Page 3 of Willow (Out on a Limb #4)

In Which Harry Chalmers Discovers that He has Acquired a Wife

The next time Harry woke, it was dark.

The pain had receded, but he couldn’t help wondering if he’d been run over by a gun carriage. Every bone in his body ached a little, and he knew he was as weak as a kitten.

He closed his eyes and let his ears tell him about his surroundings.

There was a fire crackling in a hearth, probably in another room. The door between them had to be open, or he’d not have heard the sound, so if he was in a bed, which he believed he was, then this was a small cottage perhaps, with living quarters on the first floor.

Beneath the pop and snap of the fire was another sound, a soft and rhythmic whisper that told a story all its own. He was near the sea. Those were the familiar sounds of the ocean washing against either a dock or a wall, or maybe a pier.

His mind darted back to the last thing he could recall…a boat. Safe.

In England.

He struggled to remember something, someone…he’d asked where he was, and he’d been told he was safe in England.

And it had been a woman’s voice. Comforting? Familiar? Was he home at Myrtle Grange?

No, because if he was, this would be his own room, he’d recognise it in an instant, and it wasn’t anywhere near the shore. This one was small, and the scent was wrong.

Something soft and fresh, mint and lavender, perhaps. Or lily of the valley. Definitely a woman’s fragrance.

So he was, if his conclusions were correct, in England, in a woman’s chamber, in a small cottage by the sea, at night, and there was a fire burning in the next room. He silently applauded himself for his observations. Shifting slightly, he felt the taut cotton stretching over his arms. He was in a nightshirt, but one that belonged to a much smaller person.

Puzzled now, and feeling more the thing, he tentatively pushed himself upright, encouraged by the fact that the furniture stayed where it was supposed to be. His vision was steady, although his limbs were far weaker than they should be.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he held onto a bedpost for security, and gingerly placed his feet on the floor, encountering a carpet protecting his bare skin from cold flagstones.

He attempted to stand, but a sharp pain in one ankle made him gasp aloud and drop back onto the mattress.

What the devil? He reached down to the offending joint, only to find it swathed quite thickly in bandages. He’d done something to it, that was for sure, but was it broken? Wouldn’t he be in a lot more pain if it was?

He sighed and shifted to the edge of the bed again, determined to explore the extent of his injury. To find out if he could actually walk.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Harry.”

He almost fell off the mattress at the sound of her voice, mildly amused, coming from the doorway behind him. “What…”

“Wait. Don’t move.”

Since he didn’t have too many other options, he obeyed, twisting around to try and see where she’d gone. Obviously not too far, since within seconds a lighted candle appeared, and she walked into the bedroom holding it aloft.

He stared, his eyes widening.

“Good God.” He sucked in a breath. “Willow Trease.”

“You remember me. I’m flattered,” she grinned. “Also very happy to see you restored to your senses.”

He made to move, forgetting his ankle, and winced, falling back once more to the safety of the mattress. “Ouch.”

“You have a badly sprained ankle. Nothing, as far as we can ascertain, was broken, but it must have been extremely painful when you injured it.”

“I…” He shook his head, still trying to come to terms with this somewhat surreal experience.

“You have also had a nasty fever for the last couple of days. Fortunately, you have a strong constitution, and we had some effective medicines. A combination that brought you through the worst of it.”

Setting the candle down on a small table, she poured water into a glass. “You’ll be thirsty, I expect. I’ll make tea in a bit if you think you could manage some but have this first. It will help wash away the last of the fever.”

“Thank you.” He took the glass and drank, then handed it back, feeling as if he had suddenly reverted to six years old, and his nurse was caring for him. “Where am I? How long have I been here? You can’t have been the only one looking after me?”

“All questions I will answer very soon. But first,” Willow pointed to the head of the bed, “there is a cane there, which you’ll need to use in order to reach the chamber pot behind the screen. Also, there is a very large and thick blanket on your bed, which can certainly act as a dressing gown, should you think you can move around enough to come and sit by the fire for a little while. It’s up to you…”

“I need to move,” he said quietly. “I feel as if I’ve been sleeping for a year. But I can tell I’m not up to my usual strength, so I will follow your instructions, Willow, if you’ll promise to tell me what on earth you’re doing here in this place at this moment in time.”

She nodded. “I promise. I could use a cup of tea, so I’ll make a pot. And in return, you can tell me how you ended up delivered like a sack of potatoes to the front door of my old French governess’s house.”

*~~*~~*

Busying herself in the tiny kitchen, Willow took deep breaths, hoping to stop her heart thundering and her hands shaking. Her pretense of calm self-composure was a facade, but a necessary one if Harry was to take her seriously.

She had no doubt he’d been shocked to see her, since they hadn’t crossed paths in quite some time. To him, Willow Trease was probably still the young girl who had curled up in a chair and listened to him talk about his horses.

It was time to acquaint him with the Willow Trease who was capable, cool-headed, and now a young woman who had left her childhood behind.

Also the Willow Trease who was posing as his wife. That might be a little more difficult to explain.

The kettle steamed noisily, and she picked up a cloth to take it off the fire, pouring the boiling water into the pot. There was milk, luckily, and some bread too, so she put together a small tray, knowing that if he could start eating, his healing would progress much more quickly.

A sound from the bedroom alerted her to the fact he was on his feet. She gulped down her nerves and kept her hands steady on the tray as she carried it into the little living room that had been her home for the last few days.

The couch was comfortable, the blankets warm, and all things considered, she hadn’t really missed sleeping in her own bed. However, her rest had been disturbed, since she’d found herself waking when Harry made any noise.

And he did snore.

But hearing those sounds was more of a comfort than anything else. He was still alive, and that was all that counted.

“Willow?”

He leaned against the door jamb, pale and thin of face, his body wrapped in the blanket from the bed.

“Yes, come. Sit here.” She led him to the chair nearest the fire. “You’ll not be in any draughts, I think, and I’ve made tea if you can manage it? Oh, and to set your mind at ease, your boots are under the bed. You seemed concerned about them.”

He let her help him, leaning on her as he sat. “Thank you, this is very kind, and most welcome. And yes, I will certainly need my boots. When I can get dressed, of course.”

She had to chuckle as she dealt with the tea. “That was a formal speech from someone in a woman’s nightgown and a blanket.”

His eyes widened. “I’m in your nightgown?”

“Nooo,” the chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. “You’d never fit. The one you have belonged to the woman who used to live here. Madame Lépine.”

He managed a weak smile. “Well, this is a first, then. I’ve not had the occasion to wear a nightgown at all.” He shifted a little. “That explains why the arms are tight and it stops a foot too short for me.”

“It was all I had.”

Silence fell after those words, and Harry looked around, obviously taking in the small house and the worn furnishings.

His gaze returned to her face. “What is going on, Willow? Why are you here? Does Sir Hawthorn know you’re here?”

Her chin rose. “Both my parents are aware of my situation, Harry. I spent most of December in this house, staying past Christmas, until Madame passed away.”

“I’m sorry…” he began. “Wait. Lépine.” His expression changed a little, and suddenly Willow realised she had no idea at all what he was thinking.

“Did you know Madame?”

“Wasn’t she your French tutor at some point? You and Holly took lessons from her, I believe.”

“We did,” nodded Willow. “I encountered her while returning to Forest Grange, right after she’d been in an unpleasant accident. She had no one.” A ragged breath made its way past her lips. “And she had been badly injured. I couldn’t leave her alone.”

“So you stayed here?”

“I did. With my parents’ full support, even though I was sad to miss Christmas with my family.”

“And you nursed Madame?”

“To the best of my ability, yes. Although, to be quite honest, it was more a matter of keeping her comfortable than anything else.”

Silence fell for a few moments, as Willow blinked away tears. “She passed peacefully. And the villagers were kind enough to arrange for a funeral. She rests now in the graveyard overlooking the sea.”

Harry was silent, his eyes on her face, intense and unblinking. “A tragedy indeed.”

“Yes.”

“Which leads to a question. Why are you still here, Willow?”

She gestured at the plate of bread and a pat of butter on the table. “Do you think you could manage to eat a few bites? It would be wonderful if you could, since you need to start regaining your strength.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then smiled. “I will make a bargain with you. I will try to eat if you tell me what’s going on here.”

“There’s nothing going on,” she replied immediately, avoiding his gaze by buttering the bread.

“I know that expression,” he chuckled. “Something is definitely going on.”

For a few moments, he glanced around the room. “This is a tidy little house. I suppose cottage would suit it better.” He paused. “I have seen many like this, and they offer everything a small family would need in the way of comfort and protection.”

“Yes.” She was unsure of where his thoughts were leading.

“But you are not a family. In fact, you appear to be living here quite alone.” He paused. “Except for me.”

Willow cleared her throat. “That is, in essence, correct.”

He tilted his head to one side, and for a moment the flames from the fire danced in his green eyes, giving him a somewhat devilish appearance.

“So, tell me, dear girl, are we in the midst of a shocking scandal? You, me, and these four walls?”

“Not at all,” she sighed.

“Explain,” he ordered.

“Well…I was caught by surprise when you arrived, unconscious and clearly very ill. I did the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment.”

He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I told everyone you were my husband.”