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Phoebe replaced the cover and placed the basket beside the bed.
‘He’s sleeping now. It would be a shame to disturb him. Shall I let him sleep here? We must be very quiet, the kitten has had an exhausting day.’
‘I will try, truly I will try, miss, but it is hard. Sometimes …’ He closed his eyes and his face became stiff with concentration. Phoebe forgot to breathe. ‘Will the medicine help me to be quiet?’
‘It helped my brother. Truly it did.’
‘Then I will take it…for the kitten’s sake. He looks tired. And sweet. I have always wanted a kitten.’
‘Good boy.’ Phoebe glanced back over her shoulder at where Mr Clare stood. He lifted one eyebrow. With a trembling hand she poured the liquid on to a spoon and held it out to Robert. He made a face, but swallowed it with one gulp.
‘Is the kitten for me? As a gift?’ Robert asked, wiping his hand across his mouth. ‘I have never had a cat before. We used to have a dog, but…he went with my aunt.’
Phoebe gave a slight laugh. ‘Cats can never be given. They choose their owner.’
Robert pursed his lips and nodded. His brow knitted together, but he remained quiet. ‘That makes sense.’
‘He is a wee thing and his mother has just died. I wanted to protect him. He is quite a lively thing when he is awake.’ Phoebe kept her voice light as she knelt beside Robert. The storm appeared to have passed. Somewhere her prayers had been answered.
‘My mother died as well. We can be friends, the kitten and I.’ He paused and his bottom lip trembled. ‘Will you protect me? I am not ready to go to heaven or to the other place. Mrs Smith says that I will burn for ever in the torment.’
‘Who says that you will die?’ Phoebe looked at him, shocked. How much had he heard of her whispered conversation with Mr Clare? How much about his condition did he know? ‘Did your papa tell you that? Or the doctor?’
‘They thought I was asleep—Mrs Smith and Gladys, the maid. I will go to hell because I am wicked through and through.’
Phoebe heard a growl behind her, but she held up her hand, stopping Mr Clare from speaking. She had to do this.
‘Sometimes you only think you hear things and really you are dreaming. It is best not to think on such things.’ Phoebe grasped Robert’s hand and his fingers folded around hers. ‘Shall I look after you for a little while? Your aunt would like that.’
‘You do not smell of barley water or peppermints.’ Robert’s lips turned up and he gave a tiny laugh. ‘And you have a kitten. I have often longed for a kitten. Do you think it might choose me?’
‘There is no accounting for kittens, but when you are stronger, I will introduce you.’ Phoebe did not dare to glance at Mr Clare. She could feel the heat of his gaze from where she knelt. Maybe he had learnt his lesson. He wouldn’t dismiss her as some silly woman who did not know how to run a sick room. ‘And you will only get stronger if you keep taking your medicine.’
‘Did…did my uncle say anything before you left? Did he send any message?’ His shoulders tensed. ‘He is not disappointed that I have had to come home from school, is he? I had promised him that I would stay at school, but they sent me home.’
‘Your uncle did indeed give me a message.’ Phoebe strove to keep her voice light. ‘He said that if you were to get well and strong, then he’d see about teaching you to drive a carriage, regardless of what your dear papa says.’
She ignored the outraged growl behind her.
Robert collapsed back against his pillows and all the tension eased out of him. ‘I want to get strong again. All my puff seems to have gone. The littlest thing appears to bother me.’
‘My cousin strikes me as a man who keeps his word.’
‘Uncle Brett does.’
‘And I will work with you to get you strong again.’ Phoebe gritted her teeth. Mr Clare would have to eat his words. She believed that she had proved him wrong. She would do all in her power to get Robert strong enough to drive carriages, with or without Mr Clare’s consent.
‘I will.’ Robert’s lashes fluttered closed. ‘I like you, Miss Benedict, you and your kitten.’
She watched him for another moment as his lips turned up into the sweetest smile and sleep claimed him. She pulled the blanket up to his chin and tiptoed out. A small glow of triumph filled her. She had succeeded. She could do this. This really would be a new beginning. All her debts would be paid and her stepbrothers would get the start in life that her father would have wanted them to have.
‘Very neatly done,’ Mr Clare said softly from where he stood watching her. ‘You seem to have a knack, Miss Benedict. It took Gladys and two strong footmen three hours to calm him last night. And the maid before her only lasted until Robert tossed a bowl of porridge at her. My words to you were hasty and ill thought out.’
Phoebe tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She longed to say that she had told him so, but she would be magnanimous in her victory. He would never know how deeply his remarks had wounded her. ‘One learns a lot about boys and their ways when one has three stepbrothers. The so-called nurse did far more harm than good.’
‘She will be gone by morning light. I shudder to think what she nearly did…what she nearly had me believe. Her references were excellent.’
‘No doubt sent by people who were pleased to be rid of her!’ Phoebe wiped her hands on her gown. ‘I will need to freshen up and then there is the question of the boy’s care. We should discuss this downstairs, away from Robert.’
Mr Clare caught her elbow, stopping her progress. ‘It would appear my sister was correct to send you. You will work admirably if you wish to stay.’
‘There is no need to apologise.’ Phoebe attempted to ignore the sudden flood of warmth on her cheeks. ‘It must have come as a huge shock.’
‘I never apologise, Miss Benedict, for stating the truth. In this instance I was mistaken. I judged you too harshly.’
‘The important thing is that Robert is now sleeping.’ Phoebe clung on to the remnants of her temper.
‘Shall we quarrel about that as well?’ A smile touched Mr Clare’s face, transforming it. ‘I fear my sister will have misled you. My temper has become far shorter since the accident. I do assure you, Miss Benedict, that my bark is worse than my bite. Above all else, I want Robert to get well.’
‘Hopefully, there is a room near Robert’s where I can store my things.’ All the exhaustion from her long journey returned, crashing over her in one great wave. All she wanted was a warm bath and the welcoming embrace of clean sheets, but these would have to wait until Robert was better. She knew her duty. Phoebe stifled a yawn. Even the armchair in Robert’s room would be welcome after the hard springs of the coach.
‘I refuse to allow you to start tonight. You have just arrived. Someone will watch over him.’
Someone? Gladys, the upstairs maid? Did she dare risk another confrontation? Phoebe forced her body to relax. She had to be content with her small victory. He might decry arrogant aristocrats, but Mr Clare was without a doubt one of the most pigheaded people that she had ever met.
She willed a smile to cross her lips. Her time in the ton had taught her how to be polite to the rudest people. ‘Robert’s health is more important, Mr Clare. I want to hear if he cries out in his sleep.’
‘Very well, if you wish.’ He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Jenkins, put Miss Benedict’s things into the little room next to Robert’s rather than in Miss Diana’s old room. She appears determined to look after him. You will be able to hear Robert if he cries out.’
‘Your sister entrusted me with his care. I gave her my promise.’
‘How much did my sister tell you about this house?’
‘Very little. There was not time. Speed was of the essence according your letter.’ Phoebe kept her voice steady. ‘I expect I will learn the house rules as I go on.’
‘There is one request I must make of you, Miss Benedict.’ His face became stern. ‘Onnoaccountspeak to Robert about his mother.’
‘Why ever not?’ Phoebe’s eyes widened and she wished that she had questioned Lady Coltonby more closely about the precise nature of the situation. What had this boy’s mother done before she died?
‘I have no wish to encourage morbid fantasies. His mother is dead and that is the end of the matter.’
‘But—’ Phoebe stared at the man. Surely he had seen the hunger in Robert’s eyes when he mentioned that his mother had died. She knew what it was like to be alone and motherless. She knew what it was like to be without a family. Did Mr Clare?
‘That is the one charge I make on you.’ Mr Clare inclined his head. ‘I have agreed reluctantly to my sister’s scheme, but I will have the rules obeyed in my house.’
‘I will take it under advisement.’
‘You will obey my orders.’
‘If I had obeyed your orders, Robert would now be tied to his bed. Or, worse, in a madhouse. Robert is seriously ill and has been treated badly.’
Mr Clare opened and closed his mouth and his scar became a livid red. A small thrill of satisfaction ran through Phoebe. She enjoyed seeing the barb hit home. It might make her wicked, but she felt Mr Clare deserved it.
‘You speak very boldly.’
‘I fight for those who need it. And I will fight for Robert.’
‘Then I must be grateful that you intend to do that.’ Mr Clare gave an imperious nod and turned away down the hall.
A soft noise woke Phoebe from where she slumbered on a narrow cot. It took a few moments to work out where she was. She forced her muscles to relax as she realised that it was not Atherstone Court and she would not have to see her sister-in-law today.
She listened again, hoping against hope that Robert was not about to experience another fit. The noise appeared to have stopped. She nodded and forced her breathing to come easy.
She was safe here. No men would come knocking at the door, demanding money for unpaid bills, no stepmother would look at her with injured eyes when she suggested economies. No sister-in-law to roll her eyes when Phoebe suggested starting a dressmaking or millinery shop, rather than sinking slowly into the mire of impoverished gentry.
Here, she was giving James a chance. He had not asked for Father to go walking on the frozen Thames. He had not been the one to refuse to join him on that stroll, preferring to stay at home and trim a bonnet. She knew who bore that guilt. And he had not caused Charles to take the corner too fast, overturning his carriage on his way to mediate a dispute between her and Alice. She trusted that Lord Coltonby would do as he had promised. Then there would only be Edmund to worry about. She hoped all of them understood the sacrifices she was making and why. Far too often they seemed to take her feelings for granted. Phoebe pushed away the thought. They were the only family she had and belonging to a family was important. She would keep her mind only on the good things, the way forward.
She’d concentrate on the little boy and his heartless parent. Imagine having your only child looked after by a creature like that and in such conditions. It was not as if they lacked money. The whole house screamed money, but it lacked love and tenderness. It lacked a heart.
The noise sounded again. It appeared to be halfway between a sob and a wail. Phoebe’s heart sank. She did not want to think about confronting Mr Clare at this hour.
She wondered if Mr Clare had been true to his word. Robert could be alone in there or with someone as unfeeling as that miserable maid. She refused to let that happen. The boy needed help.
In the moonlight, Phoebe fumbled for her shawl and wrapped it around her body. She lit a candle and held it aloft as she tiptoed over to the door that separated her from Robert. She opened the door slightly, but kept to the shadows.
Robert appeared to be asleep, but a figure knelt at the side of the bed, head bowed, one arm stretched out on the coverlet.
She raised the candle higher, trying to discern who was there. The too-long hair and finely moulded shoulders could only belong to one man. Simon Clare. For confirmation, she spied the cane lying by the side of the bed. She started to tiptoe out when she heard a hoarse whisper.
‘Let me take his place. Please…I will do anything. Punish me, not him.’
Phoebe put her hand to her mouth. She had inadvertently intruded on this man’s grief. How she could have thought him heartless? A sudden fear gripped her. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Clare? Is Robert…?’
At the sound of her voice, the quiet groans ceased. He lifted his head. His white shirt was open at the throat, revealing his golden skin. In the darkness, his face had become all shadows and planes, but she could clearly see how handsome he was. He was no monster, but the personification of masculinity.
‘Robert is asleep. All is well, Miss Benedict.’ His voice held a singular raw note.
‘That is good to hear. I…I heard a noise.’
‘I regret having disturbed you.’
‘You…that is…Iamalightsleeper. Years of practice with my stepbrothers, I am afraid.’ She gave a small shrug and felt the shawl starting to slip off her shoulder. Her hand clutched it tighter about her.
‘You looked after them.’
Phoebe wet her lips. ‘Someone had to. My stepmother was not maternal and the maids were unreliable, even before my father died.’
‘How good it is that someone cared.’
He stood up, seeming to fill the room. His gaze slowly travelled down her body, then back up to her face. She clung on to the thin shawl, aware suddenly that she was dressed only in her nightgown; her hair flowed over her shoulders and her bare toes peeped out. Hurriedly she smoothed her gown, and covered her feet. She wished that she had thought to wear a cap. Her hand shook slightly, causing the wax to drip on her wrist. She stifled a cry.
‘You should be more careful, Miss Benedict. Wax burns.’
‘I will be fine.’ Phoebe attempted to ignore the searing pain.
He took a step towards her. ‘Let me inspect it. There is little that I do not know about candles and burns. My father was a tallow merchant to begin with.’
She stayed still.
‘Surely you are not afraid? Not the brave Miss Benedict.’ His voice mocked her.
Phoebe held out her arm. ‘It is but a small burn.’
‘Let me be the judge.’ His fingers encircled her wrist, lightly touching the spot. They were cool against her skin, but sent a strange trembling ache through her. Then abruptly he let go. ‘You will live.’
‘Hardly anything in the grand scheme of things, you see.’ Phoebe tried to keep her gaze away from his face and the way the candlelight turned his skin golden.
‘I know you think me unfeeling, Miss Benedict, but I do want what is best for the boy. I want him to get well.’ His voice rippled over her like smooth thick velvet.
‘There are other ways.’ She breathed and took a step backwards. ‘Ways that are kinder. Ways that treat the patient like a human and not an animal.’
‘I realise that now. I wanted my boy back. I want him well and whole again. You do not know how much it pains me, Miss Benedict, to see him like that.’
‘He will get better, but you need to look after yourself as well.’ Phoebe made a small gesture. She hated to think about how he had sacrificed his own bed to sit there. And how she had condemned him before without understanding. ‘Your injuries must pain you. Night air will not be good for them. I will sit here if you like. I have had my sleep and feel refreshed.’
‘Goodnight, Miss Benedict,’ Mr Clare said, turning back to the bed, settling down once again. ‘Your watch will begin in the morning.’
She had been wrong. Wrong about so many things. Mr Clare was complicated. He did care about his son, but why did he wish to pretend otherwise?
Phoebe lowered the candle and closed the door, trembling. The bed creaked slightly as she pulled the covers up to her chin. She willed her body to relax, but thoughts kept racing through her brain. The image of him standing there holding her wrist, shirt open at the neck, appeared to be scorched on her eyelids. She screwed up her eyes tight and bid the vision to be banished but her wrist continued to tingle from his touch for a long time.
Chapter Four
‘Can I name the kitten now?’ Robert asked before Phoebe had even fully entered the room the next morning.
‘The kitten belongs to me…for the moment,’ Phoebe replied carefully, easing her way around the piles of discarded clothing. The sick room in bright sunshine was even more dismal than the night before. It was a wonder that Robert had survived at all amidst this squalor. It was a crime that the nurse had been allowed to behave in this fashion.
‘He likes it here.’ The kitten chased a dust ball across the room.
‘Yes, but he will like it better once the room is tidied up. And it is for your father to decide if the kitten stays.’
‘Papa doesn’t care.’ Robert’s lip trembled. ‘He told Mrs Smith that if I couldn’t be kept quiet, I was better off dead.’
‘Mrs Smith had a singularly overactive imagination.’ Phoebe disentangled the kitten from the curtain. ‘I would hardly be here if your father wanted you to die.’
Robert pursed his lips, thinking. ‘He never notices anything that I do right. He only notices when I am naughty.’
‘And you want him to notice you.’
