Page 37 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
Bess was awash with a sudden feeling that Lord Linfield was very close to crying. She stomped back, providing space for Lord Linfield to sweep his legs over the underbrush and chaos of the forest floor. Now, Bess could hear the wailing cries of Lady Margaret, calling for her.
“Lady Elizabeth! Please! Where on earth are you?” she cried.
Bess felt it was improper to call out to Lady Margaret at this time, to allow her words to echo through the trees. She felt it would shift the beautiful, subtle nature of the woods. That whatever intimacy—was that truly the word?—she and Lord Linfield were currently sharing would be lost the moment she fell in with Lady Margaret and Richard.
As they moved quickly through the trees, Bess was struck with the agility of Lord Linfield: tall, muscular, moving faster still than he’d moved when they’d first found the dog. Every bit of him seemed taut and anxious. And still, the dog in his arms let out long, cooing whines. Every few steps, Lady Elizabeth could hear Lord Linfield muttering to the dog, telling him, “It’s going to be all right, old boy. I promise you. You’ll have your favourite meal. Your best spot by the fire. No sleeping anywhere else tonight. You’ll be safe. Comfortable.”
Lord Linfield burst out from the trees with Bess hobbling just behind. Lady Margaret looked absolutely stricken with fear. All the blood had drained from her face. Her eyes raced from Lord Linfield and the injured dog, to Bess, and back again. Her hands clapped over her mouth.
“My goodness!” she cried. “What on earth has happened?”
“No time to explain, Lady Margaret,” Lord Linfield said, rushing past her.
Bess paused at Lady Margaret, watching as Lord Linfield cantered closer to the mansion. She felt a hesitation, matched with a strange longing.
“Perhaps it’s best for us to go,” Lady Margaret murmured.
But just as Bess was planning to agree with her—to turn her torn skirts back towards the carriage house and return to her London home, Lord Linfield turned abruptly back towards her. His eyes found hers instantly and were like daggers.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked her, and only her, not the others.
Bess understood: somehow, throughout the currency of whatever strange business relationship or friendship, she was needed by his side while he worked through the issue of his injured animal. She reached for her skirts and drew them up, darting along to be at his side. And once she was, Lord Linfield nodded firmly before clearing his throat. “Good. It’s time,” he said.
The next hours involved a flurry of activity. Lord Linfield made a makeshift emergency bed for the dog in his own bedroom, splaying poor Barney over white bed sheets and wrapping the wound with towels. The dog’s leg was completely broken, hanging off in a strange direction. Lord Linfield scowled as he tried to stop the bleeding. But it was clear that the bone would need to be set, and Lord Linfield admitted that he wasn’t the proper man for the job. To the side, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Margaret looked on—both apt to run frequently to the kitchen for pots of hot water, or tea, or, in harder moments, whisky.
Richard took it upon himself to ride a fast horse to a nearby doctor, who returned thirty minutes later with his medicine bag. The doctor used careful, tender fingers to set the bone of the dog’s leg and then wrap the leg in a cast. Lord Linfield remained perched on the side of the bed, looking over his dog. Occasionally, he turned his eyes towards Bess, seemingly looking for approval. Bess didn’t know what for.
It was remarkable, feeling so trusted by Lord Linfield. For the first time in years, Bess felt more like a woman, like a woman who’d always planned on becoming a mother. Although her volunteer work stretched her emotionally and fulfilled her on several levels, she had strange flashes of yearning for a life she couldn’t quite understand. A life in which she and a husband might have to remain up all night watching over a sick child. A life that involved incredible amounts of fear, matched with incredible amounts of love.
After the dog’s leg was set, Richard led the doctor back downstairs. Lord Linfield again turned his attention to Lady Elizabeth. The sun had shifted fully beneath the skyline, casting them in darkness. With anxious motions, Lady Margaret moved to light a candle in the corner. The light was eerie.
“Don’t you think we should begin to return home, Lady Elizabeth?” Lady Margaret cooed, sounding like a child.
For whatever reason, Bess felt no inclination to respond to her. Instead, she held onto Lord Linfield’s gaze waiting for something to happen.
“Thank you for your help today,” he said, his voice low and scratchy and alluring.
Lady Elizabeth stirred in the little chair she’d propped up near the dog. She drew her hand towards the dog’s belly, stroking her fingers over and over the soft fur. “I would do anything for animals,” she murmured. “Animals and children. They’re the only pure things in this world.”
“Barney is my last link to my old life, I think,” Lord Linfield said.
As if on cue, Barney let out another whine, a heavy sigh that made his belly collapse in on itself. He looked pathetic and strange, his eyes wet.
“I’ve never seen him look like this,” Lord Linfield continued. “I can’t imagine what I would do without him. I used to spend entire days with him, without another soul. And I still sometimes find the time. Wandering through the woods with him. Watching him dig around with his nose.”
“You’ll have so many more times like that,” Bess murmured. “He’s going to heal so nicely.”
She felt another urge to reach forth and draw her hand across Lord Linfield’s. She swallowed sharply, and then turned her eyes back to the dog. She remembered the early days of courting Conner, how her body had felt all fizzy and strange. Her thoughts had shot from ear to ear, uninhibited. Sometimes, she’d felt a burning desire to toss herself against his chest and kiss him, wholly and completely on the mouth. These weren’t fantasies fit for a woman like her. Not a woman of her class, certainly.
“Well, I have to admit,” Lord Nathaniel said. “Today really did take a turn, didn’t it? From my lacklustre speechmaking, to … Well. Thank you, anyway. You’ll be paid for your services, absolutely.”
His voice remained intimate, although he seemed to be trying to force them away from this strange in-between of emotion and words unsaid. He cleared his throat, and then rose up from the bed. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing words regarding my upcoming speech over the next days. Words from a mysterious writer, L.B.”
“A fine writer, that L.B.,” Bess said, chuckling.
“Although perhaps a bit high on himself sometimes,” Lord Linfield teased. “Although I can’t say it’s not warranted, for it completely is. If I had the skills of that brilliant writer, I’m not sure what I would do with it. Surely I would take over the world.”
“I’m sure L.B. wants little more than to write, and write often, and write well,” Bess said.
