Page 5 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)
CHAPTER 4
Painful Truths
M arie woke in the morning with pain throbbing in her ankle. She must have turned it in the night, despite sleeping with her foot above the covers. When she cautiously pressed her fingers down her leg, her ankle felt puffy and hot under the bandage.
Mrs Ellwood helped her out of bed and dressed her. She felt as useless as a babe, being unable to do the most basic things for herself. Even more than that, a night’s rest had done nothing at all to repair her joint. It really had to be sprained, or worse. She sent up a prayer begging for it to only be a sprain.
“It’s all right, dear,” Mrs Ellwood said. “I know you’re a lass that is used to getting things done in her own way. You’re not used to relying on others, are you?”
“That I am not,” she admitted, enjoying the housekeeper’s sing-song lilting northern accent. Morag, however, completely defeated her and all she could do was smile and nod when the maid tried to make conversation. It gave her a deeper insight into how Mr Charles must feel as he struggled to speak French.
Her foot hurt so much, as Mrs Ellwood helped her hobble across the room to where a comfortable chaise longue near the window provided exactly the right kind of comfort for someone who needed to keep their leg elevated and steady.
Silly, silly girl, she scolded herself. Why had she been so determined to ignore the earl’s warnings?
At least she was dressed and reasonably presentable, as the throbbing in her ankle continued to pulse and ache with every beat of her heart. Thankfully though, her head remained clear, and she declined firmly when Mrs Ellwood held up the bottle of laudanum, a silent question on her face.
“No, thank you. I don’t need it.”
Morag prattled on, but she had such a sweet expression as she talked, Marie didn’t have the heart to send her away. “Maybe if you sing,” she suggested, “It will distract me so much better. Do you have any songs you like to share?”
The girl beamed and launched into a haunting tune that sailed around the upper registers like a bird on a wing, before fluttering down and heralding misfortune. Marie had no idea what the song was about, but the melody was enchanting and dramatic. Morag had an incredible voice. Eyes turning misty, Marie wondered what the words meant. Clearly they meant a great deal to young Morag, judging by the yearning expression on her face.
“It’s so beautiful,” Marie said when the song ended, “I’d love to know what the song means.”
Morag smiled sweetly and said, “Tha e ciallachadh bàs dha na Sasannaich a ghoid mo ghaol.”
Mr Martin appeared at the door just at that moment and said to Morag, “You’ll not be wishing ill of our guest.”
Marie had no idea what had just transpired but the young maid ducked her head in a sign of guilt.
Then Mr Martin looked to Marie and said, “His Lordship has asked after his patient.”
Marie sighed balefully and said, “I am impatient to leave, but my ankle has not healed.”
“May I examine it?” the earl said, as he strolled into the room.
As Morag was still in here for propriety’s sake, and Mr Martin (who carried the medical text) stood by with the doors wide open, she could hardly refuse.
And anyway, how would she get out of this room, let alone the castle in her current state? It was all so frustrating.
The earl knelt by her foot and gently touched her big toe.
“Hsssst!” Marie hissed with discomfort.
He palpated the sides of her foot and ankle, each tiny movement punishing her muscles. Marie gripped her skirts so tightly her knuckles turned white, with the effort not to shriek.
With her pained responses, the earl eased his touch so that he was barely feeling the joint. “It is as I thought. Sprained, and badly at that, but it is not broken.”
“You can tell just by touching the area?”
“The swelling is down a little, which is a good sign.”
Marie tried not to whine, but she couldn’t help it. “Yet it feels worse than yesterday.”
“I’ll carry you downstairs. No point staying up here where you can’t do anything. You may as well come and keep me company in my library, and the boys can join us for nuncheon later.”
With one smooth lift, he had her up off the chaise and pressed closely against his body. The pain wasn’t as acute as when she’d first injured it, but by heavens it throbbed something awful.
Feeling utterly miserable, she buried her head into the earl’s shoulder and began to cry.
“Have I made it worse?” He sounded stricken.
“No,” she sniffled, “Merely capitulating to self-pity.”
He chuckled with what sounded like glee.
Marie accused, “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
He laughed out loud at that and her whole body reverberated as he held her so closely.
“Merely capitulating to self-congratulation . I knew it was sprained, not broken, and I am right.”
“Hmph,” Marie said.
As he carried her easily down the stairs, seeming to take no apparent notice of her weight in his arms, Marie reluctantly added, “You were right, my lord, and I am grateful for your medical knowledge. I might have done permanent damage if I had tried to continue yesterday.”
“You might indeed.” He carried her into the library, set her on a comfortable armchair near the fire, and brought over a footstool, lifting her foot very gently to prop upon it. Standing over her, she had to crane her neck to look up at him.
“And thank you for your hospitality. Your staff have been extremely attentive,” she thought to add.
“I’m glad they are looking after you properly, but it has been made clear to me that I am to do my share.” He nodded, rather gravely. “Which means that it falls to me to entertain your mind. What can I get you to read?” He gestured around him, at the vast, beautiful library.
“I daresay there are worse places to be trapped for a few days,” Marie said happily.
The earl turned back to her, eyes widening slightly. “Miss Baxter… from everything I have read, it will be rather more than a few days, I’m afraid. Sprains can take from three to six weeks for a patient to regain a modicum of usefulness in the affected limb, and three to six months for full recovery. Certainly, I cannot possibly let you attempt the journey home until at least three weeks have passed, and by then it will be just a few days to Christmas. Please, allow me to extend the invitation for you to spend the holidays with us, and return home in the New Year? Mr Charles will be taking the twins back to Eton in time for term commencement. You can travel far more comfortably in their company, in my coach, than you possibly could going by post.”
This was quite the longest speech she had heard him make thus far, and Marie took a few moments to think through the offer.
“I do not suppose I have much choice,” she said with a sigh. “Even attempting to move my foot is very painful, and I’m quite sure I can’t put any weight on it.”
“It could be worse,” the earl said, and she thought he was trying to be kindly. “I broke my leg when I was fourteen, falling off my horse. I was laid up for eight weeks, quite miserable.”
So he did understand how she felt.
She nodded. “It could be worse.” She could easily have broken her ankle, falling on that ice. “Well, I shall accept your very kind invitation to join you for the holidays, my lord, and repay your kindness by teaching your sons French!” It was the least she could do in return.
“I must ask how you learned such excellent French?” the earl said. “Mine is school-learned, and then practised only by reading in the language rather than conversing in it, but yours sounds almost native.”
A smile broke free. “My mother was French,” Marie admitted. “From the Loire region. My father is English, and my sisters and I were born here in England. I have never been to France, but Mama raised us to speak in both.”
“I see!” The earl hummed for a moment. “Your father is there now, as you’ve mentioned, hunting for more books.”
“He had correspondence from France urging him to travel. Several chateaux were being raided and soldiers were destroying valuable books.”
The earl’s face fell. “That’s criminal!”
Marie agreed with his assessment, as it was also her father’s view. “Naturally, he was in great haste to get there and rescue what he could.”
“I hope his journey is successful,” the earl said. “Would you care to read in French? I have several volumes I’m not sure have ever even been touched. Let me fetch them over for you and you can peruse them at your leisure.”
One of the books he brought over was a stunning calf-bound Ménagerie du Musée National d'Histoire Naturelle . Marie selected it with delight, carefully turning the pages to admire the gilt edges and beautiful plates depicting exotic creatures from far-flung regions of the globe. She quite lost herself in the book, and the earl watched for a few minutes with approval for her delicate handling of the valuable item. He then selected a book for himself and settled down in another armchair.
They read in happy, companionable silence until a knock at the door heralded Mr Martin coming in, asking politely if they would be happy for the young masters to join them for nuncheon.
“Of course,” the earl said. “That large table over there should be quite sufficient for the tea-trays with enough food to satisfy everyone. I’ll bring a plate over to you, Miss Baxter, if you wish?”
“Certainly, thank you,” Marie agreed, discovering she was quite hungry.
The boys erupted into the room just ahead of Mrs Ellwood carrying the tea-tray, Mr Charles trailing along behind looking a little harried. Marie supposed it must be quite difficult managing two high-energy young boys all day, especially as the weather made it quite unfit for them to run around outside at the moment.
Deliberately, she addressed her remarks in French primarily to the earl and the two boys, leaving Mr Charles to sit and eat his meal in peace.
When the meal and French lesson concluded, she diffidently asked the earl for some paper in order to write to her family and let them know she would be delayed. She had asked Mrs Ellwood for something similar the day before, but she’d left the items up in her room.
Expecting small note-sized paper, she was very impressed when the earl bought her several large sheets of expensive, quality paper, ink, a quill, a blotter and even a small writing board that she could balance horizontally across the arms of her chair.
What incredible bliss! He also mentioned that he would frank the letter for her, so she need not worry about her sisters having to pay postage when they arrived. She could include as many pages as she wanted.
The boys were reluctant to leave, and ate their last sandwiches with the tiniest, slowest bites. Marie finished her letter to Louise and Bernadette and then took another sheet and made a quick sketch of young Richard as he took mouse-sized bites. Then she captured George in a few more strokes and played with getting the shape of his hair pattern just so. The earl had said they were twins, not merely brothers, but the more time she spent in their company, the more differences she could easily see in them. She no longer needed to see them together to know who was whom.
“You have captured them both remarkably,” the earl said, the moment he realised what she was doing.
“Sit still and I’ll make a study of you next,” Marie said without thinking. Had she just delivered orders to an earl? Who did she think she was? “I’m sorry, I quite forgot myself!” she exclaimed, flushing slightly.
“Let me see!” George got up from his seat and came over to look at the page. He gasped and said, “Gosh, that’s jolly good! Dickie, look at this!”
Richard was by her other shoulder in a moment and said, “She really got your nose right!”
George shot back, “And your sooky bottom lip!”
“Boys, I’m a little out of practice, I shall do better on the next one,” Marie said. “You’ll need to forgive me.”
“It’s jolly good, all the same,” Richard said. “You could be our artist in residence!”
Marie began sketching the earl, adding him into the image as if sitting beside his sons, a fond smile on his face as he watched them.
“Make sure you get his flappy ears!” George said with a laugh.
“He has very nice ears,” Marie corrected, before realising what she’d said and flushing to the roots of her hair. “As do both of you!” she added hastily. “Ears are unique, once you start really looking, you begin to notice no two people are identical. But obviously the Renwick traits breed true.” That was no better! Oh! She needed to stop talking!
The earl stood up and abruptly walked out of the room, surprising her. The sketch was almost complete, though, and she finished it off quickly.
“I shall enclose them in my letter to show my sisters what lovely people I am staying with. A pity the weather isn’t good enough for me to go outside to sketch the castle…”
“Well, there is a painting of it on that wall,” George said, pointing. “Couldn’t you copy that?”
Marie turned to look. “So there is! Very well. I would like my sisters to see what Alston Castle is like… none of us have ever had the opportunity to stay in a castle before.” Flipping the sketch of the earl and his sons over, she drew the castle in sure, quick strokes, glancing up at the painting regularly to check she had the proportions approximately correct.
The twins watched over her shoulder the whole time, raptly attentive.
“Before you leave,” Richard asked in a small voice, “would you make a drawing like that for us? Then we could look at it when we’re at school.”
“Of course I will,” Marie said immediately, realising that they must be at least a little homesick when they were away at Eton. Perhaps that was why the earl had brought them all the way home for Christmas; they were, after all, still very young.
Or maybe he just missed their company, she thought as she folded up her letter and the drawings. Just as she was already missing her sisters. With the boys away at school, she thought that Alston Castle was probably a very lonely place for its master.
On returning to the library, Sebastian found the boys still there, bothering Marie. “Out,” he said, not unkindly.
“Yes, Father,” they chorused obediently, and trailed Mr Charles out, though Sebastian did catch both of them sneaking glances back at Marie. He caught Mr Charles sneaking a look too, and firmed his lips. That young man was in no position to be admiring Miss Baxter. Even if she did look very pretty with a smile on her lips and her hazel eyes shining as she bid the boys a good afternoon.
“Is that your letter to your sisters? I shall take it to Alston personally in the morning.” He held out his hand for the letter. “And though Alston is small, I assure you that our postal service is quite good even in poor weather. A rider goes down to Carlisle three times a week. Your sisters should receive your letter in ten days or so. I shall have your hired horse and donkey returned to Carlisle in the next few days too, so you need not worry about them.”
“I appreciate you taking the letter to Alston, my lord. I’m reassured to think it might even reach them before they originally expected me back. It will ease their concerns when I do not arrive with the payment for your books.”
His jaw dropped for a moment and he could have kicked himself hard enough to make an injury. “Oh dear, it was quite a good amount.”
“Well, now that you raise the topic,” she said with a shy smile.
“That was badly done of me. And you’re in no state to return any time soon. Plus, we cannot send that much blunt unaccompanied by post. It would never arrive.” He thought for a moment about how he could possibly fix this. Who could he send to Hatfield at such short notice? In this weather? “Wait, I have it!” He clicked his fingers as a plan came together. “I shall write to my man of business in London. The letter could get to him in about a week. I shall explain all, and ask him to arrange for the necessary funds to be sent securely to Baxter’s Fine Books.”
“That does sound like the safest option,” she said, with only a slight wince of discomfort as she adjusted her sitting position. “I shall fetch the amounts from my bags …oh.” She visibly winced as she tried to get up.
“Would you like me to carry you to your room?”
“Yes, if you would not mind.”
“It doesn’t need to be done right away. I should write to my man of business first, that is far more urgent. I recall the cost of the books came to one hundred and forty-seven pounds. What were the expenses and accommodations you incurred bringing them here?”
“That was six pounds, eight shillings, ten pence and ha’penny,” she recited.
“You are magnificent with numbers,” he said with a half-grin, a little amused by her pedantry.
He was rewarded with a deep blush. “Thank you for the compliment. I am in charge of the accounts at the bookshop.”
He was silenced into shock for a moment. He thought he was being flippant, and possibly a little rude, in noting her exactness. She’d taken it as praise.
“Why don’t I round it up to seven pounds then?”
She shook her head, immediately protesting. “I could not, that is far too much.”
He slowly shook his head and chortled. What a funny creature she was! “How about six pounds ten?”
He could tell she was pressing her lips together to prevent laughter.
“Please, Lord Renwick. It was six pounds, eight shillings, ten pence and ha’penny. And not a farthing more!”
“I shall add that to the amount my man will forward to the bookshop.”
“Please also subtract the amount you paid for my return accommodations,” she said with a stern insistence. “You did offer to have me conveyed back home when Mr Charles takes George and Richard to Eton,” she said slowly.
“Yes, that still stands.”
“Presumably you will have accommodation arranged ahead, therefore subtract it. When I next am in my room, I shall repay you.”
It was clear she would not let him pay a penny more than he owed her.
“One hundred and fifty-three pounds, eight shillings, ten pence and ha’penny,” he said, writing the figure out. “I will instruct my man to expedite the payment, so your sisters should receive it soon after your letter arrives. Do you wish to add a postscript?”
“Yes, best that I do.” She took her letter back and wrote a brief line on the back of it under the seal.
He showed her his letter to his man of business, so she could give final approval to the total sum. She nodded her satisfaction when she read it and handed it back.
Sebastian was just finishing and sealing both letters when Marie hit him with a question that made him shoot up straight in his chair.
“Mr Charles is a nice young man. How does he come to be the boys’ tutor?”
“Er… he is the son of a tenant farmer,” Sebastian said a bit stiffly, unused to being asked to explain himself, and a little uncomfortable that Marie was showing interest in Mr Charles. “His father is a good man, but not well educated; it was apparent from an early age, however, that the son was very clever. He did well at school and when I inherited the earldom I was able to sponsor him to a better school, and then to Cambridge. He will complete his seminary studies next year.”
“Ah, so he is well known to the family and under your patronage!” Marie nodded understandingly. “Do you have livings in your gift, to be able to establish him?”
“Yes and no… while there are several livings under the earldom’s control, all the incumbents are hale and hearty, and a good many years from retirement. While I will lend Mr Charles my support, I am afraid he will have to earn his living as a travelling curate for a while at least. It will be some years before he is able to support a wife,” Sebastian couldn’t help but finish.
Marie gave him a puzzled look. “Well, he is quite young to think of marrying, I am sure he will be content to wait until he is established,” she said, apparently unconcerned.
Sebastian could have kicked himself. While it had been obvious from the covert glance he’d observed earlier that Mr Charles was quite taken with Marie, it appeared she was only asking about the young tutor out of politeness! What if his silly remark about marriage planted the idea in her head of looking at Mr Charles romantically?
He didn’t particularly want to examine why that thought bothered him so much, so instead he placed both letters on his desk to take to Alston in the morning, and smiled tightly.
“If I might trouble you,” Marie said hesitantly then, not quite meeting his eyes, “I should like to retire to my room for a little while, before dinner.”
He figured she would want to return all his money, down to the very last ha’penny. Then he noticed the time, and realised with horror that she probably required a little privacy. Mr Martin had kept them well supplied with drinks and light snacks all day, and Marie couldn’t exactly get up and visit the water closet.
“Of course,” he said hastily. “Allow me. I shall send Morag to attend to you, and we shall see you at dinner.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
He was getting to like the way she felt in his arms and the way she rested her head against his shoulder, Sebastian realised as he carried her up the stairs.
It was definitely time to make alternative arrangements.