Page 4

Chapter

Four

T he following two days, Lord Benedict slept, spoke very little, and unfortunately, on the third day, fell into a fever that lasted for over a week.

The doctor stayed, was given a bed in the servants' room beside Lord Benedict’s own, and each of Angelica’s sisters helped keep their injured guest as comfortable as possible.

He tossed and turned, groaned in pain, his leg swollen and hot, his forehead just as warm.

The scent of vinegar, alcohol, and sweat filled the air, sharp and cloying, as Angelica did her best to care for him.

But as much as they tried to help him, to keep him comfortable, all they could do was hope and pray the fever would break and he would soon be on the mend.

Angelica sat beside his bed, constantly wringing out the cloth to place over his forehead as the doctor dipped the bandages into alcohol and wrapped them about his leg, along with others to try to kill off the infection that had taken over his person.

Her fingers ached from hours of tending, and an aching knot had formed in her neck from sitting so long at his side.

The quiet desperation in the room, broken only by his moans, left a hollow pit in her stomach.

Finally, on the ninth day after Lord Benedict had arrived, his fever broke, and he lay still and calm, his breathing even, and the peaceful visage she’d seen during his earlier days at their estate sat upon his handsome features as he slept soundly.

A faint flush of color returned to his cheeks, and the tight line of his mouth softened in sleep.

"I think he will survive, Lady Angelica. The fever has broken, and now I must return home. My wife will be wondering if I’ve become part of the ducal household."

Angelica laughed at the doctor’s words and stood as he collected his things. "Thank you, Dr. Montgomery. We shall send for you if he regresses."

"I do not think he will now, my lady. He’s past the dangerous part. His wound is healing, even though a fever wracked his body. I do think he’s well on the way to being back to his normal, healthy self."

"Thank you again." Relief poured through her that she would not have to inform Lord Benedict’s brother, who was on his way now to their estate, of his sibling’s death.

A great relief indeed. Angelica slumped onto her chair after the doctor left, her heart back to beating its normal rhythm.

Her eyes prickled with unshed tears, and she rubbed her neck, trying to relieve the tension of the past week.

She had never seen a man pass away, and nor did she want the first to be an innocent gentleman who did not deserve the attack that was handed to him. She rang for a servant, knowing the room needed a good clean after days of nursing.

"You called, my lady?" a young maid asked from the door only minutes later.

"Yes, please have the linens changed in this room, and as it’s a nice day outside, we shall open the windows in here and have the room aired out. Also, have Cook make up some broth and a cup of tea for me. I think when Lord Benedict wakes, he’ll be hungry."

"Of course, my lady." The young maid dipped into a curtsy and left to do as Angelica bid.

For several minutes, the staff bustled about the room, cleaning and doing as she bade, before Lord Benedict’s luncheon was brought up on a tray, the smell of chicken broth making even Angelica’s stomach rumble.

The scent of herbs—parsley, thyme, and bay leaf—drifted from the steaming bowl, mingling with the faint scent of soap and lemon oil from the freshly scrubbed floor.

It seemed to also awaken his lordship, for his eyes fluttered before his gaze landed on hers with more clarity than she’d ever seen in him in the week that he’d been here.

"I truly think you are an angel, my lady. Never have I ever been so looked after than I have been these past days. I do not know how I’ll ever thank you enough."

"There is no need to thank any of us, my lord. We’re happy to have helped you, and we’re so glad you survived your assault. You were quite unwell for some time. Even the doctor, I believe, was worried you may not be strong enough to pull through."

He stared at her for several moments, clearly trying to grapple with the fact he was very ill.

His brow furrowed slightly, as if the weight of her words and the gravity of his situation were only now sinking in.

Perhaps he’d been unaware of just how close he came to parting this world, and her words had shocked him.

"I’m glad that did not happen." He paused. "Has there been any word from my brother?"

"Oh yes, there is a letter beside your bed that arrived only yesterday from Lord Whitmore, and another was sent to the duke. We expect he’ll arrive in a week or so. We thought it was in Wiltshire where you were headed and so we sent the missive there before it was redirected to Derbyshire."

"The main estate is in Derbyshire, but I was traveling to another of the family properties. I had commitments there, and much to think upon and wanted some time alone.”

His curious answer made Angelica want to pry more, but she thought better of it. "Well, if you continue to get better, let us hope that in a few weeks you shall be back in Wiltshire where you shall have all the time in the world to think."

He reached out and clasped Angelica’s hand. His fingers were warm, his skin a little calloused, which went against what she assumed a man of the cloth who gave weekly sermons ought to have.

His grip was firm yet gentle, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as if grounding himself with the contact. The simple touch sent a ripple of heat up her arm, and she quickly tried to ignore it.

Did he work outdoors whenever the time allowed? Perhaps he was a keen gardener? Or did his faith call him to labor as well as prayer? She had not thought much about the lives of men destined for the church, but now, with him before her, she wondered.

"What is your name?" he asked, not letting go of her hand, even though it was highly improper. Mayhap the gentleman still had a fever.

"Lady Angelica, my lord."

His eyes widened, and that infectious, sweet smile was back again and made her stomach flip. "So you are an angel sent from heaven, even your name says it is so."

She laughed, having never thought of that before, but she shrugged, supposing it was true in a way.

"I only acted as any good Samaritan would for an injured fellow countryman.

But alas, we have not been able to find the highwayman.

No doubt the fiend is many miles from here by now. Fled, like the coward he was."

"I should imagine so," Lord Benedict agreed. "And I cannot say that I’m not sad about that fact, if it were to be true. I would not want any harm to come to anyone else, and certainly not for any young families or ladies returning to their homes in the area. That would trouble me most dearly."

"Yes, let us hope that he has learned from his mistake of shooting another person and will amend his actions in future."

"You can only pray that he will."

The word “pray” hung in the air between them, a subtle reminder of his path, his calling…and the life he might still choose.

Lord Benedict wiggled to sit up against the bedhead, and Angelica reached for the tray that his broth sat upon along with his steaming cup of tea.

"I had Cook prepare this for you. The broth should be cool enough now for you to eat."

"Thank you. I’m ravenous. This could not have been more welcome."

She set the tray upon his lap before sitting back on her chair.

For several minutes, she watched him eat.

Like any gentleman, his etiquette was perfect, just as she had been taught while growing up.

As he ate, he reached for the letter from his brother, and breaking the seal, started to read.

He set it down, a small frown between his brows, before he picked up his cup of tea and sipped.

"My brother, it would seem” he said at length, “is going to arrive tomorrow, if this letter remains correct. Are you certain that the duke does not mind having all these people come upon him when unannounced and unexpected? I know this is not the quietest time in the year, certainly not if you’re preparing for a Season in London. "

"I am indeed going to town in a few weeks, but His Grace is perfectly happy to have you here, and he was adamant that we write for your brother, even if you had not asked to bring him here. I know when I’m unwell, all I wish for is family about me, and I should think it is no different for you."

"Indeed, although my brother will probably try to get me on my feet far earlier than is warranted. He too is heading to London this year for the Season. I was going, as you know, to his Wiltshire estate, but I should imagine now that I’m recuperating, he’ll ask me to return with him in town.

Not the worst thing to happen, mind. There are good doctors at least in London should anything go wrong with my wound. "

"That is true, my lord."

She remembered the terrible bleeding and how close he was to death. The memory sent a chill through her, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

"But until our doctor states that you can attempt to move, please do not try. Your wound bled terribly when you first arrived, and for some time, we did not think we were going to be able to stop it. You were very close to death, not that I wish to scare you, but that is the truth."

"I figured as much, and I cannot thank you enough for your care." He threw her a small smile, and once again her stomach fluttered. His eyes held a warmth that tugged at something deep within her, and she wondered—should a man of the church smile at a woman so?

Gosh, for a man who was to be a priest, he was devilishly handsome, and there was something about the wicked curve of his lips that made Angelica think of things no young lady ought.

She should repent her wicked thoughts, and yet she could not.