Good for the pater. Really. Henry could not recall his father showing an interest in any woman since his marchioness died. Mrs. Grace was an unexpected choice, but she was a handsome woman and Henry could now see her appeal.
By God, would he have to call her step-mama? He supposed anything was possible in this day and age. Puddling was a hotbed of romantic folly. Was there something in the air? The water? Henry needed to make Rachel breathe and drink more.
As far as he knew, the marquess had seen Mrs. Grace exactly twice: the day of Henry’s incarceration and the day of the flooded wedding. How on earth had he wound up in her kitchen in a dressing gown? Was Sir Bertram a matchmaker?
Henry needed a place to hide out for a while and gather his thoughts. No doubt Vincent and Lady Bexley would appreciate his extended absence. Since he was in the neighborhood, he rapped on the Everetts’ back door. No one came to welcome him inside for coffee and gingerbread. Despite the early hour, Henry thought Rachel was probably at the schoolhouse already; she was all too dedicated. Pete Everett was no doubt sleeping in the front room as a man of his years deserved.
So he sat in the lush little garden, reconsidering the wisdom of leaving his cane home. Unlacing his specially-fitted boot, Henry rubbed his foot and wondered where the hideous canine menace was. Some watchdog—there had been no warning barks or growls from inside heralding his visit. Perhaps the wretched beast recognized him now and knew Henry was no danger to his family and was snoozing with his master.
Henry put his boot back on. He couldn’t go home to the love-nest, somewhat afraid of what he’d find. How would Vincent look without his dog-collar?
Henry didn’t really want to know.
How could he help Vincent get his happy ending? Perhaps he could purchase a small estate with a cleric’s living attached. Install Vincent and Lady Bexley in the rectory—no, she’d have to be un-Lady Bexley.
If a marriage wasn’t consummated, could it be annulled? Henry had a suspicion the husband had to be proven incapable, and that boob Bexley was not apt to confess to such a thing, especially if he was cutting a swath through the demi-mondaine and was a renowned cocksman.
What man would admit he was a wilted flower? Henry himself had gone out of his way to stimulate his flagging manhood when he was too depressed to function properly. Thus Francie and Lysette, when all the while not that much had been going on.
Very few swaths had been cut.
He was thoroughly cured now. Sunday proved that, not that he’d ever tell Rachel she was the instrument of his newfound joy. She didn’t want to be responsible for his reformation, and she was right. Change did come from within, and change was zipping through Henry like an electric current.
But back to one of his problems. Obviously, the best and most efficient solution would be to murder Bexley. Extreme, to say the least. But Henry had done enough killing, and though he liked Vincent well enough, was not going to put his mortal soul into more jeopardy than it was already.
He chuckled. He was coming unhinged contemplating murder. There had to be an easier way to assist the young lovers.
He was running through various scenarios—all of them sadly insufficient—when he heard Rufus’s unearthly howl from inside the cottage.
Henry tried the kitchen door and it swung open. Rufus came barreling down the hallway toward him, whining and tail wagging, an unusual combination.
Glad to see him? No attempt at a bite? Something was definitely wrong.
“Mr. Everett?”
Rufus yipped, turned and raced to the front parlor. Henry followed and found Pete Everett on the floor clutching his chest, his face gray.
Henry was on his knees at his side at once. “Mr. Everett! Pete! Can you hear me?”
Rachel’s father nodded. “Hurts.”
“Where?”
“Dignity. Heart.”
Dear God. Henry had no idea where Dr. Oakley lived, but everyone in the village would.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course I’ll stay here, you looby. Where will I go?” There was nothing wrong with Everett’s wits, even though each word cost him a breath.
Henry grabbed a pillow from the bed and tucked it under the man’s head, then tossed a quilt over him. He didn’t dare try to pick Rachel’s father up, not knowing if he’d broken something in his fall.
Henry dashed up the street and pounded on Mrs. Grace’s door. This time she was even longer opening it, and when she did, her annoyance was plain.
“I already told you—”
“Stubble it, Mrs. Grace. Pete Everett has had some kind of attack and needs the doctor. You’ll have to let my father stew in his juices while you fetch him. Get someone to tell Rachel to come home as soon as she can, too.”
She paled but didn’t deny anything.
“Hurry! There’s no time to get dressed. I’m going back there right now and see what I can do to help.”
Henry left her, not looking back. The damned woman had better shake a leg.
Speaking of legs, his foot was on fire, but that didn’t matter. Henry let himself back into the house. Rufus was guarding his owner, but allowed Henry to approach.
“I’m going to loosen your nightshirt, sir.”
“Have at it.” Everett’s words were weak but steady.
“When did this happen?”
“Got out of bed to use the privy. When I came back in, I was dizzy. Fell.”
“Are you still in pain?”
Everett shrugged. Which probably meant yes. He must have hit the floor hard.
Henry had performed first aid in the field too many times to count, but there was no blood to stanch and no bone to set or anything to stitch up. He was at a loss.
Rachel loved her father. Henry didn’t want to be responsible for the man’s death. Where was the damned doctor?
“May I get you water? Do you have pills or anything to take?”
“Healthy as a horse.” Everett winked so slowly Henry almost missed it. “Water would be good.”
Henry went into the orderly kitchen and filled a mug full of water. It couldn’t be bad for someone if they were suffering from a heart attack, could it? Pete Everett was old, but that didn’t mean he should die this morning from drinking a glass of water.
“Can you sit up?”
“I can try.”
Henry held the glass as Everett took a shaky sip. When he was done, he clutched Henry’s hand, spilling a few drops on Henry’s sleeve. “You’ll take care of my girl, won’t you? You’ll marry her like you said you wanted.”
“If she’ll have me. So far, she hasn’t said yes and I’ve asked and asked.”
“Damn headstrong chit. Just like her mother. Stubborn as the day is long.” Everett coughed and swallowed another mouthful.
Henry tried to smile. “I’ll bring her round somehow. I don’t want you to worry about anything, Pete. You don’t mind if I call you Pete, do you?”
“Best of friends, ain’t we? That’s what I told that prig Sykes when he came by yesterday with your father. I’m tired, Lord Challoner. Henry, I guess it is now, since we’re practically related. Don’t let me down, boy—ask her again, and this time make it stick. Let me close my eyes for a little while.”
Henry felt a shiver of fear. He cradled Pete’s head in the crook of his elbow and touched a withered cheek. It was warm enough, but again Henry didn’t know what signs to look for.
They sat on the floor for what seemed like hours. Pete’s breathing was regular if rattled. Suddenly, Rufus took off like a shot and ran barking into the kitchen. “We’re in here!” Henry called. “Hurry!”
Fuck. It wasn’t Dr. Oakley.
The Marquess of Harland gave a quelling order to Rufus and the animal sat and cowered, knowing instinctively he was outmatched. “How is he?”
Every hair was in place, every button buttoned. The pater was a quick-change artist, and made no excuses for his earlier whereabouts.
“I don’t know, Father. He’s gone to sleep.”
“I’ve sent my coach for the doctor. He should be here shortly—he’s at a local sheep farm. There’s some sort of hospital in Stroud to which Mr. Everett can be transported.”
Henry stared down into Pete’s ashen face. “I don’t know if he should be moved.”
“Well, the man can’t lie in your lap forever, Henry. Use your head.”
“We’ll see what Dr. Oakley has to say. He’ll know best.”
His father’s lip curled. “A country doctor? There must be someone more qualified in Stroud. It’s a good-sized market town, from what I understand.”
“That country doctor you’re so contemptuous of is skilled. A good man. After all, you left me in his care.”
“That’s entirely different. You are not an elderly pensioner with a heart condition.”
“True enough.” Henry wanted to be elderly one day though, so he refused to rise to his father’s bait. The pater could make Henry’s blood sing in his veins and cause his ears to buzz, but not this morning. Some problems were greater than dealing with an annoying parent.
“Is his daughter coming?”
His father shrugged. “I have no idea. I gather there’s an issue as to who will take over the school for her. The vicar cannot be found. The village is in quite an uproar. The family is apparently very well thought of.”
Henry wasn’t going to peach on Vincent. Let him have his fun with Greta while he could. If, God forbid, he was needed here for the Last Rites, Henry would fetch the vicar himself.
“Well, she should close the school down then. It’s more important that she come home to be with her father,” Henry said.
“I’m sure the people here will work something out. They seem a capable lot.” His father picked an invisible speck from his cuff and cleared his throat. “I suppose you’d like to know what I was doing in Mrs. Grace’s cottage.”
“Not really.” Henry certainly didn’t want to hear a blow-by-blow description.
“It isn’t what you think.”
“I don’t think anything. It’s none of my business, Father. This isn’t the time for a family row anyway. We’re both adults and should be able to take pleasure where we may. Life is short.” Henry hoped Pete didn’t hear him and take the wrong meaning.
There were flags of color on his father’s usually composed countenance. “Yes. Well. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Unnecessary. Where the hell is Oakley?’
“He was with some sheep farmer, as I said. He’s coming. What can I do to assist?”
The front room was darkish despite the morning sun. “Open the curtains and windows. Some fresh air would be good.”
The marquess was as efficient as any upstairs maid. After performing that task, he added some coals to the flagging fire—it was still cool inside the stone cottage despite it being spring.
“Henry—”
Whatever his father planned to say would have to wait. Help had finally arrived.