Page 5 of His Unforgettable Bride (Bride Ships: New Voyages #4)

Five

If nature has not invested you with all the virtues which may be desirable in a lady, do not make your faults more conspicuous by thrusting them forward .

N obody had ever called Juliet silly. But chasing after a dad-blamed bird was nothing less than downright foolish.

For pity’s sake, the sisters would fire her for losing Dearest Peaches, hoisting her skirt in the street, and uttering common words. One mistake they might overlook. But three?

She kept her eye on the beloved critter. “Get back here, now.”

A damp breeze brushed her cheeks as she tore down a cobblestone path, pursuing the fowl. Desperation and mist swirled as she sped past a lattice fence, gardens, fruit trees, and three outer buildings of various shapes and sizes.

She pinpointed the two-story structure as the carriage house. A tall, wide-centered doorway large enough for a buggy stood on one end. The building featured a steep roof, dormer windows, and two smaller, closed doors.

She ought to peek in and see if Tabitha and Livy were waiting for her inside. But if she paused to speak to them, she’d lose track of Peaches.

Oh, blame it all.

The pathway ended, and a pine and cedar tree grove stood yonder. Or was it a vast forest big enough to lose a person, let alone the nuisance of a bird? Her sensible shoes slapped against the soggy grass as the bright yellow-headed critter, not much bigger than a sugar bowl, swooped high and low over bushes and through trees but never landed.

Please, don’t enter the woods.

Peaches soared straight into the forest. Because, of course, she would.

“Snakes alive.” Juliet followed, weaving around trees as fast as she could. The temperature dropped inside the thicket, and her borrowed dress offered little protection. Pine needles, long as a shark’s tooth but hopefully not as sharp, scattered underneath her shoes. A woodsy tang swirled around her.

After a few more steps, she stopped. Her odds of catching the creature with bare hands were higher than the treetops. Although she didn’t believe in curses, sometimes she wondered about her long streak of misfortune.

Today was one of those days.

She should swallow her pride, admit defeat, and accept the facts—she’d never catch the bird singlehandedly, especially without a butterfly net like the one the Firth daughters had used for play on the lawn.

Peaches darted past, almost close enough to snare. Like a ninny, Juliet lunged for the creature, only to stumble and fall, landing hard on her chest with an oomph . She winced. Pine needles poked at her face, and she slowly rose onto her elbows. Grime clung to her sleeves and skin as she peered over her shoulder to determine what had caused her stumble.

A pair of legs poked out of a pile of brush. Real human legs. With bare, pale feet.

Her pulse jumped in her veins. What in the world?

She pushed up until she was kneeling and could see more clearly. It was a man, based on the size of his feet. Was he dead? Of course, since he was lying on his belly motionless and halfway buried in the woods.

The whistling bird dove past. Only this time, Juliet ignored the critter’s teasing, stood, and focused on the body. Who was he? Had someone killed him? If so, how long ago?

Unfortunately, she’d seen dead bodies in Manchester, and not just her grandfather’s. People died on the streets for an assortment of reasons—fights, starvation, diseases, and who knew what else.

But what if this fella hadn’t taken his last breath? What if he was merely unconscious?

Juliet crouched and brushed debris off his back and head. Dried blood matted his dark, wavy hair. His shoulders were broad, his middle whittled, and his legs extra-long. Even though his face pointed away from her, she noted the start of a beard on his cheeks and chin. An angry, long, red scratch on his forearm. Her best guess had him stepping into his twenties not too long ago.

Tentatively, she reached for his wrist. Was he dead or alive? There was only one way to find out. Her pulse quickened even more as she pressed her fingers against his cold skin.

Life pumped through his body.

Juliet surged back to her feet and glanced in the direction she’d come from. The man required shelter and medical know-how. But could she drag him to the house by herself? If she left to fetch help, would she be able to find him again? Somewhere, a dog howled, or perhaps a wolf. Uneager to learn the answer, she hitched her skirt to unsheathe her knife laced with a leather cord to her calf.

She squatted and sliced off a dingy white portion of his drawers below his knee. Why did he wear nothing but filthy underclothing? It was odd, but the entire day was strange. She trimmed the cloth into a dozen smaller pieces.

Determined to save his life, she quickly returned her knife to where it belonged and retraced her steps, dropping makeshift breadcrumbs along the path. She broke through the dense trees and raced toward the carriage house as heaven began to dump more rain on her chilly frame. She flung open a side door and crossed the threshold in a flurry.

The sisters stopped rummaging through a crate stuffed with straw in the room’s heart to stare at her. Tabitha’s brows rose toward the ceiling, and Livy clutched her cameo.

The room lacked furnishings but had plenty of parcels, boxes, and hampers. Plus, it reeked of horses. She knew little about tearooms, but the dirt floor, partially constructed walls, and a high loft-like ceiling with open beams fell far short of what she pictured.

Then her attention snagged on a lean native gripping a dainty teacup and standing beside a row of barrels toward the back end. The yellow-orange light from a nearby lantern brightened his carved jaw and sleek black hair that reached his shoulders. He wore gray trousers, a white shirt, and a black eye patch. Maybe he had reached the age of thirty.

The fellow nodded at her. “I’m Icala, part-time cook and jack-of-all-trades. Hello.”

“Hello.” Winded, Juliet placed her hands on her knees before straightening. “A man in the woods isn’t moving, but he’s alive.”

“Oh my.” Livy rushed forward, wringing her hands.

Tabitha strode slowly, her nose scrunched, and her eyes narrowed to examine Juliet’s dirty apparel. “You’re wet again, muddy from top to bottom.” She reached for her tan coat strewn over a nearby barrel. “Did you say he’s in the woods?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why were you there?” Tabitha shoved her arms through the sleeves, her brow creased.

A knot formed in Juliet’s belly. She had to confess that Dearest Peaches escaped. Even if she lost her new job, it was the right thing to do. “When I left your house, so did your bird. I chased her until I tripped over the body. I’m truly sorry.”

Tabitha finished donning her coat. “Don’t despair over the parakeet. She belonged to Father, and I’m afraid she’s an afterthought these days.”

Juliet swallowed hard, and a sense of kinship to the creature stirred inside her.

“The cage’s latch must have broken again,” Livy said.

With her thumb, Juliet pointed toward the woods. “I need to fetch the fellow before he dies. Who will help me?”

“I will.” Icala returned the teacup to the crate, collected a folded tarp from the ground, and moved toward her with long, graceful strides. “Plenty of folks have helped me. Seems it’s my turn now.”

Why did he wear the patch over his eye? An injury? Why was his English perfect? The closer he drew, the lighter his skin appeared. Perhaps he had one non-native parent.

Livy’s eyes widened. “Oh, Tabby. What if it’s Alex? We must bring him home posthaste.”

“Who’s Alex?” Juliet asked. Their brother? A neighbor or a friend? She shook her head. Why the onslaught of questions? Holy Moses, she just asked herself another one.

Tabitha buttoned her coat up to her chin. “Alex is our nephew, whom we expect any day now.” She dropped her hand onto her sister’s shoulder. “Since you’re still recovering from your cold, why don’t you prepare the bed in the sitting room for our guest? Retrieve one of Father’s old nightshirts and any leftover medical supplies. Start the fire, as well.”

“And you’ll assist Juliet and Icala?”

“Exactly. Many helpers make a task easier.”

Rain pelted the carriage house roof in a rapid rhythm. But they couldn’t allow the weather conditions to hinder their rescue. A life may depend on their efforts.

Tabitha withdrew a pair of black gloves from her pockets. “Please lead the way, Juliet.”

She wasted no time darting outside, crossing the yard, and hoping her little trail markers hadn’t blown off the path. Soon she entered the thicket and wove around trees and brush, following her white trail. When they reached the injured man, Juliet crouched to double-check his breaths, placing her finger under his nose.

“Is he…still with us?” Tabitha leaned over Juliet’s shoulder.

“Yes, does he look like Alex?”

“We’ve not seen our nephew in twenty years, making me a poor judge of his identity.”

“Oh.” Juliet twisted to gaze up at the sister. “Why haven’t you seen him?”

Tabitha frowned. “It’s impolite to ask, and this is not the time for questions.”

Juliet had a bad habit of saying too much and speaking too freely. Although she’d been trying to limit her chattiness since working for the Firth family, it was a genuine struggle half the time.

Or, more accurately, most of the time. “I apologize for my nosiness.”

Icala was spreading the tarp on the ground as best he could, but the sparse open space prevented him from extending the edges. “Whoever he is, let’s pray he recovers.”

“Amen,” Tabitha whispered.

Juliet crawled over a mossy log alongside the body. With Icala near the man’s feet and Tabitha next to his head, they spun him onto the canvas, laying him on his back. He made no sounds or movements, even though she wished he would. Scratches covered his ashen, swollen face. A large bump on his forehead was red or perhaps bruised. His temple sported an ugly, blood-crusted marring. And then there was the bloody spot on the back of his head. No doubt his mix of injuries had caused his unconscious state.

Together, with Icala in the lead and she and Tabitha bringing up the rear, they slowly hauled him through the woods. The chilly rain had sputtered out by the time they reached the clearing. Juliet’s handhold grew slippery, and she tightened her grip on the tarp. Tabitha grunted now and again. Little by little, they made progress, weaving around the stumps in the yard.

Finally, they dragged him through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the sitting room. In their wake, a mud trail streaked the floor, and Juliet promised to mop it later. They fully lowered and released their load onto the sitting room’s navy carpet to clean him up a smidgen before transferring him onto the bed.

Lanterns and a budding blaze combined to offer adequate lighting on a dreary day. A metal-framed bed and an unusual chair made from a sugar barrel, the cushion covered with plaid fabric, sat on either side of a stone hearth. A Harper’s New Monthly magazine draped over one arm of a deep burgundy settee.

Clucking, Livy rushed forward, dropped to her knees beside the patient on the tarp, and gazed at him with love in her eyes. She covered him with a thick, deep green afghan. “It’s him. Our dear nephew. Thank you, Juliet, for finding our precious Alex.”

“What makes you confident it’s him?” Tabitha removed her gloves, and her voice labored as she strode to a small corner table brimming with medical bottles, ointments, and bandages. “He could be anybody.”

“Intuition, I suppose.” Livy expertly tucked the blanket around the long form on the floor.

With a huff, Icala placed his hands on his hips. “Should I collect Doctor Pooley?”

A small sigh slipped past Livy’s lips. “I’m afraid he’s working beyond town this week and possibly the next. Therefore, it’s up to us to care for our patient.”

Everyone broke into motion. Livy ran a wet cloth over the man’s bruised face. Tabitha applied an ointment to his cuts, and Icala bandaged his pale feet. Did he suspect frostbite?

Unsure how to best assist, Juliet padded toward the hearth to boost the small fire. She added another log and jostled the wood into place with the wrought iron poker before turning back around but remaining next to the warmth. She’d caught a chill outside, but her measly woe fell far short compared to the patient’s list of concerns.

Although tempted to slip outside to wring the moisture from her heavy, dripping skirts, she would never do that again.

Mrs. Quinborow had taught her not to stare openly at her betters, yet Juliet studied the injured man. How could she not? His wounds failed to hide his rugged handsomeness in the better lighting. A chiseled jaw, full lips, and shoulders built like a Viking. However, his skin had a sickly pallor, and his stillness was alarming. Although his straight nose held a noble perfectness, his wavy, untamed hair was imperfect and utterly appealing.

A notion struck her to crouch beside him and remove a twig from his locks, but she refused to act on her whim for a change. She moved the poker from one hand to the other, ready to ensure the room remained well-heated for the patient.

Tabitha rose, shed her coat, and draped it over the back of a chair before sitting on a corner chair beside the table. Her weary face slumped, but her hair twisted like ivy climbing a wall. “You should be on your way, Icala. I know your wife is unwell today, and we’ve kept you far longer than planned. Thank you for helping.”

The cook stood and returned the roll of bandages to the table. “I hate to leave you in a lurch.”

“You’re not,” Livy added. “We’ll be fine.”

Icala hesitated, his eyes roaming to the patient one last time before saying farewell and leaving the room. If the part-time cook hadn’t helped cart the wounded man into the house, they’d still be struggling in the woods.

But now they had another task. “Shouldn’t we ask Icala to help lift the patient into bed?” Juliet asked.

“We’ll manage.” Livy was cleaning the fellow’s dirty hands, delicately and lovingly wiping between each finger with her cloth. “We often assisted our father in and out of bed during his illness, didn’t we, Tabby?”

“Yes, but he was never unconscious.” Tabitha mopped her brow with the back of her hand. “Before we move him, I must rest a stint longer. I’m exhausted. Then Juliet and I shall change into dry garments.”

The fire crackled, and Juliet turned to reposition the logs with the poker, recalling how she’d once played a nursemaid. “When my grandfather suffered after a fall, I fed him soup, gave him his medicine, read him Bible stories, and changed his garments.”

She added another log to the flames, set the poker in the brass holder, and turned around.

Livy was smiling at her, sympathy in her eyes. “How old were you?”

“Eight.”

“What a blessing you must have been to him.” Tabitha tidied the table, grouping the similar medical items. “However, you’ll not assist with our patient’s personal care. We dare not shock your sensibilities.”

Truth be told, Juliet’s sensibilities had received a robust jolt long ago. Just as she’d seen dead bodies back in England, she’d also witnessed naked ones on the streets. If the sisters learned the truth, they’d probably suffer from heart tremors.

Juliet decided a change in subject was in order. “So what about your family? If this is your nephew, what brought him here?”

Livy sat back on her haunches. “Our brother served in the Royal Navy and raised his family beyond England. It’s the reason we haven’t laid eyes on Alex in years. According to one of his letters, he’s in a dire financial bind, partly why he’s coming to reside with us.”

Tabitha bent to unlace her mud-caked shoes. “By the time Livy and I arrived at the colony fourteen months ago, he’d already moved north to Barkerville to mine gold.”

“I see.” Taking Tabitha’s lead, Juliet removed her grimy shoes and placed them near the hearth to dry. Then she straightened to glance at the unconscious man again. Was he the sisters’ relative, or merely a poor soul left in the woods to die?

Livy picked a leaf from his shoulder, which she discarded on the tarp. “Our father built this house to reunite his family under one roof. Unfortunately, he passed on a few weeks after we arrived.”

“I’m sorry.” Even though Juliet’s grandfather had died eleven years ago, the sting remained sharp as a claw. She hadn’t wanted to eat, drink, or live after he perished. In time, the loneliness seeped away little by little, but it never ran empty. “Do your brother and his wife also live here?”

A moment passed before Livy added, “Nolan and Katherine returned to our manor between Bristol and London after our father’s death. And we’re not offended by the slight if their departure had anything to do with our arrival. Tabby and I are too busy planning our tea shop to fret over such things.”

It was clever how the sisters pointed toward the future, not the past. If Juliet paid attention, she might learn more than manners and how to pour tea. Would they genuinely help her become more ladylike? If so, could she possibly wed an upstanding fellow one day?

Tabitha stood and held her dirty shoes away from her body. “Perhaps one of us should collect the constable.”

Constable? Juliet shuddered. Her one encounter with the law had ended in disaster. A lawman had hauled her to an orphanage, which still starred in her nightmares. Even though being on the streets homeless had been bad, the orphanage had felt like a prison. She’d been alone, bullied, and hungry. Quickly she’d adopted a motto: offer the legal authorities a wide berth.

Livy rose and wiped her hands with the wet rag before depositing the cloth on the table. “Involving the constable may cause more problems than help.”

Tabitha leveled a stern look at her sister. “What if this young man’s family searches for him and has contacted the local authorities? It certainly is a possibility.”

“But if he is our nephew, and I fully believe he is, he’d prefer to avoid all lawmen.”

Why? Was Juliet not the only person in the house with a criminal past?

Frizzy hairs now framed Tabitha’s serious face. “In my opinion, it’s a mistake to assume he’s our relation based on nothing but intuition.”

Livy waved her hands as she spoke. “In my opinion, it’s better to be optimistic than pessimistic.”

Based on Tabitha’s tight expression, she probably wanted to roll her eyes but was too much of a lady. Instead, she spoke calmly. “I’m not a pessimist. I’m cautious.”

Tension hummed in the sitting room as a small sigh passed over Livy’s lips. “We’re both frazzled. I’m sorry if I offended you, sister.”

“You haven’t, though we’re not setting a good example for Juliet. It’s time she and I left to change our garments.”

Livy offered Juliet an apologetic smile. “Please forgive us.”

“Of course. Don’t fret about your tiff.” Juliet collected her shoes. “Compared to some of the knock-down brawls I’ve viewed, your spat is next to nothing.”

Tabitha blinked her wide eyes. “Oh, my stars. I must say, Juliet, you have much to learn before you’re ready to serve guests in the tearoom, especially regarding proper conversation.”

Her stomach knotted as she lowered her eyes to the floor. Was she teachable? With her whole heart, she wanted to be. But maybe she didn’t have it in her. “Yes, ma’am.”