The Homeless Heiress. Anne Herries
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had stopped and he appeared to be more comfortable.
She sat watching him, studying the curves and angles of his features. He wasn’t a handsome man by the standards of the day. His features were much too harsh, his nose straight and patrician. His mouth looked softer when he was sleeping, not hard or angry as it did when he was annoyed, and his lashes were thick and dark. She could not see his eyes at that moment, but she knew they were grey—eyes that could be cold or sparkle with amusement. He intrigued her. What kind of a man would bring a thief he had met on the streets to his home? What kind of man was tortured by something in his past? Had he done something dreadful? Was that why he begged forgiveness in his fever?
She would probably never know, Georgie realised. She had hoped to persuade him to help her reach her great-aunt’s, but he was unlikely to be able to leave his bed for some weeks. Could she stay here all that time—ought she even if he allowed it?
She was torn by uncertainty as she sat watching him. One part of her told her that she should leave as soon as she could, because it would be foolish to become more involved with him. Perhaps one of his servants would lend her enough money to take the coach to Yorkshire…and yet she could not desert this man while he lay ill. Against her will, she felt drawn to him in a way she could not explain. Besides, Henderson would need help until his master was over the worst. And, Georgie admitted, she wanted to help take care of him, to see him strong and well again, to touch him and… She shut out the foolish thoughts. She wouldn’t run away while he needed her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to have foolish thoughts either!
Henderson returned exactly two hours after he had left. Georgie wondered if he had slept at all, but when she asked if he had, he merely said he was rested.
‘I got used to not having much sleep when we were fighting on the Peninsula,’ he told her. ‘I don’t need a lot. Mrs Jensen said you were to go down when you are ready, Georgie. She will give you breakfast in the small parlour.’
‘Oh…thank you,’ Georgie said, becoming aware that she was beginning to feel hungry. ‘Yes, I shall. Do you want me to help with his medicine first?’
‘I can manage him,’ Henderson said. ‘He is easy enough when he’s like this; it’s when he begins to feel more like himself that he gets restless. He doesn’t make a good patient.’
‘You have nursed him before?’
‘He wouldn’t thank me for telling you, but, yes, he has been wounded badly a couple of times.’
‘He was lucky to have you.’
‘I’m the lucky one,’ Henderson said. ‘When I was caught by a blast from a cannon, it cut my face to ribbons, and I had a stomach wound that should have been fatal. They thought I was finished, but he wouldn’t leave me. He carried me back to base over his horse and he forced the surgeon to sew me back together, and then he sat with me until he knew I would live. He paid for someone to nurse me until I was on my feet again. A good many would have left me to die—and when they told me I was no more good for the army, he told me I had a place with him for life.’
Georgie looked at him intently. ‘You love him, don’t you?’
‘I’m not sure whether it’s brotherly love or gratitude,’ Henderson said with a grimace, ‘but I know I would die in his place if it came to it.’
‘I call that love,’ Georgie said and smiled. ‘I’ll come back later. We’ll look after him together.’
‘Yes, miss, if that’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ she said, ‘and you can call me Georgie.’
Henderson shot her a curious look, but didn’t answer. She was discovering that he was a man who spoke only when he thought it necessary, and she felt pleased that he had told her his story. It must mean that he liked her and trusted her. She felt that she had made a friend, someone who might help her if she were in need.
She went downstairs to the small parlour and discovered that Mrs Jensen had set out a table for her. There was a dish of scrambled eggs with ham and some good fresh bread. It smelled wonderful and she ate most of what had been left for her, gathering the dishes afterwards just as Jensen entered.
‘There’s no need for you to do that,’ he said, his expression doubtful and a little sad as he looked at her. Georgie suspected that he thought her no better than she should be. Perhaps he believed she was masquerading as a boy so as to carry on an illicit affair with his master. ‘Mrs Jensen and I are used to taking care of things in this house.’
‘Have you been here a long time?’ Georgie asked.
‘Forty-odd years,’ he replied. ‘I served the old master until he died. I thought I would leave when that happened, but I’ve stayed on to take care of things for the captain.’
‘I am sure he is grateful,’ Georgie said. She sensed that he was not as willing to be as friendly as his wife, and that he didn’t quite trust her. ‘But you should tell him if you wish to leave.’
‘Don’t you go saying a word to him!’
‘No, I shan’t, but if you would like to retire you should consider telling him yourself.’
‘When he has time to settle down…’ Jensen shook his head. ‘That’s if he recovers from what happened last night…terrible to think such a thing could happen so close to home.’
‘It may be as well it did,’ Georgie said. ‘Had he not been able to get home, he might have bled to death in the street.’
Jensen looked grey in the face. ‘Nothing like that ever happened when the old master was alive. I can’t think what things are coming to…’
He looked suddenly old and his hand trembled as he gathered the dishes. Georgie felt sorry for him, because he was so obviously upset.
‘I am sure Captain Hernshaw will recover now,’ she said. ‘Mr Henderson was very quick and clever last night. He saved the captain’s life.’
‘You helped him,’ the old man said and shook his head sadly. ‘Mrs Jensen told me she couldn’t have done it. I’m not sure why he brought you here, but it may be a good thing.’ He sounded and looked doubtful even as he said the words.
‘I was in trouble,’ Georgie said. ‘Captain Henderson helped me—but I would have done it for anyone. I am not frightened by a little blood.’
‘It was a lot of blood,’ the old man said, giving her a reproachful look. ‘We’ve never had young ladies in this house…and certainly not dressed as you are.’
‘I am sorry if you disapprove, but I am in hiding, you see. If a certain person discovered where I am, he might…kill me.’ She had decided to stick to this part of her story, because she couldn’t be sure of the reaction she would get if she told the truth.
‘Such goings-on! The old master would turn in his grave if he knew…’ Jensen grumbled to himself as he picked the tray up and went out of the room.
Georgie sighed. She would have felt better if she had been allowed to help, but it was obvious that Jensen would not allow that. His wife would probably resent it if Georgie offered to help in the kitchen. There was nothing for it but to find a book to read, though she doubted she would find anything of interest in this room.
She wandered over to the bookshelves, looking at the volumes of history and scientific volumes. They would send her to sleep in five minutes! She looked further along, almost giving up until she saw the book of poetry. It was new, bound in red leather, and very much out of place amongst all the others. Picking it out, she frowned as she opened it and a folded paper fell out. Georgie replaced it without opening it because it wasn’t hers to read. She took the book and curled up in a chair by the window, beginning to read, but after a while she saw that it had been marked in ink in the columns and some words had been underlined.
What a terrible way to treat a new book! And it was by Lord Byron, something