Page 17 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)
Jaxon
“Anna?” I called my maid from the bottom of the stairs. She appeared in the great room at once.
“Yes, Mr. Jack?”
“I would like you to go up and sit with Mr. Duncan for a time and notify me at once if he wakes.”
“Yes, sir, I will.” She almost curtsied again. Flustered, she rushed past me and up the stairs into the guest room where Mr. Duncan slept. The very room where I had spent the entirety of the night in an uncomfortable wooden chair after he awoke on the couch. The clock chimed well after the midnight hour when Diggs and I carried the man from the great room upstairs to a private chamber which just happened to be adjacent to Miss Amelia’s. I wonder how she might feel about her coachman slumbering in a guest chamber next door. Though I knew next to nothing about the lady, I knew enough about the women of the ton to know that none would be too happy about it. Well, she will learn soon enough that class distinctions will not save lives and with us all in this precarious circumstance, we must make concessions… all of us .
My thoughts lingered too long on the woman with honey golden hair and eyes that seemed to reach in and take hold, or it might be the long black eyelashes that seized one first. I profess to being surprised that she remained unmarried and still left the Season prematurely. I could not prevent the curious side of me from delving into such interesting details over our mystery guest. My imbedded inquisitive nature could not be restrained and, while I watched over Mr. Duncan through the night, my mind went rampant with a variety of scenarios and questions.
More notably, since my friends and I were neck-deep in peculiar backgrounds.
Luke’s wife, Lady Helena, fled her abusive father who attempted to marry her off to the iniquitous Baron Foxton. Lady Gwendolyn, Hunter’s wife, faced undue sorrow over the shameful actions of her betrothed who happened to be Hunter’s twin brother, Josiah, before he died in a duel. And lastly, Zachary’s wife Eveline, and her marriage to another man while Zach was at war. A man who, despite the covenantal standard of marriage, had secrets of his own before his death.
What titillating secrets did Miss Amelia harbor that brought her to my corner of the woods far off her destined path?
“O’Keefe,” I called over to where the men were finishing their breakfast. “Come, let’s check the condition of the bridge. Diggs, I wish for you to watch for Miss Amelia and see to any needs she might have this morning.” I paused. “Within reason, of course.” I chuckled to myself as I said this. This lady from London will learn quite quickly she is not attending a prestigious house party that indulges their guests’ every whim, but I was not a cad either.
I stepped outside and took a deep breath of the crisp, clear air. While the rain seemed momentarily suspended, the dark clouds amassing overhead revealed that the break from the moisture might be fleeting. When O’Keefe joined me, we walked to the river’s edge and assessed its depth. It swelled significantly higher than the night before. Inspecting the battered section where the bridge used to be, I grumbled over our poor luck. “How is it that in all of England there are sturdy stone bridges to be found, why on earth did my uncle prefer to keep a wooden one?” I pulled a couple of loose boards free of the rubble and set them down on the bank. “They are weak, vulnerable, and unpredictable, as we have just learned.”
“I haven’t seen another bridge nearby in my rides along the property, Mr. Jack,” O’Keefe added. “Where can we find the next bridge?”
“Not for many miles.” I pointed southeast. “My uncle designed this lodge for the purpose of being the only one on this land. Though he hosted infamous hunting parties, he was a recluse by nature, and not one to delight in having neighbors.” I pointed in both the east and west directions. “He owned all of this land and refused to sell any part of it to anyone.”
“And now it’s yours?” O’Keefe inquired.
Yes, I thought to myself, then glanced over at my footman. “It has become a sound solution to—”
He looked at me and seemed to wait for me to elaborate. For the last eight weeks we had tiptoed through comments here and there about safety and precautions, but my staff—aside from Mr. and Mrs. Gentry—only truly knew that I sought refuge in the hunting lodge for a season or longer. Lucas, Hunter, and I were careful not to divulge the specific reasons for their employment or presence other than my life as a former soldier in the war against Napoleon, much like my footmen, and I suffered from distrust. This reminded me of the odd conversation I needed to finish with Diggs. It had become trifling in light of the incident.
“Pardon me for asking, Mr. Jack, but you behave as though there is something to fear.”
I hesitated before I spoke, choosing my words wisely. “Like you, O’Keefe, as a former soldier you can never underestimate a cornered person’s reaction.”
“Are you referring to us as being cornered or someone else?”
I took a deep breath and chose not to answer him. I only hoped that all resolved itself in London before I would have to divulge anything more.
Overlooking the splintered remains of the bridge again, I grumbled, “I should have addressed the condition of this bridge much earlier.” I yanked on another loose plank and a portion fell into the river. “I cannot think of a sound resolution to help our guests on their way soon enough, especially with Mr. Duncan weak and injured.”
O’Keefe picked up a large branch that caught on the fractured bracing of the bridge and drew it from the water. “I should inform you, sir, that I rode through the woods myself to see the distance to the village. It is rugged, certainly not ideal for an unseasoned rider, but it can be accomplished.”
I stared at him. I did not recall a significant absence from him in recent days. “When did you do this?”
“A fortnight ago. When I delivered one of your letters.”
“How long did it take you?”
He shrugged. “Only a half day once I determined the correct route. But one must understand the terrain and I scouted for the cavalry, so I have that experience.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know then that the bridge would fall but wanted to see if an alternate route existed.” He pointed to the sky. “And I would never attempt it in inclement weather.”
While I should have praised him for his resourcefulness, it only made me wonder what else I had missed while he and Diggs were occasionally absent. Then I chastised myself for presuming every man had an ulterior motive. These men had served under Lucas. He would not have introduced them if he did not find them worthy.
“So, we are here indefinitely?” A voice rose from behind.
I turned around to find Ennis, Miss Amelia’s footman. I hoped he had not heard the entirety of our conversation.
“I cannot say how long you will be here, but certainly until the weather improves.”
He scanned the sky alongside us.
“Did you require assistance, Ennis?” I inquired as to his abrupt appearance.
He shifted in his stance. “I, um, came out to see how I can be of service to you, Mr. Jack.”
Was he sent here by his mistress to overhear our conversation or were his actions truly sincere? I shook my head subtly. There was no possible way this footman knew my identity or that I kept secrets. I needed to stop such maddening assumptions. “At the moment, nothing I can think of.” I rubbed my chin. “Actually, how are you with horses… particularly Miss Amelia’s horses?”
“I am not a groom, but I have spent a significant amount of time with them. I know how to saddle and feed.”
“Well, your two surviving horses are suffering. Find Mr. Gentry and he will put you to work in the stable.”
“Yes, sir, anything. We are obliged to all you’ve done for us.”
Then, before he turned away, I added, “And once the bad weather subsides, I will need your help rebuilding this bridge…” I shared a look with O’Keefe and chose not to say what teetered on the tip of my tongue. For until then, nobody is leaving the lodge.
Ennis dipped his chin and departed.
Studying the area west of the broken bridge, bright colors caught my eye. “What the devil?” I strode over and picked up a woman’s hat. Damaged by weather or distress, it no longer held its fashionable style or shape. Beside it, an emerald-green gown. The material felt like silk but was heavily soiled from the rain and mud. I slung it over my arm and continued to follow a path of material strewn in all directions—one long glove, once white but now covered in splotches of dark brown, a lace petticoat torn nearly in half, two additional dresses, one caked in mud that may have been yellow at one time, and the other was a dingy blue, a palm-length glove, still intact, and a… I lifted a rigid pale pink corset with the ribbons all unraveled. It should have been surprising that I knew the identity of all these items, but I did have a mother and two sisters, allowing some familiarity.
Pieces of a shattered trunk scattered about and by the time I had retrieved what clothing cluttered the ground, my arms were full.
“We must take these finds inside,” I said to O’Keefe as he inspected and retrieved a small, damaged portmanteau nearby. “Then we can return and check the wreckage.”
The small case contained the clothing of a working man, certainly belonging to Mr. Duncan or Ennis. One man, only slightly shorter than the other. Regardless of the fabric’s condition, anything we recovered out here had to be of some use to someone.