Page 49 of The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess
“Yes, sir.” The woman looked to Miss Lambert. “Would you not prefer I tended the young lady and you assisted Lord Vincent?”
“I wish to assure myself none of the lady’s cloak or day dress is hidden inside the wound. I could use a magnifier, or burning glass, whichever you call it, if there is one available in the household.” His cousin looked to Edward. “Why are you still here? Go capture Mr. Marksham. I recognized him about the same time he fired upon the boy, and Farrin says he viewed the young man running towards the woods.”
“I despise your calmness,” Edward declared as he retrieved his gun from a nearby drawer.
“You do what comes naturally to you, and I will do the same,” his cousin responded as he took up a pair of scissors that Mrs. Murray had carried in on the tray to delicately cut away part of Miss Lambert’s gown.
“Do not permit her to die, Darcy,” Edward begged as tears rushed to his eyes.
“Not on my watch,” his cousin assured. “Mrs. Murray, I will require laudanum for the lady,” Darcy instructed, completely ignoring Edward’s desire to stay. With a heavy sigh and a silent prayer, Edward crossed to the door. “Do not kill him!” his cousin called without turning around. “We will require his testimony.”
* * *
Jocelyn nearly spit out the foul-tasting liquid placed into her mouth. She had been lying as still as she could praying the soul-snatching burn in her arm would subside, but she could not quite control the scream rattling about in her head.
Someone was lying across her, holding her in place. “Swallow the laudanum,” a male voice she recognized instructed.
With effort, she shifted her tongue to the side so she might swallow the disgusting medication.
“I must cut away part of your gown. I will attempt to preserve your modesty,” the voice instructed. “What was left of the bullet was on the ground beside Lord Vincent. The boy was not harmed beyond a slight flesh wound, which will be a point of admiration when he is off to school. You have done well by the child.”
“Feared for him,” she managed to say, with more effort required to speak than she thought possible.
“I have asked for tweezers, but I have yet to locate a pair,” he said as he folded part of her gown to the side. “I am confident Mrs. Darcy will bring mine, but it will be several hours before she arrives. Therefore, I must count on soap and water for you to know a clean wound. I have sent for a surgeon, but you must tolerate my efforts for the time being.”
“Do your . . . worst . . . sir,” she mumbled and gritted her teeth.
“You should know ‘Miss Romfield,’” he emphasized, “that Elizabeth and I are aware of your true identity. You disclosed more than you thought when my wife rescued you in Cambridgeshire. It was her idea to permit you and Fitzwilliam to learn to care for each other without your parents’ interference. Now that the colonel has come to treasure you, please do not leave him without finally knowing happiness. He deserves more than the hand he has been dealt. He deserves you.”
Jocelyn wished to speak to her affection for the gentleman, but her tongue felt numb, and her arm was again filled with the fires of hell. She was fighting to stay conscious.
“I suppose I should also tell you that when we learned of what occurred with Lady Annabelle and your setting off with the children to save the girl, my wife sent an express to my Aunt Catherine de Bourgh to forward to your parents. At the time, Elizabeth thought it best for your family to come to William’s Wood, for she and I agreed you would know success with Lady Annabelle. If she has not done so previously, I have asked her to send word for them to come to Yorkshire instead. Therefore, you must remain strong. Do not permit your parents to learn of your passing. It would destroy both them and the colonel. They all love you dearly. Moreover, my Elizabeth wishes to claim you as a cousin, and I attempt never to disappoint the lady. Now, permit me to treat the other side of this wound.”
* * *
Bartholomew Marksham proved quite easy to follow, with the fellow going no further than the nearest village. However, when the young man noted Edward entering the inn, Marksham bolted up and darted towards the rear door through the kitchen. Unfortunately for Marksham, the innkeeper was coming out of the kitchen at the exact same time. Marksham attempted to shoulder his way past the man, but the innkeeper was quicker. “Hey, now,” the innkeeper growled. “I’s not permit no one in me kitchen.”
Edward caught Marksham’s arm and brought it up behind the man. “I have him, sir,” he grunted as Marksham attempted to escape.
“And you be?” the innkeeper asked suspiciously.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Army. I have been sent to fetch Mr. Marksham back to the battalion in which he enlisted. I took on the task because I am brother to Lord Lindale, who married the former Lady Babcock. Lord Vincent and his sisters have returned to the manor for a short stay.”
“I did not . . .” Marksham began, but Edward wrenched the man’s arm higher, silencing him.
“You enlisted?” the innkeeper asked. “It’ll be the only decent thing you’ve ever done, boy.”
“You will pardon me then,” Edward said. “I must secure Mr. Marksham and let those at Babbington know all is well.”
“You come back, sir, and I’ll stand you an ale.”
Edward nodded his appreciation and again boosted Marksham’s arm higher to lead him out the front door and around the side to where Edward had left his horse.
“What do you want from me?” Marksham pleaded.
“Personally, I would prefer to see you hanging from the gallows. You harmed two people under my care, but I promised my cousin I would not kill you. At least, not immediately, though I would not mind seeing you bleed in the same manner as did the young earl and his governess.” Edward wrenched Marksham’s other arm behind the man’s back, then caught the end of a long leather strap attached to his saddle and wrapped it around the fellow’s wrists again and again.
“What do you expect me to tell you? I promise I will not say a word.”
