Page 8 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

T he carriage lurched to a stop, and Lord John wasted little time ushering Ella out the door and toward the steps to the residence.

Her feet stalled halfway up. The duke’s townhouse loomed large and forbidding in front of her, but before Ella could identify a foolproof escape plan, the door swung open, magically pulling her inside.

The butler must have been waiting for them.

The atmosphere struck Ella at once, put her back on her heels.

It was quiet and morose, still and hauntingly acrid.

Ella had usually been the sick person in her household, so she had little experience dealing with somber realities from the outside vantage point.

But this sensation was immutable, sticky, and cloying to the touch.

Death wasn’t the only thing in the air. Fear was taking up its fair share as well.

“Oh, thank the Lord, she’s here!”

Ella followed the exuberance up the veiny marble staircase to where a tall, fleshy woman held on to the shiny walnut banister with both hands.

Ella had seen Lady Evelyn, the Duchess of Winchester, at a few balls and had even stood off to the side while her mother and she engaged in inane pleasantries, but she never had reason to speak to her before.

Known for her cutting tongue and dry wit, the duchess rarely suffered fools, and, to be perfectly frank, since Ella couldn’t be sure if she was one or not, she’d preferred to stay out of her way.

But that luxury was long gone. Ella couldn’t possibly slink into oblivion with the lady flying down the stairs like a hawk zeroed in on its prey. The lady overwhelmed her with a hug that smacked of pure desperation.

“Thank you. Thank you,” the duchess cried, sinking her hands into Ella’s back.

She swayed them back and forth until it felt like they were in the middle of a melancholic dance.

Ella was like a doll, her arms hanging listlessly at her sides, waiting for her owner to do with her what she would.

Please, Lord, don’t let her smell the sherry.

Ella lifted her eyes and scanned for Lord John, finding him leaning casually against the door. She wasn’t fooled. His gaze was focused on his mother, his body rigid and ready for anything she might need.

If he seemed out of place in the carriage, he was positively lost in this grand foyer, indicative of the very best breeding and a line that could be traced back to the Conqueror.

The entire entryway was housed in a giant glass dome that served to invite the heavens into their home.

On both sides of the staircase, three mammoth pillars surrounded the space in a semicircle, making guests feel at once protected and welcomed.

This was a palace. A fortress. A home for dukes.

Not for pirates.

“Mother, let the woman breathe.”

Lady Evelyn’s hand fisted along Ella’s back, and she tensed before finally dragging herself away. “Oh, of course. Of course, yes, I’m sorry, my dear. I don’t know what came over me.” She held a white lace handkerchief in one hand and held it up to her nose. “I’ve just been waiting. For you.”

Ella’s conscience felt like it had been kicked and beaten and was now being gagged and held hostage somewhere in the depths of her sorry soul. How could she stand here in front of this woman and maintain this charade?

The duchess’s eyes were red-rimmed and expectant, underscored with jewel-colored bags.

Her black hair was brushed away off her face, leaving her skin bare and open.

There was no doubt that she hadn’t slept in days.

She wore a simple gray dress—not quite in mourning—as if she was approaching the inevitable in stages.

“I’m so sorry for everything, Your Grace—”

The woman snatched Ella’s hands back, not able to stay away.

“You? What do you have to be sorry about, my beautiful girl? Ella, darling, the only reason my Oliver is still with us is because of you. I told him not to race those silly horses. I told him it was dangerous, but he would not listen to me.” Again, she held the handkerchief to her mouth, stifling a sob.

When she’d contained her emotions, she continued.

“When your son is born, you will understand how difficult it is to harness a Winchester boy.”

Ella’s smile was weak. Everything about her suddenly felt weak. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Mother…” Lord John said.

“Oh, yes, yes!” the duchess cried, corralling Ella toward the stairs. Ella glanced over her shoulder to see Lord John following only a few steps behind, as if to make sure she made it up in one piece. He caught her stare and smirked, mouthing, Don’t trip.

Ella glared at him because she was scared and frustrated and he seemed to be the only person she could take it all out on. He was the wall she could punch and kick, knowing she would do no damage.

Lord John dismissed her, turning his head away.

His expression returned to its baseline—blank and unflappable.

Ella turned away with an unmistakable reality.

This lavish townhome may have been built centuries before, but it was only standing now by the will of Lord John.

His staid and severe presence was the glue holding everything together for his brother.

Ella found herself on the second floor, where a host of men stood milling around outside a room at the very end of the wide corridor.

Faces and expressions contorted as soon as the duchess was spotted, undoubtedly in an effort to spare her more anxiety.

Lady Evelyn shooed them out of the way as if they were nothing more than bothersome pigeons.

She lightly tapped on the door, opening it an inch before speaking in a motherly, singsong tone. “My love. I have someone special here for you. Someone I know you’ve been waiting for.”

The lady smiled at Ella then, giving her an encouraging nod. She opened the door all the way, motioning for Ella to go inside.

Alone? Already? Ella didn’t know what was on the other side of that door, but she did know she didn’t want to experience it by herself.

Her smile faltering, the duchess flicked her head toward the dark room, harsher this time.

Ella gulped. She’d had the impression they’d go in together, and perhaps the older woman would sit at her son’s side while Ella lurked in a deep corner.

Apparently, she’d been wrong.

She felt a body come up behind her. Lord John.

“Mother.” He placed his hands on Ella’s shoulders, and this time she did not flinch at his touch. Nor did she jerk away. If anything, she had to restrain herself from grabbing those heavy palms and pulling him tighter around her. “Perhaps this isn’t the time—”

“This is the only time!” the older woman snapped. She attempted to swallow her outburst. Regaining her calm, she tried again. “My son is inside that room. And I don’t know how much longer he will be there. She is our only hope.”

A tall man made up of sharp angles and pocked skin stepped forward tentatively, coughing into his delicate fist. “Lady Evelyn, that is not the case. We’ve spoken to you about the surgery.

” He turned to Lord John. “My lord, I’ve had some success in this area.

Your brother has a large bruise on the back of his head along with an alarming protrusion.

We assume His Grace struck his head against a rock after falling in the lake.

If you allow us to open it up, relieve some of the pressure, we think the duke might have a better chance of waking. ”

Lord John stared at the doctor, implacable as always. A grandfather clock stood stoically across the corridor. Seconds ticked by as Lord John contemplated the doctor’s words. “I am well acquainted with trepanning, doctor. Tell me, what is your success rate with the procedure?”

Ella surmised that most men would have grown flustered when Lord John bore down on them with that steely voice, but the doctor was in a league of his own, as sweat began to slide down his temples. “T-ten percent, my lord.”

Lord John’s brow rose. “Ten percent?” he replied. “Ten percent of men lived after you drilled holes into their skulls?”

The good doctor shook his head raggedly. “No, my lord, ten percent survived the surgery. Only two percent lived.”

Ella’s stomach dropped.

“How long did they live… the two percent?” Lord John asked. His tone was more frightening than the odds.

The doctor’s Adam’s apple jumped. “None longer than a few months.”

Lord John lunged. Gripping the tall man’s lapels, he lifted him off his toes, slamming him into the wall. Face to face with the doctor, Lord John finally showed the turmoil, anger, and, yes, fear that he’d been suffering through over the last forty-eight hours.

“That was years ago,” the doctor rambled, hurrying to make his case. “The surgery has evolved, become more precise.”

“More precise?” Lord John growled, baring his teeth as if he were about to begin his own surgery on the doctor.

“I’ve been on one ship after another for the past fifteen years and seen my share of learned men like yourself only too ready to open up a man’s skull.

And every last one of those cases has come to naught.

Do you think I would actually set you and your curiosity on my brother?

” Slow and menacing, he shook his head. “You will not touch him.”

“B-b-b-but,” the doctor stammered, spittle flying from his lips, “there is nothing else to be done.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, and Ella leaned forward to catch his words. “He will die. If he doesn’t eat or drink soon, he will die. You have to know this. It’s his only hope.”

Deliberately, Lord John backed away, releasing the doctor enough so that the man could finally put his feet back on firm ground.

Ella watched as he contemplated what the doctor said, running a hand over his face again and again, as if one of those passes might inform him of the right decision.

The doctor was right. Ella hated to admit it.

Desperate times made desperate people. A risky surgery had only one thing going for it—hope.

Ella closed her eyes, sending up a quick prayer that Lord John would heed the doctor’s words. It was the only rational decision.

“It’s not his only hope,” a fragile, gravelly voice rang out, pulling all eyes down the corridor. A frightfully old woman limped toward them, her cane punctuating the seconds as faithfully as that grandfather clock. Her face was riddled with wrinkles.

Ella wanted to sink into the carpet when she noticed the woman’s gimlet eye was solely on her. She raised her cane directed at Ella as steady as a hunter aims his gun. “We have her.”