had chosen to do just that. I was to marry your niece,” Horatio muttered scornfully.
“A niece who has cast you aside in favor of the Viscount Hemsworth,” Lady Margaret said, plaintively.
Horatio looked at her, face going still. “You lie,” he whispered.
Matthew Ainsworth stepped forward, raising his hands placatingly. “Remember that you speak to a lady and moderate yourself…” he started, “control your baser urges.”
Horatio realized that Ainsworth was afraid that violence was about to ensue. He gripped the walking cane in both hands, arms tight with tension. He was glowering at Lady Margaret and she shrank back from that stare.
“I have proof!” she cried, “letters written by my wretched niece to Viscount Hemsworth, professing her undying love. And replies too.”
“It is true, Your Grace, Lord Hemsworth was courting Juliet from before she attended your masked ball,” Frances put in.
“I have friends at court,” Ainsworth said, “I can promise you that you and your new wife will find a favorable reception with the Regent. Your history will be forgotten. I am prepared to put past enmities aside and act as a man of God alone. Let me help you, Horatio.”
There was an inevitability to it all…
This is where it had all started. An accident and a scandal with the only solution being a marriage of convenience.
Horatio had cared only for his family name and its restoration. He had been prepared to do anything to protect it, including joining his family to the Godwins. At least that would have resulted in a union with Juliet, a woman he was coming to love.
But it had never been in the plan of the Godwins. And now they would get their way at last. He did not believe that Juliet was part of that plot. If she had been, then there would be no reason for her to be sent away.
The anger left him like water from a holed bucket. In its place came weariness. He turned away, using the cane to stagger to a chair and sitting down with a sigh. The medicine's effects hadn't lasted very long this time, perhaps Jackton had reduced the dose too soon. He would have to speak to him.
“Very well. Let me think on it for a while. Leave me. All of you.”
Lady Margaret gathered her daughter and ushered her from the room. Matthew Ainsworth went last.
“Wait a moment, Matthew,” Horatio murmured with a languid wave of the hand, rooting the man to his spot. “Jane wrote to me not long ago to tell me of her widowhood. She told me that you hated me. Why ?”
Matthew Ainsworth clasped his hands behind his back and looked Horatio firmly in the eye.
“…During our school days, I discovered that your father, William Templeton, had an affair with my mother. It had been going on for some time. Years in fact. I do not believe I am a… symptom of that liaison. I hope not. My father was a proud man and a learned one. When he discovered the infidelity, it destroyed him. I could not forgive the son for the sins of the father. Particularly when I saw you emulating his behavior. You were always an arrogant… selfish youth. Caring for no one but yourself. I hated you for it.”
He spoke in a calm, emotionless voice, chin lifted proudly as he finished.
Horatio sighed. The revelation should have had him bolt upright, feverish with the accusations leveled at his old man. But he knew his father too well to presume they were baseless accusations. He dragged a hand over his face, wiping away the cold sweat, and then sighed again. “I am sorry for what my father did,” he muttered instead, “and I have certainly paid a price for my own sins, though I do not know what they were. I am not guilty of the crimes of which I am accused but have borne the punishment for those crimes regardless.”
“The only way to absolve yourself of sin is by admitting to it. Cleanse your soul and seek absolution,” Matthew said fervently.
“What do you gain from all of this?” Horatio asked suddenly. “Why do you aid the Godwins?”
Ainsworth's face reddened and he turned for the door.
“I stand to gain nothing,” he hissed. “I seek to right a historic wrong and save your soul.”
“I don't believe my soul is in jeopardy,” Horatio countered, “only my name. If I have misjudged you, I apologize.”
He hoped it sounded contrite. It was meant to be so. If Ainsworth was honest, then Horatio was maligning him by suspecting him. But something told Horatio that there was more going on behind the scenes than he could see. A trap had been closed about him.
But without Juliet, he could not summon the strength to fight against it.