Destitute On His Doorstep. Helen Dickson
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and she now wore one of the two nightgowns she had brought with her. Her gaze moved searchingly around the room that was so achingly familiar to her. This had been her parents’ room. She lay in a large four-poster bed with overdrapes of scarlet and green.
The man she recognised as Francis Russell was watching her closely, hands on lean hips, short dark hair slightly tousled. His eyes were bright and vivid blue, as blue as the sky on a summer’s day. She frowned, wondering why he was here.
‘I’m glad to see you are back with us, Mistress Lucas,’ he said, his voice imbued with warmth. ‘You were sleeping so soundly we were beginning to wonder if you would ever wake. As it is you’ve slept two nights and most of three days.’
Francis had been deeply concerned about her. From the moment she’d been confined to bed he’d enquired after her almost hourly. Mary had assured him that although Jane was very ill the physician was confident she would make a good recovery. When Mary had left the room to fetch fresh linen, he’d gone in to see for himself. As he’d stared down at her, her gleaming hair spilling over the pillows, guilt and fear made his chest ache. She looked so ill, but what struck him forcibly was how small she looked in that great bed, tucked around with bedcovers and pillows.
When she’d arrived at Bilborough, she had faced him with all the self-assurance of an educated, prim and proper young lady. But when he’d gazed down upon her face, unguarded in sleep, there was nothing prim about that soft, generous mouth and those long curling lashes that lay like crescents against her cheeks. He realised as he watched her chest rise and fall with fitful little gasps, how vulnerable she was, how innocent she looked. She had told him she had no family. It would seem she needed him more than she realised and the urge to protect he’d felt on their first encounter was stronger than ever.
When Mary had returned and seen the deeply etched lines of fatigue and strain on his face she’d urged him to get some rest—’Otherwise when she opens her eyes the sight of you might frighten her into a relapse.’
‘You do remember me?’ he asked softly, and as he spoke with a lightness to his words, no one would guess at the terror that had gripped his heart when she’d collapsed and how he’d prayed to God for the first time in years not to let her die.
She nodded, but the movement made her head hurt. ‘Yes, Colonel Russell,’ she answered tightly, feeling the dreamlike sense of submergence threatening to engulf her again. ‘I remember you.’
He moved to stand closer, lending her his undivided attention. She could not take her eyes off him, for never had she seen a man as handsome as he was. His dark hair, curling slightly, was just long enough at the nape to brush the open collar of a shirt that appeared no less than dazzling white in the dimmed light. ‘Please don’t,’ she said, suddenly alarmed that he was about to venture too close. Struggling to raise her head, she was overcome by a dry cough. When the cough had abated she managed to gasp, ‘Please don’t come any closer. You mustn’t.’
He ignored her and came to stand next to the bed, looming over her. ‘And why not, pray?’
‘You’ll become infected.’
‘I’m quite safe. I had the illness when I was a lad.’
‘Then you were fortunate to survive it. Better if you all leave me to die in peace.’
‘Die? Who said anything about dying?’ He chuckled low in his throat. ‘Dear me, Mistress Lucas, you are feeling sorry for yourself.’
Jane’s eyes widened in disbelief at his cruelty. ‘Sir, you are indeed a callous brute. I know the plague spares very few.’
His eyebrows arched upwards. ‘The plague? Who mentioned the plague?’
She stared at him dazedly. ‘Why—I—I thought …’
He seemed suddenly amused. ‘There is no need for alarm. According to the physician who examined you, you have nothing more serious than the measles.’
Jane looked at him, suddenly feeling very foolish. ‘The measles?’
He nodded. ‘Show her, Mary.’
Mary produced a mirror. Turning her head away Jane peered into it, unable to believe it was herself staring back. Her face was covered with a red blotchy rash. She was appalled by what she saw. Tears welled in her eyes and she bit her trembling lip. ‘Oh—just look at me. I look dreadful. I—I was convinced I had …’
‘The plague? No, Mistress Lucas,’ Francis said, seeing the gallant effort she made to bring herself under control before she turned her head on the pillow and looked at him once more. ‘Measles can be serious, but the physician is convinced you will get well. He has advised that you remain in bed for a few days. You must drink plenty and he’s left medicine for you to take that should ease your cough. The rash should fade in a few days, although your cough may persist a little longer. I’m afraid you will have to stay here for the time being.’
Having just been subjected to several moments of fear and feeling more than a little foolish, Jane reacted with a flash of anger, which had more to do with feeling mortified that he should see her looking so ugly, so wretched—which did nothing for her self-esteem—than anything else.
‘With you?’
‘I’m afraid so. Unless …’ he smiled lazily, mocking her with her own words ‘… you insist on leaving, since you have an aversion to residing under the same roof as a Roundhead.’
Jane stared at him, wishing she were not confined to bed so she could strike out at him. ‘I am sorry to impose on you. I can imagine how my presence must inconvenience you. I shall do my best to get well and be out of here as soon as I am able.’
Francis met her angry gaze with an amused smile, momentarily awed by her eyes as they caught a stray shaft of light penetrating a crack in the heavy curtains. For the moment they looked so dark as to be almost black, emphasising the redness of the ugly rash that marred her lovely face. With some difficulty he dragged his mind to full attention. He knew she was feeling most unwell and upset and pondered how he might soothe her fears.
‘You do not inconvenience me, Mistress Lucas. My only concern is for your state of health and your welfare,’ he assured her on a softer note. ‘You are welcome to remain as my guest for as long as you wish.’
‘Thank you. I am indeed grateful,’ she uttered tightly. ‘But it is a strange feeling to be treated as a guest in my own home.’
‘I hope you will continue to treat it as such while you are here,’ he replied, ignoring her sarcasm. ‘I had quite a struggle getting you up here. If nothing else, I’m glad to see your temper has improved.’
‘My temper? Why—did I object when …?’
‘You did. The language you used would have made a seaman blush.’
‘I—I didn’t …’
‘Yes, you did—is that not so, Mary?’
From across the room where the housekeeper busied herself, she nodded. ‘I’m afraid she always was too outspoken for her own good.’
‘Why, what did I say?’
A crooked smile accompanied his reply. ‘You have an unladylike turn of phrase, I will say that. I have been a soldier for a good many years, Mistress Lucas, and never have I been more slandered—or my parentage for that matter—nor in such colourful detail. Quite frankly, I was shocked.’
Twin spots of colour grew in her cheeks, but the dim light and the rash did much to hide her blush. ‘Oh, I did not. I think you exaggerate.’
‘And how would you know that? You were delirious. In fact, if I hadn’t thought you might be close to death, I would have been thoroughly entertained.’
‘I’ve never been ill before—at least, not really ill. Not like this.’
His smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse