Page 21 of Lydia Acquires Adoration (Bennet Ladies Liberation #5)

Chapter Twenty

Sebastian felt a headache coming on, and he knew that all the grinding of his teeth was not helping. Looking at Burton over the list of issues they had accumulated, he said, “I know I have no practical experience dealing with an estate, but two fires in such a short period seems unusual to me.”

Running his hand through his already messy locks, Mr. Burton grumbled, “It is not just you that finds this odd. I have spoken with the Adams family and the Wrights. Both fires seem even more suspicious after talking with them. There was not a candle, or an oil lamp carelessly forgotten, and I trust them to be honest with me.” Narrowing his eyes he continued, “What is worse is that one of the Wright boys said he saw a stranger near the house shortly before the fire broke out.”

“I find that I am becoming more and more convinced that someone is out to hinder my management of Swarkstone Park.” Sebastian, having given voice to his suspicions, half expected Mr. Burton to reassure him that he was just imagining things. He did not.

Mr. Burton only sat there with his lips pursed and when he did not say anything Sebastian felt compelled to ask, “Do you have any other evidence that might prove that there is someone out there looking to bring harm to my family and or the Swarkstone estate?”

Mr. Burton grimaced before saying, “Cannot prove anything, sir, but I have noted some problematic rumors.”

Eyes widening, Sebastian groaned, “What rumors?” It was hard enough trying to set things to rights, both in the tenant homes and his own. To hear that someone was disseminating negative information about him was disconcerting.

“There was talk when you first arrived about your cruel nature and your miserly tendencies. However, the talk has all but disappeared in the wake of tenant support. For one, the Gregson family has let it be known that you were quick to help them in their time of need. Going yourself to offer them aid. Then the tenants who had needed repairs to their homes let it be known that you spared no expense in making their homes more livable and indeed comfortable.” Smiling, he added “Mrs. Burgess’s visits to the tenants to check on their wellbeing and bringing remedies and handsewn items have also improved the neighborhood’s view of you. Whoever started the talk cannot be happy because you have all but wiped out their efforts without even trying.”

Tapping his fingers on his desk for a moment, Sebastian thought about the problem as a whole. He did not like the thought that someone might be harming his tenants because they were trying to hurt him. Laying his palm flat against the wood of the desk, Sebastian asked, “Is it possible that the fires have been an increase in the attacks against us, do you think?”

“Anything is possible. It would be advantageous to know more about the culprit. It is always better to understand one’s opposition, if you want to defeat them.” Mr. Burton answered with a shrug.

Standing, Sebastian went to the window. The first person he thought of in this situation was the former colonel, the Earl of Matlock. As a military man, his brother-in-law must know of some strategy that might be helpful. He would ask his opinion, but hated to bother him as his wife must be ready for her confinement and laying in. Maybe he should write him for advice, anyway? A letter could not hurt. It wasn’t as if he was asking for a visit. He would ask Lydia’s opinion when next he saw her. She would know if it would be a bad time to ask her brother-in-law for advice.

Sebastian found his gaze drawn in the direction of the gardens that Lydia enjoyed so much. It only took a few seconds for his shocked mind to process what he was seeing. Gripping the frame around the window with white-knuckled fingers, Sebastian had difficulty believing what he was seeing. There was smoke rising from the direction of the gardens. He wanted to believe that it was impossible, but no. There was yet another fire, and this time it was on the estate’s grounds.

Running from the room, Sebastian shouted to Mr. Burton as he went, “There is a fire in the garden. I could see the smoke from the window. Go to the stables and get the men there to come and help. I am going now to investigate myself.”

It was all a blur as Sebastian ran to the gardens, his outrage spurring him on. A third fire made it impossible to be just a series of accidents. This was intentional. Did they not care about who might be hurt? Beyond his worry of the injury to people of the estate, Sebastian worried what a fire in the gardens would do to Lydia. He knew how much Lydia loved her flowers and knowing that someone would strike against the woman he loved enraged him.

As Sebastian drew closer, he realized that it was none of the plants or little arbors that were on fire. It was the potting shed that held tools and supplies that Lydia used in her garden projects. As he ran, he began noticing the attention that the fire had gained. The littlest stable boy was there next to Mr. Roberts, the gardener. Calling out, he said, “Where is the nearest pump? We need to douse it with water!” The little boy quickly dashed off, and Sebastian hoped the boy was off on a quest for water.

Turning to him, his face a mask of horror, Mr. Roberts exclaimed, “The missus! She was gardening not five minutes ago, and now I cannot find her!”

He had never felt such all-encompassing fear than he had hearing those words. Sebastian wondered idly if it was possible to perish from fear. Rushing closer to the heat of the blaze, Sebastian fought the urge to cast up his breakfast. The flames were licking up the sides of the building as if the fire was a hungry beast eager to devour it whole and his wife very well could be inside. He collapsed to his knees, unable to stand, when he heard the first scream from within.

Lydia watched the smoke billow around her as the flames ate at the walls of the shed she was in. Trying to cover her mouth and nose with a handkerchief was not helping her breath any easier. She wished in vain for a large pitcher of water to soothe her throat or to dowse herself with and protect herself from the sparks and heat.

It was odd how her mind turned from horror at her situation to realizing that something was wrong with the fire. It was moving wrong. Besides the fact that there should have been nothing in her potting shed to spark a blaze, the burlap along the far wall seemed to be bursting into flames too rapidly to be natural. Someone had added something to feed the fire, some kind of oil, perhaps? She knew with utter clarity that someone had set this blaze. Had they known she was coming in to fetch supplies and seedlings? Was this more random damage or had their culprit stepped up their game and targeted her specifically?

She was now coughing continually, breathing far too much smoke. She knew she had to escape, but flames engulfed the door. Turning to the line of windows along the back of the shed, she wondered if she could climb on something to get out. She hoped she could force her way through, but they were too high off the ground to get through easily. Her cough had brought her to her knees, and she made a feeble attempt to let someone know she was inside the shed. Screaming hoarsely, she could not tell if anyone could hear her over the roar of the flames.

Lydia shoved a wooden box containing tools toward the back wall. It was too heavy to move easily, but she did not have time to empty it and make it lighter. She had not gotten very far when a covered figure kicked open the door behind her and dashed through the flames.

The blanket was thrown off by the figure as it smoldered, leaving Lydia curious about the intense heat it must have endured. It took only a moment in the hazy environment for her to realize that it was Sebastian. He rushed to her side, crouching below the smoke, only for part of the roof to come crashing down next to them. They looked at each other, knowing there was no time left. They had to get out of the collapsing fiery structure.

Lydia looked up into Sebastian’s face and watched his expression grown determined. Leaning down, he claimed her lips and Lydia yearned to linger in the sensation of her first kiss, but his lips vanished all too swiftly. In a flash, he was wrapping her in the heat of the smoldering blanket and picking her up. Cocooned as she was, her senses were hampered, but she thought she heard him say, “Hold tight, Lydia, my love.”

She only had enough time to realize what he was going to do before she felt him move and they were rushing through a heat so intense that she knew it could only mean that they were in fact, surrounded by fire. She wanted to scream at him to put her down, that they could come up with a better idea, but she knew it would do no good. Then she was falling, and Sebastian fell with her.

Flinging the charred blanket from around her, Lydia scrambled to check on Sebastian. Noting the flames on the sleeves of his coat, she was quick to smother them with the already smoldering blanket. Tears ran down her cheeks, creating grimy tracks in her soot blackened face. She cried, “You foolish man, you just had to risk yourself!” She would have said more if she had not broken off into another round of hacking coughs. Ignoring her desperate coughs and struggle to breathe unincumbered by smoke, Lydia hovered over Sebastian, afraid to hurt him by moving or touching him. As he lay on his side, his face appeared unharmed by the fire, but Lydia could discern his evident pain from the rigid lines of his mouth. She knew he had to have been burnt, but could not tell right off where he had been hurt.

“There was not enough time.” He groaned, then said, “Could not risk you.”

Halfheartedly glaring at the man she loved, she declared, “And you think I would want to risk you?”

Reaching out, Sebastian seemed to try to touch her face, but his hand dropped before reaching her. At first, Lydia was terrified that she had lost him, but she heard someone say, “He has just passed out.”

Finally looking up, she realized that she and Sebastian were not alone. The clearing around the potting shed was alive with workers. There was even a team of people putting out the fire with buckets of water. Mr. Burton was there directing the movements of the people and Lydia wondered if he had become good at the process of putting out a fire. This was the third fire in as many weeks. Her gardener, Mr. Roberts, was next to her, ready to help. Lydia was confident enough in the workers to know they would care for the fire in the shed. Turning to face Mr. Roberts, she said, “We have to get Sebastian inside and see to his burns.”

Nodding, Mr. Roberts said, “Right Missus, I will see about making a litter to bring ‘im up to the house.”

More and more people showed up, all taking things in hand and working together. On some level, Lydia was proud of how well everyone worked together. They had been working so hard to form a functioning team of staff and they had come together so smoothly in the time of crisis. Yet, in the recesses of her heart, the efficacy of their staff held no significance; her only concern was the well-being of her husband. Carefully observing him, she spotted the telltale marks of burns on the backs of his hands and arms. It was clear that he had received them while shielding her from the fire.

Her mind was a whirl of what she knew of burns and how to treat them. Which was next to nothing. Of course, they would summon the apothecary from the closest town, but she wished she had Jane and all of her knowledge with her. As soon as Mr. Roberts arrived with Mr. Davies in tow, they were moving Sebastian onto a makeshift litter and running him towards the house. Lydia followed as close behind as she could.

“Lydia!”

Lydia looked up at Oakley in confusion. Oakley never just called her by her first name. She was always too proper for that. Was there something else that was going wrong? Concerned, she asked, “Is there something wrong?”

“Ma’am, I have been calling you, but you were not responding.” Came Oakley’s exasperated response.

Grimacing, Lydia said, “Oh, I am sorry. What do you need?” It was a struggle to keep her attention on Oakley as she spoke. Lydia wanted to turn back to Sebastian and continue to watch him breathe. She was so worried that something would happen to him if she took her eyes off him for a moment.

Oakley stepped forward and, placing a hand on Lydia’s shoulder, she said, “Mrs. Burgess, you must take some time to see to yourself.”

Lydia shook her head. “I am fine, Oakley. Besides, I cannot leave him.” Lydia knew that she would have made a better point had she not burst into another round of coughing.

Oakley handed her a cup of tea liberally dosed with honey. Lydia took a grateful sip. Her throat had been so very sore since the fire, but nothing seemed to help for long. Oakley was of the opinion that honey cured most ills and so she had been plying Lydia with the stuff for the last few hours.

Looking back at Sebastian, she could not help but ache. Not only had he risked so much in saving her, but he did it not knowing how much she had come to love him. Despite everyone’s assurances that he was sure to recover, she cursed herself for never having spoken the words he must have wanted to hear. Hadn’t she been waiting for him to give some definitive sign before saying something? When he spoke to her amidst the fiery blaze, she had not had the time to fully process his words, but now all she could think about was how he had said ‘Lydia, my love’. He loved her, and she hadn’t known.

Clearing her throat, Oakley began again. “Your husband is in good hands with Mr. Davies. You need to see to your own needs. You can always return to him when you have refreshed yourself.”

Shaking her head, Lydia was about to demur when Oakley continued, “What will your husband think when he wakes up and sees you like this? You will give him such a fright looking singed and overwhelmed.” Hands on her hips, she added, “Besides, little Miss Clara has been asking for you and I know you would not have her see you like this.”

Looking down at herself Lydia, acknowledged that she presented a very poor image. Her clothes were soot stained and she could only imagine what her face and hair looked like if her hands were so grime covered. It was true that Clara would most likely be terrified by her current appearance. The poor child could probably see the residual smoke from her playroom’s window.

Slumping in defeat, she looked back over to Sebastian, who was having his clothes carefully cut off of him by Davies. With burns like his, cleanliness would be vital, and here she was sitting, covered head to toe in soot and ash. It would not do. She had to step away and clean herself up. She would take the time to check on Clara and write to Jane, asking for her advice on caring for a burn victim. Nodding grudgingly, Lydia stood and, looking at Davies, said, “Have me summoned the moment he shows signs of waking or if his condition worsens.”

Sighing, Lydia leaned over the bed and kissed Sebastian’s cheek and whispered, “Be strong, my love. I will return as swiftly as I can.”

Lydia was not surprised when she found her room already set up for her to take a bath. Oakley had always been quite efficient. In practically no time at all, she was clean, even though it had taken several rinses to get all the soot and grime out of her hair. Slipping into a simple dress that was more comfortable than stylish, Lydia noticed that May was hovering uncertainly as she came in to help empty out the tub.

Moving to sit by the fire to dry her hair, Lydia asked, “Is something troubling you, May?”

Putting her half full bucket down, May said, “I do not want to overstep, Mrs. Burgess, but my mother has always been right good with her remedies. She always seems to have a cure for everything, including burns. With Mr. Burgess getting burned, well…I thought you might like to know that she had a recipe for burns. I know you have summoned the apothecary but…” May shrugged as if she now questioned speaking up.

Sitting forward, Lydia exclaimed, “I would love to know how your mother has treated burns in the past. I am sorry to say it, but as I have never met this apothecary, I do not yet know if I trust him. Some are rather too fond of purging and bloodletting for my tastes.”

Smiling, May picked up her bucket again before saying, “I believe my mother would be more than happy to come up to help. She and Pa are tenants here at Swarkstone, so I am sure she could be here in a trice.”

Clasping her hands together, a glimmer of hope for Sebastian's treatment filled her heart. It would not stop her from writing to Jane, but it was wonderful to know where to begin. She reassured May by saying, “That would be marvelous. Could you please ask Mr. Burton if he could bring her?”

May nodded and started to leave with her bucket of water, but Lydia stopped her. “I am curious. Do you know what your mother uses to treat the burns?”

With a tilt of her head, May said, “She uses a salve made from beeswax, lanolin, and honey, and then she covers the wounds with boiled burdock leaves.”

Sebastian woke in stages. The closer he was to awareness, the more pain he felt, but beyond the pain, he had the worst feeling that he had to check on something. That someone was in danger.

He was disconnected in a way that he recognized from a childhood injury when he had broken his arm falling out of a tree. They had given him laudanum; he did not like the hazy floaty feeling it gave him then and he did not like it now. It kept him from thinking properly. Who was it? Who needed him? He wondered as he tried to come to full awareness.

Lydia. Lydia was afraid and coughing. He had to help her. Jerking with awareness, he regretted the moment he tried to sit up. Fire erupted up his arms, and all at once, he remembered the fire in the potting shed. He had rescued Lydia from the potting shed, but was she alright?

He first looked down at his arms and was startled to see his arms covered with leaves. Was that some kind of treatment? He sure hoped so. Looking around, he realized he was in his room and in his bed. So he had made it back to the house somehow, and he was being treated, he hoped. Moving his arms hurt badly, but it seemed more of him than just his arms hurt as well. It was not the same kind of burning pain though, more aching, like he had fallen down hard.

The curtains were drawn, leaving the room in the dark. Trying to keep himself from moving too much, Sebastian peered about the room. Just then, the door opened, admitting Davies. Eager for answers about his missing time and how Lydia was, he tried to speak, but only managed an odd sounding croak.

It was enough to alert Davies, who rushed to his side. “Mr. Burgess! I am so glad you are coming around.” Putting the tray he carried down on a table beside the bed, he grabbed the pitcher and poured a glass of water and brought it to Sebastian’s lips, allowing him to drink.

Sebastian did not know how truly thirsty he was until the water touched his lips. Then he wanted to guzzle the whole glass down, only Davies pulled the glass away too soon. “Careful, sir, you do not want to make yourself sick.”

Admitting grudgingly to himself that Davies was right, Sebastian cleared his throat, and this time managed to say, “How long?”

Putting the glass on the bedside table Davies, said, “Three days, sir. Part of that was due to the laudanum, but you also had a fever.”

Sebastian nodded. Three days was not a lot, considering everything. Wishing he could sit up, he said, “What of Lydia?”

Smiling slightly, Davies said, “Apart from being extremely concerned about you, she is doing well. She has rarely left your side. Oakley has had to practically drag her away from your bedside so she could attend to her own needs.” Nodding his head to the chair on the far side of the bed, Davies explained, “She only just drifted off before I went to gather supplies to change your dressing.”

He couldn't help but look at her, feeling as though some external influence was guiding his gaze. She was peacefully asleep in the chair, her head and arms drooping onto the bed. He could not see her face, but her beautiful blonde hair was mussed and coming out of a simple knot at the back of her head. It was obvious that she had not been taking care of herself.

He wanted to be angry that he had been too unwell to enjoy her presence in his bedroom. How many nights had he lain awake wishing for her presence beside him? It was so unfair. She was finally spending time in his bedroom, and he had not been able to enjoy it. It was such a loss.

He was still watching her when she began coughing faintly in her sleep. Looking back at Davies, the man answered his unasked question. “She still has a cough from inhaling too much smoke.”

More than ever, Sebastian wanted to be able to reach out and gather her close to him. He knew that he could not though, not in the condition that he was in. Sighing, he turned back to Davies and asked, “Am I covered with leaves?”

Smiling in a way that Sebastian could recognize as a suppressed laugh, Davies replied, “Yes sir. It seems that the way you were holding Mrs. Burgess protected your torso and face, but the backs of your hands and arms got the worst of the blaze. One of the female tenants suggested using the leaves as part of a remedy. Oddly enough, it seems to be working.”

Sebastian tried to think back to when he was rescuing Lydia. He had tucked his face into the damp blanket as he ran through the blaze, but the heat on his arms had been excruciating. As he gazed at his arms, hidden beneath a blanket of leaves, he couldn't shake his curiosity about the state of his skin.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Davies said, “Although the sleeves of your coat offered some protection, they briefly burst into flames before you fell to the ground. The backs of your hands are the worst off. I should change the leaves actually, unless you would like to wait until I can get you more laudanum?”

Shaking his head, Sebastian said, “No, no more laudanum.”

The next interim of time was full of removing gooey leaves from his arms and, though he had expected his pain to increase, it did not, or at least not remarkably so. Once Sebastian was finally able to see his arms, he found that they were not nearly as bad as he had been imagining. While he knew there would be scarring, it would not be grotesque. The worst part was indeed the back of his hands. Looking at his arms, it was clear that they were inflamed, but his hands were even worse, covered in painful blisters and red twisted skin.

Realizing that he should not fixate on his wounds, Sebastian turned his gaze and focused on Lydia as she slept. He wanted to go over and settle her more comfortably on the bed. Despite the pain of his burns, he could not help but be happy that he was the one burned. He could withstand anything if it meant that he could protect her.