Page 15 of Weave me a Rope
The physicking was also a torture, but one to his benefit, and if the housekeeper was not sympathetic, she was at least as gentle as she could be. Spen ignored the pain as best he could, wracking his brain to figure out a way to ask his questions without the guard overhearing.
The man solved his problem for him, by hovering so close to the housekeeper’s elbow that she turned on him. “Get out, William Fielder. You are in my way. Go and guard the door if you’re afraid you haven’t beaten his lordship enough to prevent him from trying to run away, or whatever it is you think you are doing.”
“The marquess said I wasn’t to let him out of my sight until the door is locked,” the bully grumbled.
“Then stand in the doorway,” she retorted. “Just don’t stand so close you jog my elbow.”
Fielder hesitated.
“What?” the housekeeper scoffed. “Do you think he is going to fly out the window? It is barred, you fool, and besides, we are on the sixth floor. Even if Lord Spenhurst was capable of moving, he is not leaving this room. Now move!”
Fielder did as he was told, but stopped short of the door, where he could still see Spen’s face. Not the housekeeper’s though. She whispered, “Your lady is safe, my lord. He didn’t hurt her or her aunt. They and her servants are gone.”
Spen managed to freeze his face so Fielder couldn’t see his reaction. Inside, he was grieving his beloved already, even as he rejoiced she was not hurt. His hands were masked from Fielder by the housekeeper’s body. He shifted one to touch her hand in thanks. She spared him a smile.
“Now lie you still, my lord. You’ll do well enough but give my salve time to do its work. I’ll come up tomorrow morning to check on you.”
“Don’t go pampering the little snot,” Fielder said. “The marquess…”
“You’re a fool, William Fielder,” said the housekeeper. “Who do you think is going to be marquess when Lord Deerhaven is gone?” She looked back over her shoulder at Spen. “I trust you will remember my service, my lord, in years to come.”
Spen accepted the opportunity she offered. “I will remember everything that has happened this day, and the roles played by all of those in service to my family,” he promised, catching Fielder’s eye and hoping the man could see his determination in his eyes.
Fielder had clearly been employed for his bulk and his strength, not for his brains. Spen was able to count to twenty as the man puzzled out the implications for him if he was still in service here when Deerhaven died.
It could not be much more than a decade away—probably less. His father was nearer to seventy than to sixty. He had not married until he was in his forties, and Spen’s mother had lost several children before Spen was born, and more in between Spen and John. While the marquess had had two wives since, he had not fathered another live legitimate child. Furthermore, he had spent a lifetime indulging himself in the richest of food, alcohol, women, and other appurtenances of riotous living.
Fielder eventually reached the conclusion Spen might be able to take his revenge sooner rather than later. “I followed orders,” he offered, hesitantly.
Spen lowered his voice. “It is your enthusiasm I will remember, William Fielder,” he said.
Fielder backed away out the door, and the housekeeper gave Spen a broad smile. “You’ll do, my lord,” she said.
“Thank you,” Spen told her. It raised his spirits to know he had at least some support in the house. Well, of course, he did. He glanced at the door to check Fielder was out of earshot, and whispered, “My brother?”
She did her own check on the doorway, and her voice was a mere thread as she told him, “No problem there, my lord. I think the marquess has forgotten he is at home, and we’ll not remind him. Lady Deerhaven is having a tray in her room.”
That sounded ominous. Spenhurst’s mother used to eat in her room whenever she had bruises she did not want to display to the household, and so did the marquess’s second wife. Spenhurst had felt guilty enough that the failure of his scheme had brought Cordelia such insult. But he’d never imagined the marquess would hurt his third wife, since she was with child. Indeed, the old man had been relatively doting, at least by comparison to his usual behavior.
“I am sorry,” he murmured.
Sorry about it all, he reflected, as the housekeeper dipped a curtsey and left the room. Sorry he’d not thought to actually name Cordelia to his father. They could have fought it out there and then, where Spen had more allies and Cordelia would not have been involved. Sorry she had had to see his father in a rage. Sorry he had put his brother and his stepmother in danger. Sorry, above all, that he had been separated from his beloved.
The door shut, and he heard the key turning in the lock. From what the housekeeper said, he was in the top room of the oldest tower. And here, the marquess had told him, he would stay until he agreed to marry at his father’s command. Not just until he was twenty-one, either. He would take the bride his father had chosen for him, or he would not leave this room until he agreed to the marriage.Or, Spen thought defiantly,Until I am Deerhaven myself.
Spen shuddered at the thought of how long that might be, setting off waves of pain in his wounds and bruises. Lying still was a good idea. He could use the time to plan an escape. But how?
Idly, he wondered what would happen with the other guests Lady Deerhaven had invited to the house party the marquess had ordered. The marquess would send them home, Spenhurst supposed.
Where was Cordelia now? Would she have ordered the carriage back to London? At least she had her aunt and her maid with her, and her outriders. She was not unprotected. Now that she was safely off Deerhaven land, her people would protect her. Spen hoped she knew he had not given up. That hewouldnot give up.
If I have to, I will wait my father out.
*
Aunt Eliza neededto be nearly carried to the carriage after the Marquess of Deerhaven appeared in a gallery above the massive entry hall as they crossed it on their way out. He stood far above them, staring down at them and thundering for them to be off. Cordelia took rooms in the nearest village off Deerhaven’s lands, and Aunt Eliza went gladly to bed. The stress had brought one of her migraines, and a carriage journey would be impossible until she recovered.
Just to be safe, Cordelia gave her name and Aunt Eliza’s as Cruikshank, which had been the name of one of her governesses. She swore her servants to secrecy, and they agreed it was best not to draw the attention of Deerhaven.
