Page 37 of Earl of Excess
“I should also talk to Matthew. He may be furious with me. I believe the British have departed the area, and with them his chances to leave with his people,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Pish! If this man is looking for Matthew, we shall endeavor to help him get Matthew home. However, I have a feeling he will know what to do on his own. Did you not say he was an... investigator?” Grandmère’s voice was soothing.
“Bethany, you followed your instincts. You must always trust them. If it is meant for Matthew to leave with this man, I believe he will show himself again. However, we should like to know more about him. Did he give a name?”
“His name was Mr. Sinclair. I told Matthew about him, giving him the man’s name, and he had no recognition of it.” Bethany felt a little better as she recalled that tidbit. “There was no way Matthew could have traveled, Grandmère. He was fevered for days and slept off and on for almost a week after I extracted the bullet and debrided the wound. He appeared close to death when I found him.”
“Hmm,” her grandmother said, smiling. “He looks very much alive now.”
Bethany blushed. She recognized her grandmother’s astuteness, a trait she showed when she was musing over pieces to an interesting situation. “What are you saying, Grandmère?”
Her Grandmère laughed. “Only that he seems very interested in you. I dare say that if this man is someone that is searching for Matthew, Matthew will not feel bad that you did not realize it. He seems most taken with you,mon petit.”
Bethany thought of Matthew’s passionate kisses and her responses to them, and the blush deepened. “I cannot be sure what you mean,” she responded, trying to look nonchalantly toward the hall. “I suppose I should rest as well.” She rose from the table and noticed her aunt touch her grandmother’s arm, knowingly. “If you hear a man’s screams, it is probably Matthew. He has been having nightmares almost every night. He talks a lot but does it in such a rush, I cannot understand his words. Sometimes he laughs and I think he is with friends in his dreams.” She caught her Grandmère’s look and realized too late she had said enough.
“I should go to bed,” she said, gathering hers and Matthew’s bowls and utensils and taking them to the kitchen. “I will do the dishes in the morning if that is acceptable,” she added meekly. She was now full of worry she had turned away a man that could have helped Matthew get home, and the concern did not sit well with her. She had never meant to do anything but help and protect him.He may not forgive her if he were to find out.
“Nonsense. You go to bed. However, take Dandie out, first,” Grandmère said.
How could she have completely forgotten about Dandie? She searched the room for her before she remembered Matthew had gone to bed early. “I will bet she is with Matthew. The little pup has been spending time with both of us.”
“How unusual,” her grandmother said, amusement clear.
“Yes. I find it very unusual considering she greeted every man she met until Matthew with growling and barking. She does not approve of them... until he came along. Now I share her.” She did not feel bad. After all, Dandie had proven an astute judge of character.
“Go to bed, Bethany. Tomorrow is another day. I think we should sort this out with Matthew, however. If you did not share the name of the man the investigator was looking for before, perhaps doing so will help Matthew know that his family is looking for him.”
Grandmère’s advice was sound. And she hated it. Feeling gut-punched by her own actions, Bethany retreated to her grandmother’s bedroom. She found Dandie waiting on the bed. The little dog raised its head as if to say,what took you so long?before dropping her head back to the mattress and falling asleep. A few minutes later, she felt the dog get up and move to her pillow, wrapping her lithe little body around the top edge of Bethany’s pillow. Bethany liked this. It felt comforting and helped her sleep. Her last thought before she fell asleep was of the feel of Matthew’s hands around her waist as he hoisted her onto the boat, and it brought a smile to her lips.
Chapter Eighteen
Matthew woke thenext morning feeling only somewhat better.What in the world was the matter with him?Soup had never left him sick. His stomach was usually cast iron, yet today, nausea hit him. His dreams had been vivid, and he recalled much of them. In one, he had dreamed of Bethany. His mind’s eye had conjured Bethany from the touch and feel of her. She was beautiful with rich, brown hair.
In another, he dreamed of a rogue alligator. Of course, he knew what a gator looked like, but in the dream, this one had hurled itself from the water into a small boat.Their boat. He tried to protect Bethany, yet no matter what he did, he failed. When she fell into the water full of hungry gators, he feared he had lost her. She was gone, save for her voice, which he heard in a distance.But where?He stripped off his shirt and dove blindly into the dark, brackish water, opening his eyes and realizing the water was clear. He could see her just beyond him... so close, only no matter what he did, he could not reach her.
Whether it was the frustration of his dreams or the uncomfortable heat from the sunlight in his room, he opened his eyes and noticed the shapes of shadows and objects around the room. They had left the curtains open, allowing the first rays of sunshine to stream into the room and wake him. Matthew had seen them open when he came to bed, but had felt too tired to close them.
It felt similar to what he normally experienced at home, although the way it was done had always irritated him. Rather than simply waking him, Bart irritatingly always pulled the drapes and ushered in the sunlight when it was time to wake. The man would say it was the most effective way to rouse him—and did it wherever they were.If there was one thing he would change,he thought, squeezing his eyes tightly closed... then he remembered that his valet... who had also been his batman... was no longer with him. Inexplicable sadness swept over him. The battle... everything... had happened so quickly. And the one before it.
The Americans had proven to be crafty foes, using this untamed wilderness as their partner in crime. No one thought the Americans would win the last battle. Yet they had. So many on both sides had died for this war. The reasons still seemed vague and insufficient for President Madison to declare war. Except for the defense of the Canadian territory, the rest of it made little sense. Taking their men and making them serve the British Navy angered the fledgling new country. They went to war with Britain even though the French did the same thing—unbelievably, America allied with the French! It was a war few understood or took seriously.Except it was serious. Men had died beside him. He might have died, if not for Bethany and Dandie.
He felt a small headache emerging and cast it off as the result of bright sunlight in his eyes. Shaking off the sleep, he pulled himself up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, before leaning over. His stomach felt a little like it did when he and his friends returned from a night of carousing. He leaned over and then back, trying to stretch his body.
A knock at the door roused him from his musings. “Who is it?”
“It is Grandmère. I was just letting you know breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes.”
“Thank you. I will dress quickly,” he said. He pulled up his pants and tucked in his white shirt. Frustrated, he strained to see his boots, before remembering he had been wearing Bethany’s grandfather’s shoes. “Ahh. There they are.” He felt around the floor and found the corner of one sticking out from under the bed.
He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands, a habit he always had when he woke up to clear the sleep. It made no difference when he could not see, he realized. His face felt warm, and he swiped at it, feeling the growth of his beard and wondering if he could get someone to shave him. He had never been fond of the scruffy look and wanted to rid his face of the beard. Seeing the hazy image of what appeared to be a wash bin, he took his walking stick and made his way to it. It had fresh water and a bar of soap. Quickly, he wet his face and washed it, before wiping off the residual soap and drying it.At least a clean face feels much better,he thought. Instinctively, he knew Grandmère had left the soap. He would thank her and perhaps ask her if there was a razor to be had. Cutting the beard might make him feel much better—maybe not as warm as he was feeling.
He wondered how Bethany had slept as he opened the door. He did not have to wonder long. She was in the dining room when he arrived.
“Good morning, Bethany,” he grinned.
“How do you always know it’s me?” she asked cheerfully.
“You smell like honeysuckle. I think it must be your soap. I rather like it,” he answered quietly, leaning over her shoulder. He hoped to keep his answer between the two of them.
