Page 30 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)

Twenty-Four

CORNELIUS

T he next few hours passed in a blur.

Safe at last in Rainham’s comfortable farmhouse, bathed and fed, his cuts and scratches tended, and his damaged knee iced, anointed with arnica balm, and bandaged, Cornelius allowed himself to shed the armour of panic that had held him together since his ordeal began.

He had thought he was fine. He truly believed he was perfectly well, aside from the wealth of scrapes and scratches he had received.

He had been mistaken.

He must not have realised the force of his terror at the time; perhaps, in his desperate need to survive, he had put everything akin to fear aside.

But now that he need no longer take each breath in fear that it might be his last, his self-regulation crumbled like a sandcastle in the tide and he feared he would dissolve into a pathetic puddle of tears at any moment.

What sad sort of creature was he, that he was so unequal to the force of emotion that threatened to divest him of all rational thought? Had the ordeal he had survived so unmanned him that all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and sob? He could not think, could not speak.

But Julia had been there beside him, her presence offering the one source of strength he could find.

Despite her own injuries, she had held his hand and murmured soothing sounds as Mrs Armstrong, who seemed to command Rainham’s household, had tended his wounds; she had fed him the warm sweet porridge that the housekeeper had said would be gentle on his stomach, mouthful by mouthful, when his fingers were too swollen and aching to hold the spoon himself.

She had mixed his tea exactly as he liked it and brought it to his mouth, tilting it just so to let him sip it through cracked lips.

And she had done this without a hint of complaint or self-pity.

He hurt. His head throbbed, his face stung, and his knee… he did not wish to think about his knee. Julia must feel little better. But if she were at his side, he could abide anything. She held him together when he felt he would otherwise fall apart. For her, he would make every effort.

He stared into nothingness and shivered despite the blanket around him, and waited for sense to return to his mind as Julia held his aching hands. At last, when he was master enough of himself to speak intelligibly, Rainham turned to him for the information the men so dearly needed.

“I will not ask why you were there, when you were supposed to be anywhere but. However, what is done is done, and now, hopefully, we can act. Tell me everything,” his friend commanded. “I need to know every particular you can recall. Is Miss Lyddon…?”

Cornelius almost took offence at the implication until he recalled that Rainham knew nothing about this fearless lady.

“She is utterly and completely trustworthy. I owe her my life. I have told her nothing, but I suspect she knows a great deal, and I shall apologise to her later for my silence. But from what she has seen, I suspect little will come as a shock.”

He smiled at her, as much as his swollen lips would allow.

“I promise not to betray you, Mr Rainham,” she replied. “I had suspicions of quite another direction, and now know I was mistaken. If Cornelius puts his faith in you, I do as well.”

“Rainham is entirely honourable,” Cornelius answered. “More so than I, it appears. I know I should not have gone, but those hints I heard in the tavern were too tempting to ignore. I needed to see, to try…”

He ignored the baleful glare from his friend’s eyes.

With that, through slips and stammers and halting sentences, Cornelius apprised his associate of the entire adventure, augmented by Julia’s comments when she had information that Cornelius himself did not know.

They told Rainham about the location of the cave, the steep trail down to the beach, the crates of goods, the tunnel, and the cellar beneath the cottage, with its trapdoor hidden under the carpet.

Julia also revealed what she had heard about the men’s planned return on the night of the new moon—tonight—and what she had seen out in the waves, with the ship that flashed its signal light to the men with the rowboat.

Rainham scribbled notes in a small book with a stub of a pencil and asked every manner of question until there was nothing left to say.

“Excellent, Robertson. You ought to have heeded my warning, but still, you have done exceedingly well. I only regret that you were captured, both for the harm you suffered and for the fact that they know someone is about. Still, the day is early yet, and they might be busy with other tasks. If they still believe you to be in the cellar, we might well succeed. I am off at once to the village. Mrs Armstrong will look after you.”

“I must go with…” Cornelius began, but Rainham put him off at once.

“Your mission was to provide information, not even to act this much. No. That is final. You have done more than enough, but your role is complete. Now let the excise men do their jobs.”

As much as he wished to see the outcome with his own eyes, and perhaps one day capture it in paint, Cornelius was not unduly disappointed to be denied. Exhausted, injured, and entirely unsettled after his ordeal, he was content to remain here in this comfortable farmhouse whilst others took action.

With a nod and a bow, Rainham was off, calling for his horse and muttering orders to Mrs Armstrong, who hurried off after him to some other part of the house.

They were now alone in the parlour, a cosy space at the front of the low stone building, with morning sunlight—for yes, despite his shuddering exhaustion, it was still rather early in the morning—pouring through the wide, yellow-curtained windows.

Cornelius remained collapsed in the large armchair, supported by generous cushions and warmed by a dancing fire, with Julia seated in the delicate wooden chair at his side.

“You look terrible,” she said as her eyes traced his figure.

“You have told me so before. I wonder how you can stand being around me.”

“I shall make allowances for the circumstances. But you must wish for sleep, or a rest, at the least, lest you never be restored to the great masculine beauty which first drew my eye. Mrs Armstrong has a room prepared for you. Let me help you there.”

The wide grin that stole across his face hurt, but he would suffer it every day. This was the clever, sparkling woman he loved.

With a great deal more help than he expected to need, Cornelius made it to his feet, and let Julia support much of his weight as they inched up the stairs. Each step felt like a mountain, and he was horrified at how exhausting that climb had been.

“Are you well?” Julia asked as she pushed the door open. “Your face is white.”

The sliver of self-control threatened to shatter again. Cornelius gritted his teeth against the spectre of impending horror.

“I am well enough, merely tired.” He tried to speak normally, but he could not keep the waver from his voice.

“You said you trust me. Once again, I ask you to do that. You are not well.” She stepped out from under his arm, where she had been supporting his unsteady weight, and moved to face him directly.

“It is not only your injured body that troubles you, but your thoughts as well. Will you not speak to me? Let me hold up your spirit as you have let me keep you on your feet.”

“I…” He intoned that one word, with no notion of what was to come after it.

Every thought and feeling came crashing in on him, leaving him unequal to the fury of his thoughts, unable to separate the whirlwind of sentiments that buffeted him about like a twig in the stormy ocean.

Relief, anger, panic, worry, joy, confusion, love…

Love.

That had never been the plan. He had come to paint his landscapes and discharge his duties to the government men.

He could wander the cliffs without suspicion, spend hours gazing at the sea with his canvas to prove his motives innocent.

Nobody would suspect that he was looking not only for dramatic rocks, but also for convenient coves; that the sketches of boats and ships might be sent to the admiralty rather than to his patron.

It was a perfect cover, because his tale was true. He really was painting landscapes. Even down in the tavern in the town, he had been so readily accepted because he was simply an artist being friendly. If he had heard a few things that ended up being of use, well, that was a welcome happenstance.

But somewhere along the line, Julia had become more important than his mission.

He had still been determined to do what he had planned, but his goal had changed.

If these smugglers, dangerous and violent men, were about the neighbourhood, she might be in danger.

No matter that he had been assured again and again that the denizens of the villages and the members of the household were safe from the criminals, the menace had now loomed heavy in his thoughts.

He needed to do more than he had intended, to end the threat once and for all.

He had gone off at night when he ought to be safe in his bed. He had found himself set upon by ruffians when he ought to have been keeping away from conflict. He had sneaked into the smugglers’ cave and had been caught.

He had done all this for love.

But greater still, right now, was the crushing sensation of guilt, at his foolish actions, and at the peril he put Julia in.

He tried once more to summon words, but all that came forth from his lips was a great, wracking sob. In a moment, Julia was there, taking him in her arms and pulling him towards her, holding him tight as he released all those roiling emotions in a flood of tears.

“You must loathe me,” he gulped out once the first rush of cries released him.

“What a sorry sort I am. Hardly a man at all, nothing but a pathetic and weak creature who cannot even walk unaided. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to save you. But you have proven to be more the hero than I ever could pretend to be, and stronger and more valiant by far. I asked in jest before, but now I am serious: how can you stand to be near me?” His eyes were still squeezed tight and he remained crushed to her.

“Do not say that, Cornelius! Why should it fall to you to save me? If I have the right end of things, you are the hero and I am the one to apologise. I had you all wrong. I thought you one of them, one of the smugglers, but you are not. You have found them out.”

“I blundered in and was caught like a child filching a biscuit in the kitchen. Ridiculous, incompetent creature!”

“We can debate your merits as an agent of espionage later. For now, you are safe, and that is all that matters to me.” She dropped her arms from about his shoulders and let her hands slide down his arms to grab his, pulling him along towards the bed.

“You really did have me dreadfully worried. That is what made me know my heart.” He stumbled after her, unequal to any show of resistance.

The bed loomed in the centre of the compact room, large and welcoming, with warm blankets and a soft pillow that beckoned. Suddenly he began to shiver, and Julia sat down on the edge of the mattress, bringing him with her.

“Lie down. You are cold.”

He did as she urged him, but instead of covering him with the bedlinens and walking away, she stayed where she was, leaning against the headboard, her fingers gently stroking his hair.

“Just for a moment,” she breathed, “until you are comfortable. Just a moment.”

The wave of exhaustion he had been fighting washed over him.

Perhaps it was the willow bark tea relieving the thrumming of his temples that lulled him, or the warmth of the blankets that allowed his aching muscles to release some of their tension, or the soothing rhythm of her hand stroking his hair.

But more than that, perhaps it was the realisation that, despite all his errors and the mistakes he had made, he was finally good enough for somebody worth striving for.

He was warm and safe, his part of the mission over, and in Julia’s presence.

It was no use trying to fight the leaden weight of his eyelids.

This true comfort, of the soul if not the body, was too powerful to resist. Cornelius nestled his head into her caressing hand and slipped into the soft embrace of sleep.