Hester Dymock
Those Regency Belles Book 1Victoria Chatham
EXCERPT
Chapter One
April 1818
Hester Dymock stepped outside her family’s apothecary shop
and took a deep breath of fresh April air. It still carried the dampness of
overnight rain, which made her wrinkle her nostrils as she inhaled.
Washed clean of dust and debris, the cobblestones on
Fulhampton’s High Street shimmered with moisture. Today being market day, it would
soon be strewn once again with bits of hay and straw, manure, and goodness
knows what else. Horse-drawn carts and handbarrows pushed by various vendors
already rumbled towards the marketplace. People walked along the street and the
pavement, all headed in the same direction.
Ahead of her, two men stood head and shoulders above the
crowd.
Hester would recognize the taller of the two gentlemen
anywhere. A sigh formed on her lips.
There was no mistaking Lord Gabriel Ravenshall’s muscular
build.
Or the way his dark blue jacket moulded itself to his broad
shoulders.
When he doffed his tall beaver hat to a woman who stopped
and spoke to him, he revealed black hair gleaming like glossy raven’s feathers.
What if she had been beside him? Would he have raised his
hat to her? And what might she say to make him laugh as this woman did? Hester
wished his courtesy and good humour were for her. A prickly little knot of envy
formed in her stomach as she watched them.
Her head might reach the top of his chest if she stood on
tiptoe, and she could easily imagine herself secure in his arms. She caught
herself with a sharp intake of breath and steeled herself to ignore her
shockingly inappropriate thoughts. She shook her head at her foolishness.
Girlish dreams were all very well, but at four-and-twenty, she was no longer a
girl.
The other gentleman was not as tall but slim and bare headed.
Something in the conversation made him laugh out loud, a joyful, carefree sound
that made people turn his way to see what amused him. His blonde hair caught
the sunlight as he crossed the street.
Intent on watching the unfolding scene before her, Hester
nearly walked past the butcher’s shop but checked herself in time and quickly
stepped inside. Mr. Barnfield, wielding a wicked-looking meat cleaver, looked
up from the ham hock on his cutting block and smiled a greeting.
“Morning, Miss Dymock. And what can I get for you today?”
“Three good chump chops, if you please, and Mama said—”
“More meat than fat,” Mr. Barnfield finished for her. “I
know your mama too well to offer you anything else. Otherwise, I’d have her in
here chewing my ear off and that I don’t want. Can I get you some pork sausages
as well? Fresh made this morning.”
“Thank you, but no.”
The sound of a crash and shouting in the street drew their
attention. Hester dropped her basket and rushed outside with Mr. Barnfield
close behind her.
Cattle in the holding pens opposite his shop began to
bellow. Sheep in the adjacent pen bleated and pressed their fleecy bodies
together in a panic.
“What is it?” Hester asked.
Mr. Barnfield’s height gave him the advantage of seeing what
was happening. “Looks like a phaeton has knocked into old Grimes’ vegetable
stall at the corner of the market.”
As he spoke, Hester heard another crash. She stood on her
tiptoes to make herself as tall as possible. Now she could clearly see the
scene at the end of the street.
The phaeton’s rear right wheel had caught on the edge of the
stall. The young woman handling the ribbons tried to make her horse back up. Hester
heard its whinny of distress, saw its bright chestnut neck as it plunged
frantically between the shafts. The stall collapsed, sending cabbages, carrots,
potatoes, and more vegetables cascading onto the street. Scruffy urchins
appeared as if from nowhere, instantly gathering what they could of the
unexpected bounty.
The farmer shouted and cursed, still shaking his fist at the
driver. The horse charged forwards, the now white-faced young woman sawing
desperately at its mouth to halt it. Marketgoers cleared the street, leaping
out of the path of the runaway vehicle.
“Stay where you are!” Lord Ravenshall shouted the warning as
his friend stepped to the curb.
And then Hester noticed the child.
A small girl held a potato in one hand and scrubbed tears
away from her eyes with the other. She seemed oblivious to the danger bearing
down on her. There was no way she could escape the horse’s flailing hooves.
Hester’s heart fell like a lead weight as she covered her
mouth. She could not breathe, unable to bear what must be about to happen.
A speeding blue form flashed before her eyes.
Her whimper of alarm erupted into a terrified cry as Lord
Ravenshall dashed into the street.
He bent low and caught up the girl in his arms. Hester
thought him safe but, in one shattering moment, saw the toe of his boot catch
on the side of a still-damp cobblestone. He pitched forward.
“Ash! Catch her,” he yelled, throwing the child at his
friend as he fell.
Hester barely followed the trajectory of the grubby bundle.
The blond-haired man caught it in his outstretched arms. He staggered back
under the weight and crashed into the sheep pen, further agitating the frantic
animals.
And then the vehicle was upon Lord Ravenshall.
The horse leapt over him, the phaeton lurching behind it,
almost pitching the driver from the box. Open-mouthed, Hester watched it charge
on down the street, scattering everything in its path. Then the damaged wheel
parted from the axle, bringing everything to a halt. One man ran up to help the
sobbing woman out of the wreckage while two others cut the harness away from
the quivering horse and led it away.
Hester tore her gaze from the disaster and sped to Lord
Ravenshall’s inert body, sinking onto her knees beside him. His eyes were
closed, his face pale. Blood seeped from a wound on his head, staining the
cobblestones, but it only took one glance for her to know his legs were in far
worse shape.
The young man whom Lord Ravenshall had called Ash rushed to
her side. White-faced, he stared down at his friend, and then his knees buckled
like a broken marionette.
“What can I do?” he whispered.
The helplessness in his tone made Hester glance up at him. “We
need to get him to my brother’s office immediately.”
“Why should we take him to your brother?” Ash’s dark frown
indicated his doubt.
“Jonathan is a doctor.” Hoping no one would notice how badly
she shook, Hester used her handkerchief to dab blood from Lord Ravenshall’s
face. Who could have imagined that an accident would bring them so close? A
shadow fell across her, and she looked up into the anxious face of a burly
dark-skinned man.
He crouched down beside her. “What has happened to his
lordship?”
Before Hester could answer, Ash spoke up. “Ah, Robert. Good
that you are here. Can you lift him?”
“No.” Hester held up her hand to stop him. “That would be
the worst thing possible if his leg is as badly damaged as I suspect.” She
looked around, then indicated one of the sheep pens. “That wattle hurdle will
do. We must roll him onto it.”
“Are you sure, miss?” Robert’s deep, baritone voice rumbled
in his chest.
“Yes,” Hester said. “Ash, tell the shepherd whatever you
must to get him to give up that hurdle. He must find another way to contain his
sheep.”
Ash quickly made his way towards the shepherd. Hester
watched as a lively exchange of words ensued. Money changed hands, and when Ash
returned with the make-shift stretcher, she instructed him to lay it on the
ground beside Lord Ravenshall.
“I am going to turn his body towards me,” she explained. “As
soon as you can, push the hurdle firmly beneath him. Are you ready?”
Hester caught the fallen man’s shoulder and hip and rolled
him towards her. Instructing Ash to wedge the hurdle firmly against his
lordship’s back, she then carefully settled him onto it. He groaned in pain, making
her wince, but he did not regain consciousness.
She took his hands and folded them across his chest. He
almost looked peaceful, as he might in death, but she shook that image away.
Her only intention now was to prevent his hands from dragging on the ground,
adding grazed knuckles to his list of injuries. When she was sure he was
secure, she looked around for more help.
Hovering uncertainly on the pavement with his delivery boy
beside him, Mr. Barnfield watched her, all the while casting anxious glances
towards his shop entrance.
“I’d help,” he offered, “but I don’t want any of those
little beggars running off with my goods like they did old Grimes’.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Barnfield, I understand, but could you
send your boy along to Mama to have all the doors opened for us?”
Mr. Barnfield agreed to that. With a nod of his head, he sent
the boy off. Hester turned to the two men with her. “Robert, please lift at his
lordship’s head, and you, Ash, take his feet. The doctor’s surgery is not far
away. When I say lift, please do so as steadily as you can.”
Both men readied themselves and, as soon as Hester gave the
word, hoisted their charge smoothly.
“This way, gentlemen,” Hester said. “It is but a few doors
along the street beneath the sign of the pestle and mortar.”
She hurried ahead of them and found the doors already opened
as she had asked. Her mother looked on, concern written all over her face.
Panting from her exertions, Hester rushed past the counter
and into the surgery behind the shop.
“Jonathan, thank goodness you are here.” She gulped as she looked
at the remains of her brother’s breakfast and several books cluttering the
table. “We must clear this mess now.”
“Catch your breath and tell me what has happened.” Her
brother guided her to a chair and made her sit.
“It is Lord Ravenshall. I believe he has a broken leg.”
Hester steadied her breathing and began to rise as Ash and Robert maneuvered
their burden through the doorway.
“Stay where you are, Hester.” Jonathan gently pushed her
back into her seat. “Calm yourself, for I am certain to need your help.” He quickly
cleared the table as he glanced over the unconscious man. “This way, gentlemen,
lift everything onto the table.” He watched as they followed his instructions.
“Carefully now. Yes, that’s right. Put him down gently, and please stand back.”
The two men did as he instructed with Robert sturdy and
calm, Ash pale and visibly trembling.
“You’d better sit down.” Hester kindly vacated her chair for
him.
“Tell me what happened.” Jonathan bent to examine his
patient.
Hester quickly described the summary of events for her
brother while he continued his examination.
“The head wound is of little consequence, I think,” he
finally announced. “He may have a slight concussion, but his right leg is a
worry. Hester, remove his shoe. You may have to cut off his stocking as well.”
Hester slipped off the sturdy black leather shoe with its
bold silver buckle and handed it to Ash. She hesitated before loosening the knee
band of his lordship’s breeches but resolutely caught the top of the stocking
and began to roll it down.
Lord Ravenshall shifted his head and moaned. Robert
immediately stepped forward and placed his hands on his lordship’s shoulders,
holding him steady.
“Well done.” Jonathan shot him a glance. “You have
experienced something like this before?”
“A few times.” Robert’s dark face was devoid of expression,
but his tone implied much more.
“Are you in Lord Ravenshall’s employ?”
“Groom and second coachman,” Robert replied.
Hester took all this in as she continued to roll the
stocking over his lordship’s finely muscled calf, then reached for the scissors
her brother held out to her.
“It will go much more quickly if you use these. I’m sure
Ravenshall will not begrudge the cost of a pair of stockings if necessary.”
Starting at the toe, Hester snipped at the finely woven
woollen fabric and folded it back from the leg it covered. She gasped when she
saw the full extent of the damage. The shin was already swollen and flushed a torturous
shade of red. Jonathan felt along the length of the leg, nodding to himself as
he manipulated the limb.
“Did you hear that grating sound, Hester? A bad but clean
break, I think. At least it’s not crushed, which I would have expected in the
circumstances.” He palpated the leg, which brought a groan from the unconscious
man. “Hm, I suspect the fibula broke as well. At least neither bone has ruptured
the skin. Dealing with an open wound would be far worse. Let’s take a look at
his right leg.”
Hester repeated the process of cutting the stocking away,
shocked that her fingers tingled every time they touched Lord Gabriel
Ravenshall’s bare skin. How she wished she could smooth away his pain.
After another inspection, Jonathan reported that the right
leg was badly bruised but not broken.
“Thank God for that,” Ash muttered.
“Not necessarily,” Jonathan warned him. “Bruising will pool
blood in the soft tissues and can be as painful as a break, but I will apply
leeches to prevent the worst of it.”
Ash turned even paler and quickly left the room.
“By the looks of it, it’s left to us to set this bone,”
Jonathan mused.
Gabriel Ravenshall groaned again, and his eyes fluttered
open.
“What the devil is going on?” he rasped. “Why are you
holding me down, Robert? And why are my legs so damned cold?”
He tried to sit up but fell back with a cry.
“Don’t move, sir.” Robert continued to grip his lordship’s
shoulders. “You have a broken leg, and the doctor is about to set it.”
“Wonderful.” Gabriel hissed. “I’ll be bound that will hurt.”
“More than I like to say,” Jonathan agreed readily. “But I
have some excellent brandy to help dull your senses beforehand, and a good
strip of leather for you to bite down on.”
“Where’s Ash?” Gabriel asked.
“Had to excuse himself.” Jonathan grinned. “I’m not sure
that he quite has the stomach for what we are about to do. Drink this.”
Gabriel took the proffered brandy and swallowed it in one
gulp. “I think I need another of those.”
“Happy to oblige.” Jonathan poured a second glass and
watched Ravenshall toss it back. “We’ll leave you to settle for a few minutes
and see how you’re feeling. I’d like you quite drunk before we begin, but not
so much that you are likely to cast up your accounts.”
Jonathan busied himself preparing splints and bandages,
placing everything within easy reach. Twenty minutes later, he administered
another glass of brandy, to which he added a few drops of laudanum. When
Gabriel’s eyes began to close, Jonathan turned to Hester and Robert.
“As soon as the laudanum takes its full effect, we will get
to work. Robert, please stand at his lordship’s head. Put your arms under his
and clasp your hands firmly in front of his chest. You will have to hold him
very still.”
“I can do that,” Robert said.
“Can you please find Sir Ashleigh?” Jonathan asked him. “If
at all possible, I want him here to be ready to place this strap between his
lordship’s teeth. If he can’t deal with that, then Mama will have to close the
shop for a short while.”
Robert left the room, and Hester’s eyes widened in dismay as
she looked at her brother.
“Sir Ashleigh?” she questioned. “Oh, dear. And I have been
calling him Ash as if he were known to me. What will he think of me?”
“As things are right now, I don’t think anyone will care,”
Jonathan told her.
Robert returned with Sir Ashleigh, who looked only
marginally recovered and not at all happy to be there.
Jonathan ordered everyone to their places and moved around
the table to where it was easy for him to hold Lord Ravenshall’s thigh.
“I say,” Sir Ashleigh began, his voice wavering. “Beg
pardon, but isn’t that the wrong place for you to try and set the bone?”
“Between us, we have to keep him as still as possible,”
Jonathan explained. “Robert will hold his torso, and I will hold his leg.”
“Then, who is going to set it?” Sir Ashleigh asked.
“That would be me.” Hester stepped to the end of the table.
“Do not worry, Sir Ashleigh, I know what I am doing. Have his lordship bite
down on that strap now. Are we ready?”
At a nod from Jonathan, she took Gabriel’s naked foot in her
hand, alarmed at how cold it was. She grasped his toes in one hand, the heel of
his foot in the other. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the anxious faces
around her.
“Now,” she instructed and pulled.
The howl of agony that escaped the prison of Lord Gabriel
Ravenshall’s clenched teeth rang in her ears. She glanced up and saw that he
had passed out, his head slumped against Robert’s arm.
Robert and Jonathan held tight.
Sir Ashleigh crumpled into the corner.
Chapter Two
“Robert, Hester, hold firm and fast,” Jonathan ordered as he
reached for a roll of bandage. “Hester, lift now and hold steady while I wrap
his leg.”
They both followed his instructions, watching Jonathan’s
flying fingers as he passed the bandage under and over at almost dizzying
speed. Even though he was unconscious, Gabriel continued to gasp and moan with
pain. Hester gritted her teeth. She still held fast on his heel and toes, but
each time he cried out, her flesh crawled.
“Can you still hold the leg firm?” Jonathan reached for the
wooden slats to splint the leg and another roll of bandage.
She nodded and watched him place the splints on either side
of the injured leg and begin bandaging again.
“Darn Ash,” he muttered. “I could do with another pair of
hands.”
He used his shoulder to wipe beads of sweat off his face and
then shouted for Mrs. Dymock. She came bustling in, assessing the situation in
one glance.
“Hold these in place, if you please, Mama,” Jonathan
grunted.
Without uttering a word, Mrs. Dymock took the splints and
watched Jonathan wrap them firmly into place. When he finished, she hurried
into the small parlour where she made up a trundle bed.
Robert and Jonathan moved Gabriel from the surgery onto the
bed while he was still unconscious.
When had she begun to think of him as Gabriel? Hester
reminded herself that he was Lord Gabriel Ravenshall, and she should think of
him as such. She stopped wool-gathering and helped Jonathan prepare a frame for
the injured leg, first laying a large piece of leather along the slats and
covering that with a folded towel.
“What is that for?” Robert asked as they worked.
“It’s a cradle to keep the leg immobile,” Jonathan explained
as he and Hester placed the injured leg in it. Taking a strip of linen, he
passed it from side to side along the top of the frame, efficiently securing
the limb in place.
“Will he have to be kept in it for long?”
“That remains to be seen.” Jonathan checked the slip knots
in the bandages to make sure they were secure. “I need to keep him quiet and
still, and that will mean using more laudanum than I normally would.”
“When will we be able to take him home?”
Jonathan looked up into Robert’s anxious face. “Not for two
to three weeks, I think. Besides, it’s over three miles to Ravenshall Court
over a rough road, and I do not want to risk undue damage if he is to walk
properly again.”
“But who will look after him?” Robert continued to look
anxious. “It cannot be Miss Dymock or your mother. It would not be seemly.”
Jonathan placed a friendly hand on Robert’s arm. “Thank you
for being so considerate of my family. I would think it best if his valet came
here. Do you think you could arrange that?”
“I’ll see to it right away, sir.”
“You’re a good man, Robert. Where did you learn your
skills?”
Robert looked down at his feet, but not before Hester saw a
flicker of hesitation on his face. When he finally looked up, his dark brown
eyes held a troubled expression. “I saw a lot of things when I was a slave.
Most of the time, we only had the women to look after injuries, but I helped
where I could and learnt a lot from them. His lordship’s father freed me, and
when I asked if he had another position for me, he brought me from Horsley
Grange, their plantation in Jamaica. Lord Ravenshall was a good man, as is his
son. I will be forever grateful to them.”
“That is a generous endorsement, Robert. Thank you,”
Jonathan said. “Now off you go and collect Lord Ravenshall’s valet. Have him
bring whatever he thinks necessary for his lordship’s comfort. Being confined
to his bed, for now, I would suggest no more than soft clothing, nightshirts,
and such. By the way, do you know where Sir Ashleigh is?”
Robert offered up a wry smile. “Probably commandeering a
room at the Crown. I believe he intends to visit his lordship daily for as long
as necessary.”
Hester smiled at the thought. “Poor Sir Ashleigh,” she said.
“He is most embarrassed at what he sees as a weakness, but the sick room is not
for everyone.”
“No, it is not,” Robert agreed.
When he left on his mission to collect the valet, Hester
turned to her brother. “I cannot imagine what good Sir Ashleigh can do.”
“Oh, I expect he will become something of a verbal sparring
partner if I know anything of their friendship.”
“And just what do you know of that?” Hester demanded. “I was
never more mortified in my life than when you called him Sir Ashleigh.”
“I know of him more by reputation than anything else,”
Jonathan admitted. “He and Gabriel are both four years younger than Gabriel’s
brother and me. We only saw them in the summer when Nathan and I were down from
Oxford. We did not have a great deal to do with them as they were mere children
to us grown men.”
He spoke mockingly and made Hester laugh, but she was
distracted when Gabriel coughed and gasped for breath.
“What the hell am I doing here?” he groaned, his voice harsh
in his throat. “And what is my leg doing in this wretched contraption?”
“I think you should leave the room, Hester,” Jonathan warned.
“When I explain the full extent of his predicament, I suspect his lordship will
respond with some rather profane language.”
Hester chuckled and went through to the shop where she found
her mother extolling hair powder’s virtues rather than pomade to a gentleman
farmer. While Mrs. Dymock wrapped the farmer’s purchase, Hester took a feather
duster to the gallipots.
Some were plain, undecorated porcelain. Others were glazed white,
decorated with blue floral patterns. She dusted them all and then moved on to
the glass medicine and perfume bottles arranged like ranks of soldiers on the
shelves. Finishing that task, she picked up a broom and swept the floor, the
stiff bristles rasping across the bare planks. She never minded doing small
things and preferred doing them before being asked.
“How is Lord Ravenshall?” Mrs. Dymock asked when the farmer
left the shop.
“Can’t you tell?” Hester returned mischievously as loud
complaints burst from within the parlour. “There appears to be nothing wrong
with his vocal cords, but I’m afraid he is going to be with us for a while.”
“And is he going to pay for room and board?” her mother
wanted to know.
“I am sure Jonathan will charge a fee suitable to cover
everything, Mama.” Hester put the broom back in its place and wiped her hands
on her apron. “Now, if you have nothing else for me to do, I’m going to collect
some comfrey and prepare a poultice. It’s not called knit bone for nothing, and
Jonathan has prescribed its use twice throughout the day and last thing at
night.”
“Then you’d better get on with it.”
Her mother shooed her out of the shop. Hester went through
into the surgery, which had once been their dining room. Jonathan’s books and
crockery now cluttered the dresser’s surface. He could re-shelve the books
himself, but she took the dishes through to the kitchen behind the surgery and
left them in the stone sink. Collecting her basket and sickle-shaped gleaning
knife, she let herself out of the back door into the physic garden.
It drowsed in the afternoon sun like a lazy cat. Warmth held
within its stone walls heightened the heady scents of rosemary and thyme, mint,
and chamomile. Her skirts brushed against sorrel and sage, feverfew and
valerian, garlic, and basil. She headed towards a great clump of comfrey at the
end of the path close to the elderberry trees.
Bees tumbled lazily through the lavender and lilac. Large
whites and peacock butterflies fluttered from one flower head to another. The
chickens in the coop at the end of the garden clucked and crooned as they scratched
at grain that she threw in for them earlier that day. There was peace here, as
well as the healing properties to be gained from every plant.
When her basket was full, she returned to the kitchen and
set the kettle upon the hob. While it boiled, she shredded the leaves into a
large earthenware bowl placed on the table. She hummed as she worked, happy
because, despite the reason for it, the man of her heart was so close.
She knew hers was an impossible dream, knew that her tenuous
connection to Lord Ravenshall could never have an outcome. Mama and Jonathan
did not—could not—know of her attraction. She hesitated to call it love. How
could it be? She had never spoken a word to him, not even today, when she laid
her hands on his prone form. The few occasions when she had seen him in
Fulhampton were precious memories that she returned to over and over again.
How could one not be drawn to him? It was not just his looks
and stature, but the kindness he showed to everyone, even old Bessy Harding, to
whom he gave his arm to help her across the street. He teased and laughed with
the street urchins and gave them pennies or bought apples for them.
And he saved that little girl’s life.
A thought drifted into her mind, but before it became fully
formed, she was distracted by the sound of the kettle whistling. She took it
off the hob and poured the boiling water over the leaves in the bowl. While
they steeped, she prepared several cloths, shaking them out to make sure they
were large enough for her requirements. Voices in the shop drew her attention,
and she went to see if her mother required any help.
Robert had returned, accompanied by a neat, trim gentleman
slightly above average height with narrow, intelligent features. The style and
set of his clothes marked him as a gentleman’s gentleman. Hester smiled at him
as he doffed his beaver hat, revealing a domed, balding head.
“Mr. Jeffries?” She cocked her head to one side as she
surveyed him.
“The very one, Miss Dymock.” He inclined his head in
greeting.
“I am so pleased to meet you.” Hester immediately liked the
man’s manner. “Has Robert explained all that has happened?”
“Indeed, he has. Where is his lordship now?”
“Through here.” Hester led the way and opened the door into
the parlour. “I won’t accompany you. My brother warned me the language in here
might be somewhat warm at present.”
Mr. Jeffries chuckled as he paused in the doorway. “His
lordship has an extensive vocabulary, some of which has been a revelation to me
as he can be most inventive.”
Hester returned to the kitchen to find Robert sitting at the
table. Her mother had refilled the kettle and set it back on the hob. While it
boiled, she took the teapot and cups from a cupboard. Hester removed the cover
from the bowl of leaves she had left on the table and tested the temperature.
“This is just right. If you will excuse me, Mama, I will go
and apply the first poultice.”
Mrs. Dymock gently shooed her away. Hester picked up the
bowl and linen cloths and headed for the parlour. There was no easy way for her
to complete her task, but at least Jonathan and Mr. Jeffries would be on hand
to assist her.
She entered the parlour, her stomach in turmoil, her heart
hammering. Could anyone hear it? Or was it only loud enough for her ears? She
swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and advanced towards the figure lying on
the bed. There was only one thing of which she was quite sure.
Lord Gabriel Ravenshall was well and truly drunk.
Chapter Three
Gabriel
awoke with a start, his heart pounding, sweat pouring from his brow. He
steadied his breathing and wiped the sleeve of his nightshirt across his face.
Would
this nightmare ever end?
He
struggled to sit up, trying as he did so to stack the pillows at his back, but
then Jeffries was at his side doing it for him.
“I
can manage,” he snapped.
“I’m
sure you can, my lord, but why waste your energy when it is far easier for me
to do this for you?”
The
pillows plumped, and in place, Gabriel sagged back against them, closing his
eyes again. There was no arguing with his loyal valet, and, in truth, he had
not the strength for it. He laid his arm across his eyes, his lungs sawing with
the effort of steadying his breath.
“The
nightmare again?” Jeffries’ soft tone was full of concern.
“Yes,”
Gabriel admitted. He began massaging his temples.
The
vivid dream careered across the insides of his eyelids as if pressed there—the
horse with blood-flecked foam curling around its mouth, its flanks streaked
with sweat. Behind it, the woman on the box hanging onto the reins, her face
white, her expression one of sheer terror.
But
what else was he to do other than save that little ragamuffin? He remembered streaking
into the road without a thought for his safety, only that of the child. He grabbed
her up into his arms and then tripped, tossing her to Ash as he fell. As his
shoulder hit the cobblestones, he saw the glint of the horse’s steel-shod
hooves, its underbelly, and the harness. Then excruciating pain darted through
his head, and he knew no more.
Jeffries
handed him a glass of barley water. “You know you could have a measure of
laudanum before you settle down to sleep.”
“I
know, but I prefer that good brandy which our precious Dr. Dymock now denies
me, him and that odious sister of his.”
“Miss
Dymock is not so bad, my lord.” Jeffries’ lips twitched into a small smile as
he opened the drapes, allowing the morning sunshine to brighten the room. “Her
poultices have drawn out most of the bruising from your right leg, and Dr.
Dymock is pleased with the way your broken leg is healing.”
Gabriel
pulled a face and grunted an uncomplimentary response. Jeffries stifled a grin
as he quietly went about preparing the shaving equipment. He laid out brush and
paste, razor and strop, and the cooling cologne to soothe the freshly shaved
skin.
“I
suppose,” Gabriel began, “that you think her something of a saint for achieving
that much.”
“Maybe
not a saint,” Jeffries paused by the washstand, where he was about to pour
water into the basin. “But a young woman of uncommonly sound sense and not
unattractive. ‘Tis a wonder she is still unwed.”
Gabriel
made no response.
Put
quite simply, Hester Dymock confused him. Other young ladies of his
acquaintance comported themselves coquettishly, trained by their Mamas to
flutter their eyelashes and brandish their fans. He should know, having endured
their simpering wiles for the last ten Seasons. He did not trust a single one
of them, fearing that once the ring was on their finger, they would turn from
sweet and compliant to cold and distant as he knew his mother had done.
That
was not what he wanted for himself. Did his mother simply not enjoy the
intimacies of marriage? He frowned as he tried to recall any time when she was
happy but could not. His attendance at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, route parties, balls,
and soirees during the Season was infrequent. His presence at each event only lasted
long enough to be polite. Lady Ravenshall, whom he now rarely saw, hoped for an
announcement every year, and roundly admonished him with lengthy letters when
there was none.
A
grim smile crossed his features as he tried to imagine Hester being coquettish.
She would not, he was sure, know where to begin. Carrying out her brother’s
instructions in a steady, matter-of-fact way, she brooked no resistance from
him in the form of his care, either silencing him with a sharp retort or a
quelling glance.
Neither
of these tactics lasted any time at all or appeared to upset her usual sunny
good nature. She smiled and laughed as quickly as she silenced him. She had
opinions and voiced them but never intruded on him unless it was time for a
treatment with one of her blasted poultices, or one of the herbal concoctions
she insisted he drink.
Gabriel
frowned as he tried to identify what else it was about Hester that unsettled
him. She was not fashionably pretty. As far as he could tell she wore no powder
or rouge. Her skin, sun-kissed to gold with a wash of peach-pink over the
apples of her cheeks, was clear, her countenance calm. Her eyes were a luminous
dark chocolate brown and gleamed alternately with good humour and intelligence.
Her dark brown hair was always neat and tidy and twisted into a knot at the
nape of her slender neck. Quite a pretty nape it was, too. He saw it every time
she bent over to unwrap or rewrap his leg.
And
then there were her long, slim fingers tipped with pale, oval nails that
skimmed across his skin, sending minute tremors along his nerves. He liked
those fingers. Those moments when Hester tended him left him calm and relaxed.
Her touch was gentle or, if she thought she might hurt him, she gave a fair
warning. Regardless of how she spoke to him, the looks she favoured him with
gave him the impression that she cared. Or was that all in his imagination?
“My
lord?”
Momentarily
startled by his valet, Gabriel looked up. If anyone ever knew where his
thoughts wandered, they might think him fond of the girl.
“What?”
“Are
you ready to be shaved, my lord?”
Gabriel’s
dispirited sigh escaped from his lips like a waning breeze. This part of the
day, when Jeffries lifted and dressed him, he least liked. It was as if he was
a child again. But it had to be done. Jeffries brought a small table and set it
by the bed. On this, he placed the bowl of water he had just poured, then put a
towel under Gabriel’s chin.
“And
so, it begins,” Gabriel drawled, tipping his head back as Jeffries set a warm,
damp cloth over his face.
“Yes,
my lord,” Jeffries responded in a dry tone. “You may, if you wish, attempt it
for yourself, but I fear for your hide if you do.”
Gabriel
would have grinned if not for the copious amount of shaving paste foaming about
his mouth. He closed his eyes and gave in to his valet’s ministrations. He
would at least be presentable when he saw Miss Dymock this morning. The thought
made him frown. When had he begun to care for her opinion? His musings drew a warning
from Jeffries to stop fidgeting, and he settled his features into complacency.
At
last, he was clean and freshly dressed and, much to his consternation, looking
forward to his first encounter of the day with Miss Dymock. What would she
subject him to this morning?
“And
which cologne would you prefer today, sir?”
Jeffries’
steady, well-modulated tones broke into Gabriel’s thoughts. “Does it matter?”
“Not
to me, my lord, but we are low on Trufitt’s Spanish Leather. Maybe an
application of the Mayfair?”
Gabriel
passed a hand over his eyes. Heaven forbid his only decision today must be with
which cologne he was to finish his toilette.
“Surprise
me.” But there was no surprise when Gabriel detected the subtle fragrances of
bergamot and orange, patchouli and amber. The Spanish Leather cologne was by
far Jeffries’ favourite, one he deemed suitable for any occasion. “How much
longer am I to stay here?”
“That,
my lord, is up to your doctor,” Jeffries replied as he began to put away the
tools of his trade in a leather travelling case.
“Damn
his eyes,” Gabriel growled, but he looked up expectantly as a knock sounded on
the door.
His
fears that it was Jonathan vied with his hopes that it was Hester. Ash walked
in, dashing both emotions.
“Good
Lord, Ash,” he stuttered. “What brings you here so early?”
“Early?”
Ash raised an eyebrow. “It is nigh on noon, and I cannot waste any more of my
day. I came to ask if I could fetch anything for you before I venture forth on
my quest.”
“Quest
for what?”
“The
young lady who ran you down.”
“Are
you mad?” Gabriel asked. “Why would you want to do that?”
Ash
flicked up the tails of his riding coat and sat on the chair Jeffries pulled
forward for him. “Because I would like to know if the young lady has recovered
and if she will sell me her horse.”
Gabriel
winced as he sat up straighter in bed. “You are mad,” he announced. “What on
earth would you do with that fractious beast?”
“First,
turn it out to grass and let it rest.” Ash’s face brightened as it always did
when discussing his favourite topic. “And then introduce it to some slow work
to assess what I can do with it. I doubt it’s a lady’s horse, but it might suit
some single gentleman for a curricle. It was a remarkably good-looking animal,
don’t you think?”
“I
really couldn’t say,” Gabriel drawled. “I was beneath the damned beast at the
time, as you may recall.”
“Yes,
yes, of course,” Ash blustered at his friend’s dry admonishment. “Well, I’ll
leave you for now but will come later, if I may, and let you know what I
discover.”
“Oh,
by all means, do.” Gabriel waved a dismissive hand.
“He
means well,” Jeffries said after Ash let himself out.
“I
know he does,” Gabriel agreed. “But I am bored to death of this bed and having
people come to me rather than me going to them.”
“And
that is no reason to be at outs with those who only wish you well,” Jeffries gently
rebuked him.
Another
knock sounded on the door, and this time Hester entered. Gabriel wasn’t quite
sure that his heart didn’t give an extra beat when he saw her. He didn’t,
however, imagine the hitch in his breath when she smiled at him.
“You
look so much better today,” she said. “Or is that simply the results of Mr.
Jeffries’ ministrations?”
“The
results of everyone’s ministrations,” Gabriel returned gallantly, earning
himself an approving nod from Jeffries. “But with what are you going to try my
patience today?”
Hester
lowered her gaze at his gentle teasing, but he didn’t miss the way the corners
of her mouth turned up. “Only your poultice, my lord.”
“Is
it vital?”
She
looked up at that. Her smile vanished, and a frown formed in the vee between the
beautiful curve of her birds-wing shaped eyebrows. “Yes, it is,” she said, “unless
you want to lay abed for far longer than is necessary. Your break will mend
much more quickly with the application of my poultice than it will without it,
I can assure you.”
Gabriel
leaned back and rested his arm across his eyes. “Get on with it then.”
Hester
moved beside the bed and began to loosen the ties holding the top part of the
cradle together. She eased the bandages holding the splints in place and then
those around his leg. He almost sighed as cool air flowed over his bare skin. A
moment later, he slowly inhaled a deep, steadying breath as her fingers grazed
against him.
“Did
that hurt?” she asked.
Gabriel
swallowed. He couldn’t tell her that no, it didn’t hurt at all or that he
craved her touch. He simply shook his head. Hester laid a warm, damp towel
across his shin and began to cover it with the crushed dark green leaves.
“What
is this mush, anyway?”
“Leaves
of the comfrey plant, otherwise known as knit bone,” she told him.
She
softly hummed a pleasant melody as she worked. Was that to aid her
concentration or to calm him? He was not sure.
“There,
I’m finished for now.” She mopped up the moisture that dripped down either side
of his leg and then laid another towel over the top of it before tightening the
cradle. “We’ll keep this in place for the afternoon, and then I’ll apply
another one later this evening after Jonathan examines you. Is there anything I
can do for you?”
There
were several things that Gabriel thought she could do for him. She might soothe
his brow or run her fingers over his lips. He would like her to pull up his
shirt and place her hand on his chest over his heart, but none of this could or
would ever happen. He swallowed again.
“No,
thank you,” he croaked.
“Then
I shall leave you for now. Have Mr. Jeffries call me if you do want me.”
Yes,
I do want you.
The
words roared through his mind, but all he could do was purse his lips and blow
out a breath as Hester left the room, leaving him alone. How on earth had this
come about? She was pretty, wholesome, and could be charming. Was he simply
attracted to her because of the way she looked after him? That must be it. He
could not remember a time when any female had cared for him so tenderly. To
think anything else would be foolish.
The
poultice on his leg was warm and surprisingly comfortable. He began to relax
and fell into a light doze and then a deeper sleep. Therefore, he was unaware of
first Jeffries checking on him and then Hester, who tiptoed to his bedside and
looked down into his now peaceful face. He couldn’t know how she longed to
smooth his brow and cup his cheek, or that her conscience would not allow her
to take advantage of the situation. After a moment more, she tiptoed away.
A
knock on the door interrupted a vivid dream; this a pleasant one rather than
the nightmares Gabriel had endured. He rubbed his eyes as Ash stepped in,
looking incredibly pleased with himself.
“Mission
accomplished?” Gabriel stretched and yawned.
“Oh,
famously so.” Ash pulled up the chair and sat down beside the bed as he had
done earlier. “Mr. Barnfield—”
“Who
is Mr. Barnfield?”
“The
butcher,” Ash explained.
“What
has he got to do with anything?”
“He
hasn’t—”
“Then
why mention him?”
“Will
you just be quiet and listen?” Ash huffed. “I went to see Mr. Barnfield because
he witnessed the whole incident, and I thought he might know the young lady’s
name, and I was right.”
“Oh,
good.” Gabriel tried to relax, knowing that Ash’s explanation might take some
time in the telling.
“She
is Miss Virginia Stephens, and her father has some prime young stock. He was
quite willing to sell me that chestnut. If you don’t mind, I’ll stable it at
your place for now. I think Mr. Stephens was quite pleased to get rid of it.
Miss Stephens, it would appear, is as much of a handful as the horse. She
harnessed it herself that market day and took off without a bye-the-bye to
anyone.”
“And
consequently, we all came to grief. What did Miss Stephens think she was
doing?”
Ash’s
face creased into a frown. “I think trying to prove her capabilities to her
father, and the horse suffered because of it.”
“Never
mind the horse,” Gabriel blustered. “What about me? I’m the injured party
here.”
“Well,
she never intended that to happen.” Ash flushed. “Indeed, she is very sorry about
it.”
Gabriel
raised an eyebrow. “I think this young woman has quite taken your fancy.”
Ash
pressed his lips together before releasing a sigh. “She has many good
qualities, not unlike Miss Dymock.”
“Do
not change the subject.” Gabriel shot his friend a warning glance. “Miss Dymock
did not run me down. On the contrary, she has done all in her power to put me
on the road to recovery. But what about the child, Ash? What happened to her?
You caught her, did you not?”
“I
did indeed,” Ash said. “I nearly took a tumble into the sheep pen under the
weight of that little baggage. But here’s the thing, I didn’t even think of her
after I saw you lying in the road. She probably scrambled away unhurt.”
“Probably,”
Gabriel agreed. “But I would like to know, all the same. Perhaps your fountain
of local knowledge might know who she is.”
“Oh,
you mean Mr. Barnfield.” Ash chuckled. “I could ask him.”
“Please
do. Now. Before the day gets any later. I would like to know that I did not
suffer in vain.”
As
Ash stood up, Gabriel looked up at him. “Perhaps take Miss Dymock with you. I
wouldn’t want the child alarmed by an unknown gentleman arriving on her
doorstep.”
“Ah,
yes,” Ash responded. “A female would be a less daunting prospect, I agree.”
Ash
left, and Gabriel quietly fumed.
Devil
take it.
If
anyone were to accompany Miss Dymock anywhere, it should be him.
For
purchase information please visit my BWL Author page:
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