Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Morning came too quickly, stealing away the dream Perry tried desperately to cling to.
He turned his face to hide into the pillow, not ready to leave her behind.
A deep sense of chagrin enveloped him as his bleary eyes opened to welcome the light streaming through the slim part in the curtains.
Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, he gazed at cheerful wallpapered walls and the coverlet of yellow damask covering his body and crisp white sheets softly tucked around him.
It had been at least a decade since he had set foot on the Percy estate.
Even then, he had never had occasion to explore the bedrooms.
There were no trees here. No maiden to ease his pain.
Only a familiar sadness washing over him, and a throbbing ache in his arm.
He blinked and took note of a serving woman bustling into the room and looking at him with wide eyes before slowly backing out of the room. Perry could hardly believe the impertinence of a Fermoy servant and yelled at the woman.
“You there!” he shouted, his voice hoarse.
The woman stopped her slow walk and jumped, surprised that he had been able to make a sound.
“My apologies, my lord, you’ve been sleeping a long time. I was merely fetching a footman to send for a doctor. I am relieved to see you are recovering,” the servant said, bobbing her head. She stood there waiting, as though unsure whether to seek out the footman or obey him.
He cleared his throat, and attempted to sit up.
Feeling parched, he reached for the glass of water by his bedside.
Waving the maid away with a grunt as she tried to assist him, he picked up the glass and took a long drink.
The serving woman nodded and left the room in search of sustenance.
She returned after a brief absence with a tray of broth and hot tea to tempt him.
“Who are you?” Perry asked, as he took the proffered cup of tea from her hand and swallowed a welcome gulp of the hot liquid scorching his dry throat.
“I don’t believe we have met.” He clutched at his neck, the hot drink easing the pain.
His stomach reacted, and he pressed a hand to it, despairing that he might bring up his tea.
Placing the cup back in the saucer, he leaned back into the lofty feather pillows that had been fluffed up behind him.
“I’m a servant here at Fermoy. We are here at your service and ready to offer anything to make you comfortable, my lord. My name is Aamina.”
Perry stroked his collarbone, wincing as his arm moved slightly with the gesture.
His breath caught when his fingers approached his wound.
He looked down at his shoulder and noticed the thick bandage beneath his nightshirt.
His mind was a fog as he took his collection of memories and tried to put the pieces together to form a sensical image.
“How did I get here?” he asked, and the servant cleared her throat nervously before responding.
“It is a mystery, my lord. You arrived on your horse, injured. We cared for you as best we could, for we are only servants that reside here. We have sent notice to your brother, the duke, to let him know you are recovering. There is a chance he is already on his way.” She offered him the tray with a cup of broth, and he shook his head, waving it away.
“What has happened to me? I remember being en route to Bodmin. It was a lovely day. I happened on the road that turned onto our estate. I recall a gun shot, then it is a blur.” Perry placed a hand on his forehead, willing the memories to gather and show him the missing scenes from the past few days.
“You came here quite stricken, my lord,” Aamina replied, her face grim. “You’ve had a fever all this time.”
“How long have I been in bed?” he asked.
“It has been five days. Shall I fetch Mr. Hutchins? Perhaps he can better explain what occurred. You arrived here in such a poorly state, we weren’t certain you would live!” Aamina suggested, clutching at her chest dramatically.
“Where are the Townsends? Is anyone in residence?”
Aamina shook her head.
Surely there was someone else living here.
Perry frowned in confusion, certain he could recollect a soft voice, a pleasing touch that seemed unlikely to come from this maid. Perhaps he had imagined the entire encounter. He had been delirious with fever, after all.
“We are but a few staff maintaining the estate for the baron while the family spends their time in the city. I cannot say how long it will be before they return. The baron and baroness have been informed and were naturally quite alarmed.”
Perry nodded, unsatisfied. “Thank you for caring for me. I will ensure Baron Percy is made aware of his competent and caring servants. I owe you all my life.”
Aamina’s eyes grew wide at the praise. Though she seemed uncomfortable with it, she gave a small smile. The silence stretched between them as she waited for him to speak.
Perry was disturbed by the missing pieces in his memory and longed for more information.
His fascination with the mystery woman bordered on obsession.
Perhaps he had seen a ghost after all. In his feverish state, his heart and mind had shown him that which he desired most. His deepest, most hidden thoughts came to the surface to torture him or give him the will to live. He wasn’t sure which.
“Please fetch Hutchins for me, Aamina.”
With a quick nod, she left the room, and the maid disappeared into the hallway.
A male servant entered the room after a few moments of silence during which Peregrine’s mind was a jumble of thoughts.
His heart raced, remembering the haunting touch of the maiden, the way her fingers lingered over his skin.
There was a mystery at Fermoy, and in his drug-induced haze, he was incapable of putting the pieces together.
“Good day, my lord,” the servant greeted, his bushy gray brows raising as he spoke. “We are ever so pleased to see you awake. Are you feeling well?”
“As well as a man can feel after he has been shot. It is as though I have been trampled by a team of horses.”
“Oh, dear, perhaps I will have Mrs. Higgins give you more laudanum. The doctor left some with us to help keep you comfortable.”
Perry winced, not liking the idea of being drugged again. “I wonder if you might help me. Is there another woman who tended to me? One that is not a servant, perhaps?” Perry asked, studying the older man with a keen eye. The butler’s fingers drew together before him, and the man cleared his throat.
“Pardon me, my lord. I cannot think of another. You were very ill. Perhaps it was the effects of the laudanum. It can be very discombobulating.”
“Yes, yes, you must be right.” Perry nodded, unconvinced. The servants, while helpful and caring, were…holding back. Perry would have to rely on his own abilities to discover the truth. Fermoy was hiding a secret. His senses were alerted, the desire to seek answers throbbed within him.
“The doctor recommended you take some nourishment as soon as you are able to eat. Perhaps I will send more food to your room, my lord?” Hutchins suggested.
Perry nodded absently, his thoughts engaged in uncovering the deception. “Has the doctor been summoned? I am eager to quit this bed and be on my way.”
“Of course, my lord. He is on his way. You are looking much better. When your brother arrives, we can arrange for your transport to Bodmin. I’m sure you are eager to be in your own home.”
Dismissing Hutchins to seek out more food, Perry mulled over the butler’s words. His dreams had seemed so real that it gave him the creeping sensation that something was amiss.
Sinking back into the pillows, Perry resolved to use his legs and increase his strength. Being confined to this bed was doing nothing to progress his recovery. Taking advantage of his moment of solitude, his gaze was drawn to the bright light coming from outside.
Pushing up on his good arm, he swung his legs over the bed, eager to test his muscles.
The same dizziness that had assaulted him last time he attempted to stand seemed to have abated, and he clung to the bed post as he pushed to standing.
His heart stuttered loudly in his chest with the effort.
After a few unsteady movements, Perry stood.
Keeping a hand on the bed, he made his way around the room, taking a few wobbly steps toward the window.
Opening the latch, he closed his eyes as the warm air filled his lungs.
The fragrance of lush flowers scattered across the grounds unleashed a flood of memories, times he spent in the same gardens with Charlotte. His Lottie.
It was too much.
It was no wonder he was distraught. The familiar scents and places triggered a powerful longing that would never subside.
The house wasn’t haunted. Perry was haunted.
Blinking away the tears threatening, he reminded himself that recovery had to be his priority.
Not the possible existence of a woman he missed with all his heart.
He was alive.
Charlotte Townsend—his Lottie—was dead.
Why were his fevered recollections so vivid? Had he truly imagined her touch, her voice, her delicate fragrance? It was the only logical conclusion he could draw. Huffing a laugh at his own folly, Perry pushed away from the window.
Why did the touch feel so real? Hadn’t he grabbed her arm and brushed his thumb along the satiny surface of her wrist?
Surely not. Perhaps there was a ghost at Fermoy.
No other possibility made sense. Every servant he questioned said the same thing.
No members of the Townsend family were in residence. And Charlotte was dead.
Perry’s own father had confirmed what the Baron Percy had told him all those years ago: an illness ravaged her body, and she was unlikely to survive.
Her family had hidden her away on a family estate and refused to let him see her, regardless of how much he begged and pleaded.
The baron demanded she be left in peace and for their privacy to be respected.
Should she recover, she would be married off to the Viscount Dewberry.
Perry had been unable to convince them to let him say goodbye or marry her on her deathbed, which he would have gladly done, despite his own betrothal.
It had never occurred to him that Charlotte could be alive.
Especially after his father had confirmed his worst fears, announcing that she had passed.
The woman had disappeared from society, the city, and his life.
There had been no mention of banns or a wedding with the viscount. Charlotte had simply vanished.
He had presumed her dead.
Had he seen her tomb with his own eyes?
No.
Had the death been announced by the family?
Not that he could recall.
Was it possible that the elder Duke of Bridgewater had lied to him? Absolutely. To what end?
The truth was tugging at his drug-addled mind.
Perhaps the thoughts were simply the effects of days spent in bed in a laudanum-induced haze.
Each fantasy was more improbable than the last. Hobbling on unsure feet, he groped his way back to bed, needing more time to mull over his thoughts and allow the drugs to wear off.
Either Peregrine was a fool who believed in ghosts, or something else was occurring. Perry was being haunted by a spirit who was very much alive.