Page 9 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)
The next few hours seemed interminable, with a wealth of visitors coming and going, neighbours and people from the town determined to know what was happening and if the poor gentleman was dead.
Once the Dr arrived, the house fell silent and, as George had been left at the gate to stand watch and get rid of anyone else, the door knocker was finally still.
Bea paced up and down the parlour while Izzy and Clementine watched her. Finally, as the hour chimed midnight, their father appeared in the doorway. He looked worn to a thread but offered them a warm smile.
“Ah, now here is a sight to do an old man’s heart good,” he said softly.
“Oh, Papa!” Bea exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms. “Will he be all right?”
“There, there, my girl. He lives and will continue to do so. The Dr seems quite certain of that. The only question is what damage has been done. He took an almighty blow to the forehead, and sometimes that can do odd things to a fellow’s brainbox.
I’m afraid there is likely to be some damage to his eyes from wood splinters.
But we are in the good lord’s hands, and I trust in him to deliver us and Lord Stonehaven.
I know you will keep him in your prayers tonight, and tomorrow we shall know more.
Lord Beaumarsh will sit with him for the next few hours and then I shall take a turn. ”
“His eyes?” Bea repeated numbly, picturing the mischievous hazel eyes that had brimmed with laughter and enjoyment when he flustered her. The ache in her heart seemed to radiate, filling her chest until it left no room for her lungs and it became hard to breathe.
Clementine, who had rung for tea during this speech, returned to put her arms around Bea’s shoulders. “Come along, love. There’s nothing for you to do at the moment but if you want to be useful in the morning, you’d best get some sleep.”
“A fine idea,” their father said warmly. “Up you go now.”
“I’ll stay and keep you company for a while,” Izzy said, taking her father’s arm and guiding him to a chair. “You know you never make the tea properly when you are left alone.”
“Ah, sweet child. How well you look after me,” their father said, allowing Izzy to settle him comfortably and put his feet up on a stool. “Mind, don’t you think a little tot of brandy might be in order too, as well as the tea?”
“Certainly, Papa. It will settle your nerves,” Izzy agreed, and hurried to pour him a glass.
Mrs Adie appeared, carrying the tea tray as Clementine accompanied Bea up the stairs. When they got to the top, Bea paused, staring down the corridor at the door behind which Lord Stonehaven was lying injured, perhaps even fighting for his life.
Clementine took her hand and squeezed. “Courage, love.”
Bea returned a wan smile. It was funny really, how Clementine had warned her so strongly to stay away from Stonehaven, had counselled her not to allow her affections to warm towards a man who she said knew nothing of tenderness.
And now it was Clementine comforting her when her heart was clenched with fear, not knowing how badly injured he was, or if he would ever be the same again.
That was what big sisters did, she supposed. They guarded, and they cosseted, they nagged, and they comforted. Especially one like Clementine, who had mothered all of them despite being only a few years their senior.
So, Bea allowed Clementine to help her get ready for bed and sat docilely while she brushed out her long blonde hair.
“What’s it like, Clemmie?”
Clementine paused, brush in hand, meeting Bea’s gaze in the mirror. “What is what like?”
“Being married.”
A smile curved her sister’s lips and her cheeks glowed pink, but her words were sincere and honest as she replied, “With the right man, it is the perfect adventure. I am happier than I ever believed possible.”
Bea sighed. “I’m so glad,” she said, suddenly weary to her bones as Clementine set down the brush.
She made no complaint as Clementine held the bedcovers back for her, and she slipped beneath them without a murmur of protest.
Whilst Bea did not remember falling asleep, she woke with a start in a room limned with moonlight.
The old apple tree outside her window cast odd shapes on the opposite wall, and she blinked as the church bells struck four.
The awful events of last night returned to her with a jolt and she sat up, suddenly wide awake.
Unable to contemplate remaining in bed when her thoughts were once again plunged into turmoil, she tugged back the covers and used her toes to seek her slippers.
Once they were on, she fumbled about in the dimly lit room until she had her dressing gown in hand and then muttered crossly as she discovered she was putting it on upside down.
Knowing full well she was behaving badly, Bea still opened her bedroom door and padded silently down the hallway to the bedroom with the honeysuckle wallpaper.
The house was still save for the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway downstairs, and Bea held her breath, straining her ears for any sound from within.
When several moments passed without so much as a whisper of sound, she reached out and turned the handle.
Heart thudding so loudly she felt certain it would wake the entire household, Bea pushed it open.
It slid smoothly on well-oiled hinges, and the warm flickering light of a guttering candle greeted her eyes.
Bea tiptoed into the room, gazing at the still figure on the bed, her breath held captive in her lungs.
Lord Stonehaven looked as large and solid as ever, and yet terribly human and vulnerable in the strange leaping light by the dying flame and she covered her mouth with her hand.
His features were as strong as ever, fiercely defined with harsh shadows that made him look like an ancient warrior carved in stone.
Yet the bandage around his head and eyes was bloody, brown traces marring the pristine white pillowcase.
Even in the golden light his complexion seemed as cold as alabaster.
“He’s sleeping, my dear. Don’t look so frightened.”
Bea smothered a shriek, turning to see her father’s steady gaze upon her.
Letting out a breath of relief, Bea moved to stand beside him. “Forgive me, Papa. I was just so… so terribly worried for him.”
“I know,” her father said with a smile, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “His lordship made rather an impression on you, did he not?”
Bea smiled ruefully. “I suppose he must have done, but I’m not a fool, Papa. I think there is someone else he likes far better than me. Clementine insists I must stay away from him in any case.”
Her father chuckled. “Dear Clemmie, she is rather a tigress where her loved ones are concerned. I know you are a good judge of people, though, my dear. So, you’ll make your own decision, I’m sure. Just go carefully.”
Bea returned a wry smile. “I would if there were anywhere to go.” She turned back to gaze at the bed. “Do you truly believe he’ll be all right? Do you promise?” she asked, knowing it was childish, for her father could not make her such a promise.
“I believe he will live,” he replied calmly, but his eyes were too bright with honesty for her not to hear what he did not say. For none of them yet knew what manner of life he would be facing.