Free Christian Regency Romantic Suspense
This post is part of my serialized novel, The Spinster’s Christmas.If you’re new, you can begin with the summary and complete chapter list on the Intro Page.
Chapter 10
December 26th
The day after the attack, Gerard awoke early in the morning to stabbing pain in his entire leg. His knee had swelled as large as the Christmas pudding, and the throbbing had kept him from falling asleep.
He had never been a docile patient, but injury had always made him feel like a baited bear, and inclined to roar just as loudly. Such was his peevish temper when his father’s valet, Maddox, entered his bedroom earlier than usual. Gerard should have been grateful he had come, but the agony in his knee had somehow traveled up his body into a headache raging against the backs of his eyeballs.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I have a poultice, sir, sent by Miss Miranda.”
“Well, you can take it away,” he said perversely. He ought to do something to alleviate the pain in his knee, yet at the same time he wanted to be left alone to suffer in silence.
“I believe she rose early this morning to make this for you, sir,” Maddox said, unimpressed by his master’s ill temper.
“Oh, very well.”
The valet folded back the sheets and gently rolled up his nightclothes to expose his knee. The cool air seemed to make the injured limb hiss. Then Maddox retrieved the cloth-wrapped bundle he’d brought into the room and laid it on Gerard’s bare skin.
“Maddox, that's an icicle!” he roared. “I thought poultices were warm.”
“It's what Miss Miranda gave to me, sir.”
It was uncomfortable, and it did nothing to improve his mood, although his knee felt slightly better after Maddox removed the poultice.
“Shall I fetch breakfast for you, sir?”
“No. I refuse to remain swaddled in bedclothes all day.”
The valet did not quite roll his eyes at him, but his expression clearly indicated his master’s son deserved a good spanking. “Very good, sir.”
However, when he attempted to walk from his bed to the dressing table, he only barely made it to the chair in front of the fireplace before collapsing, his knee throbbing and sweat running in rivulets down his face. The realization that his cane was no longer sufficient to support him made him want to fling it across the room, except for the fact that he didn't want to have to crawl to reclaim it in order to get back into bed.
“Perhaps if you would return to bed, sir?”
“Leave me alone, Maddox,” he barked.
However, at that moment came a gentle knock at the door behind him. He heard it open, and then Miranda’s voice said, “These are for your master, Maddox. I found them in the nursery attics.” The door had closed by the time Gerard twisted around to see what she’d brought.
Maddox held a pair of crutches. A more cowardly retainer would have acted with more caution, but Maddox bore the crutches aloft like a gift presented to the king.
Gerard was about to tell him where he could fling them, but bit his tongue. He exhaled long and low, then said, “Bring them here.” How had Miranda guessed the cane would no longer suffice?
The crutches were a trifle short, but they had been carved with wide stumps, no doubt to allow them to be used with ease out of doors. He ought to be grateful for Miranda's thoughtfulness, but they were a bitter reminder that he had cast crutches aside for his cane weeks ago, but must now take them up again.
Dressing was more of an ordeal than he anticipated, and he resentfully stumped out of his bedroom, determined not to remain cooped up despite his injury.
Miranda was in the hallway with Ellie. Waiting for him.
“Randa said you would not stay in bed,” Ellie said to him. “Let's play jack-straws.”
“I did not come out of my room to play jack-straws,” he replied grumpily.
“You came out of your room to test your new crutches,” Miranda said, calm and cheerful. “Let us walk with Gerard, Ellie.”
And of course he lasted no farther than the drawing room, where the women had gathered with embroidery and knitting while the men were out shooting. They erupted in cries of dismay and fluttered about as he sank onto a settee, cosseting him as if he were a babe.
“You shouldn’t be up and about,” Mrs. Hathaway scolded him.
“To think those men would attack you in the garden, of all places,” another woman said.
“They might have invaded the house and murdered us all in our beds.”
“They were more likely after the silver. Probably aided by an unscrupulous servant.”
“Well, Cecil has at least instructed the servants to be more vigilant in guarding the house.”
“Do sit here, Captain Foremont. Here is a cushion for your foot.” Miss Church-Pratton indicated the seat next to her.
“It’s his knee that’s bothering him, not his foot, you ninny,” said Lady Skinnerton acidly.
Miranda, the wretch, stood to one side and watched him, smiling faintly at his chagrin. It was as though she could read his mind—he'd rather have played jack-straws with Ellie. She had known he wouldn’t have the strength in his knee to make it to any other room in the house. Then she and Ellie left him to the tender ministrations of Miss Church-Pratton and Mrs. Hathaway.
Gerard flattered himself that he was not a complete ass-head and agreed to take a dinner tray in his room. He thought the solitude would appeal to him, but the knock on the door as he finished eating roused his spirits.
“Come,” he called.
The door opened and Miranda peeked inside. “I have brought Maddox, and another poultice, and Ellie.”
“You will remain outside whilst I apply it, Miss Miranda,” Maddox said as he stepped into the room.
“I have seen your master in his shirt-sleeves often enough when we were children.”
“You are children no longer, Miss Miranda.” And Maddox closed the bedroom door.
His words reminded Gerard of last night—not the attack, but what had happened just before. He knew he ought to regret it, but he did not. Kissing Miranda had made him feel more anchored than any other time since he’d been back in England, even when he was home with his parents.
His emotions had been in turmoil because he was not whole, and while he was not as mad with frustration as he had been when he’d first awakened in the hospital, he yet resented the situation with all his being. He could not subject any woman to this, especially not Miranda, whom he had known nearly all his life.
And yet he had kissed her, a woman who was not his, who could not be his.
Maddox applied the poultice, which was blessedly warm this time, then covered his master’s limbs properly before allowing Miranda and Ellie to enter the bedroom. He left them with the door wide open.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, miss?” Gerard said to Ellie.
“I wanted to play jack-straws with you,” she said, climbing onto his bed to sit beside him. She wore a dressing gown that was too large for her.
Miranda settled into a chair nearby. “Ellie could not sleep, so I brought her with me.”
So he played jack-straws with Ellie.
“You are cheating, miss,” he said after the first game.
“Am not.” Ellie yawned.
“I fear she learned to cheat from Paul,” Miranda said.
He gave Ellie a mock frown. “You are also a competitive little Captain Sharp.”
“That she learned from Cousin Laura.”
In the middle of the second game, Ellie curled up on the bedclothes and went to sleep, her mouth slightly open, and breathing with a little whistle.
Gerard stared at her. “I must say that no woman has found me such a bore that she fell asleep on my bed.” He did not realize how warm that sounded until it came out of his mouth. He had been too long at sea, or perhaps he was simply too awkward with his tongue.
But Miranda was not offended, nor was she flustered by the scandalous comment—she simply began to pick up the jack-straws. “Perhaps you are being repaid for a woman’s broken heart,” she said lightly.
“I have not broken any hearts while at sea.”
Miranda did not reply, but gave him a sidelong look. Perhaps it was the bright color of her eyes, but he had never before seen an expression of greater incredulity.
“Upon my honour, I have not.” He had stolen a few kisses, certainly, all from women in foreign ports, but he had never compromised any of them—and several had been the ones to kiss him. He did not even know how to deliver those pretty speeches that women seemed to like.
But with Miranda, he had no need of pretty speeches. He could converse with her with ease. She did not make him feel uncomfortable or like a bumbling youth, as Miss Church-Pratton did.
And yet he had given her a gross insult, because she was a gently bred, respectable young woman. “Miranda,” he said slowly, “about last night, before the attack.”
“We agreed it was forgotten.” She turned her face from him so that he only saw the curve of her cheek, but she was cool and composed. It was as if the kiss had never happened. But then he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and knew she was not unaffected. She was simply uncommunicative about it.
“Miranda, I am obligated—”
“No, you are not.” Her voice was higher than usual. “I beg you, put the events of last night from your mind. Or at least … those events.” She added, “Cecil is quite put out with us.”
“As if we were somehow to blame?”
“Cecil does not wish to appear indifferent, but he also has no wish to ride about the countryside searching for the two attackers, when he knows he will not find them. He does not like the way the situation makes him appear to the neighbors.”
“Save me from Cecil’s pride,” he groaned.
“Were the men who attacked us in league somehow with the woman in the woods?”
He had been wondering the same. “I don’t know. The men could be her cronies, or she may have hired them.”
“They attacked both of us. Was I still their target?” Her fingers tightened briefly on the jack-straws.
“There is no way to know. Perhaps they were not connected to the woman and I was their target.”
“You? But why?”
He shrugged. “I am simply a post-captain who lost his last ship. I have no influence, no inheritance of any worth.”
“But your property inherited from your grandmother? And also your father’s property?”
“In the event of my death, it all goes to my cousin, who already owns an estate twice as large.”
“Is there a possibility that the two men could be related to a man who died under your command?”
He thought of all the men who had died—too many faces. “Perhaps, but … I have been in the Royal Navy for sixteen years. There have been dozens of men who lost their lives.”
“But no one attempted to end yours while you were in the hospital in London,” she said. “If I wished to kill you, I would do it then, whilst you were weak or unconscious. Or I would contrive to poison your food. No one would know.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Miranda, I shall be sure never to incur your wrath. You are positively bloodthirsty.”
She ignored him. “Also, you were not attacked at home with your parents. This only happened when you arrived here.”
“So perhaps the two men live here. I must make inquiries, to discover if anyone has lost a loved one at sea.”
“You said you had a servant who could ask the local men whether anyone is newly come to the area.”
“I have sent for someone, but he has not yet arrived. Now he will have two pieces of information to ferret out.”
Miranda tucked the jack-straws in a pocket of her gown and moved around the bed to collect Ellie’s sleeping figure. “Those men could have attacked you because you were with me.”
“But they could have harmed you or taken you, and they did neither.”
She frowned as she carefully gathered Ellie into her arms. “I do not like that so much is unknown.” She froze. “Oh, dear.”
“What is it?” Had she thought of something he had not?
She nodded toward the bedclothes.
Ellie had driveled in a large wet spot in the middle of his bed.
Chapter 11
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