Kidnap Confusion Page 9

  "I didn't mean—" John began again.

  "And embroil me in this affair."

  "Not my affair," John protested feebly, and Miss Tolliver, cursing herself for the slip, agreed soberly that it was a poor choice of words. Because the earl's second brother seemed inclined to believe her to be serious, she relented slightly.

  "Oh, please!" she said. "Don't look so. No doubt we'll laugh about it in the morning."

  "Laugh?" John was honestly shocked, his expression putting Miss Tolliver forcibly in mind of her own brother. "Laugh, to have my brother put in this compromising position—?"

  Miss Tolliver, who rather felt her position to be every bit as compromised as the earl's—perhaps more—bit her lip, and tried to smile. "No, no," she said. "You don't under­stand! It is such a small village—who is to know? I could leave right now, if you'd like, except that—well, I sent my brother's coachman off with my carriage, but I'm sure there is something for hire somewhere near here, and—well—" She cast a fleeting glance toward young Peter, lying with one hand thrown out across the covers. "I do think your brothers are in need of some careful nursing tonight, and unless you two are good at it—"

  She eyed them hopefully as the brothers exchanged glances; with the best will in the world, neither could claim any competence in nursing.

  "Perhaps," the earl said stiffly, angry to be caught in this potential scandal of his brothers' making, "you would do us the favor of remaining with my brothers until our old nurse can be fetched from Willowdale. At that time I will be happy to send you on to your destination in my own carriage."

  "Oh! Well! As for that—my brother will, as I've told you, probably be here tomorrow with either my own or his coach. And if he is not, I will merely need a ride to the nearest posting inn. There is no need for you to convey me home."

  But this the earl would not allow; he said his coach was entirely at her service. Feeling neither the inclination nor the need to argue as the day's fatigue began to grow on her, Miss Tolliver smiled pacifyingly. "There!" she said. "Things have not turned out so badly after all!"

  The earl and his brother exchanged slight smiles. It certainly seemed so at the time.

  An hour later, John was dispatched back to Willowdale with orders to bring Nurse and any of the potions and notions she could think of to make the invalids more comfortable in the morning, and Miss Tolliver and the earl settled down to their night of patient watching. Mrs. Mur­phy retired for a few hours' sleep, telling Miss Tolliver she would spell her with the young gentleman in the early morning hours.

  At first Miss Tolliver took the watch in Gillian's room, that young gentleman not quite up to facing his eldest brother and guardian yet. He drifted in and out of sleep, asking her a question each time he awakened. He was much surprised to find that she was not the fair Vanessa—"it wasn't that you looked like the beautiful actress," he assured her, not noticing the twinkle that brought to her eye, a twinkle hidden behind a deceptively meek face—it was that he had been so sure they were stopping the actress's coach.

  He was much shocked to hear of Peter's condition, and Miss Tolliver tried to minimize the news as best she could, touched by the overwhelming guilt displayed on his face.

  The news that his brother the earl was present made

  Gillian's pale face even paler, and although he allowed that Giles was just what Peter needed at this time, he thought rather glumly that his brother's presence would do nothing to improve his own health. The information that John was gone made him brighten slightly, but his face fell again when he heard that John was expected back with Nurse in the morning. Miss Tolliver nodded consolingly.

  "I know," she said. "I have a brother just like him."

  A weak grin touched Gillian's lips. "It isn't that he's a bad sort, you know. It's just that he's so damnably—begging your pardon—righteous."

  Miss Tolliver nodded again. "Just like him. You have my condolences."

  Gillian drifted off again, and she was left to think. That Charles would have much to say about her present circum­stances she knew, and her one hope was that Mister John Manfield and the old nurse would arrive and send her on her way before Charles joined them at the inn. That would spare her the mortification of having her brother try to come high-handed over the earl—an action she was sure would earn him a heavy setdown, and one that she was curiously unwilling to see—and it would also mean that when Charles did have his say with her, as he would no doubt do, it would be in the privacy of her home. She did not want the scene enacted in front of the Earl of Manseford—or anyone else, she told herself fiercely—nor did she wish to give the earl the satisfaction of hearing her brother tell her what was so apparent in the earl's own face and posture—that her ac­tions, although well-intentioned, could, at least by some persons, be called ill considered and forward. She remem­bered the grim lines around the earl's mouth when he realized she was traveling without her maid, and bit her lip. A fine one he was, with his female-kidnapping brothers, to talk about propriety!

  Such thoughts were interrupted by the earl himself, who came softly into the room to ask if she would join him at Peter's bedside. Disturbed by the grave expression on his face, she rose quickly. Once in the hall he bowed stiffly and said he very much feared Peter's condition was worsening.

  "Oh, the poor boy!" Miss Tolliver said in swift sympa­thy, and turned toward the second bedroom. The earl opened the door, then followed her to where Peter lay tossing and turning, muttering incoherently as he tried unsuccessfully to find a cool spot on his pillow. He was doing his best to rid himself of the blankets, and Miss Tolliver hastened forward at once to tuck them in about him, saying in a kind but firm voice that no matter how hot he felt, he must lie quietly under the blankets, and not try to kick them off. Although he did not open his eyes or appear to hear, Peter left off fretting at the covers, and contented himself with hunting for that cooler spot on the pillow. The earl stood looking helplessly on until Miss Tolliver requested his help in raising his brother so she could turn the pillow, at which he moved swiftly forward. He watched without comment as her capable hands plumped and smoothed, and reached for the cool cloth beside the bed as he laid Peter down again. She wiped the boy's face and hands with the cloth before rinsing it out again and placing it on his forehead, all the time murmuring the soothing sounds that seemed to come natu­rally to her.

  "Now, my lord," she said, her voice soft as she held one of Peter's hands, patting it consolingly, "I think that if you would pour a little of that laudanum into that glass, we might try to pour it down your brother's throat, and then I believe he would sleep easier. Sleep will help him tremen­dously, you know."

  The earl nodded, tight-lipped, and did as he was told, coming around to the other side of the bed and raising his brother to grasp him firmly against his shoulder. He held the glass to Peter's lips and when Peter opened them slightly in protest, tipped the contents of the glass quickly down his throat, causing his brother to protest incoherently.

  The earl met Miss Tolliver's eyes as he said, "I hope that is the way to do it. I've always found the fastest way over hard ground the best."

  She agreed warmly, and continued to pat Peter's hand as the earl laid him down again. For a moment Peter opened bleary eyes, directed toward her, and managed another of those wavering smiles before drifting off again. The earl, watching, surveyed her critically.

  "My brother seems to like you," he said.

  Miss Tolliver, still holding the young boy's hand, answered absently, "He thinks I'm his mother." She turned inquiring eyes toward the earl. "I take it she is dead."

  He nodded. "For a very long time."

  "Ah. Poor boys."

  He noted the plural in her last sentence but said nothing.

  It was Miss Tolliver's suggestion, and the earl did not demur, that she spend the rest of the night with Peter, while the earl stayed with the wounded Gillian. Thus it was that that young man, awakening from one of his forays into sleep, was appalled to find his gu
ardian posted in the chair beside him, the earl's long legs stretched out before him as he regarded his brother consideringly.

  "Giles!" Gillian gasped.

  His brother smiled slightly. "I am pleased to see, Gillian, that your wound has not impaired your mind. What there is of it. . ."

  Gillian groaned, and closed his eyes. "I suppose this means I shall have to study with John forever. . ." he muttered, focusing on the first thought that entered his head before he opened his eyes again.

  "Oh, at least that long," his brother assured him. "May­be longer. . ."

  Gillian shook his head, his voice rueful. "I really am sorry, Giles. Truly I am. Especially about Peter." His anxiety was apparent. "How is he?"

  Like Miss Tolliver, the earl had no desire to add to Gillian's present burden, and assured him that Peter was resting.

  "I made quite a mull of it, didn't I?" Gillian ventured.

  The earl agreed that he had. "Compared to putting pigs in a nob's bed, this new scheme is far more serious. If I had to choose between the two, I believe I would have gone out and found you a pig!"

  Gillian's face was glum. "I think," he said, "that if I were you, I would put me on the first boat for America."

  Giles shook his head. "I do not believe," he said carefully, "that even our former colonies deserve that."

  Gillian's face relaxed a little. "Then you don't hate me, Giles?"

  The earl said he did not and, so assured, Gillian drifted off again, smiling.

  Chapter 10

  Morning brought good counsel for both the weary watchers. When Mrs. Murphy tiptoed into Gillian's room an hour before dawn, it was to find the patient resting comfortably, and his lordship dozing—albeit uncomfortably—before the fading fire. She "tsked, tsked" at him for his negligence as she energetically put the flames to right again, warning him in an austere whisper that it wouldn't do for the young sir, so recently weakened by a loss of blood, to take a chill now, would it?

  Gillian, brought awake by her energetic application of the poker and several pieces of wood, smiled as he heard his normally autocratic brother agree with becoming meekness that it would not do. The smile disappeared in a moment, however, when Giles raised his voice and said, "We cer­tainly wouldn't want that, would we, Gillian? It might interfere with your studies!"

  Gillian turned his head in astonishment to stare at his brother. "You knew I was awake!"

  Giles smiled slightly. "I know everything about you, Gillian. Always. I wish you would remember that and save us these—experiences—in future."

  "Peter said—" Gillian began in astonishment, then caught his words up as his brother's smile grew. He was about to inquire just how Giles did it when Mrs. Murphy interrupted to say that since he was awake and all, she would just fetch up a basin of water to give him a proper little wash and shave, a suggestion that so overset him as he stared at her in amazement that all thoughts of his brother's omniscience vanished.

  "You?" Gillian asked, startled and unsure he had heard right.

  "Well, of course," the good lady responded, "and who else?"

  "But—" Gillian looked in vain for help from his brother. "But—but—you're a woman!"

  "Aye," Mrs. Murphy stood with her hands folded over her apron, agreeing with him.

  "I can't have a woman bathing and shaving me!"

  "Oh?" She inquired politely if he knew it was a woman who first brought him into the world; she asked if he'd had a nurse, her tone so reminiscent of that awesome and often bullying creature—who, Gillian remembered, was to de­scend on them shortly and reduce him to the age of three again in as many minutes—and she asked him just who he thought had been digging in his shoulder and no doubt saving his life the night before.

  Gillian's eyes opened wide. "You—" he sputtered, his good hand moving to his bandaged shoulder. "You—" He looked for confirmation to Giles, who smiled more broadly. "I thought there was a doctor!"

  "Oh, sure, now," Mrs. Murphy scoffed. "There was a doctor. But he came after all the work was done—just like some other men I could name—and only said it was a good job and he'd be back this morning. To collect his fee, I'll be bound. Ha!"

  The thought seemed to so affect the landlady that she turned and stomped from the room, murmuring darkly to herself.

  "Giles!" Gillian beseeched his grinning brother, who seemed prepared to follow her. The earl looked down at him.

  "I'll be back," Giles promised, "after I've looked in on Peter. And because I am your guardian and suppose it is among my duties to keep you from dying of mortification at your tender age, I'll even undertake the washing and shav­ing. But there is the chance, dear brother, that you will soon wish yourself in that redoubtable woman's hands! The work of valet has never before come my way."

  The grateful Gillian, his cheerfulness restored by his brother's promise, told Giles to wish Peter a good morning, and to say Gillian would be in to see him by and by, a statement Giles vetoed with the order that Gillian was to stay in bed for the day, and they would talk about his getting up only after the doctor's visit. About the cavil, Gillian saw the glint in Giles's eyes and, realizing that he could still renege on his promise to keep the awesome Mrs. Murphy at bay, subsided.

  Once on the landing, the earl's smile vanished, and his eyes grew anxious as he moved toward his youngest broth­er's room. The door to it stood open, and Mrs. Murphy's voice came to his ears as he entered.

  "I knew you wouldn't be sleeping, miss, not like some I could name who are set on to watch after their suffering kin, and then nod off like they haven't a care—no, I said to myself, you'll not find that the case with the lady—"

  The lady, who was listening with half an ear as she smoothed the bed covers over the now quiet Peter, straight­ened, and saw the earl watching her from the doorway.

  "—you can depend on the lady, I said to myself, not like some others I could name—" Mrs. Murphy rattled on, and the twinkle in Miss Tolliver's blue eyes was met by an answering one in the gray eyes meeting her own.

  "Quite right, Mrs. Murphy," Miss Tolliver said, her mouth set primly. "It is so shockingly hard to get good help these days!"

  "Wretch!" The word was spoken softly, and it sur­prised his lordship who had meant to maintain an air of polite formality with the lady in question. It made Miss Tolliver laugh, but Mrs. Murphy rose from her position beside a brightly burning fire to regard him with grave sternness.

  "Ah, now," she said, shaking her head at him, "that's no way to be speaking to the lady who probably saved your brother's life, and you in the other room there, enjoying yourself and having yourself a little nap—"

  The earl considered telling her with great acidity that the small chairs in her establishment made enjoying oneself nearly impossible for a man of his height, and that he thought the crick in his neck might be permanent, but Miss Tolliver intervened, her dancing eyes once again at variance with her prim face.

  "Now, now, Mrs. Murphy," she said, "his lordship can do no more than his best, and we can't expect everyone to meet our high standards. . ." Her voice trailed off as the earl moved forward and Mrs. Murphy, shaking her head in full agreement as she eyed him severely, said she would be off, then, to see about breakfast for them all, and about the other young man's bath.

  True to his word, Giles told her pleasantly that he would relieve her of the bathing and shaving chores, a statement that both pleased her and left her uneasy.

  "Are you sure you can do it, now?" she questioned, her hands on her hips as she stood back to stare up into his face.

  The earl assured her that he had been both bathing and shaving for some time and would endeavor to put his practice to good use. A gurgle rose in Miss Tolliver's throat, behind him; but Mrs. Murphy, after subjecting him to several more long seconds of inspection, agreed at last that he could at least make himself useful as long as he was here. Then she walked out, leaving a bemused lord and a laughing lady staring after her. When his lordship turned toward Miss Tolliver, the twinkle was bac
k in his eye.

  "I do not think the innkeeper's wife rates my presence highly," he said.

  "Oh no," she was able to assure him, her eyes brimming with laughter at her soon-to-be-expressed thought, "for she was telling me only this morning that they once had a twelve-fingered man from one of the traveling fairs here for a night, and she rates your presence far above his!" She seemed to consider for a moment, then amended the sen­tence. "Or at least, slightly higher."

  "I hope that doesn't mean I shall find half the countryside standing in the courtyard waiting to catch a glimpse of me," he said pleasantly as he walked forward to look down at the sleeping Peter, one hand going out to feel the boy's fore­head. His eyes sought Miss Tolliver's for confirmation.

  "He's better, isn't he?" the earl asked hopefully.

  She smiled as she nodded. "The high fever seemed to abate toward morning. He seems much better."

  "I thank you." Gratitude mixed with relief in his face, and Miss Tolliver shook her head with a smile.

  "Truly," she said, "there is no need. I like your brothers; they're delightful children—although you mustn't tell Gillian I called him a child!"

  The earl assured her he would not, and seemed about to say more when Peter stirred and opened sleepy eyes. "Giles?" he questioned, and as the earl sat down on the bed beside him, Miss Tolliver slipped through the doorway in search of her bags and her room, feeling a change of clothes and a good washing would help restore her flagging spirits. To that end she sought out Mrs. Murphy, who bustled her into the inn's back bedchamber, and suggested that she might like to lie down for an hour or two. Miss Tolliver declined the offer, but after she had washed and exchanged her soiled gown for one of mint green, its high waist set off by a forest green ribbon that matched the ruffled hem, and had once again done up her hair, she found the idea of a brief nap—just a few moments to rest her eyes—so entreating, that she lay down on the bed for a moment. It was with a start that she awoke several hours later, confused by her surroundings and the sound of coach wheels in the innyard.