Page 50 of The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess
“Good,” Edward declared. “I despise those who chat away. The only time a man should speak beyond the minimal use of air is when he is wooing a woman, but I imagine you understand ‘wooing’ a young girl, as you easily manipulated Lady Annabelle.” Edward mounted his horse. “Now, you will require all the air you have to spare, for I plan to ride back to Babbington with you in tow.”
“I cannot run that far!” Marksham protested.
“You ran here,” Edward argued.
“Not all the way,” the man countered.
“Then you must do better this time, for you may run or I will gladly drag your sorry arse. Either way, you will pay the first of your coins to the pauper.”
“My uncle will object,” Marksham called as Edward set his horse into a steady walk.
“Your uncle is the second son of a dead earl, while I am the second son of a very alive and very powerful earl, who has the ear of the Regent and others in Parliament. I raise your bid for freedom and up the ante.” Edward gently nudged his horse’s sides. “It is time to view how far you must run before I decide to set my horse into a full gallop.”
It was nearly an hour later when they entered the circle before Babbington Hall. Marksham was covered in dust and sweat and gasping for air, but he was not dead, which would be the man’s sentence if Miss Lambert died from her wound. Edward would see it done properly and discreetly and personally. He stepped down and circled the horse to release the strap, which was obviously cutting into Marksham’s wrists, from his saddle, but not from Marksham’s hands. “Come along, we must have a conversation, and I will expect the truth.”
Before they could go inside, Mr. Jessie rode in, followed by a gig and a disheveled man on the high seat. “Found the surgeon, sir,” Mr. Jessie declared with a grin, which likely meant the Lindale stable master had overstepped his authority and “insisted” the surgeon come immediately.
Edward held only the rope, but he said, “Thank you for coming so quickly, sir. I must apologize if Mr. Jessie was too insistent, but the young lady means a great deal to the Jennings family and mine as well.”
“And you are?” the man asked as he climbed down.
Edward bowed dutifully. “Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Royal Army. I am son to Lord Matlock of Maitland Manor in Derbyshire. The former Lady Babcock is married to my elder brother, Lord Lindale, making me uncle to Lord Vincent Babcock and his sisters.”
“I see. And the patient?” the man asked as he headed towards the main door. He ignored the dirt-streaked face of Marksham, as well as the raw patches of skin under the straps about Marksham’s wrists, which spoke to what the surgeon already knew.
“Governess to the two younger Babcock children. Lord Vincent also received a wound. The lady knocked the boy to the ground and covered him with her own body.” The image of that scene might never leave Edward’s memory. “The bullet appears to have passed through her shoulder. Such is when Lord Vincent sustained a graze across his arm.”
“Who will show me to the patient?” the man asked. His lack of curiosity about Marksham’s situation fascinated Edward and set him wondering what all the fellow knew of the situation at Babbington Hall.
“I will.” Edward handed the rope off to Mr. Jessie. “Follow us. I wish to speak to Marksham after I look in on Miss Lambert.”
“Aye, sir. We’ll be close behind ye.”
Edward opened the door and again discovered no servants about. He would address the lack of response on the morrow or, better yet, he would allow the Master of Pemberley to do the job. Although, in truth, he would enjoy first dressing them down as if they were new recruits and then permitting Darcy to send them to their knees and to beg for forgiveness. Perhaps he and Darcy could provide young Vincent a new type of lesson on being the earl.
“This way, sir.” He started up the steps with the surgeon. “I apologize, I did not ask your name, sir.”
“Harwell.”
“Have you practiced in this area long?” Edward asked. “My family hails from Derbyshire.”
“Some three years. I’ve family in the area. Trained in Scotland and then apprenticed for two years near Manchester.”
Nothing more could be discussed, for they had reached the room where Darcy watched over Miss Lambert. “Mr. Harwell, Darcy. He will assume Miss Lambert’s care.” Edward noted how Lord Vincent had risen from the chair before the fireplace. The child looked on in concern as Harwell crossed to where Miss Lambert laid perfectly still and with no response.
Darcy had risen quickly from his chair next to the bed to greet Harwell. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Harwell.” His cousin extended his hand to the man.
“Your Mr. Jessie was quite insistent,” Harwell said as he set his bag on the bed and poured water into a bowl and took the sliver of soap to wash his hands.
“We are all quite fond of the lady,” Darcy said evenly. “Are we not, my lord?”
Vincent’s eyes were filled with tears, but the boy said, “Miss Lambert . . . saved my life.”
Harwell turned to look upon the boy’s serious expression, and the man’s features softened in response. “Then I will do my best by the lady.”
“Thank you, sir,” the child said, though his bottom lip trembled. “I will wait . . . over here.”
Harwell nodded as if in deference and turned to Darcy. “What has been executed in the lady’s name?”
