Chapter 21

 

 

 

Claudia lay in bed, watching the sun peek over the grand buildings across the street. She slept an hour here and there, but it wasn’t the deep, restful sleep needed to recover. The activities of the past forty-eight hours still churned about in her mind. Laying aside the danger they had faced, what was still hard to grasp was that Oliver—was the Sentinel. 

Claudia believed him to be a stuffy, bored aristocrat when he was anything but. How fascinating, such complicated layers. When he spoke, ‘For the rest of our lives,’ it momentarily chilled her heart but also caused its beat to speed up due to the wave of absolute bliss that inundated her. Yes, Oliver caused a great deal of confusion within.

His candid, emotional confession in the carriage became even more intense after she had been rescued. Smitten? Falling for her? Captured his heart? Those heartfelt words yielded a tumult within her, prompting her trepidation to spike. 

But oh, those words.

They arrowed straight to her heart, causing it to practically burst from her chest. If only she could be as open and honest as Oliver—confident of his feelings with a clear understanding of how to deal with them and verbalize them. Claudia had yet to learn how to do it. She felt utterly flummoxed.

Bitterness and cynicism made her believe no man was worth her attention or affection. Claudia had accepted she would be alone for the rest of her life and planned accordingly. How does she reconcile her low opinion of men in general, particularly wealthy ones, with the near perfection of Oliver Wollstonecraft?

Very well, he wasn’t faultless. No one is. His hero—what to call it? —obsession? No, that did not fit. Perhaps a preoccupation or fixation? Blast it; it all meant the same thing, and Claudia wasn’t exactly sure if it was a negative or positive.

The door facing the hallway burst open, and a woman carrying a tray entered the room.

“Baroness Addington?” The woman she had met at Olivia’s tea party?

“The very one.” She placed the tray on the sideboard and moved to close the connecting door. “The viscount is still sleeping. We do not want to disturb him.” The baroness turned to face her. “Do you need assistance sitting upright? I have brought you a little breakfast. And it is very little, oatmeal and toast, as per Doctor Hornsby’s orders.”

“I can manage.” Claudia gingerly sat upright, her gaze never leaving the baroness, who quickly snatched the tray and placed it on Claudia’s lap.

“I suppose you are wondering why I am here,” Lady Corrine stated as she pulled a chair over to Claudia’s bedside and sat on it. “I was with Althea Galway yesterday when Detective Simpson arrived to give the news of finding you and the viscount.” Lady Corrine waved her hand. “It is not my business to know what occurred. But I offered my services. I am a trained nurse.”

A baroness, a trained nurse? 

“Please excuse what must be my shocked expression.”

Lady Corrine chuckled lightly. “I am a member of the Royal British Nurses’ Association. For nearly ten years, I nursed in a workhouse infirmary until I agreed to an arranged marriage to the new baron because my family needed the money. So, here I am. In a loveless marriage, I am trying to find a way to make myself useful again. Too much information?”

“No, not at all. I am impressed.” Claudia picked up the mug of tea and sipped it. “I am sorry to hear that your marriage is not, er—”

“Ideal? I had no illusions going in. After all, I am thirty years of age. Why he pursued me of all women, who knows? I never asked him.”

“Wait, aren’t you the daughter of Viscount Rothley? Perhaps that was the reason.”

The baroness pushed the plate with the toast closer to Claudia. “I managed to smuggle a bit of jam out of the kitchen for you.” Lady Corrine lifted the napkin to show a small ramekin dish. “Raspberry preserves.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Ravenous, Claudia dipped her spoon into the jam and slathered it on her toast. “I have to ask, why would a viscount’s daughter become a nurse?”

“Money. Pure and simple. Or at least it is one of the reasons. My family has no money at all. My younger brother—the heir to this underprivileged viscountcy—also works. He is a vice president at a bank. I saw a way to clean the debt slate and give my family a new start. The old baron had a lot of money tucked away in the bank. Scads of it. It worked out all around.”

Claudia frowned. Why is it always the women that had to make sacrifices? Why didn’t her brother marry money? Whatever the explanation, it was none of her business. “Except for you, my lady.”

“Well, it is what it is. Now, tell me about Detective Sergeant Simpson. What do you know about him?”

Claudia watched Lady Corrine closely. Asking about the detective? Why? “I only met him briefly yesterday. I know next to nothing about him. Oliver, I mean, the viscount, respects him. I have no idea if he is married. Is that what you wanted to know, my lady?”

A slow smile curved about the baroness’s lips. “Why, yes. I am merely curious.” She exhaled. “Oh, drat it all. He caught my attention. Hardly proper for a newly married woman, but I am not dead.”

Claudia laughed. “I liked you from the moment we met.”

“It is the same for me. Now, I am here to examine your wound, then you must sleep. Which I believe you will since you drank my tea concoction. Do not worry. There are no opiates in the tea; it is cat mint and chamomile. It will help you relax. I assumed you haven’t slept much.”

“No, I haven’t.” For many reasons, including the enticing viscount next door.

Lady Corrine stood and removed the tray, then lifted Claudia’s nightgown. Carefully pulling the plasters and gauze aside, she examined the wound. “What skilled stitching. You will hardly have a scar.” She lightly touched all around the injury. “No swelling and no seepage or signs of infection. You should be up on your feet in a matter of days.” The baroness placed the plaster back in place.

“And the viscount?”

“Doctor Hornsby says there is a slight, lingering infection, but the viscount is fighting it. He may be abed for a week or maybe less, for he seems fit enough. Sleep works wonders. And you should try to do that very thing. Doctor Hornsby will arrive later this afternoon, but his examinations must wait. I surmise the viscount will sleep for hours, and so will you.” Lady Corrine assisted Claudia in lying flat, brought the quilt under her chin, and removed the tray from Claudia’s lap.

“You are an excellent nurse, my lady,” Claudia smiled. “Thank you for the care.”

“You are entirely welcome. Try and sleep now.” Lady Corrine slipped out of the room, closing the door softly. Claudia’s eyes grew heavy, and at last, sleep overtook her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Oliver next awakened, he found Doctor Drew Hornsby examining his injury.

“I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” the young doctor said as he placed a fresh piece of gauze on the wound. He then sniffed the old gauze. “Good. No signs of putrid pus, blood, or infection.”

“There’s a mercy.”

“You have slept nearly around the clock, my lord. Another good sign. In fact, when I stopped by yesterday afternoon, you were still napping.”

“How long have I been sleeping? I recall awakening more than once. I couldn’t tell whether it was day or night. I have lost all track of time.”

“It is the morning of the next day, my lord. We thought it best to allow you to slumber when you could. Dalton was close by, I assume.”

“Yes. I remember my butler bringing me toast at one point. Drew, call me Oliver. You don’t have to slip in the occasional ‘my lord.’ We have known each other since we were boys.”

“That we have. When dealing with patients, automatically using the title is a habit.” The doctor placed his hand on Oliver’s forehead. “Barely even warm. You are making a remarkable recovery, Oliver. But you will still have to stay in bed for a few days. You are on the mend enough to have more than oatmeal and toast. I will inform the cook to make you eggs, ham, or bacon, whichever you prefer.”

“Can I have both?”

Drew chuckled. “Another good sign.”

“And Claudia—Miss Ellingford?”

“She is sleeping. Baroness Addington said Miss Ellingford did not get much sleep the first night. But she brought her breakfast early this morning, and Miss Ellingford is napping now after sleeping most of yesterday.”

“Baroness?”

Drew explained that the recently married baroness had close to ten years of nursing experience and the particulars of her offering to assist.

“I am surprised but also thankful for the aid.”

“I will come again tomorrow morning. Continued bed rest.”

“Whatever you say, Drew. I will follow your orders. I don’t believe I can do much except sit upright today, at any rate.”

Drew placed his stethoscope in his case and closed it. “And you should sit upright. It speeds up the recovery process. Now, your cousin awaits an audience along with your feline companion. It has been quite a chore keeping your cat out of your room. Rest and eat. And sleep when you can.”

The doctor no sooner opened the door to depart when Caramel tore into the room and jumped on Oliver’s bed. Purring loudly, she sought out Oliver’s hand, and he scratched under her chin. Turning twice counter-clockwise, the feline settled in beside him, then sighed contentedly.

Rett chuckled. “The cat spent hours outside your room as if holding a vigil. Believe it or not, I woke this morning to find her napping at the foot of my bed. Blasted cat hair everywhere.”

“She’s accepted you as a friend. Here, help me sit up. I am tired of lying flat like an invalid, although I still feel like one.”

Rett held out his arm, and Oliver gripped it tight as Rett pulled him forward in a sitting position. Then, his cousin fluffed up his pillows. “Comfortable?”

Oliver gritted his teeth. “Not really. But this will do.”

Rett sat on the chair by the bed. “Well. What happened?”

“If you don’t mind, can you wait until DS Simpson arrives? I don’t want to tell the tale more than once.”

“Fair enough. About Bryan.”

Oliver slapped his forehead. Good God, he hadn’t given his wayward brother a single thought these past days. Who knows what sort of chicanery Bryan has engaged in? “He completely slipped my mind. What day is it? I have lost all track.”

“Understandable. Today is Sunday, and it is half past ten. Bryan arrived Friday morning at the appointed time. I told him you were not feeling well even though I had no idea where you were. I also was a little more forward with him than you have been. I grabbed him by his collar and shook him a bit, maybe tossed him across the room—”

“Jesus, Rett!”

“He is a spoiled, miserable excuse of a man, and I told him so. I also said he was hurting this family with his reckless, selfish behavior. I reiterated that your father will be here in less than two weeks, and he had better clean up his act, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Well said. It is all true. I think there was a similar scene between our grandfathers back in the day. I take it Bryan did not take kindly to the roughhouse and the harsh words.”

Rett crossed his arms. “History doomed to repeat itself and all that? How ironic. And no, Bryan bloody well didn’t like the reprimand. I will not repeat what he said, but he angered me enough that I decided to follow him. He returned to his flat, so I took a page from The Galway Agency’s book and fashioned a disguise. I borrowed the gardener’s work clothes. Not that they fit all that well; the trouser legs only came to my shins, but it served the purpose. Early that evening, I returned to the flat to witness quite the scene.”

It was that moment Dalton, the butler, brought in a tray. “Your breakfast, my lord, and when I heard Mister Rett was in the room with you, I brought extra food and tea.”

Rett rubbed his hands together. “Well met, Dalton. I can take it from here.”

Once the butler placed the tray on Oliver’s lap, he bowed and quit the room, closing the door behind him. 

Rett poured them tea. “Do you wish me to cut your ham for you?” he teased.

“No, just get on with the story.”

Rett swiped a piece of crispy bacon from the plate, popped it in his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “A man showed up in a fancy carriage with two footmen. A tall, formidable man with gray at the temples. They basically kicked the door in. I moved as close to the place as I dared. There was a great deal of shouting, and from what I could tell, the Duke of Coldbridge arrived to extricate his son from the flat.”

After the afternoon tea at Watford’s, the Duchess of Coldbridge must have relayed the conversation about Shinwell and, knowing his son was staying with the viscount, took matters into his own hands. The duke was decent and would not want his son, Rome Linton, involved in multiple depraved acts with Viscount Shinwell and Bryan. Good for Coldbridge.

Oliver ate some of the ham and egg and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “And did he? Extricate him?”

Rett reached for more bacon, placing it and hunks of cheese on a plate. “Oh, yes. The duke literally dragged Linton out by the hair. I saw Bryan and that loudmouth miscreant, Shinwell. Shinwell staggered about, hurling insults at the duke, until one of the muscular footmen punched him in the midsection, bringing Shinwell to his knees.”

“Good. Shinwell is a lout and a despicable excuse for a human. Should we do the same? Kick the door in and drag Bryan out by the hair? Maybe we should have done that when I first learned of his debauched activities.”

Rett sipped his tea. “And then what? Keep him here, tied to a chair in the attic or cellar?”

Oliver took another forkful of scrambled eggs. “Perhaps we should. I will be recovering for a few days, as will Claudia. There is no one to watch him—unless you wish to continue.”

Rett scoffed. “I will not be his observer, though I enjoyed being in disguise. It is my opinion that Bryan should learn from his mistakes. On that, I agree with your father—to an extent. I have a better idea. We can enlist your friend, Detective Simpson, not in his official capacity as a detective but as an authoritative force. We gather together a few of the men from The Rakes, maybe muscular footmen of our own, and storm the place. Chellenham would assist, and Allenby. Watford and Wenlock, too, if needed.”

“I haven’t known Detective Simpson all that long. That is quite the favor I would be asking. The men in our group are one thing—”

“Then let’s make Simpson part of the club. He is Chellenham’s half-brother and, by all accounts, an honorable man. Having a member of the police within our membership is a prudent move.”

Rett smiled, satisfied with his suggestion, and bit into his toast with gusto.

Mitchell in their group? Why not, indeed?