She was not looking her best. Henry could see why his father thought she might be safe from Henry’s predations.
Not that he would predate her. Was that a word? They were predating each other anyway, as he recalled.
“How lovely to see you, Rachel. What happened?” Her fringe, usually so curly and bouncy, hung down almost to her nose. Her face—what he could see of it—was smudged with dirt, and her mackintosh was spattered with mud. She resembled nothing so much as a wet, dirty sheepdog.
“A great big carriage came by. Your father’s, I imagine. I tried to get out of the way, and lost my balance on the slippery sidewalk once it passed. I found myself in a—in a puddle.”
“Again? Miss Everett, you really are not steady on your feet, are you?”
“Do not tease me, you dreadful man! It’s because of you and your father that I’m about to lose my job and get thrown out of Puddling!” With that, she burst into tears.
Henry sat up and handed her an edge of sheet to use as a handkerchief. “What do you mean?”
“S-Sir Bertram Sykes paid me a visit earlier, and I may have lost my temper.”
“You have a temper? I hadn’t noticed.”
Rachel gave him a little shove that did nothing to improve his headache. “Be serious for once! You must help me. Tell Sir Bertram I’ve done nothing to arouse you. Attract you. Tell him that what’s between us is completely innocent.”
“I can’t do that. I cannot lie.”
“Oh! Why do all of the men I ask for help claim they cannot lie? It’s infuriating.” She blew her nose on the sheet. Henry hoped there were more sheets in the linen closet.
“Who else have you asked for help?”
“It doesn’t matter. I am ruined.” She smeared a glob of mud across her chin.
“You are not. All right, all right. I’ll go talk to this Sykes fellow when I’m allowed to get out of this damned bed. Tell him…whatever you tell me to tell him.”
“Thank you.” She stood up.
“Wait a second. Where are you going?”
“Home. My father will want something to eat.”
Ugh. Food. The very thought made Henry’s stomach do a tumblesault. “You can’t!”
“Why not?”
“My father hired you to be my nurse, did he not? He expects you to sleep here.” Henry couldn’t help himself—he patted the bed.
“I have no intention of nursing any part of you!” Rachel said, eyes flashing. “He just took control of the conversation, and Mrs. Grace and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”
“Yes, he does that.” Henry’s father had never brooked much interruption. It came of being a marquess, he supposed. Henry wondered if that unfortunate trait would be passed down to him as well as the title when the pater went to his reward. “But still, you agreed. I heard you. And I really don’t feel all that well.”
“I’m sorry about that, but really, Henry—I can’t stay. What will people say?”
“That my father hired you. How can they object? You don’t cross a marquess, you know. Marquesses are nearly as bad as dukes. This gives us a perfect opportunity to spend more time together without sneaking around. No more shovels and stone walls and puddles.”
“But your treatment plan…”
“The grand poobahs will have to make adjustments, won’t they? I cannot be left alone—I’m as weak as a kitten. If Mrs. Grace is going off somewhere, I must have assistance.”
“But not from me!” Rachel sounded a little desperate.
“I don’t see why not. Who else is available? Isn’t everyone hereabouts going to that wedding?”
“I doubt it. It’s Mrs. Grace’s sister over in Sheepscombe. I’m sure we can find someone from the village to take over. Even my father if it comes to it.”
“Oh. He can climb these stairs?” Henry asked innocently.
“You couldn’t get down?”
Henry imagined he could, with the right incentive. Rachel Everett naked on the sofa below, for example. Or better yet, in his garden on the little bench overlooking the koi pond, her legs parted, her hand busy—
But not in this rain. She was wet enough as it was, dripping onto his bedroom carpet, looking entirely miserable.
He wondered if the fish had been fed. It was one of his duties as temporary master of Stonecrop Cottage. Mrs. Grace had passed him a card as soon as he’d moved in with the requirements of residence. Henry thought the items were designed to make him feel like a responsible citizen: feed the fish, take the rubbish to the bin in the garden shed, water the fern in the conservatory. The dratted fern was dying, but he’d managed the other two.
Henry had grown fond of the bright orange-red fish hidden under the green vegetation of the pond. They came right up to the surface now and allowed themselves to be tickled. When he had property of his own, he’d dig a little pond and stock it as a pleasant reminder of his stay.
Hopefully, he’d have another pleasant reminder, the redoubtable Rachel Challoner, née Everett.
“Look, take off that wet coat and get dry. There are clean towels in the bathroom dresser. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to be bullied by my father, you know. But now that you’re here…” Henry shrugged.
“But my father! He’s alone in our cottage. And he’ll never let me stay here with you.”
“Doctor’s orders.”
Rachel huffed off to the bathroom and Henry heard the cry of alarm as she must have caught sight of herself in the mirror, the tap running, the slamming of drawers. She emerged a few minutes later considerably cleaner, her fringe scrunched back up almost where it should be.
“Tell Mrs. Grace to stop at your father’s cottage on her way to the wedding. Doesn’t she live on New Street too?”
Rachel made a face. “You think of everything.”
“I try.”
“Would you like a cup of tea or something?”
Henry wasn’t sure if he would. But he said yes and Rachel went downstairs to talk to Mrs. Grace.
They returned together, Rachel holding a tray between hands that did not appear to be all that steady.
“I have told Rachel, and now I am telling you,” Mrs. Grace began. Henry stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He was tired of his housekeeper treating him like a mischievous ten-year-old boy. Really, if he had known just how much trouble Francie and Lysette were going to be, he would have sewn his pants shut. It had all been a harmless prank, really.
He wouldn’t be here being lectured, Rachel cowering in the background. He didn’t like to see Rachel unhappy—it did something to his insides that were already in an uproar.
“You keep your hands to yourself, do you understand me, Lord Challoner? Self-control at all times. None of that boyish charm, although I do see where you get it. It runs in the family.”
Pater? Boyish and charming? Not hardly.
Mrs. Grace opened the curtains with a snap. “We are here to help you mend your ways, not that you seem to understand that. If I did not have to leave, I would not. I know my duty, and you are my responsibility. Why my sister has decided to marry again is beyond me. She’s already buried three husbands. I should think that would be enough of a deterrent to any man. I will be back by nightfall, and you can go home, Rachel. There is to be no funny business, or I shall inform Sir Bertram.”
Bugger Sir Bertram. The man had already upset Rachel today.
“Yes, Mrs. Grace,” Rachel and Henry said in unison.
“This is all most ill-advised,” the woman muttered as she left the room. “But how was I to contradict a marquess?”
It was easy. Henry had been doing it all his life.