“Thank you for escorting me, my lord. Perhaps I shall see you again before you leave.”
It was dismissal, and he knew it. “Oh, you will. Lady Meriwether organized a trip to Hever Castle tomorrow. I told her I would pick you up in time for it. Ten o’clock.”
With a frown, she opened her mouth to decline.
“You’re not going to disappoint her, are you?”
He snapped the whip over the horses’ heads and pulled the reins to turn out of the driveway. Chiara started up the steps.
The crash had her whipping around.
The left horse reared. One of the curricle’s two large wheels spun across the gravel. Rafael rolled on the ground, clutching his left shoulder with a strangled curse.
Chapter 19
“Rafael!” She ran down to the gig, followed by Lacey, the footman. Rafe rolled once and lay still, breathing heavily. She fell to her knees.
Sam Goode hurried up behind her. As Lacey moved to lift Rafael, Sam yelled, “No! Wait a moment!” He dropped to the ground. “My lord, can you move yer feet?” The shoes wiggled. “Yer hands?” The right fingers flexed easily, the left less so.
“Is it your shoulder?” Chiara asked. He nodded through clenched teeth. “Lift him so he can sit up,” she instructed the men. “Careful!” Rafael’s face whitened at the jarring. With gentle fingers, she examined the arm bone and the shoulder. “Shoulder separation. We need to get him into the house. Get Dunham out here.”
“I can walk,” Rafael growled through clenched teeth.
Chiara nodded to Lacey. He and Sam levered Rafael to his feet. Given the nature of the injury, Sam was superfluous. “I’ll see to the gig, m’um.”
“Thank you, and send a groom to Lady M. Get some of his clothes and tell her what happened. He’ll stay here tonight.”
“Right ye are, my lady.”
The passage into the house took even more time than she thought it would. Once she had his coat and shirt cut off him, the swelling and bruising around his shoulder were evident. “We will need Dunham after all,” she said to Lacey. “Quickly, and have Taylor bring bandages, water, and towels.” The young man sped off. Rafael breathed though his teeth. “We’ll get it back in, and you’ll be a lot more comfortable.” He nodded as Lacey barreled back in, followed closely by Dunham.
“Good. I need you to help me. Rafael, sit forward a bit.” Dunham, several years younger than his co-worker, paled but stood his ground. She pointed at him. “Take him firmly around the rib cage, as close to his armpits as you can.” He moved to grab Rafe. “Wait until I finish. Lacey I want you to hold him here,” she pointed to his own arm, “and here at precisely this,” she used her hand to make a line, “angle. When you are both positioned, I will say ‘go.’ Lacey will pull. Dunham, you will attempt to keep him where his is. Don’t pull yourself. Understood?” Both men nodded. “Are you ready, Rafael?”
“Just do it.”
Taylor slipped into the room with the supplies.
“Get into position. Ready? Go!”
Rafael let out a strangled cry, but she heard the small, distinctive pop of the arm bone slipping back into place. Taylor handed her a damp towel, and she wiped Rafael’s sweat-streaked face.
“Can you move your arm, just the slightest bit?” He complied.
She looked at Taylor. “Let’s start cold compresses on the shoulder before we bind it up. That will help with the swelling. Then we’ll strap it to his body so he won’t thrash it around during the night. Also mix me up four drops of laudanum in a glass of water.”
“No laudanum.” Rafe’s voice sounded stronger, and his color looked better.
“It will ease the pain.”
“I know what it will do. It will also make me woozy. No laudanum. Get me a large brandy.”
“You both did very well.” She nodded dismissal to Lacey. “Dunham, the brandy. Taylor, have a room prepared for his lordship.” Dunham’s cheeks flushed pink with pleasure as he poured a glass full of brandy.
“That’s the thing,” Rafael said as he took the glass in his good hand and tossed back the majority of its contents.
Sam Goode entered the room. “My lady, can I have a moment of yer time?”
“Not now, Sam.”
“I’m afraid, now, my lady.”
“Sam, what is it?”
“Jeffries and I were looking at the carriage. We found something. The thing is, m’um, it shouldn’ha come off.”
“What do you mean?”
“He means,” Rafael rumbled, “That I heard a faint snap as I turned.”
“Aye, my lord. That’s exactly what I mean. T’axle was sawn nearly ‘alf way through.”
“You mean someone sabotaged the gig!”
“Aye.”
Sleep proved elusive for Chiara. After lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for what seemed like forever; she lit a candle and put on her wrapper and slippers. She added a few coals to the fire to chase off the worst of the winter’s night chill and sat at the small desk in her chamber. The knowledge that the wheel had not come off accidentally disturbed her like few other things could. She could have been in the curricle, too, when the wheel fell off. Her hand cradled her belly in the age-old protective gesture of all pregnant women.
Someone sought to hurt or kill. The curricle belonged to Rafael, so he would be the first candidate for a target. The thought bothered her almost as much as the possibility of harm to her baby. She forced it aside in an act of will. Why Rafael? He only recently returned to the country from a clandestine mission, known to only a few. To the rest of the world, he had no connection to her and none to this part of England. No one here knew Rafael, particularly, so it was most likely a newcomer to the area. Some of the guests at the Meriwethers’ might know him from London, but he’d mentioned no one especially. Except his mother. Was she capable of attempting to murder her own son?
From their brief acquaintance, Chiara had to say yes. Admittedly, that wasn’t much to go on. Drawing a fresh paper to her, she decided she needed more information and dipped the quill in the ink pot. Uncle Geoffrey might know more about her mother-in-law.
She’d written the first line of the letter when Chiara heard something in the house. The sound was indistinct. She listened for a second and continued writing when she heard nothing else. There it sounded again. Chiara got up to investigate. She took her candle and went down the hall and down the stairs. Halfway down, she smelt the faint acrid smell of smoke. She hurried down.
“What’s going on?” she shouted.
“Fire! There’s a fire in the kitchen!” One of the young housemaids, Chiara thought.
He stood in his chamber with only a few walls separating him from Chiara, under the same roof. They would meet at breakfast like a normal married couple. He might kiss her good morning, a gentle husbandly kiss that could be remembering the night’s delights or looking forward to the evening’s. He might caress her gently rounding belly where their babe grew. The very thought of the commonplaces of married life, the casual intimacies had him hardening. “God’s blood, I’ve got it bad,” he muttered, looking down at himself, “if the mere though of breakfast together gets it up.”
Shirtless because he’d removed the restrictive bindings, he began to gently exercise his injured left arm. Slowly, he moved it to the point of pain and then moved it in a different direction. As he found the limits of free motion, he gradually began to push them, working his arm up and back.
As he exercised, he though about his wife, only a few feet away. His flight out of Italy had been a desperate race to see her again, to repair the damage he’d wrought, and to reclaim what was his. Memories of his bitter-sweet wedding night raged sharp and pungent in his mind. Even in the midst of his fury, he still wanted her with a fierceness that overrode thoughts of disproved betrayal. After he rode from the beach, satisfied beyond his deserts that she was safely on her way to the Swiftsure, only then did he have the leisure to contemplate the great wrong he’d done his bel
oved.
Wooing her a second time would be even harder than the first. A challenge, but he could handle challenges. Fate even handed him the first advantage. He was here.
He shook his head and crawled into bed, wishing briefly that his wife shared it with him. He left the candle burning and propped the pillows behind his shoulders, throwing his good arm in back of his neck as he sat there. The damage to his curricle was deliberate. He was the logical target. But why? Chiara could have been hurt or killed. The thought had him lowering his arm in shock. He shook away the sick feeling, and thanked God she hadn’t been in the vehicle when the axle finally failed.
And why here and now? He didn’t lack enemies, but why would any of them suddenly find the urge to kill him. After all, so few people even knew he was back in the country. Who was on that list? The number of individuals he’d seen made a very short tally. They, in turn, may have told servants, acquaintances, government functionaries… the list suddenly grew geometrically.
He began to work through the possibilities when he heard shouting.
“Get out!” Chiara ordered. “Warn the others!” The kitchen was on the main floor next to the kitchen staff’s quarters.
“All right!”
“Then get out!”
Chiara ran back up the stairs, yelling as she went. “Fire! Fire! Get out of the house. Everybody out!”
Sleepy figures, still in their night clothes, caps askew on their heads, came down the stairs from the upper servants’ quarters. “Betsy,” she shouted to her maid, “Get everybody out!” She shooed them down the stairs.
“Taylor,” she yelled. “Check that everybody’s outside.”
Rafael came out, clad only in his pants and boots.
“Get out!”
“After you!”
She did a quick mental count of those with bedrooms above stairs and followed them down towards the back with Rafe at her heels.
Once outside, she found Taylor. “Is everyone safe?” She could see flames in the ground floor window.
“Dunham has gone around the house to tally those in the front.”
“Good. Let me know. We need to get a bucket brigade going.”
“Lacey is already attending to that.”
Dunham raced around from the left. Winded, he bent down. “Flora, Mary, Ethan, and Joe.”
Taylor nodded. “That’s everyone.”
“Good, that’s what’s important.” She jerked her head up. “Oh, my God!” She ran back into the house.
“Chiara, get back here!” Rafe shouted, but she ignored him. “Damnation, woman! What are you trying to do?”
Hoisting the skirts of her night gown, she pounded up the steps. The main hall already filled with smoke. Up the stairs she flew, Rafe barking at her heels. In her room, she headed straight to her dresser. Rafe caught her and yanked her back.
“We have to get out! Now”
She grabbed a small bag with an attached ribbon and stuffed it in the wrapper’s pocket. “Yes, now!”
They headed down the hall. Both started coughing. Smoke, thicker than when they came up, filled the stairs. It rasped the back of her throat. Chiara saw bright flickers near the bottom of the steps. Rafe pushed her back, took a few steps down, and looked around. “We’re not getting down that way.” He coughed again. “Cover your face. Is there another staircase?”
She used the sleeve of her wrapper to filter out the worst of the smoke, but Rafe had nothing. “From here, no.”
“Back to your room!” They closed the door on the worst of the smoke. He ran to the window and threw it open. Fresher air filled the room. “Come on! This is the only way.” He waved her over.
“Rafe, I can’t jump. The baby!”
“Damn, you’re right.” A wry grin spread on his face. “I’m barely used to thinking for two, let alone three.”
Smoke crept under the door.
“The sheets!” She ripped the top sheet off the bed. “They’re not long enough…ah!” She grabbed a letter opener off the desk and stabbed the sheet near one end. Ripping it to the edge, she handed one side to Rafael. “Pull.” She handed her piece to him. “You’re a sailor, knot it.” Pulling the second sheet off the bed, she repeated the process.
Hanging the new rope out the window, he could see that it lacked about ten feet to the ground. “We need some more length.”
“My lord!” Sam Goode yelled from the ground. “Tie it off and slide down!”
“It’s too short! She’ll fall!”
“I’ll catch her!”
Smoke curled up under the door, making that wall a hazy phantasma.
Rafe pulled her over to the window. “Get out!”
“What about you?”
“I’ll make it!”
“You’ll have to tie it off!” She looked around for a place to secure the sheet rope. Her desk could be moved, but it was too fragile. The bed? Not even with the two of them. The remaining chairs and tables were all too light to hold his weight. Wildly, she searched the room as a fit of coughing gripped her. The antique armoire was close to the window, but flush to the floor, with no place to secure the rope. No place now! She grabbed the fireplace poker and smashed a hole in the side of the massive piece of furniture. Then she smashed a hole in the door.
“Tie off point!” She pointed to her handiwork.
“You’re handy to have around.”
“I’d rather not have my husband in small pieces on the ground.”
“Chiara!” His eyes lit, and he pulled her close to kiss her passionately.
She pushed away. “Later. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Go! I’ll hold it until you get down. That’ll give you some more length.”
Smoke rendered the door invisible.
She climbed over the sill. Her night gown rode up her legs.
“Come on, my lady. The whole house is engulfed.”
A brief thought made her giggle. Modesty went out the window along with herself, especially with Sam down below. And they thought her pants were brazen!
Smoke poured out the window above her.
Hand over hand yielded to slipping as she left the sill. It was faster. Then there was nothing. She shrieked, but Sam’s arm caught her.
“Are you all right?” Rafe yelled.
“Yes. Tie it off and get down here!” The fresh air felt wonderful.
“Yes, ma’am.” They moved away from the drop site. He disappeared for a minute. Every second seemed like forever to her. Smoke billowed from the window. Finally his legs appeared over the sill, and he lowered himself down with a great deal more control than she did. With his arms extended from the end of the rope, the fall was fairly short. He let his knees buckle and landed in a crouch.
He stayed down, gulping huge breaths of clean air and cradling his injured arm. She ran over and knelt beside him, throwing her arms around him. “Rafe, Rafe!” He coughed then enfolded her. Lifting his head, he leaned his forehead on hers.
Sam touched her on the arm. “Come this way, m’lady. We need to get ye out of the cold. It’s not good for the likes of ye.” Rough blankets, not all that clean or sweet-smelling but warm, materialized around their shoulders by unknown hands.
“Thanks, Sam, but I need to help.”
Rafael rose and pulled her up. “He’s right. You need to get warm. I’ll take care of this.”
“But I need…”
“Remember the part about ‘obey’? Now’s the time. Go.”
With Sam’s arm around her waist, gently leading her to the stables, she didn’t have a lot of choice.
In the end, nothing could save the house. The fire turned the wing above the kitchen into a pile of ashes. The other side, partially spared by the collapse of the Great Hall ceiling, smoldered pitiably but still stood.
Most of the servants found shelter in welcoming tenant cottages or in the stables. Under more usual circumstances, Chiara would have gone to Lady Meriwether’s for shelter. The presence of the other Lady F
itzHenry made that uncomfortable. Lacey, therefore, drove Betsy and Chiara to the Abernathy’s. A none-too-happy Rafael took one of the horses and a groom’s borrowed shirt back to the Meriwether’s.
“Don’t argue,” Chiara told him. “Tonight we just need to rest and regroup. We have a lot of tomorrows to sort the rest out.”
His arm functioned perfectly when he kissed her before mounting the horse. “Tomorrow, then.”
Chiara felt sorry for Sam Goode, she really did. The look on his face put her in mind of a mouse that fell into a fox’s den: afraid to move and afraid not to. He perched on the edge of one of the elegant chairs at the table in the salon where Mrs. Abernathy let them set up a sort of headquarters. He wrote a list of things to do on a wax slate in his careful, newly-learned letters. Chiara felt quite proud of him, actually. Before he arrived at Stoneacre, he didn’t even know how to hold a pen.
“I’ll have the house staff going through the house, soon as we’re sure it’s cool. They’ll pull out what is salvageable, though I don’t think there’ll be much.” Sam’s mouth pulled almost hair thin.
Chiara double-checked her own list as she said, “I’ll be over to help as soon as I finish here.”
“Ye won’t be setting so much as a toe inside that house.”
Chiara’s hear snapped up. “What?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Ye won’t be wandering through the wreckage, my lady. Not in you condition, you won’t. And I suspect his lordship’ll back me up on this.”
“What will I do?” Rafael swept off his top hat and stuck it under his arm as he strode into the parlor and over to Chiara’s chair. After brazenly planting a kiss on her mouth, he looked at Sam who stood respectfully. “Well?”
Sam took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and said, “I just told Lady Chiara that she wasn’t to set foot inside her house and that ye’d back me up on that.”
“Absolutely.” Sam let out the breath.
“Now see here, it’s…”
“Not open to discussion.” Rafael poured a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. He held up the pot to Sam who proffered his cup.