скачать книгу бесплатно
Before Pippa could speak, the door opened again. ‘Excuse me, your Grace,’ the butler intoned, ‘but I thought you and your guest might like refreshment.’
‘Goodness, yes, Michaels.’ The Duchess gave Pippa a rueful smile. ‘My staff endeavour to keep me from making too many faux pas.’
Pippa grinned. Yes, she could like this woman whose concern for her child superseded all else. In as few words as possible, Pippa brought the Duchess up to date. The last word was barely out of her mouth when the Duchess jumped up and rang the bell.
When the butler once more entered the room, Alicia, Duchess of Rundell, said, ‘Have the carriage brought round immediately, Michaels, and prepare two rooms. I am bringing Lord Deverell back, and his young friend here—’ she waved a graceful, manicured hand at Pippa ‘—will be staying with us indefinitely.’
Pippa nearly choked on the tea the Duchess had poured and liberally laced with cream and sugar. ‘Your Grace, I cannot impose on you. I have my own room and am quite happy.’
‘Stuff! I dare say you will be much more comfortable with us, child. Brussels is a wonderful city, but after the battle and with all the riff-raff, you will be safer here.’ She turned a stern look on Pippa’s rebellious face. ‘Don’t argue with me, young man. You did not say so, but I believe you are responsible for Deverell being alive today. You will come to us.’
Pippa carefully set her cup down. ‘Your Grace, I am perfectly happy and safe where I am.’
‘Not another word.’ The Duchess stamped her foot. ‘I swear, you are as difficult as my own boys. Now, come along.’
Without a backward glance, the Duchess exited the room. Her muslin skirts swirled around her fashionably clad feet, and the perfectly coiffed back of her head led the way. Pippa followed.
She would go with Deverell’s mother to fetch him, but she would not move here. ‘Twould be too easy for her deception to be discovered in a household like this. Servants were everywhere and they saw everything. No, she would not be coming to stay with Deverell and his mother.
Several hours later, chagrin filled Pippa as she explored her new room in the Duchess of Rundell’s town house. How Deverell’s mother had got her here she still did not know. It must be from raising three boys that, if the Duchess were correct, had been hellions before growing into wonderful adults and husbands and fathers. According to their mother, they were everything that was admirable, with a few perfectly understandable flaws.
Pippa shook her head.
A discreet knock on the door caught Pippa’s attention. She opened it to find a footman. He bowed and said, ‘Pardon me, Master Pippen, but Lord Deverell requests your presence.’
Instant fear that the move had been too much for her patient sent Pippa flying to her bag of herbs. She should have never left him. She should have made him wait another day before relocating. She should have stayed by his side instead of coming to see her room. The admonishments twirled in her brain as she hurried after the servant.
Deverell’s room was down the hall and to the left. In all, it was not very far. Pippa was winded by anxiety when she entered the chamber and came to a standstill.
Dev lay propped up on copious pillows, laughing at something his mother was saying. There was no sign of pain or discomfort that she could discern from this distance.
‘Ah, Pippen,’ he said, waving her forward. ‘My mother thinks I am suffering, and I am trying to convince her it isn’t so. You tell her.’
Pippa moved to the bed and looked from the Duchess’s worried countenance to Dev. On closer examination, he had the tiny line between his brows that always intensified when he was hurting. And his eyes looked strained around the corners. But he wanted her to assure his mother that he was fine. She looked back at the Duchess.
Many aristocratic parents left the care and raising of their children to servants. Often that meant the ties between them and their children were not great. She had been lucky in having her grandfather. He had taken care of her and her twin after her father’s death in a coaching accident. Grandfather had given them over to nannies and tutors, but he had also spent time teaching them about the estate and their place in the world. He had played children’s games with them, and he had read to them. Church on Sunday had been a weekly activity he had insisted they share as a family. It seemed that Dev had had similar care from his mother.
Consequently, Pippa knew she could not lie to his mother. Not even for him.
Pippa chose her words carefully. ‘Your Grace, Deverell has been grievously wounded. He’s mending now, but ‘twas nip and tuck about his leg.’ She glanced at her patient to see him frowning fiercely at her. She decided to ignore him. ‘We were able to save it, mainly because Deverell is strong and stubborn. He didn’t want to lose the limb. That can be a powerful motivator for recovery. He weathered the infection that set in and the leg will heal. Still, he is not fully recovered. Even now he is in pain.’
‘Blast you, Pippen. See if I ever cover for you.’
‘Deverell St Simon,’ the Duchess interposed, ‘how dare you talk so to the young man who saved your life? Now be quiet while Pippen tells me the truth about your injury.’
Pippa took another deep breath and looked from her patient to his parent. ‘He will always be plagued by the leg and may not regain complete movement in it. He would help himself…’ she slanted him a reproving glance before turning her attention back on the Duchess ‘…by taking the draughts I prepare for him instead of leaving them untasted on the nearest table. They would ease the discomfort and promote restful sleep.’
‘Do you have one prepared now?’ the Duchess asked.
Pippa hid her smile behind a cough. She had hoped Dev’s mother would ask that question. ‘I can prepare one quickly, your Grace. A bit of laudanum will help him sleep tonight. He needs rest after being moved.’
Dev glared at her as she prepared the mixture, his pointed regard making her hands shake just a bit.
“Tis for your own good,’ she told him firmly when the preparation was done. She handed him the glass.
‘I know that well enough,’ he growled. ‘But I don’t like the feeling of helplessness the drugs give me. Even though they dull the pain, they remind me that I have a deformity.’
Pippa stared at him. She had known he was headstrong, but until this instant she hadn’t realized why he disliked the medications. He was going to find it hard going when he was healed enough to move around, but not well enough to do as he saw fit.
‘I am sorry for that,’ she murmured, wishing she could do something for him besides give him the painkillers. Noticing that the Duchess had moved away from them, she added, ‘I am sorry that I had to spoil your plan to shield your mother. Your sentiments toward her are very admirable, but she deserves to know. This way, when you don’t bounce out of bed in the next couple days, she won’t be surprised and worried.’
Dev grunted. ‘You’re right, Pippen, but all of us have got in the habit of protecting her from the harsh things of life—if we can.’
His words brought a rush of warmth to Pippa’s heart. Would she have been so protective of her mother, had her mother not died birthing her? The question brought back all the old guilt over being the death of her mother and the determination to atone for that deed. Even though no one had ever blamed her for her mother’s death, Pippa had occasionally blamed herself. She knew death in childbed was common and that her mother’s demise was not her fault, but still her mother’s death was the reason Pippa had first wanted to learn midwifery and later medicine. She wanted to help others and hopefully prevent parents from dying and leaving behind their children.
She shook her head to clear it of the old memory. A long time had passed since she had last had these thoughts. They were probably brought on by watching Dev with his mother. That the two loved each other was obvious. That she was getting maudlin was even more obvious. She needed to go to her own room and do exactly what she was telling Dev to do—rest.
Resisting the urge to smooth the hair back from his forehead, Pippa stepped away from the bed and packed her herbal bag. ‘He should be fine now.’
‘Thank you, Pippen,’ the Duchess of Rundell said, coming over and taking Pippa’s hands. ‘I will never be able to thank you enough.’
Pippa felt awkward and embarrassed. She didn’t want anyone’s gratitude. She just wanted…She glanced at Dev and saw his roguish grin. She just wanted things she had never wanted before, things she couldn’t have. Not now.
‘You don’t need to thank me.’ Pippa gently pulled her fingers from the Duchess’s grasp. ‘I am glad I could help Dev.’ She stepped back. ‘If you will excuse me, I am very tired.’
‘Of course, child,’ the Duchess said. ‘Sleep as late as you need.’
‘Sweet dreams,’ Dev added, his hazel eyes twinkling with devilry.
And what type of dreams did he expect her to have? Pippa thought sourly as she made her way back to her room. As far as Dev was concerned, she was a young man who couldn’t even grow a beard. She knew from living with her twin that not being able to grow facial hair was tantamount to being a baby.
Pippa closed her door behind herself and looked around the room she had been given. It was masculine in its simplicity. A large oak four-poster bed took up the centre while a matching armoire hogged one entire wall. A Turkey rug covered most of the wood floor, and blue drapes that echoed one of the rug’s colours hung from the high ceiling to puddle fashionably.
What would Dev do if he knew she was a girl, and her room at home was done in peaches and soft greens? He would be scandalized. If she was unmasked, she would be beyond redemption. Dev’s liking would turn into loathing. It was a thought she could not bear to contemplate for long.
Deverell St Simon’s admiration and friendship meant too much. To lose them would be unbearable.
Chapter Four
Pippa shifted the very fashionable hat she had just bought to cover her too short hair. Then, with a determined tread, she pushed open the bank’s door and entered the cool interior. The sprig muslin morning gown that would have been better for a good ironing left her arms and much of her neck bare to gooseflesh.
She had packed the gown, reticule and kid slippers in her portmanteau for just this occasion, and had had a devilish time of it keeping the women’s clothes hidden. The Duchess of Rundell had assigned a maid to put her clothes up, and Pippa had had to shoo the girl out any number of times, telling her she had already unpacked.
Her letter of introduction that would allow her to draw funds on her father’s account was in her reticule. Nearly all the money she had brought with her from England was spent and tomorrow Dev was taking her to meet Wellington. From there she would continue her search for her brother, and that would require more blunt.
The use of blunt, a cant word Philip had taught her, brought a smile to her lips. She would find her brother. She would.
‘Pardon—’ a French-accented woman’s voice intruded on Pippa’s vow ‘—but have we met before?’
Wariness tightened the muscles between Pippa’s shoulders as she turned to face the speaker. The Marchioness of Witherspoon stood not less than two feet away, studying Pippa like a naturalist studies a bug pinned to a specimen tray. The Frenchwoman must have noticed the similarity between Pippa and Pippen from the hospital.
A shiver skated down Pippa’s spine as she forced a smile. ‘I don’t believe so. I would have surely remembered if we had.’ She made a slight curtsy and tried to edge around the woman. The sooner she was away, the sooner the Marchioness would forget the memory.
‘Non, non,’ the Marchioness said, her small white hand shooting out and coming to rest on Pippa’s arm. ‘Do not run, chérie. I mean you no harm, only…’ Her head cocked to one side and her blue eyes studied Pippa. ‘I could swear I have seen you before. In Brussels, perhaps?’
Pippa shook her head. ‘No, milady. We have never met.’ She moved her arm so that the woman’s hand fell away. It was like having a chain opened. ‘Excuse me, but I have an appointment.’ That was not the truth, but she hoped to soon have an appointment.
Before the Marchioness could detain her further, Pippa spurted forward. The last thing she needed was for someone to penetrate her disguise.
Even as her palms turned clammy at the possible ruin, an image of Dev as she had left him formed in her mind. Her step slowed and her gaze saw nothing in the bank. For the first time since she’d met him, Dev had been dressed to go out, his tall, lean form shown to advantage by buff-coloured buckskins that fit his legs to perfection and a bottle-green coat of superfine that showed his broad shoulders to advantage. Smudge-free Hessians had hidden the scars on his right leg—not that they mattered to her. She sighed.
Would he find her attractive dressed as a woman? She berated herself immediately.
Whether Dev would be interested in her was not an issue. Deverell St Simon was not her reason for being here. Nor would he want to be, considering how she was flaunting the conventions of their society. Best to put all thought of him from her mind.
Suiting action to thought, Pippa presented her letter of introduction to a clerk. While she waited, she watched the people around her. To her surprise, the Marchioness was still on the premises. She seemed to be depositing a large sum of money which was causing a stir with the young man taking it.
Briefly, Pippa wondered why the woman would be depositing money when the normal course of action for an Englishman or woman while in a foreign country was to draw on their British bank. Before she could dwell long on the problem, she was approached by another clerk and escorted to a large desk where the bank manager smiled benignly at her.
The Marchioness’s actions quickly slipped her mind as she concentrated on her transaction.
Her task done, Pippa retraced her footsteps to the small closet in the hospital where she had stashed her boy’s clothing. It was a matter of minutes before Pippen emerged, carrying a wicker basket, the letter of introduction safe in the breast pocket of the jacket. Her first instinct was to dump the basket and revealing clothes in the nearest heap of trash.
It had been safe to bring the dress with her and keep it in her portmanteau until she had moved into the Duchess of Rundell’s town house, where servants were constantly cleaning and straightening her belongings. The dress would have to go. The letter of introduction was much easier to hide and irreplaceable. She could always buy another dress.
On her way out of the hospital, she saw a woman kneeling by one of the patients. From the threadbare look of the woman’s dress it was obvious she didn’t have much money. Yet love shone from her eyes as she gazed at the man whose head lay in the pillow of her lap. Tears tracked down the woman’s cheeks even as happiness made her face glow.
‘Hush, darling,’ she said. ‘All that matters is that you are alive. I love you no matter what.’
Using the only hand he had left, the soldier gathered his love’s fingers to his lips. Moisture blurred Pippa’s vision. Another couple weathering the horror of war.
Without another thought, Pippa crammed a pound note into the basket and edged toward them. Unobtrusively, she set the wicker container beside the woman and slipped away.
Outside, the August heat quickly evaporated the moisture from Pippa’s eyes. The sunshine was golden and warm on her skin, easing the tightness in her chest. The brisk walk to the town house lifted her spirits.
‘Master Pippen,’ the butler said, bowing her into the house. ‘Her Grace wishes your presence in the morning room.’
Pippa grinned at Michaels. Since moving here, she and the old retainer had become fast friends. Michaels had taken her under his wing and endeavoured to remind her of the proper behavior for a young man of Quality, as he did the Duchess when she failed to do the proper thing. Pippa would be sorry to leave him.
She gave the butler her hat. ‘Thank you. I suppose that means I must go there immediately.’
‘It is customary.’
Pippa’s too large Hessians, which she padded with socks in the toes, clumped on the polished black marble floor as she made her way. A footman opened the door and announced, ‘Master Pippen, your Grace.’
‘Fustian, Jones,’ Her Grace said. ‘There is no need to introduce Pippen.’ The footman nearly smiled before catching himself and closing the door. ‘Come here, child.’
Pippa nearly shook her head. The staff was completely devoted to their mistress, but her lack of formality was often a burden they did their best to correct.
‘Good afternoon, your Grace,’ Pippa said, making a leg before taking the outstretched hand the Duchess held to her.
‘Call me Alicia. How many times must I tell you that? You saved my son’s life, we won’t stand on formality.’
‘Yes, your Grace.’ Alicia was too familiar. When Dev’s mother frowned, Pippa said, ‘I am sorry, milady, but as much as I know you would like it, I cannot bring myself to be so familiar with you as to call you by your Christian name.’
Michaels might often think Pippa lacked correct manners, but ‘twas not so. Her grandfather had drilled her and Philip in the behavior required by their stations. They did not call duchesses by their first names. Not unless they had run tame all their lives in the lady’s household, which was not the case here.
‘Child, I shall surely lose my temper with you if you persist in this stubborn adherence to polite manners that is not necessary between us.’ She pulled Pippa down to sit beside her on the pale blue silk-covered settee. ‘Why, I begin to feel like a mother to you. And the first thing we need to do is get you some evening clothes. I am having a small dinner party tomorrow to let our close friends know that Dev is fine.’
Pippa’s face blanched. The very last thing she needed was a male tailor taking her measurements.
‘Thank you, your Gr—Alicia.’ Using the Duchess’s given name was a desperate attempt to make Dev’s mother more accepting of the following refusal. ‘But I cannot put you to the trouble. Besides—’ she brightened ‘—I won’t be here much longer. Right this moment, Dev is making arrangements for me to meet Wellington. When I find out where my brother was last seen, I will head there.’
‘Nonsense. No matter what you learn from the Duke, you won’t be leaving here in the next couple of days.’
The door slammed open before Pippa could remonstrate. Dev strode into the room, his brown hair awry and his hazel eyes wild.
‘Bloody swine!’
‘Dev!’ Pippa jumped up without thought and ran to him. ‘What is wrong? Are you hurt? Sit down and let me see.’
She wrapped one arm around his waist and urged him to the nearest chair. As soon as he sat, she fell to her knees in front of him.
‘Is it your leg? Help me get this boot off so I can examine it.’
‘Leave me alone,’ Dev snarled. ‘I deserve to feel this pain.’
Pippa rocked back on her heels and stared up at him. The wild look was still in his eyes, but the skin around them was dark and bruised looking. His full lips were thin. He looked in pain.
‘What is this all about?’ the Duchess demanded, coming over and taking her son’s hand. ‘There is no excuse for your rudeness to Pippen.’
Pippa watched the emotions battle across Dev’s face: anger, hurt, contrition and back to anger. Something was terribly wrong.
‘That damned Napoleon. May he rot in hell. May the ship taking him to St Helena sink and take his carcass to the bottom of the sea for fish bait.’
Pippa reached up and smoothed the tumbled lock of hair from his brow before she realized what she was doing. The motion was so revealing, she dropped her hand, stood and paced away. The more distance between them, the harder it would be for her to do another action so unlike what one man would do to another.
The Duchess cast her a quick, appraising glance before turning her attention back to her son. ‘Calm down, Dev, and tell us what has happened.’
“Tis Patrick.’ The words were torn from his throat and sounded like a raw wound. ‘He’s…damn it. He’s dead.’
Patrick was the friend whose whereabouts had been the first thing Dev wanted to know when he regained consciousness. All Pippa’s resolutions fled. She rushed to him and gathered him close. His head fell to her shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry. So sorry,’ she crooned.
For long minutes she rocked him, trying to absorb his anguish. She could give him a sleeping draught, but that would do nothing for the grief. She knew. This was the ripped-apart feeling she’d first had when the letter had arrived saying Philip was dead. Nothing but time would ease what Dev was going through now.
Finally, Dev pushed away. ‘I’m all right. You can stop coddling me.’
