A Wealthy Widow. Anne Herries
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a little cream into his thigh, massaging it for some minutes before drawing the covers over him again. Then she applied the ointment to the wound at the side of his head. He had received a nasty cut, but it was not deep and she thought it would soon heal.
‘There, I think he will do for the time being,’ she said. ‘I shall go and have my breakfast now, and you can have yours in half an hour. I shall order it made ready for you, Iris.’
Glancing at the man in the bed once more before she left, Arabella was aware of a warm glow inside her. He was resting now. Their nursing had certainly helped him. It might be only a temporary respite, but it could be a turning point. She prayed that it might be so.
When Iris came down to partake of her meal, Arabella went back to the sick room. She sat by the bedside for more than an hour and then went to fetch a book from her own room. Charles Hunter was sleeping peacefully and she would be better with something to do for a while.
After another hour, Iris came to take her place as they had agreed. Arabella went out for a walk, feeling the need for a little air. The inn was quite warm and rather stuffy as it had only small windows. She felt pleased with their patient’s progress, for he seemed to be throwing the fever off. However, when she returned, Iris told her that he had begun to sweat heavily and throw the bedcovers off once more.
Arabella resorted to the same remedy as before, and once again he quietened under her hand. She was a little concerned and sent Iris to ask the landlord to send for the doctor again.
When he visited later that morning, the doctor declared himself satisfied with the patient’s progress.
‘You must expect a little fever,’ he said. ‘I warned you that he might be violent, for brain fever can be dangerous, though you seem to be nursing him very well, Lady Arabella. I had expected your husband to be in a worse case than this. Continue to give him the powders I left you and I am sure all will be well.’
Arabella thanked him, forbearing to tell him that her patient had not taken much of the doctor’s remedy. She walked downstairs with him to the parlour where she took her midday meal alone. There was no sign of the country gentleman she had seen earlier and she was pleased that the inn seemed not to get too many visitors. It was as she was preparing to go back upstairs once more that Mrs Blackstone came up to her with a smile.
‘Your husband is much better, Lady Arabella. He woke a few moments ago when I went in with some more water. He asked me where he was and I told him that he was staying at the Fox and Hounds in Thornborough, and that his wife was caring for him. He seemed a little mazed, my lady, but I am sure that is only to be expected in the circumstances. The poor man said he had no wife, but he will remember when he sees you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Arabella said and went hastily up the stairs. It was little wonder if Charles Hunter felt confused by being told his wife was caring for him! She entered the bedchamber and found Iris wrestling with him as she tried to keep him from leaving his bed.
‘You must not, sir,’ Arabella said and crossed to the bedside. ‘You have been ill and I think you should stay in bed for a little longer.’
‘And who the hell are you?’ he demanded, looking angry. ‘Are you the designing wench who has been masquerading as my wife? I have no wife and if you hope to force me into proposing because you have compromised yourself, let me tell you that you are much mistaken. I have no intention of taking a wife—and certainly not a female I have never met before in my life!’
‘Thank you, Iris, you may go,’ Arabella said. She fixed a cool stare on Charles, lifting her head proudly. Now she became the lady of the manor, wealth and power at her back. ‘You are the one who is mistaken, sir. I found you lying on the road and in a parlous state. Had I not taken you up in my carriage, you might have died. Indeed, the rogue who attacked you might have returned to finish his work.’
‘Was I attacked?’ Charles stared at her, his eyes narrowing. Something about her voice was very attractive. He found it soothing, despite his shock at the discovery that he was supposed to have a wife. ‘Who are you, ma’am—and why does the innkeeper’s wife imagine I am your husband?’
‘Because I was determined to nurse you,’ Arabella told him calmly. ‘It seemed easier to allow that good lady to think us married, but I assure you that you stand in no danger of being coerced into offering for me. I have no intention of marrying again—and, I assure you, nothing would make me marry you, sir.’
Charles stared at her for a few seconds, a frown on his face. ‘You are a widow?’
‘Yes, that is so,’ she replied. ‘I had thought you might know me, Mr Hunter, but it seems that you have forgot me.’
‘Have we met?’
‘Once—at my wedding. I am Lady Arabella Marshall. My late husband was then your good friend. It was for his sake that I have done what I have. I always prayed that someone nursed Ben when he was dying and thought it my duty to help you.’
‘Good grief,’ Charles said and gave a little moan of anguish. He lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘Forgive me. My head aches like the very devil and I thought…I have been damnably rude!’
‘Yes, you have,’ she said and smiled a little wryly. ‘However, the doctor told me that you might be violent or abusive. Indeed, I was prepared for much worse. Forgive me for taking a liberty concerning my relationship with yourself, Mr Hunter—but it did seem the best way at the time. I could hardly have cared for you as I have if I’d confessed that you were a stranger to me. I am four and twenty, no longer a green girl, but I do not think it would have been thought proper even so.’
He opened his eyes and looked at her again, a wry expression on his lips. ‘I am a fool. I tend to think the worst of people these days. Of course I remember Ben’s wife. I am sorry for not having known you—and even more sorry that Ben died. It was a terrible thing to happen so soon after you were wed.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Arabella agreed, her eyes shadowed with sadness. ‘Now, sir, may I have something brought for you? A little nourishing broth or some wine?’
‘I detest nourishing broth,’ Charles said with a grimace. ‘I will eat some bread and cold meat—and a glass of wine if you please.’
‘I think a little brandy might be restorative,’ Arabella said. ‘But not the meat and bread just yet. I shall ask Mrs Blackstone if she will cook a coddled egg for you.’ She laughed as he pulled a face. ‘Yes, I know what you will think of that, sir—but red meat might not suit you for the moment.’
‘Do you think it might make me violent? I promise I shall not attack you, ma’am.’
‘I have no fear of it,’ Arabella laughed huskily. Her eyes lit up and in that moment she was very beautiful. ‘You may have a little chicken this evening if you do not relapse into the fever again. Please, for my peace of mind, be sensible, sir.’
‘Only if you call me Charles,’ he said, looking rueful. ‘We should be friends—if Ben had lived we would have known each other well. Besides, it would look odd if you called me sir in front of our good hostess. She will think me quite mad for not knowing I had a wife.’
‘Just a little mazed, understandably so after the blow to your head,’ Arabella told him. ‘Lie still and rest, Charles. I shall order your meal and then perhaps you will sleep again.’
Smiling at him, she went out, leaving Charles to rest against the pillows and remember the soft voice and hands that had soothed him in his fever…had done things for him, intimate things that he could not possibly have expected of her. Yet perhaps it had been her maid. He had thought she was Sarah…a swift slash of pain cut through him as he remembered that his sister was still lost.
As soon as he was able he must continue his search for her, but he would say nothing to Lady Arabella. She had been generous to him despite her own troubles. It would not do to lay his burdens on her when she could know nothing of the matter.
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