chapter 9
Her heart fluttering, Caroline sucked in a deep breath as she lingered in the doorway. She’d only meant to look in on Jack before heading to the mill office, but she was reluctant to leave him alone with the young woman who hadn’t the sense to realize he was in pain.
Who was the girl? For a second she thought to march across the room and yank her off him. But with dawning dismay she realized the girl might be Jack’s wife.
However, he’d expressed his needs to her, and she took that little piece and hung onto it. Of course it could be that he saw her as his benevolent benefactress, which made sense. It wasn’t as if she were anything more. Her stomach ached, her chest ached, hell, her head especially ached.
She stepped out and beckoned to the footman standing at the dining room doors. After issuing instructions, she returned, pasted on a smile and said to Jack, “We’ll have you fixed up in a trice.”
He nodded with a grimace. His forehead was furrowed and his breathing was rapid.
Fearing that the putrid fever the doctor warned could kill him yet, Caroline crossed to Jack, leaned down and placed her palm against his forehead. His skin was clammy. No fever.
She breathed a sigh of relief, but the furrows under her hand hadn’t smoothed out. Much as he tried to hide it, the pain was visible in the white brackets around his mouth. He, at least, had a better reason for his pain than she did. “Have you had any medicine since waking this morning?”
He shook his head.
Goodness, how long had he suffered in silence? She moved to the sideboard, poured the dose into a glass and added a little water. As he took the glass, his fingers brushed hers and a jolt ran up her arm.
“You should have told me to get your medicine,” the blond woman said petulantly.
Jack drank the liquid quickly but gagged on the bitter laudanum. Nothing could mask the taste, but she could add sugar as he’d suggested might help with the whiskey. He turned his face away as if her scrutiny made him uncomfortable.
Caroline clasped her hands in front of her waist and turned to address the woman standing to one side. “The servants tell me there have been quite a few visitors already. I am glad so many are concerned for his welfare. Are you . . . family?”
“She’s just a friend.” Jack stared at the floor instead of looking at either of them.
“A particular friend,” the young woman corrected.
Caroline’s shoulders relaxed and she barely restrained her sigh of relief. Not a wife, then.
Jack sighed. “Mrs. Broadhurst, may I present Miss Dugan?”
Although Jack had managed the nicety of a proper introduction, he seemed reluctant. “Lucy, Mrs. Broadhurst.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Dugan,” Caroline said perfunctorily.
Lucy nodded as if she were the queen. Caroline resisted making a comment. If the village children had more schooling, proper manners would have been part of their broader education. But she was inclined to dislike the young woman on sight because of the easy way she had been draped across Jack. A dawning realization stabbed at Caroline. Lucy must be his sweetheart.
Jack held out the empty glass. “Thank you.”
Careful to avoid his fingers, Caroline took the glass from his hand. His gaze traveled up her arm and landed on her face. Her skin tingled almost as if he actually touched her. Her lips parted to speak, but her mind went blank and nothing came out. She couldn’t seduce Jack if he were promised to another woman. A prettier, younger, blond woman.
If she had not been worrying so much about how and when she would seduce him, she might not have noticed the way Jack’s touch made her quiver. Not that he was in any sort of condition for that sort of activity, and even if he had been, Lucy was probably the one he would want to do that with. Caroline’s cheeks heated.
Lucy made a noise and then turned to Jack, her eyes narrowing.
The footman entered the room. “I have everything you asked for, ma’am.” He turned to Jack. “The water closet is ready for you, sir.”
Jack swiveled his legs to the side.
“Oh my God!” Lucy put her hands in front of her mouth. “You’re still bleeding.”
“The surgeon couldn’t close the incision because of the swelling,” said Caroline. “But he was able to return most of the pieces of bone to their proper alignment and fasten them together with silver wire.”
Lucy clamped her hands tight against her lips and stared with horror at the bloody bandage.
Caroline swatted off a pesky fly of irritation. The young woman might be genuinely concerned for Jack, but if she was having trouble looking at his dressing, how would she have fared watching the surgeon work?
Jack met Caroline’s eyes and his eyebrows dipped in question. “Feels like he took a sledgehammer to it.”
“More like a gimlet.”
“Still, that’s much better than a saw.” The ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
Lucy moaned.
Caroline was too irritated and too ill after last night’s overindulgence to care if discussing Jack’s surgery bothered the girl. He watched her, his expression curious. No doubt he wanted to know more about the surgery.
“It was a much more complex procedure than I anticipated.” Caroline signaled the footman. “I believe Dr. Hein will better explain what he did, if you ask him.”
She would have to send the doctor a note to collect her at the mill, so she could be here when he checked on Jack. As it was, she was already late.
The footman sat on the bed by Jack’s good leg, while Caroline took her position to his right. They both pulled his arms across their shoulders.
“Ready?” she asked.
Jack nodded.
The three of them stood as a unit, while Lucy gaped in amazement.
They navigated him toward the open double doors. His steps were more normal than the hops he’d taken with just her yesterday. She hoped it was less jarring for him with the footman able to bear the bulk of Jack’s weight.
“Steven has brought you a tall stool that you can use to balance. You will find all the toiletries and towels you should need.” She tried to talk normally and not think about her arm around his waist, or his physique.
They reached the open door of the water closet. As she’d ordered, a fresh nightshirt and undergarments lay next to the basin. A comb, toothbrush, and tooth powder jar lay on a towel.
Jack tried to speak, but what came out was a weak cough, which he tried to catch in his shoulder, but not before she’d seen his eyes were watering. Did such a small kindness choke him up?
“Mr. Broadhurst’s valet will come down and shave you, once he is done abovestairs.” Resisting the urge to pat or rub Jack, she slid out from under his arm.
He had composed himself. “That’s not necessary. I can—”
“Forgive me if picturing you with a razor in your hand with the difficulty you have maintaining your balance is unsettling.”
“Gruesome image, is it?” Jack mocked.
“I fear I could lose the servants. They can tolerate only so much bloodletting.”
Jack searched her eyes, his expression blank. She let her lips curl to let him know she was teasing. He tried a smile, but it faltered as she drew her supportive hand away. Really, she had hung on to him far longer than necessary to make sure he was steady.
“I will leave you to Steven’s care now.” She smiled brightly and wondered what was wrong with her that she wanted to hover and help him with his personal preparations for the day. Surely it was just an overabundance of concern for his welfare. It wasn’t as if a man found a woman hovering at his elbow as he performed his ablutions attractive. He probably preferred privacy. If she were in his place, she would.
Caroline returned to the breakfast room, where Jack’s bed had been set up, alarmed that she even wanted to hang onto him. “Will you be staying long, Miss Dugan?”
It was ungracious of her, but when she’d opened the door and seen Miss Dugan and Jack in an embrace, her breath had been snatched away. But why hadn’t the young woman seen Jack’s deeply furrowed brow and grimace of pain or done anything for him?
Miss Dugan lifted her chin. “I came to take care of him.”
“I assure you, Mr. Applegate is getting the best care possible.” Nothing for you to do but go home.
Without Jack in the room, Caroline took in the young woman’s dewy skin, pink lips, and pert features. She turned to the sideboard hoping to compose her expression and blot out the resentment that threatened to swamp her. She supposed it could be that Miss Dugan had blond curls that had been made messy in whatever she was doing with Jack before the door opened. Or that her skin had the dewy softness that only young women retained, which reminded Caroline of how far past the first blush of youth she was. But really, seeing the pretty girl with Jack made her want to claw out Miss Dugan’s eyes.
Caroline had no business feeling proprietary about him. And if this young woman offered him comfort, she should not interfere. She swallowed hard. “Although in a few weeks when he is well enough to go home, he will need friends to help care for him.”
“He will hate that,” said Miss Dugan.
Caroline’s animosity drained out of her. She had no idea what Jack would or wouldn’t like. “I imagine you know him better than I.”
“I do,” averred Miss Dugan. “I mean he doesn’t even want to marry until he can support me and any children in comfort. Not that he couldn’t now, but for he provides so much for his kinfolk.”
Dismay sliced through Caroline, and she had to work hard to keep her hands relaxed in a ladylike manner. He was an engaged man and she’d nearly thrown herself at him. Thank God she’d found out before she made a complete fool of herself and asked him to bed her.
She couldn’t interfere in Jack’s happiness. It wasn’t as if they could . . . as if there could be anything more than the attempts to get pregnant. He was planning a life with pretty, blond Miss Dugan, after all.
Fighting the burn of tears in her eyes, she moved along the sideboard straightening the pitcher and lining up the spoon next to the laudanum bottle. Although last night she’d thought Jack might be a potential candidate, she wouldn’t touch him again—or at least no more than she needed to help him.
“Would you help Steven assist Jack back to bed when he is done, Miss Dugan?” Caroline thought her voice sounded fairly normal. The higher pitch was probably only noticeable to her. After Miss Dugan’s nod, she added, “I will leave you to him, then.”
Wanting to be alone, she couldn’t exit the room fast enough, but as she entered the hall, Robert grabbed her arm. “I thought you had gone to the mill.”
“I’m late,” she rasped out. God, she would likely feel a thousand times better if she could just lop off her head.
Since Robert was here, the rest of the men must be too. Dread tightened her spine. She wasn’t ready to face them, or to let Mr. Whitton know there would be no repeat of last night’s drinking fiasco, but she was still willing to participate in the parts that could lead to a baby.
Robert tugged her back toward the stairs. “What the devil is going on, Caro?”
“You don’t have to shout.” Couldn’t he just leave her alone?
“I’m not shouting!”
He most certainly was shouting. If he continued, her head would crack open. “Why aren’t you out hunting or fishing or whatever entertainment was scheduled today?”
“We’ll go out after things settle.” He looked over his shoulder as if aware he shouldn’t be overheard, and dropped his voice to a level that only mildly blasted her. “Besides, Langley is leaving this morning and Whitton decided to accompany him back to town. The men will wish to see them off.”
Had her illness repulsed Mr. Whitton as much as that? The idea of starting anew with another of the guests was like a draught of bitter poison. She’d thought if she couldn’t entice Jack, perhaps she could persuade Mr. Whitton to make the attempt again. He at least seemed willing before she botched it. She pressed the heel of her hand against her head. She was trying, but it seemed a hopeless cause. What else could possibly go wrong?
The butler strode through the hall and opened the front door as several footmen exited, carrying luggage to a carriage waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
The library door opened and Mr. Whitton emerged. Mr. Broadhurst stood behind him, making Mr. Whitton look almost juvenile. Or was it just that her husband’s stooped shoulders, bushy gray eyebrows, and loose skin marked his age? Her thoughts flitted back to Tremont’s accusation that her husband was ill and didn’t have long for this world.
Mr. Broadhurst turned his cold gaze on her as he was about to shut the door. His hands fisted and he stepped out into the hall. “Caroline!” She winced at his thundering anger. “Why aren’t you at the mill?”
Robert moved protectively closer to her.
She fought the urge to turn tail and run. Taking a step forward, she extended her hand to Mr. Whitton. Her ears burned as her humiliation from last night was complete. “I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving us. You will be missed.”
“Ah well, duty calls.” Mr. Whitton didn’t even bat an eyelid at his polite fiction. Duty hadn’t had a chance to call. He grasped her hand limply and stepped back quickly, his mouth tilted in a smirk. “I’ve already taken my leave of your husband.”
Dear Lord, what had he said to Mr. Broadhurst?
The door to the gentleman’s saloon opened and smoke wafted out. Her stomach roiled and bile rose in her throat, but she refused to get sick again. The gentlemen all watched her like pigeons waiting for crumbs.
Now would be the time that Amelia or Sarah would throw their hands against their foreheads and say they felt faint, or when they might gracefully swoon into Robert’s arms, but she was not the swooning type.
“Mr. Broadhurst,” she said, “a word with you in your study, if you please.” She wanted to tell everyone to leave her alone, but she would have to deal with all of it. “Robert, check on Lord Langley and ascertain if he needs any assistance before he leaves.”
Robert’s jaw dropped.
Mr. Broadhurst folded his arms and glowered at her.
“Now,” she added. Of course it wasn’t her place to order the head of her family around, but she’d had more than she could take on the best of days—and this most certainly wasn’t the best of days.
The doctor chose that moment to appear in the open doorway, his arm through a pair of wooden crutches and a paper sack in his hand. Why not? Surely another dozen witnesses to her anguish were about to appear, and she would have no time to compose herself.
“Ah, good, Dr. Hein, I will be with you shortly, and I have a favor to ask of you.” First she had to deal with her husband.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked past a dumbstruck Mr. Whitton and her furious husband, through the library door, and into the inner sanctum of her husband’s study.
She waited until Mr. Broadhurst joined her.
“You cannot order me about,” he said. “I won’t have it.”
She simply shut the door behind him and with her dignity straining sat down in one of the chairs. “If you expect me to continue on the course I set, then you will allow the doctor to assure me that you will be around to welcome a child into this world.”
“Did you—”
She swatted away his question like a pesky gnat. It didn’t bear mentioning that the man she’d arranged to have a liaison with was now gone. “The doctor is here now. And I do not know that some illness or perception of illness on your part brought on this desire to insist upon children now.”
“You turned nine and twenty on your last birth anniversary. Before you know it, you’ll be too old to conceive.”
Her age, not his. How like him to make this about her age, rather than his failings. She struggled to remain upright with her shoulders back. The demons of hell pulled on her and pressed on her and pounded the insides of her skull with instruments of torture. “And your health, sir?”
“My health is fine.”
“No it isn’t. You don’t always walk to the mill anymore. And I do not want to give birth with a husband on his deathbed. You must be around to protect my good name and reputation and that of the child.” For at least a year or two.
“By all that is holy, you will play your part in this bargain with no further concessions or I will cut off my payments to your brother. I will send the little children back to work and I will petition Parliament for a divorce.”
Icy liquid poured down her spine. She gasped. “You cannot do that.”
“I can. Nesham can fight me in court if he wills it, but no judge will rule that you have upheld your end of the marriage contract. Your bloodline was what I bought and paid for. Now, did you meet with one of the gentlemen or not?”
Was that all she was to him, a broodmare with the right bloodline? Did he have no finer feeling toward her? Reeling, she swallowed hard, then forced herself to meet his eyes with disdain.
“Yes, I had a tryst with one of the gentlemen,” she said with all the wintry coldness she felt. It wasn’t a complete lie, although in her prayers she could pretend she was misleading Mr. Broadhurst into thinking the end had been rather different. Although, a little lie hardly compared to committing adultery, as far as her soul went.
Broadhurst scoffed. “Next time you arrange a tryst, you should not push your paramour into the canal.” He stood and his voice knifed through her aching head.
Surely, Mr. Whitton hadn’t informed her husband about last night’s meeting.
“You are misinformed. He did go into the canal, but it was of his own volition. I am sure he assumed wet clothing would be easier to explain than stained.”
Mr. Broadhurst jerked back.
Her face might turn to cinders; it could only flame so hot so long. “You will not divorce me, because I have not given you cause.”
“Did you not have a tryst with Whitton last night?” Mr. Broadhurst asked with silky smoothness.
Feeling like a mouse caught under a cat’s paw, Caroline kept her movements deliberately slow as she rose and leaned over his desk. He had even involved her entire family in setting her up to have an illicit affair. Had it all been so he had grounds to divorce her? Or did he only mean to hold all the cards in this game he played? More likely he wanted to keep all his options open. If she did not succeed in giving him a child, her adulterous behavior could be used as grounds for a divorce.
A cold rage poured through her, leaving empty channels behind. She would not be so used. She was done with being the perfect lady. If Broadhurst wanted war, he had seriously underestimated her strengths.
He’d destroyed any affection she might have ever had for him. She thoroughly despised him and his underhanded tactics, and she wouldn’t be treated so cavalierly. If he thought all her years of obedience were indicative of her not having a spine, he was dead wrong. She had years of leaders in her blood, before a title was conferred on one of her forebearers, her ancestors had been knights and warriors. Their blood ran in her veins and she summoned it now.
“You will not even think of divorce, or I and my family will do whatever it takes to destroy you. Your contracts will dry up, your goods won’t be shipped, and you’ll be ruined.”
She didn’t know if her family retained enough clout to destroy him, but surely they could inflict damage to his reputation and standing in the business community. If he was willing to pay for their influence, he must think the lack would hurt him. And if they began campaigning against him, so much the better.
She shook with raw fury. She hadn’t endured over fifteen years of marriage to be cast aside like a moldy crust of bread. She hadn’t agreed to this unholy bargain to have it twisted into a means to destroy her.
Her husband regarded her speculatively. “You’d never do a thing that would hurt the millworkers.”
“There are limits to what even I will take, Mr. Broadhurst. Do not think I am without any recourse.” Her mouth felt odd, as if a demon had crawled inside her and was attempting to snarl and snap like a rabid dog. “My family retains enough influence to have you charged with a crime and sent to prison.”
She had probably overstated the case, but Mr. Broadhurst hung his head down like a whipped dog.
“Very well, you have made your point,” he said stiffly.
Her ire was feeding her like a shark in bloody waters. “And you will hire Mr. Applegate to work as a clerk until he can resume his old work.”
“I will try him, but if he can’t do the work, I will not keep him on.”
“What is it you want? A baby or decimation?”
He glanced at her uncertainly. Dear Lord, he must be ill, to be cowing to her disingenuous argument. “A son bearing my name.”
“Then you should bear in mind that shocks are bad for a pregnant woman and act accordingly.”
Broadhurst stared at her, his skepticism shining through. “You had relations with Whitton, eh?”
She pushed her lips together. She would not give him any ammunition to use against her.
“Is this why you are already neglecting the mill?”
“I have every intention of going in shortly.” Two days and he was already questioning her ability to run the place. Although, it was as much her fault for oversleeping. “I didn’t feel well this morning.” She’d drunk too much, but she’d let him draw his own conclusions.
Mr. Broadhurst leaned forward and tilted his head. “Perhaps you’re already breeding.”
Her face went hot. “I believe it would be impossible to know for certain.” Caroline had no more cards to play without revealing how weak her hand was. Instead she reached for the door handle. “I will send in the doctor when he is done with Mr. Applegate.”
“Tell him to be quick. I have an errand I need to discharge today.”
“I will ask the doctor to be fast,” she conceded. A man must have his little victories, she supposed.
Mr. Broadhurst assessed her coldly. “I will go in tomorrow to manage payroll and assess your work thus far.”
She supposed it was a warning to make certain all the mill business was well in hand, but she was on top of everything.
Holding her spine stiff, she walked through the library and tried to keep from shattering into a million shards. Her husband was a ruthless man—he was hard-nosed and unfeeling in business dealings, but she hadn’t thought such practices would extend to his wife. Regardless of how much she despised him, she needed him alive to shelter her reputation, especially if she had revealed too much to Mr. Whitton. But her victory felt too easily won, and she dreaded what Mr. Broadhurst’s next move might be.