Page 55 of The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess
Edward claimed the opportunity to write to his father, chronicling his plan to chase Jennings, but he also included something of Jennings’s plan to pretend to be the Earl of Babcock, the attempt on Lord Vincent’s life, the condition of Miss Lambert, and a statement regarding his aversion to a marriage with Miss Romfield. “I cannot think of marrying where my heart does not lie. I know such will anger you, and, for that, I beg your forgiveness; yet, I remain adamant in my denial.”
He also wrote to Darcy to explain how Jennings was pretending to be his brother and something of the condition of Jennings’s house and a warning regarding the condition of the family portraits. “If you know of a reputable portrait artist who could recreate the images, please contact him for a consultation. I originally hoped the canvas could be repaired, but the destruction is extensive.”
Then he added, “When I return, if your offer is still available, I would accept a gift of a purchase of a commission for major general or, at a minimum, brigadier. Those opportunities are few, and I would be foolish not to claim my share of the British Army’s higher ranks before this war knows an end. I have also written to the earl regarding Miss Romfield. I will not stand in duty for a marriage not of my choosing.”
Edward wanted to send his regards to Miss Lambert, but he had no right. Instead, he said a prayer for the woman’s recovery. “Whether the lady is my future or not, please oversee her recovery, God. The children require her good sense and her loyalty.” He would not mention what he required from the woman. He told himself he would be satisfied with the lady’s return to health. “It will be enough,” he said as he blew out the candle, though he wanted more. Much more.
* * *
Jocelyn felt something or someone crawl up on the bed. She had been lying ever so still as she attempted to move each of her limbs—her toes—her fingers. She was not confident she had succeeded, but she required a purpose.
A soft voice said, “You must recover, Miss Rose.”
She knew it was the voice of Lord Vincent. Jocelyn wanted to assure him she meant to recover, for the colonel had charged her with living, and she would not permit him to know sorrow; yet, her lips would not form the words. Instead, as she had done earlier, she raised two fingers. Within seconds, the child caught her fingers in his hand.
“I am sorry I walked so fast,” the boy said, “I should have waited for you. I was afraid because I did not know what to do.”
Jocelyn wished to caress his hand—to tug him into her embrace, but she dared not reach for him for fear it would be too much and the pain would draw her back into the darkness. When she did not move, the boy laid his head on her midsection and snuggled closer to her, his lower limbs bumping against her good arm. “I will guard you,” he said. “No one will harm you again.”
With focused concentration and will power, she managed to lift her hand to rest it on Vincent’s leg; however, the effort had proved just as she feared. Before she could act against the motion, her soul tumbled backwards over and over again as the cold filled her being, that is, except where the boy’s head rested against her. His presence kept death at bay.
* * *
“Come, Miss Lambert,” a familiar voice was saying. The person behind the voice, as well as another, lifted her to her side. Instinct had her reaching to support herself, but her arm would not move, and, for a brief moment, she panicked. “We tied your injured arm in place. We must dress you in clean clothes and give you a bath. You still have blood on your face and in your hair. You must be rid of it before you can begin to heal.” The words came in puffs of exertion, as the woman tugged and lifted Jocelyn upward.
“Mrs. Dar—?” Jocelyn managed.
“Yes, I am here to oversee your care. I could not permit my husband to view you unclothed, as the colonel would disapprove, as would I.” The woman expelled a huff of satisfaction. “I have her, Mrs. Murray. Cut away the gown so we might wash her and place her in something clean.”
For the next quarter of an hour or more, the pair prodded her and washed her with warm water and cut away her clothes. When they stopped their systematic torture, the lady called out, “Mr. Darcy, I require you.”
Within a heartbeat, his very masculine voice could be heard. “Yes, my dear.”
“Would you carry Miss Lambert to the chair before the fire and cover her with an additional blanket. Mrs. Murray and the maids will change out the bedding and turn the mattress.”
Jocelyn knew when he came along beside the bed, for she could smell the cologne he wore. “I am glad to view you without the spattered blood on you.”
“The boy?” she grunted as he jostled her a bit and quickly crossed the room to set her in a straight-back upholstered chair.
“When I woke last evening, I realized the young earl had sneaked back into your room. I carried him to his bed so you might rest properly,” he explained as he tucked a blanket about her.
Mrs. Darcy appeared on the other side of her. Jocelyn opened her eyes and quickly closed them again. The room held a sharp light. “Vin . . . cent . . . kept . . . me . . . warm,” she stated.
“Lord Vincent blames himself for your brush with death,” Mr. Darcy explained. “Please, when you have enough stamina to maintain a conversation, assure the boy if it was not then, Mr. Jennings had other plans in the works.”
“The girls?” she asked.
“Have been staying in Lady Annabelle’s quarters. In truth, I have spoken little to them, for I assisted Mr. Harwell with your care and oversaw the release of Jennings’s servants from Babbington Hall, that is to say, along with our own Lord Babcock. Today, the young lord and I will examine the estate books, but I hold no confidence they have been overseen properly by Jennings.”
Jocelyn wished to ask more, but she was too exhausted; therefore, she simply nodded her head in appreciation.
“I will be in the adjoining room when you require my assistance again, Elizabeth,” the gentleman said.
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam. We shan’t be long.” The woman knelt close to Jocelyn’s chair, tugging a foot stool closer. “We will have you back in the bed again in a few minutes. If possible, while you are upright, I was hoping to coax you to swallow a bit of broth before you return to sleep.”
“Some . . . thing . . . to . . . drink?” Jocelyn asked.
“Some tea? Yes,” Mrs. Darcy assured. “I must order it, though.”
