“I feel better,” he mumbled.
“Do you? But the salve still needs to be applied—unless you’ve been miraculously healed?”
Throwing back at him those words he’d used yesterday to chase her away wasn’t the wisest thing she could have done. She curbed the bit of anger that had snuck up on her because of his annoyance remark and dredged up another smile, though she was sure he could see how fake it was.
But he wasn’t looking at her. He raised the sheet covering his left leg high enough to unwrap the bandage himself before she could get her scissors near him. So he did sense her anger? So be it. Hiding it every time she was around him was a recipe for an explosion.
“Your wound drained well,” she said as the last of the bandage fell away. “Three more applications today and—”
“Three?” he balked. “You can tell me how to make the salve and I will apply it m’self.”
“I could, but too much of the herb could draw out the poisons too quickly and enlarge your wound, while too little will do nothing.”
That was an absurd lie. She ought to tell him it was. No, she wouldn’t. He might want to see her as little as possible, but nothing would get resolved if they just counted the days down in separate rooms until they were standing at the altar. Besides, for her tactic to work instead of his, she had to keep helping him. And she had to stop being so sensitive to his insults.
“Is there hot water for a brief compress?” she asked.
“The water has been kept hot for two hours. When you request something, be on hand to receive it.”
She ignored the surliness as she headed to the bathing room to find the water, tossing back, “The room is a little warm from that fire, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t really. She guessed the window in the bathing room had been left open to draw out the heat from the fireplace and she found that she was right. She dipped a small towel in the bucket of simmering water, then dropped it in a clean bowl to take back to his bed. She wrung out the towel and placed it over his wound. It was no longer hot enough to burn, but he must have thought it was. He roared. She raised a brow at him and got a nasty look for it.
To distract him she mentioned what was on her mind. “How soon do we need to marry?”
“Too soon.”
“Would an engagement do instead?”
“No. The Prince is fickle. He has a tendency to change his mind so he sets specific time limits on important matters he wants to see done. He wants money out of this absurd arrangement to pay off his debts, wants one of us to refuse to go along with it so he can dip his hands into fresh coffers. He wants that immediately, so if we don’t marry in the time he has prescribed, he will get what he really wants out of this absurdity. The first of the three banns was read yesterday at Sunday mass. The emissary saw to that before he left.”
She felt a little queasy hearing that news. “So in only two more weeks? I’m surprised he didn’t bring a special license with him to shorten the time.”
“He did. I got the delay only because of the severity of my wound, which he could clearly see since I had to receive him in bed. It was his stipulation that you remain here for the duration. If you leave . . .”
“Yes, yes, we already know your sentiments. Mine are the same as yours. Believe me, I wish none of this had happened. As I told you, I was looking forward to having a Season in London, but instead I was thrown to the wolves, or wolf as it were. Oh, I beg pardon. I suppose you don’t like that nickname.”
“You shouldn’t try to provoke me,” he warned darkly.
Her heart skipped a beat. When he got all feral like that, he really was frightening. She had to remind herself that she didn’t know what he was capable of. Then again, maybe she should try to find out.
So she steeled herself to say drily, “Only you are allowed to be provocative? Oh, wait, that assumes I’ll still be here to see what happens if I don’t heed your advice? Which means you won’t say the words to end this, will you? Which suggests a truce is still the best path forward for both of us.”
She grabbed the herb pouch and headed back to the bathing room to mix another batch of salve. She was surprised he didn’t retaliate with another resounding no.
When she was back at his bedside, she risked raising his ire once more by asking, “Will we marry here or in London?”
“I refuse to plan for an event I don’t believe will happen,” he said darkly.
His ire didn’t rise because it hadn’t subsided! So she quickly spread the salve around his stitches, then handed him a fresh bandage, saying, “I will return again after lunch. Take heart that I won’t suggest we share all three meals each day. But I will be back to have dinner with you again.”
“Be precisely on time, vixen, or I will fire my cook.”
Her eyes flared. Her mouth opened to revile him for that threat, but she snapped it shut. She didn’t doubt he would do exactly that, even though his cook was his friend’s mother. How despicable!
In answer she wriggled her nose. “You stink. The fever has made you sweat quite heavily. You can’t take a bath yet, but that doesn’t mean your manservant can’t bathe you.”
“You dare—”
“An unclean body can affect—”
“If you’re not out of my sight in two seconds, I will share this unclean body with you!”
She hurried out of the room, trying to suppress a grin. She hadn’t really insulted him. He did stink and probably knew it. He just didn’t like being told about it.
Chapter Twenty
RETURNING UPSTAIRS AFTER LUNCH, Brooke caught Gabriel coming down the corridor from Dominic’s room and stopped to ask him, “Am I ever going to get a tour of the house?”
“This is going to be your home, so you’re welcome to explore all you like.”
“Tell me about Eloise then?”
All of a sudden he looked wary. “Why? It’s not good to talk about the—”
“Nonsense. What was she like?”
Gabriel was silent for a moment. “She was beautiful, wonderful . . .” He blushed a little. “I was a little in love with her myself, but she didn’t know and of course I could never tell her. She was so full of spirit and fun, but she was a bit headstrong, too, and could be as wild and reckless as her brother. She loved to ride just as fast as Dom, and those two were always racing across the moors together, actually racing each other. She also had her own sailboat, identical to his, which he bought her after he taught her to sail, and they would even race those down the coast. And she used to tag along with Dom and me, even when Archer and Benton, his best friends from school, visited. She refused to be left out of whatever fun we were up to.”
His description made Brooke wish she could have known the girl. Eloise Wolfe sounded quite fun to be around. Brooke had a feeling they could have been close friends.
“Anything else about her that was special?”
“She liked making her own choices, about clothes, friends, even charities. Lady Anna didn’t always agree with her daughter, and she couldn’t curb Ella’s buying whatever caught her fancy because Ella had her own money, an inheritance from one of her grandmothers. Lady Anna is a patron of the arts and she encouraged Ella to pick a worthy cause to support as well. Ella surprised us all when she didn’t pick one, but three!” Gabriel chuckled. “A hospital in York, a church-run foundling house just outside of London, and a home for elderly mariners in Scarborough. Not exactly what Lady Anna had in mind, though she couldn’t deny they were worthy causes. And to honor her daughter, Lady Anna continues to support them now.”
Generous, this family, at least the women in it. Ella had been so lucky to be able to make her own choices. Brooke couldn’t imagine what having that sort of freedom would have been like.
“I do admit I was a bit jealous when Ella and her mother returned from London at the end of that summer, and Lady Anna declared her daughter’s first Season a success.”
“Why?”
“Because it obviously was. A co
uple of besotted young lords followed Ella home to continue the courtship they started in London. I suspected marriage proposals would soon follow if Ella hadn’t already been asked. But then Ella accompanied her mother to Scarborough before the weather turned too nippy. I’ll never forget how touched I was when she told me before she left that day with her mother that she loved me because I was such a good and true friend to her brother. Dom was closer to Archer Hamilton and Benton Seamons, the lords he went to school with, yet she seemed to think I was the better friend. It was the last thing she ever said to me. She never returned from Scarborough.”
When his expression turned sad, she asked gently, “How did she die, Gabriel?”
She didn’t need to hear the words. She could tell what he was going to say from the wary expression that returned to his face. “You’ll need to ask Dominic if you want to know about that.”
She sighed. As if that subject were ever going to be safe with the wolf. But she glanced behind her at the locked room he’d mentioned yesterday, trying a new tack. “What about that room?”
“Ella’s? I told you it’s kept locked.”
“You also said I could see her room another time. Now’s a good time.”
“Why do you even want to?”
“So I can understand a little better the people responsible for my being here, Dominic, Robert—and Ella.”
Gabriel hesitated before he nodded and moved past her to unlock the door. “Please don’t tell Dom I allowed this,” he whispered.
She held out her hand for the key. “I promise he’ll never know. I’ll lock the door when I leave.”
Gabriel nodded, then continued on his way downstairs.
Brooke entered the room and quickly closed the door. Would she find anything of interest in the dead girl’s room? It wasn’t going to tell her how Ella died. It was dark and musty in here with the thick drapes closed. She opened one panel before slowly walking about the room.
She might be seeing it exactly as Ella had last seen it, except for the portrait of a beautiful young woman leaning against one wall. Eloise Wolfe? She had a strong feeling that it was, and it must have been painted right before her eighteenth year—black hair, amber eyes, joyful. Excited about her upcoming Season? It had probably had a prominent place downstairs until her death made it too painful for her family to look at, and it had been stored behind a locked door instead.
Nothing appeared to be out of place or missing from the room. The vanity was still filled with perfumes and baubles, the small dressing room was still cluttered with clothes, bonnets, and shoes. There was a painting of a beautiful white horse, and another of two sailboats on the sea. Ella definitely liked the outdoors. A miniature of Dominic sat on a night table next to the bed, a younger Dominic, though old enough for the image to closely resemble the man he’d become. Ella loved him, had been close to him from what Gabriel had said. A jewelry box had a wolf’s head carved on the top of it. A family heirloom? She opened the box and was surprised to find it nearly empty except for a tarnished pair of small silver earrings. If Ella had her own money, why wasn’t that box filled with expensive jewelry?
The girl had also liked frilly things. Ruffles were on the bedcover, the drapes, the vanity—or perhaps she’d never got around to redecorating after she grew up. A large bowl of small seashells was at the center of her bureau, with large shells placed around it. She must have had fun on that Scarborough beach as a child. With Dominic? Did they build sand castles together? Swim together? Brooke wondered if he would ever talk about the sister he’d lost.
She started opening the bureau drawers and felt guilt creeping up on her. This was snooping of the worst sort. But how else was she supposed to find out what happened to Dominic’s sister when he wouldn’t tell her anything beyond Robert’s being responsible for her death?
The first drawer of the bureau she opened was filled with fans. Brooke was amazed to find so many. She started opening them and saw that they were all quite fancy, each made with a different-colored lace and with different gems dotting the painted frames, no doubt to match Ella’s large collection of evening gowns. Then she opened an unusual one. The frame was plain, unpainted wood, no gems attached, and the panels were made of white paper with a faint cursive handwriting design on it. Well, that made it more unusual, and since no gems were on it, she didn’t think anyone would mind if she borrowed it for a while.
She didn’t own any fans herself. Harriet had completely overlooked that accessory or they hadn’t been delivered to Leicestershire before Brooke had been sent here. But a fan would certainly come in handy to hide a grin if she felt like grinning at an inappropriate moment, or to keep Dominic from seeing her gritting her teeth. She stuck the fan in her pocket before opening more drawers.
She found nothing else of interest, and the only other thing to open and look inside was the chest at the foot of Ella’s bed. As she’d suspected, it only contained bedding. But just to be thorough, she reached inside and ran her palm across the bottom of the chest and touched a piece of hard leather. She pulled out a large book, but it had no title on the cover. Opening it, she read, Stay out, which was written in a childish scrawl. She was incredulous when she realized she was holding Eloise Wolfe’s childhood diary. She quickly flipped through the pages and saw that the handwriting changed, becoming more formal and mature. Her eye caught phrases about fittings and gowns and house parties. It wasn’t just a childhood diary but one that Ella had kept later in her life. Maybe she had written about Robert. Maybe the diary contained clues about Ella’s death. Brooke wanted to read the entire thing. So she left the room with the diary, locked the door, and hurried to her own room.
She spent the rest of the day as well as the next two days combing over seven years of Ella’s life, from the day the eleven-year-old girl started the diary to her eighteenth year. Brooke found the diary quite entertaining and actually laughed out loud when she read about Ella and Dominic’s getting lost in a snowstorm and being led home by a big white wolf—Ella’s description of the dog that had helped them. The girl had had a childish crush on one of her brother’s friends and worried that he’d marry someone else before she was old enough to propose to him, though she never mentioned it again, so she must have outgrown the notion.
The diary contained so many amusing anecdotes. Ella’s peeking in on Dominic in a corner of the gardens when he tried to kiss one of the local girls, who ran away screaming. Dominic’s pretending it was an accident when he fell on their sand castle—they did build them together!—just so they’d have to start over. Ella had even beat him at some of their races and mentioned every win, though she did suspect he had allowed her to. Brooke hated to put the diary down when she had to exercise Rebel, help Alfreda set up her new herb garden, or perform her least favorite task—visiting the wolf’s room to tend his wounds.
She was terribly disappointed when she reached the end of the diary because there were only a few entries from the summer of Ella’s Season and none from the autumn when she died. Those pages had apparently been ripped out, everything after the day she met “him.” That’s the only way Ella referred to the man who had fascinated her at her first ball. The six pages after that were missing. Brooke’s breath caught in her throat when she saw that whoever had ripped them out had missed the last page of the dairy that contained Ella’s handwriting. Had Ella removed the evidence before she died? No, Brooke realized Dominic must have ripped them out in the rage that overcame him when he found the damning words that had sent him to kill Robert. But no wonder he’d overlooked that last page when only two lines were on it:
laughed when I told him about the baby, but the baby leaves me no choice. Damn Robert Whitworth for ruining my life!
Brooke didn’t know what to think when she read that last page. So her brother didn’t just take Ella’s virginity, he’d left her pregnant? Lied to his own parents about it, refused to take responsibility for it, even laughed when Ella told him? Brooke was horrified that her brother could be that c
ruel to Ella, and he didn’t even care about his own unborn child! Brooke cried when she realized she’d lost a niece or nephew when Ella died. Yet, Dominic didn’t just blame Robert for seducing his sister, he blamed him for her death. Did Dominic think she took her own life—because of Robert? Was it in those missing pages? Just those two last lines might have made Dominic think that. If that was so, he didn’t just hate Brooke because her brother caused the death of his sister, but also the death of his niece or nephew.
Why couldn’t someone here at Rothdale have just told her that? Or did everyone else think Ella’s death was a tragic accident? But Brooke was no closer to feeling comfortable about asking Dominic about it.
She’d lied the other night when they’d had their second dinner together, telling him she had an earache so she couldn’t hear well. That had helped to keep her from reacting to his barbs. For the next two days he stopped trying to get her angry enough to leave; he simply stopped talking at all, waiting for her “deafness” to go away. While the quiet had been nice for a couple days, it wasn’t getting her anywhere. His fever and the inflammation were gone, and so was her excuse to enter his room.
Now that she’d finished reading the diary and had even more questions about what had happened to Ella, she decided her ears would make a full recovery by tomorrow morning.
Chapter Twenty-One
“THIS IS WHY YOU sent me off on that errand!” Gabriel accused when he returned to Dominic’s room and found him standing at one of the back windows. “So you could sneak out of your bed again?”
“I don’t sneak.” Dominic didn’t glance back, though he lifted the cane in his hand to show how he’d gotten to the window. “I hobbled with this.”
“Still—”
“There’s nothing wrong with the rest of me, Gabe. The fever broke a few days ago, and I’m damned if I can see any redness around the wound.”
“That’s good news.” Gabriel joined Dominic at the window. “I’ll let Miss Wichway know her—”