Chapter 10
When he woke the next morning, Rupert’s first thought was that he was still alive.
A macabre thought, perhaps, but one he couldn’t help but note with interest. The wound on his arm still hurt, however, and when he tried to sit up, the pain was even worse than the day before.
He let out a cry of pain, and the door to his room immediately burst open. His mother bustled inside, a determined look on her face.
“Good, you are awake,” she said in a businesslike tone. “I have already called the doctor, and he shall be coming back this morning to re-dress the wound.”
“Was he here already?” Rupert asked. He was struggling to remember. The last thing he recalled was passing out in the parlor downstairs.
“He did,” she said. “You were delirious. The wound had become infected, and he had to dress it and clean it.”
Rupert grit his teeth. He did not want to deal with this right now. He needed to go see his solicitor and deal with the problem of the sale of the estate, not worry over a silly little scratch.
“The bullet was removed,” he said stubbornly, “and the wound has been cleaned. I do not need him to come and clean it again. Cook can do it, or one of the maids.”
His mother gave him a look that brooked no opposition. “I have already lost your father this past year,” she snapped. “I am not about to lose you. And certainly not over something like this, that is entirely preventable.”
Rupert glared up at his mother. “I share the same fears after Father’s death,” he said.
“Which is why I was so distressed when I received your note that you were ill. I hurried back to London to see you, convinced that you were on death’s door.
And now I arrive and find that you are perfectly healthy? ”
His mother at least had the manners to blush. “I am… feeling better,” she said, the quaver in her voice giving her away.
“Do not lie to me, Mother,” Rupert snapped.
Her cheeks were very red, but she tilted her chin up and looked at him defiantly. “Fine,” she said at last. “I was not sick. But I desired you to return to Mayfair. I do not like you traveling away from me so soon after your father’s death.”
“It has been eight months.”
“And I was married to him for three decades!” she cried. “Eight months is nothing after that.”
Rupert said nothing. He knew that she was right about that.
“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat, “there was another matter that I wanted to urgently discuss with you.”
“And what is that?” Rupert asked, although he had a feeling he already knew.
“Your marriage,” the Dowager Duchess said.
Rupert sighed, suddenly restless. “I do not wish to discuss my marriage,” he said shortly. “Especially considering the duplicitous way that you manipulated me into coming back here to arrange it.”
“I might have lied,” his mother said, “but you are the one who is shirking responsibility by avoiding the subject!” Her shrill voice quieted, and she gave him a very serious look.
“You are the duke now, Rupert. You cannot just ignore this. You must marry, and soon, and father an heir. The fate of the dukedom rests on your shoulders now.”
Rupert grit his teeth. He knew she was right, but it was still the last thing he wished to think about right then. Especially with the memory of Ellie still so fresh in his mind.
But how could he ever explain that to his mother? She would never understand that he could have developed feelings for someone so far below his station. And of course, he knew it was impossible to consider a future with her.
Still, the memory of her made it very difficult indeed to even contemplate marrying someone else.
It was not uncommon, of course, for dukes to take mistresses. He did know that there was a way for him to have Ellie and a wife. But honor absolutely forbid such a thing for him.
He could never dishonor his wife in that way, nor could he sentence the woman he cared about to such a fate. A mistress had no rights, no status, no claim on his money. And if she were to become with child, well…
That child could never inherit the dukedom. Or anything. They would be a bastard.
And he could never do that to a child.
His mother was looking at him with narrowed eyes, and Rupert quickly cleared his throat.
“It is difficult for me to imagine marrying so soon after Father’s death,” he improvised. “I am still grieving…”
This was not entirely untrue, of course. But it was not the real reason.
His mother, however, looked unconvinced.
“Your father’s death is the reason you must marry,” she said.
“The future of the dukedom hangs by a thread. You are the only person stopping it from falling into the hands of some low-born cousin. You know your father and I tried for years to have you. We were sure we would never be successful. And if you should also have trouble having a child… It could make everything very uncertain. What if you were to die as well, without an heir?”
“Then the lowborn cousin would become the duke,” Rupert said crossly. After meeting Ellie, he was inclined to think this would not be such a terrible fate. “Lowborn folk can be very intelligent and wise,” he added.
His mother gave him a skeptical look. “Well, you will never have to find out, will you? You will be dead.”
Rupert had to do everything in his power not to roll his eyes.
His mother, however, did have a point, as much as he hated to admit it.
A duke’s first duty was to his estate and the preservation of the family name and ducal title.
He did need an heir. And his death was not as implausible as he had once thought it was.
Only yesterday, he had been shot at. And he was still not convinced it had been a coincidence.
The doctor arrived shortly after their conversation and re-dressed the wound.
He was a kind man who gave Rupert strict instructions to stay on bed rest. Rupert, however, was having none of that, and by the time his uncle arrived downstairs, he had managed to convince his mother to let him at least sit in the parlor with a blanket over him.
That was where he received his uncle, who looked very pale as he came into the parlor. When he caught sight of Rupert sitting on the sofa, the blanket over him and the fire roaring in the grate, he grew paler still.
“Your mother sent me a note last night,” Uncle Reginald said, his voice low and husky. “She told me you had been shot. I could hardly believe it. But seeing you now… You do look very sickly.”
“I am feeling better already,” Rupert insisted, although he was bluffing a little.
In truth, he did feel very weak, and occasionally, he had the feeling like he was going to faint.
His arm still hurt quite a lot, but he was determined not to show any weakness.
“And the doctor seems convinced that I shall make a full recovery. As long as I make sure to keep the wound from getting infected.”
Uncle Reginald sat across from him and looked at him very seriously.
“What happened?” he asked. “Your mother seemed confused about the details.”
Rupert recounted the story to his uncle, whose frown only deepened as the story continued. By the end, his brow was as wrinkled as linen sheets before being starched.
“That is… worrisome,” Uncle Reginald said at last, sitting back. “You say they did not take anything?”
“That is correct,” Rupert said. “Which is what makes me think they were not thieves, but that perhaps they had been sent to assassinate me. Or…” He trailed off. He had not mentioned Ellie to his uncle, and he did not plan to.
Uncle Reginald, however, was shaking his head. “But why would someone want to assassinate you?” he asked. “You do not have any enemies, nor did your father. He was beloved, as you well know.”
Rupert considered this. “Perhaps it has something to do with the sale of the lands that did not go through.” And he explained to his uncle what the solicitor had said about how he did not have the authority to sell the lands.
“Maybe someone is trying to block the sale of the lands for whatever reason, and they sent hired guns after me to ensure that I do not discover why my authority does not hold sway over those parcels of land.”
“Maybe,” Uncle Reginald said, but he did not look convinced.
“But those lands are bleeding you money. They are not producing and their sale will only benefit the area. Some industrialist will turn them into a factory and make good money. What reason could anyone have for trying to block the sale? And what reason could be so dire that they would send assassins after you?”
That stumped Rupert. Truthfully, he had no idea.
“No, I think it more likely they were your average roadside brigands,” Uncle Reginald said.
“Perhaps they got scared at the last minute, when most of their bullets went astray, and they did not kill you outright. They probably feared you had a gun as well and cut their losses and left you there without collecting the purse.”
That made sense, and Rupert had to admit that his uncle had a point.
Of course, it was possible that it had something to do with Ellie.
He could not rule out that possibility. But he would have to figure that out without his uncle’s help.
He did not know if he could trust his uncle not to mention Ellie to his mother.
Both Reginald and the Dowager Duchess were eagerly invested in his marriage to an eligible young lady of the ton.
“I would put this incident behind you,” Uncle Reginald said, clapping him on the arm forgetfully and making Rupert grit his teeth as pain shot up through him.
“I have a good feeling that you will not encounter any more brigands. Focus instead on finding a wife, and I shall look into this matter with the sale of the lands. You are the duke! You have every authority to sell whichever lands you want to.”
“Thank you,” Rupert said, and he really meant it.
After Uncle Reginald had bid farewell, the butler announced another visitor: Thomas had arrived in London and was eager to see him.
Rupert was also eager to see his friend, and when Thomas came bursting into the parlor, it took several confused minutes to explain everything that had happened to him on the road.
Thomas was beside himself with anger about the shooting, and he paced back and forth through the parlor, his hand rubbing his chin as he thought it through.
“It could have something to do with the girl,” he said at last. Rupert had told him everything about Ellie as well, including the multiple times he had saved her life and waking up to find her watching over him.
He had even told him about the note he’d left at the bottom of her poem.
“You said she did not seem like the typical governess, correct?”
“Yes, that is correct,” Rupert said uneasily. “But to jump to someone wanting her dead…”
“You never know,” Thomas said darkly. “She could be someone important. Someone wealthy. Maybe she had to disguise herself exactly because someone wants her dead.”
“We do not even know she disguised herself,” Rupert said.
“No, that is true,” Thomas said. “But I think we ought to investigate. We should go and see Miss Vivienne Carlton and inquire about this governess. It is odd that a household without any children should employ one! There is something very suspicious about the whole thing.”
“I have to recover first,” Rupert pointed out. “I cannot ride back to Pendleton Manor and inquire as to the identity of the governess. Anyway, my mother is not likely to let me leave again. She lied about her illness, you know, in order to hurry me back from Dover. All so she can find me a wife!”
“Well, you really ought to find a wife,” Thomas said unhelpfully. “You are the duke now.”
Rupert sighed. “Not you, as well.”
“Yes, me as well,” Thomas said, grinning. “A wife would do you good. You cannot remain a rake forever, you know.”
“I am not a rake!”
“That is not what I hear about your exploits on the continent…”
They spent the rest of the visit arguing about whether or not Rupert was a rake, but the whole time, he could not help but think of Ellie.
He hoped that whatever reputation he had acquired for himself had not preceded him to Pendleton Manor. If she ever found out his true identity, he would not want her thinking of him as rakish. Not when the only woman who currently occupied his thoughts was her.
That night, he even dreamed of her. In his dream, he was back at the river where he had first rescued her.
But this time, she was not being swept away in the current.
Instead, she was standing in the river, which was very still.
It was dawn, and mist clung to the surface of the water, floating up around her.
She was dressed, he was shocked to see, not in a day dress, but in a silk night shift.
It fell loosely around her, failing to hide the curves of her body, before slipping into the water.
She was walking away from him, but as he approached the riverbank, she turned back toward him.
The white fabric was almost sheer, and he had to look away, up into her eyes.
The blue in them was as blue as the river itself. As blue as the sky. And as he gazed into them, he felt something deep in his chest unlock.
Rake… she whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. That is what they call you.
No, he said, but she only laughed and turned away. Typical… A man who thinks women are not intelligent enough to read Plato is also a rake.
I am not! He called after her, but his voice was swallowed up by the river, and when he woke, he was as drenched in sweat as she must have been in river water.
That day, he found himself much recovered, and after the doctor declared that the wound was truly beginning to mend and that he would be set to leave the house by the end of the week, his mother informed him it was time for him to begin his matchmaking duties.
“And I have just the event!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Lady Fowler is hosting the first ball of the Season this weekend, and I expect you to be in attendance! Not just in attendance… But looking for a bride!”