Page 56 of The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess
“I have the broth, Mrs. Murray,” a young maid declared as she swept into the room.
“I shall take it. Set the tray on the low table, and, if you would, please assist Mrs. Murray in replacing the mattress.”
“Yes, ma’am.
Mrs. Darcy tucked the foot stool closer. “This is warm,” she instructed, “but not so warm as to burn you. Now, open your mouth for me.”
Jocelyn sincerely attempted to do as the lady asked, but hers was an unproductive effort.
Mrs. Darcy chattered on as dhe tended Jocelyn. “You are doing an imitation of our Bennet. He holds his lips tight when his nurse offers him gruel, which I agree is disgusting, but this is simple broth. Warm and nourishing.” The lady wedged the tip of the spoon between Jocelyn’s teeth and tilted the liquid gently into Jocelyn’s mouth. She quickly wiped away the few drops on Jocelyn’s chin. “That was a good first attempt. Let us share another spoonful.”
Jocelyn found she liked the taste of the warm, highly seasoned liquid. Foolish as it was to think so, the fact she could enjoy something so simple meant she was no longer a few steps away from death’s door, and so she stubbornly accepted the woman’s efforts. At length, though, she could swallow no more, and she lifted her hand to prevent Mrs. Darcy’s continued efforts.
“About half a bowl. Very good,” Mrs. Darcy announced. “Later, if I am not near, if you are able, signal the maid who will sit with you if you require assistance with your personal needs. We do not want you to have a terrible rash or bed sores.”
Jocelyn had not considered the reason for the change in mattresses was her bodily fluids. She nodded her understanding. “I . . . apolo . . . gize.”
“Nothing of which to complain,” the lady confided. “You are our hero. You protected Lord Babcock.”
Jocelyn opened her eyes briefly to view the woman. “The . . . colonel?” she asked.
“Is a man built for such stratagems. He will return to us, and, most assuredly, to you, as quickly as possible, but Mr. Darcy believes it will take his cousin a week to a sennight to be done with this business with Philip Jennings. Plenty of time for you to be well on your way to recovery. Did he not speak to you of his parting?”
“Brief . . . ly,” Jocelyn admitted. “Will . . . hate . . . me,” she argued.
“I have no doubt Fitzwilliam will be surprised, as was I when you told me of your identity while I tended you in Cambridgeshire. God has ways we cannot comprehend. He guided you to the road upon which I was traveling. More importantly, I have been proven correct in placing you in the colonel’s path, so you two could discover a deep devotion on your own terms. Edward will quickly realize he may claim the woman he affects. The worst part for him will being required to extend his gratitude to Lady Catherine for her ladyship playing matchmaker.”
“I did . . . not know . . . until . . . Vin . . . cent . . . told me . . . of his . . . family . . . tree . . . being . . . connect . . . ed . . . to the . . . De . . . Bourghs,” Jocelyn explained.
“Trust me. All shall be well. The colonel possesses a good sense of the absurd. Just think on the story you will be able to tell your children. Edward will laugh his way to the altar,” Mrs. Darcy declared.
“The bed is prepared, Mrs. Darcy,” the housekeeper said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Murray. Excellent work,” Mrs. Darcy assured, before the woman called out to her husband.
Jocelyn managed to open her eyes to view the look of satisfaction on Mr. Darcy’s face as he reentered the room carrying his son in his arms. The boy was patting his father’s cheeks and repeating “Papa.” The man deposited the boy in his mother’s arms. “Your turn, Mrs. Darcy. After I return Miss Lambert to her bed, I must assist Lord Vincent.”
“Gladly done,” the woman said with a smile as she reached for her son. Something like an ache lodged in the area of Jocelyn’s middle. At first, she thought it was another injury, but she quickly realized it was the desire to experience what the Darcys had. Yet, first, she must recover and then confess it all to her mother and, finally, convince Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam that they had been designed for each other.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was the fourth day of her recovery before Jocelyn could sit up for any length of time. Mr. Harwell had come regularly to change out her bandages. “I would like to see the lady on her feet a few times each day. Her first goal is to walk unsupported to the end of this passageway and back.”
As always, when Harwell made his call, Vincent remained in the open doorway with his back turned to her bed, but the child said, “I will assist her, sir.”
Harwell chuckled. “If you play your cards correctly, you could someday be a countess,” he said softly.
She smiled easily. “I think that privilege . . . will belong to one . . . of Lady Victoria’s friends . . . in Lincolnshire,” she said in secretive tones as the surgeon untied the bandages about her arm and gently tore it away from the dried blood.
Harwell looked to the boy and back before he continued to change her bandages. He whispered, “I am surprised he has even spoken to the girl.”
“No talk, except . . . a mention of her . . . looking well . . . each day, but . . . he listens closely.”
“Ah, the ‘closely listening’ clue. It is accurate every time.” He said no more until he tied off the ends of her bandage and readjusted the sleeve of her gown over it to secure her modesty. “Then you are to be the beloved governess of whom he often speaks fondly.” He straightened the blanket across her lap. “Lord Babcock, you may rejoin us,” Harwell called out.
The boy turned around immediately and returned to his place at the end of the bed. “Does Miss Lambert heal properly, sir?” he asked solemnly.
“Your friend is as strong as she is loyal to you. Miss Lambert is an exemplary patient.”
