Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge
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you must.’ The earl looked anxious. ‘If she was kidnapped her life may be in danger, Luke. We shall offer a reward for her return.’
‘Yes, I’ll arrange it before I leave. I may be gone for a while—you will be all right here alone?’
‘I have Marshall and a house full of servants,’ the earl grunted. ‘I’m not about to die on you, Luke. Get out there and find our girl or neither of us will know a moment’s peace again.’
Roxanne’s eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened. She looked up at the woman bending over her. Her perfume was deep and sensual and it had become familiar as Roxanne lay in her fever, because the woman had tended her day and night, caring for her when she was raving and out of her mind.
She had thought when she was ill that she was her ayah and that she was a child again, growing up in India with her tall strong father and her sickly mother, but now she knew the woman was a stranger.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, her voice cracked and hoarse. ‘Where am I?’
‘My name is Shulie,’ the woman smiled down at her as she eased herself up against the pillows. ‘You are at the house of my husband, Prince Ranjit.’
‘Prince Ranjit…’ Roxanne wrinkled her brow in thought, trying to remember. ‘I think…I believe I used to know a Prince Ranjit. We played together in the gardens of the palace in India. My father…my father was the prince’s tutor.’
Suddenly, it was as if a curtain had been pulled aside and she remembered everything: her life as a child in India and what had happened when her father had taken her to his sister’s home and left her in her aunt’s charge while he returned to his work.
‘My lord has told me that you were his friend,’ Shulie said and smiled at her. ‘I am my lord’s first bride and he trusts me. He gave me the honour of caring for you when you were ill.’
‘I was ill? What happened to me?’ Roxanne frowned and then gave a little cry. ‘I was in the woods and someone hit me on the back of the head.’
‘The prince was very angry that you were harmed,’ Shulie told her. ‘You must not think that he wanted you to be hurt, memsahib. He remembers his playmate Rose Marie very well and he did not believe that you would withhold the ruby if you knew its importance to our people.’
‘That will do, Shulie.’
The man’s voice made both women glance towards the door. A man of perhaps five and twenty, dressed in rich clothes and wearing a purple-silk turban with a magnificent diamond in its folds, was standing there, watching them. Shulie fell to her knees, bowing her head.
‘Forgive me, my lord. I only wished to reassure the memsahib that she was with friends.’
‘So, you have returned to us,’ the man said and moved towards the bed. His dark eyes went over her. ‘You look better, but I see that you are still not truly well. Shulie will continue to care for you and we shall talk when you are better.’
‘Is it the ruby you seek?’ Roxanne asked, holding the sheets against her defensively as she looked at him. This man was very different to the thin and gangly young prince she’d known and admired as a child. ‘How is your family, sir?’
‘My father is sick and we fear his death. Before he dies he wishes to see the eye returned to its rightful place.’
‘The eye?’ Roxanne was puzzled. ‘I fear I do not understand, sir.’
‘You may think of it as merely a ruby, but to others it is a sacred thing—but I shall tell you the whole story when you are able to leave your bed.’ He turned to Shulie. ‘Bring Miss Rose Marie clean clothes and food. She is to be told nothing more until she is able to hear the story from me.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Shulie approached the bed as the prince left the room. ‘My lord has spoken. Please do not ask questions, for I may not answer them. I shall bring food, water for you to wash and clothes. You will feel much better when you have eaten.’
‘Please, one thing,’ Roxanne said. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘You lay in a fever for ten days,’ Shulie said. ‘We feared you might die, but the honourable doctor has saved you. It was the will of the gods.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Roxanne said. She lay back against the pillows, closing her eyes as the woman left the room. Ten days. She’d been here ten days—but what had happened just before she was brought here? Someone had hit her on the head, knocking her unconscious—but where had she been and where had she been going?
She could recall running away from her aunt and uncle just before her fifteenth birthday. Her father had written to tell her he would be home before Christmas and would be taking her to live with him.
I’ve made my fortune here, Rose Marie, he’d written. It is time I came back to England to live and made a home for us both. The ruby will be the icing on the cake, though I have other jewels and money enough. Take good care of it, Rosie my love, for it is special.
It was two days after her letter arrived that she’d heard her uncle telling her aunt what he planned for her as she went down to have afternoon tea.
‘She is old enough. He wants her and when he’s done with her he’ll put her to work for her living. She’ll not last long enough for her father to find her. If she doesn’t die of the whore’s disease, she’ll be beaten to death.’
‘Frank, you cannot do it,’ her aunt had protested. ‘Rose Marie doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.’
‘She should have given me the ruby when I asked her. It’s either the whorehouse or the river—make up your mind. My debts must be paid and that ruby will see us in comfort for the rest of our lives.’
The past was so clear now. Her name was Rose Marie Pearson and her father’s name was Captain Peter Pearson. He’d been an Indian Army officer and then left the service to work for a rich maharajah, first to train his private army and then to teach his sons how to be gentlemen.
When her gentle mother died of a fever, her father had sent her home to live with her aunt and uncle. He’d sent the ruby to her a year or so later with a special messenger he trusted. She had been so proud of being trusted to care for the jewel, but her aunt had seen her admiring it and demanded to know where it came from.
‘Papa sent it to me. He told me to take great care of it, because it is worth a small fortune.’
‘It is far too valuable to entrust to a young girl. Your father meant me to look after it for you, Rosie.’
‘No, Aunt. Papa told me to wear it inside my gown always and never be parted from it. If he’d wanted you to care for it, he would have sent it to you. He trusted me, not you and my uncle.’
‘How dare you speak to me that way?’
‘The ruby is mine. I shall not give it to you or anyone.’
Even then, Rose Marie had not trusted her aunt and uncle. They had called her Rosie and she had disliked the name, but they had said her own was too fanciful. She’d known instinctively that if they once had the ruby they would keep it, but she had not dreamed they would kill her to get it. She’d run from them that very moment, clutching the ruby and in fear of her life.
Roxanne’s mind was clear now and she recalled that she’d run until she could run no more. After that she’d wandered for days, perhaps weeks, always in fear of being caught, hungry, thirsty and cold. Then one night as it grew dusk a vagrant had attacked her and attempted to rape her. She’d fought him off and run away into the night with no more than a few scratches and bruises, but the smell of him had sickened her and she’d been terrified. She had not dared to approach anyone to ask for food and she had wandered, her stomach aching for want of food. She had fallen and hit the side of her head. After that she had been very ill. As she starved, her mind became hazy and she could