Chapter 6
Six
The doctor left off probing at Caroline’s shoulder and stepped back with a satisfied look.
“You’re recovering from your injuries remarkably well, miss.
Another day of bed rest, and you may begin to get up and move around.
” A slight frown. “Of course, your arm will take longer to mend. I imagine it will ache like the devil for some time.” He paused and gave her an appraising look.
“I must say, I’ve never seen a female show the fortitude of… ”
“Of a man?” Caroline suggested, a slight smile stealing over her lips. “I’m not sure whether you mean that as a compliment or an insult.”
“Oh, for you, miss, quite the first, I assure you.” He rose to leave. “I shall call again in a few days. In the meantime, Mrs. Collins will see to it that you build your strength, and His Lordship…”
Caroline found herself wondering just what His Lordship would see to.
“Good day to you, miss. And good luck.”
Caroline nodded absently. Well, she would no doubt find out the earl’s intentions soon enough.
Mrs. Collins arrived a short while later with a tray of steaming porridge and a pot of tea. Caroline submitted to the housekeeper’s ministrations even though she felt capable of feeding herself, for it gave her the opportunity to learn more about her surroundings between bites.
“Why, Hemphill is the closest village,” said Mrs. Collins in answer to the first question. “Ye ain’t from around there, then?”
Caroline took a long swallow of tea, then quickly changed the subject. “Please thank Her Ladyship for the loan of a nightdress. I’m most grateful for the kindness.”
“Can’t,” replied the housekeeper. “Thank her, that is. She ain’t around anymore.”
Caroline wondered what the housekeeper meant by that indelicate phrasing.
Was the earl a widower? That would account for his rather gruff demeanor, especially if he had only recently been bereaved.
Or perhaps, like many marriages of the ton, his was one of convenience, rather than any mutual affection, and his wife spent most of her time in London.
“I expect there are some other things in the attic that will fit you,” continued Mrs. Collins, her expression indicating what she thought of Caroline’s plan to take a needle to her own ragged garments. “I’ll have a look up there as soon as you are finished with your meal.”
“But perhaps…well, perhaps His Lordship would be upset?”
Mrs. Collins shrugged. “Why on earth would he care?”
Caroline took a few swallows of the hot tea. She wasn’t sure how to answer, but she found herself growing more and more curious about the earl. “Does His Lordship spend most of his days out overseeing his estate?”
The housekeeper gave a snort. “If that’s what ye still call this place. However, I give him credit. There’s not many a gentleman who would strip off his shirt and work along with his tenants.”
She must have noticed the look of disbelief on Caroline’s face. “Aye,” she confirmed. “Shoulder to shoulder with ’em in the fields, that’s a fact.”
“How strange.”
“The place is mortgaged to the hilt, or so they say. Who knows how long afore the creditors foreclose? If there was other decent work to be had, I’d leave in a trice,” confided Mrs. Collins.
“Not that it’s all that bad here, mind you.
Most of the house is closed up and under holland covers, so the work is manageable fer me.
Only other help is Owens and the cook, but His Lordship don’t seem to need much… ”
The butler stuck his head into the room. “Mrs. Collins, Cook is threatening to give notice unless credit is extended at the butcher’s. She says she won’t waste her talents baking bread and slicing cheese.”
The housekeeper muttered something regarding the cook’s culinary talents under her breath.
“Well, I better go see to her. It looks as if yer finished here anyway, miss.” She gathered up the dishes.
“I shall visit the attic and see what I can find in the way of clothing after I’ve dealt with the kitchen. ”
* * *
Mrs. Collins was as good as her word. She reappeared later with an armful of clothing, all in muted, if not somber, colors.
The earl’s late wife had apparently not been of a sunny nature, mused Caroline.
However, it was all of good quality and she was grateful, though still hesitant about the propriety of accepting Her Ladyship’s clothing without the earl’s approval.
“You are sure it won’t upset His Lordship?” she asked while eyeing the dark merino day dress that the housekeeper had draped over the foot of the bed. “I mean…”
But the other woman had already bustled from the room in response to a shriek that was coming from downstairs.
Caroline slowly stood up. She was still feeling slightly woozy and dreadfully sore from all her knocks and bruises. But she forced herself to dress. She had lain about entirely too long. Now that she had recovered enough to move around, she had to resolve on a course of action.
As she fumbled with the buttons of the gown, she thought about her current situation. Her reticule was lying somewhere in the shattered remains of the carriage, so she hadn’t a penny to her name…
Ah, yes, the question of a name.
Now that was a problem.
Not only was she determined not to reveal her real name, but Caroline had also totally forgotten in whose house she was. He had told her his name—that much she did remember. But she couldn’t for the life of her recall what it was.
Darrencott…Dovepot…
It was no use—it wouldn’t come to mind. She would have to remember to ask Mrs. Collins at the first opportunity to avoid making a cake of herself. However, one thing was certain. He was a gentleman, and as such, he would be expected to offer her assistance without asking awkward questions.
There wasn’t a soul around when she made her way downstairs. No doubt Mrs. Collins and Owens were busy putting out fires in the kitchen. Finding herself curious, Caroline decided to look around on her own.
Immediately to her right was the drawing room.
It was done in shades of rose and emerald that had faded into lifeless shadows of their former hues.
The carpets were threadbare and the mahogany sideboard, though recently waxed, showed its nicks and dents with little grace.
Even the cushions on the sofas and wingchairs had a deflated look, as if depressed by all they had witnessed.
Her eyes strayed to the carved fireplace.
Above the mantel hung a large oil painting of an extremely elegant gentleman.
The style of dress—the faultlessly tied cravat, the multicolored figured silk waistcoat, perfectly tailored swallow-tailed coat and snug-fitting pantaloons—was a total contrast to what she had seen him garbed in lately.
But the chiseled features were the same—though there was an unpleasant hardness to the mouth and eyes she hadn’t noticed…
“A fine painting, is it not?”
Caroline whirled around with a start.
“Forgive me for startling you,” said Davenport as he took a step into the room. His gaze also moved to the portrait, and his mouth quirked. “The likeness is quite good, don’t you think?”
Caroline regarded his work-stained shirt, shabby coat and buckskins, then turned back to stare again at the gilt-framed canvas for several long moments.
“No,” she finally answered. “I don’t.”
His lips curled in a sardonic smile. “Ah, the difference in dress?”
“It isn’t that.” She knew that the prudent course of action was to remain silent. But something goaded her to go on. “There is a certain cruelty to the mouth and the eyes. Indeed, I wonder why you tolerate it to be shown at all.” Caroline paused. “It does you no credit.”
Davenport’s face betrayed a flicker of surprise. He stared thoughtfully at the portrait before returning his attention to Caroline. “Do you think it wise to be up and moving about so soon?” he inquired, abruptly changing the subject.
“I’m not used to lying abed,” she replied, then had the grace to color as she realized how boorish her actions, as well as her words, must have appeared. “Forgive me for wandering around your house uninvited.”
Davenport shrugged. “You may do as you please—we do not stand on manners here at Highwood.” Again, the hint of a sardonic smile.
“Highwood?” she repeated softly. “I do not recognize…” Her brow furrowed slightly as she pondered her dilemma. Finally, she decided to settle it herself. “I find I must ask for your forgiveness again, milord. I seem to recall that you introduced yourself earlier, but I…I can’t remember your name.”
The smile deepened into real humor. “I believe you had other things on your mind. I trust your arm is feeling better?” He inclined a slight bow. “I am Davenport.”
Caroline stepped back with an involuntary gasp. “The Earl of Davenport?” she said, in barely more than a whisper.
“Ah, how heartening to be recognized.” His tone was almost amused, but a flicker of some deeper emotion flashed in his eyes.
She could only stare at him in disbelief. What wretched luck! Of all the places she could have stumbled into, she had to have ended up on the doorstep of one of the most dissolute rakehells in England.
Oh yes, she knew of Davenport.
His scandalous behavior was often the subject of gossip among the ton, and Caroline was well aware of the tales, even though unmarried young ladies were not supposed to have their ears sullied with such shocking stories.
Having a cousin who did not treat her as if she were a delicate—and witless—little creature had its uses.
The earl was regarding her as well, an inscrutable expression shading his features.
Finally, he shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other and broke the silence.
“You needn’t collapse in a paroxysm of terror.
I prefer to choose my own victims.” A pause.
“You appear to have been claimed by another.”
As Caroline went pale with anger, he walked past her to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “As I said, we do not stand on ceremony here. It has been a long day, and I am devilishly thirsty. Would you care to join me?”
She shook her head.
“No, I didn’t think so.” His lips were curled once again in a faint smile.
Furious as she was at his cutting words, Caroline couldn’t help but notice there seemed to be a flicker of sympathy in his eyes, rather than the reptilian coldness portrayed on the canvas.
“You are looking a trifle pale. Perhaps you should sit down before you fall into a faint.”
“I’ve never had a fit of vapors in my life,” she retorted. “I can’t imagine a more absurd reaction to troubling news. That’s just when you need your wits about you.”
He threw back his head and laughed. It was a very pleasant sound. “You have a good deal of spirit, miss…” He looked at her expectantly.
She clamped her teeth shut.
“Hmmm.” He cocked his head to one side. “I shall have to call you something.” He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the arm that had been injured. “Miss Socket.” His gaze traveled up to her face. “Miss Gash. Miss Hurt.”
Her lips began to twitch.
“Ah, I have it!” He rubbed at his nose. “Miss Boxer!”
At that, she couldn’t repress a smile of her own. “Are you always so absurd, sir?”
“No. Usually it takes until the third or fourth brandy.”
Caroline gritted her teeth. How had she let herself be drawn into bantering with such a man? She had come downstairs with a purpose, and she had let herself be distracted.
“I must leave here immediately,” she announced.
Davenport removed his dusty coat and sank into one of the faded armchairs. He wasn’t wearing a cravat, and his shirt was open at the neck, revealing a hint of dark curls beneath the rumpled linen.
“I’m relieved to hear it, Miss Boxer. I have more than enough of my own problems to manage without having to deal with some gothic female. Good luck to you.” A pause. “You appear to need it.”
Caroline sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn’t the response she had expected. Surely, even a gentleman as jaded as the earl would offer her the use of his carriage.
“Sir, what I meant is, I would be obliged if you would have your carriage brought around to take me on to…to my destination as soon as possible.”
His bark of laughter was short and humorless. “Forgive my rudeness, Miss Boxer, but have you had a closer look around? There is no carriage. And the only animal in the stables besides my stallion is a rather ordinary hack.”
“P-Perhaps a carriage can be hired?”
He crossed his legs nonchalantly. “Have you any money?”
Caroline shook her head.
“Well, neither have I.” He took a sip of his brandy. “I’m barely scraping by as it is. Perhaps there are relatives to whom you can send word?”
Caroline bit her lip. She was saved from having to reply by the entrance of Mrs. Collins, who was carrying a tray with a few slices of cold ham, a chunk of bread and some Stilton cheese. “I’ve brought your supper here, milord, as you asked.”
She hadn’t noticed Caroline standing in the shadows, and after setting it down on a side table, she hesitated before speaking again.
“The candlemaker’s son just delivered a package to the house and mentioned that someone—a gentleman of Quality by the sound of it—is inquiring in the village as to whether any unknown young lady has passed through recently—”
Caroline’s gasp interrupted the housekeeper. She felt the blood drain from her face, and for a moment, she was mortally afraid that she would have to eat her words swooning.
“Don’t you worry none, miss,” said Mrs. Collins quickly. “I know when to keep mum. I saw what he done to you.”
How had the man found her so quickly?
Davenport regarded her intently. “You’re safe here,” he said quietly. Then he rubbed at his temples and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an oath. “Perhaps in the morning we can figure a way out of this coil.”
She fought to compose her voice. “I-If you will excuse me, sir, I’m feeling rather fatigued. I think I shall return to my room.”