Chapter Sixteen

August 2, 1815

Ormandy Manor

Near Crosthwaite, South Lakeland,

Cumbria, England

It had been four days since that horrible, storm-filled night when Marjorie had nearly lost Benedict to the accident with the tree. And in those four days, he had remained in bed, unconscious. The doctor the Earl of Traverston had secured proclaimed the marquess fortunate to still be alive after being slightly shocked by the lightning and then stabbed in the thigh with a tree branch, which had missed severing an artery by a hair's breadth.

Unfortunately, Benedict had contracted a fever when the wound became a bit infected, and after the doctor had poked about in the injury before binding it up, he'd given the grim diagnosis that His Lordship would probably walk with a limp due to muscles being too damaged to heal properly or nerves being agitated.

The infection didn't bode well, but Marjorie refused to give up. She kept a nearly constant vigil at his bedside with the full belief it was the body's way of healing itself and ridding itself of anything that wasn't clean. During the first few days following Syn's unconscious state, she agreed to the physician's methods of bringing him out of it, but then finally kicked the man out of the manor when his insistence at bleeding the marquess with leeches had only left Benedict weaker.

She had been adamant the man's services were no longer needed, and after a quick meeting with Lord Traverston, she went forward by relying on the knowledge of the stillroom or what the housekeeper and cook knew to bring him comfort and healing that would prove easier for his body. Through it all, she kept cool cloths on his head and chest, made sure his leg was propped with pillows so he wouldn't be able to move it violently in his sleep, and she'd taken to drizzling chicken broth between his lips several times a day by soaking the edge of a napkin and letting it drip into his mouth so at least he would have sustenance.

During those days, it had been driven home to her that she loved him beyond reason. He'd gotten into her blood, beneath her skin, moved past her defenses, and despite his flaws, she loved it. There was nothing else to say. Did that make her a complete ninny? It remained to be seen, but if all she managed to accomplish during her stay here was to help him see that he still had value in this world, she would feel satisfied.

Wouldn't she? Surely, she couldn't dare to ask for more, not after he'd been wounded because of her.

When she wasn't caring for the marquess, she spoke many times with the earl, discovered Benedict's whole history, and because of that, she came to understand the man better. Through Lord Traverston's words, she fell for Bendict even more; the obvious affection his best friend had for him was all too real. Most of the time, she and the earl took turns sitting at his bedside, grabbing sleep whenever they could.

By the third day, Marjorie had fallen into the habit of curling up in the bed at his side and reading to him from the thrilling gothic novels she enjoyed or even the novels of Jane Austen or works of Mary Wollstonecraft. And when that failed to rouse him, she read treatises on farming or handbooks of recipes for the stillroom.

By the fourth day, she'd needed fresh air so took herself outside to Hummingbird Lake. Following that, she told Benedict how she'd directed the gardeners to make a little flowerbed beneath the trees at that lake where she planted some rose bushes in honor of his family, one for each of them, yellow for the boys and pink for his wife.

"You may be cross with me all you want, but you must wake in order to be so." As the breeze came in from the open windows she'd insisted upon, her voice broke, and she rested a hand on his bare chest. "Please wake up, Benedict. I need you as much as she does—or rather did. I am here while she is not, and I have only just found you."

He, of course, didn't respond, and his eyes remained closed.

The beagle lifted his head from his customary spot at the foot of the marquess' bed. He gave a whine and a slight tail thump, but then returned to sleep. Though the animal suffered a broken leg, the earl, who had knowledge of beagles, had wrapped and splinted it so the bone could heal as much as it could. He'd said if Syn didn't want to adopt the dog after everything, he would, because he missed having a canine companion.

Oh, the waiting was too frustrating!

Finally, in the early evening hours, perhaps a few hours before sunset, when a cooler breeze came into the sick room, the marquess woke.

"Marjorie? You stayed?" The sound of his voice was naught but a rasp, and when she raised her head from her arm where she'd fallen asleep, pain lay stamped on his face and shadowed in his eyes.

"You're alive!" It was so unexpected yet relieving that she burst into tears. "Thank heavens you're alive." The sound of her sobs worried the dog, who immediately stood and howled at the foot of the bed.

He scrambled for her hand and when he found it, Benedict clung to her fingers. With his other hand, he scratched along his jaw and the days' worth of stubble. "How long have I been out?"

"Four days." She leaned forward and placed the back of her hand against his brow. There was no more fever present. "Do you remember the storm?"

"Bits and pieces." He frowned at the beagle as the dog crept up the bed to curl at his side. "I remember being the lake. Then somehow being in a tree?"

With patience, she told him all that had transpired and how he'd ended up in bed, unconscious. "It remains to be seen how your thigh and the muscles that have been injured, will heal." She nearly dissolved into tears once more, for he had previously been quite an active man with walks and swims daily. What if all of that ended for him because she'd gone after a wounded dog in a storm?

"My wife was there with me," he said in a low voice, and as he attempted to maneuver into a sitting position, he winced.

"Oh?" Her heart squeezed, for he didn't remember she had essentially saved his life. After springing off the hard wooden chair, she arranged some pillows behind his back so he could sit upright. "I'm sure you enjoyed that."

"I don't know. She told me to come back. To you."

Not knowing what to say, Marjorie poured water into a glass from a decanter with a shaking hand. "Sip some of this for me. You must be parched." She held the rim of the glass to his lips. "And the doctor left laudanum for you if the pain is too much to bear."

For a few seconds, he drank the water, and as she replaced the glass, he blew out a breath and rested his head against the pillows. He glanced at her with exhaustion lining his face. "You cared for me out there in the elements. Because of you, I didn't bleed out." It wasn't a question.

"What else was I going to do? I refused to let you die." After his pretty little speech the other day before he slipped into unconsciousness, he hadn't said he loved her. Could she assume that was what he'd wanted to say? Of course, but if that assumption had been wrong, it would have proved embarrassing for them both.

For the moment, the words he'd said would have to suffice.

"Thank you for that. I'm not certain my life is worth that much effort, but at least I am here, and I have no plans to go anywhere else."

"Then you won't leave this mortal coil before your time?" She could hardly force the words out from her tight throat.

His chuckle sounded like a rusty garden gate. "Not unless I'm struck by lightning again." Somberness shadowed his gray eyes. "It has been pressed upon me that I owe you an apology, or perhaps a handful of apologies."

"Please don't upset yourself." When she put a hand to his chest to keep him from being agitated, he took up her hand and brought it to his lips. The whiskers on his upper lip and chin tickled her skin, and oddly enough awoke awareness for him. "Believe me when I tell you that I am nothing without you, Marjorie. When I was near death, I came to the realization of such, and now, you and I need to talk candidly and honestly."

Flutters went through her lower belly. "When you are stronger."

"But I—"

"I thought I heard your voice." Nothing more was said due to the arrival of Lord Traverston. "You look like hell, my friend," he said with a nod at Marjorie.

Giving her a lingering glance, the marquess focused on the other man. "I feel like it too, but it is good to see you." As the men shook hands, Marjorie quietly excused herself and then retired to her suite, where she gave in to tears of reaction and relief behind her closed door.

Knowing Benedict was out of danger, awake, and talking had her shaking so much that she sank to the floor with her back leaning against the wall. Burying her face in her hands, she gave in to the sobs she'd been forced to keep inside while worrying over the marquess.

Later that night

After leaving Benedict's bedside earlier, Marjorie had finally fallen into a dreamless, restorative sleep for a few hours. Following that, she'd called for a bath and enjoyed every moment of that. Then she'd dressed with care in one of the new gowns the marquess had encouraged her to order seemingly a lifetime ago.

Yet the earl was the only one at dinner as had become the habit over the past week. They'd eaten the meal in companionable silence. No doubt they were both having thoughts of gratitude and mortality. Once the odd repast was completed, she didn't feel like lingering in the drawing room. It simply didn't feel right without Benedict's company, so she took herself back upstairs. On the second-floor landing, she encountered Mrs. Perkins, who carried a tray of tea and dry toast.

"Is that going to the marquess?"

"Yes. He rang for something to eat, but I don't trust that he can handle dinner with rich sauces or steak that is difficult to digest after all he has been through." She gave Marjorie a hopeful smile. "You must be relieved that he is awake."

"I am. Of course I am." She frowned. "His recovery might take some time, though."

"He is a strong, healthy man for his age and will come through this to be right as rain. You'll see." The housekeeper frowned as she held Marjorie's gaze. "However, he will need assistance and support."

"Meaning?"

"His Lordship has come to rely on you. Don't let his lack of words sway your decisions or your heart, Mrs. Stowe. Sooner or later, he will speak to you about what he truly believes, and that day will be sweeter than any you have dreamed upon." This time her smile was hopeful. "I have known him a long time. He isn't one for romance or flowery words, but he is honest and attentive. He simply knows what he wants, and once his mind is made up, he pursues it with vigorous determination. Until then, one must have patience. The best of men are worth that."

"Thank you." She touched the other woman's arm. "I appreciate the advice, and for your assurance, but I don't plan on going anywhere until I'm certain he is well on his way to healing and that he's firmly anchored in the here and now."

A knowing grin curved the housekeeper's lips. "Why don't you take this tray up to him? I would imagine the two of you have much to discuss after such a harrowing week, hmm?"

"Are you trying to push the match, Mrs. Perkins?" But Marjorie took the tray regardless.

"Sometimes, even the best men are stubborn and need a little shove." The older woman winked. "Simply talk to him. He isn't strong enough to do much more than that, but in this period of gratitude, he might find his tongue is loosened."

"Ha. I think what you are seeking is a miracle, Mrs. Perkins, and God has already given us a rather large one. It isn't wise to ask for another." Then she continued up the stairs to the next level. At the marquess' door, she balanced the tray in one hand while depressing the latch with the other. "Benedict, are you awake? I've brought the tea you requested since I ran into Mrs. Perkins on my way up."

"I would accept you delivering my tea any time, sweeting." The rumble of his voice tickled through her chest before she had ever reached his bedchamber. "In fact, I'd hoped something like that might happen, so I sent Higgins to take his own dinner early."

"Oh?" His use of the endearment put a bit of heat in her cheeks. Had he meant to do that? And how interesting that he'd dismissed his valet. She'd only met the man a handful of times, and he was even more close-mouthed than his master. "Why?" When she entered his room, it was to find him freshly bathed and clean-shaven, clad in a nightshirt with his leg propped on a pillow with other pillows around the limb to prevent jarring. Thick strips of linen were wrapped about his thigh, with only a bit of bleed through. But his eyes were clear, and there was a bit of his old intensity about him.

"Because you are the only one I wish to see." The grin he shot her brimmed with charm. "You scampered away before I properly was able to talk with you."

"I was overwhelmed, and I wished to give you time to speak with the earl." After setting the tray on the bed next to him, she frowned. "Where is the dog?"

"Traverston wished to take him on a walk following dinner." When Benedict inspected the contents of his tray, he sighed. "Nothing more interesting than dry toast, weak broth, and a thin slice of berry cake. At least the tea is strong."

"Mrs. Perkins doesn't think your constitution strong enough to attempt some of your favorite foods." She perched on the edge of the wooden chair where she'd already spent so much time. "You'll need to reintroduce foods gradually."

He frowned and looked at her from over the brim of his cup. "So no return to my regular lifestyle for a bit?"

"I highly doubt that." But she allowed a small smile. He was far too charming for his own good. "Also, you are going to need to stay in bed for at least a week."

"I can do that, especially if you join me." When he raked his gaze up and down her form, heat renewed itself through her cheeks.

"Absolutely not. Your leg needs time to heal, and I don't want your stitches to open. You will need to wait regarding that as well." The dratted man had received at least fifteen stitches, and the doctor was so horrible at the sutures, that she'd taken over the task. At least when they scarred, they would be even instead of willy nilly.

"Not necessarily. There are ways to get into scandal without me doing all the work." One of his dark eyebrows rose in challenge.

Even though a throb of need made itself known between her thighs, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but no." Already, it seemed an eternity since she'd enjoyed his body as well as his skill in all things carnal, but there was nothing for it. "Also, after our last conversation, I'm not entirely certain indulging in such activities is something we should resume. It will only lead to heartbreak."

He picked up a piece of dry toast, frowned at it, then rested it back atop the other piece on the plate. "That's too bad."

"Nothing between us has changed, Benedict. While I'm grateful you rescued me—again—and that you are well on the way to making a recovery from your own injuries, I am not going to fall into your lap merely based on those things. It's not enough for a relationship, and the position of mistress isn't either." It might make her a harridan to bring up the subject while he was convalescing, but there wasn't an opportune time.

"I understand." The marquess contemplated his mug of broth next. "And since I would like to endure such a conversation when I have more strength, perhaps you should tell me how you and Traverston got on in my absence."

When she peered into his eyes, saw the concern and defeat deep in the gray depths, the urge to cry rushed up her throat. "He regaled me with stories from your school days as well as from the military."

The ghost of a grin curved his lips, but vanished when he nodded. "I'm certain he had many of them to tell, and perhaps someday, I can tell you all the secrets I have on him." He picked at the piece of cake. "Did you really read to me from gothic novels?"

"Did the earl tell you that?"

"He did."

"Yes." Her laugh was a tearful affair. "I enjoy them and thought you might as well, and if you didn't, perhaps it would have brought you out of that void merely so you could tell me to stop." She had been so worried during those days, she'd barely slept. "I should let you finish your dinner. You need the rest." Quickly, she stood, for being with him in any capacity left her emotional and far too vulnerable. "For what it's worth, I'm glad the danger is behind you." Then she leaned over him and fit her lips to his in a fleeting kiss. When she pulled away, the look in his eyes stole her breath, for she didn't dare to hope. "I will check on your tomorrow."

When she would have left his bedside, he caught her hand in his free one. "Promise me you will stay until I'm back on my feet? Or at the very least until we can talk?"

And she lost the remainder of her heart to him in that moment. No matter what happened in their future, she would always love him. "I promise." Because she didn't wish to part company with him but if she didn't, she would give him everything without securing her own interests, Marjorie raised his hand to her lips and kissed his palm. "Sleep well, Benedict."

When she retired to her own room, it took her many hours to fall into slumber herself.