William squinted. “It looks like one from the village.” He gave Chiron an affectionate pat on the hindquarters before a groom led him off for the stable.
The front door opened behind them. Fran turned an instant before Emma clasped her in a painful hug. “Thank heavens, you’re safe. When Thalia returned without a rider, we were in a panic to find you.”
Fran smiled over Emma’s shoulder at Nicholas, who lingered by the entry. It was a lovely feeling to have people who held such concern about one’s well-being. Having Emma and Nicholas as family had proved a surprising unanticipated benefit to her married state.
“Then William was gone.” Emma scowled at William. “We weren’t certain what to do.”
“I told her my older brother would take care of everything. He always does whether warranted or not.” Nicholas squinted at the oncoming carriage. “Were you expecting someone?”
The carriage rounded the turn in front of the door. Carruthers advanced to inquire about the traveler who could be seen peering out the window, but Fran broke into a wide smile before the carriage came to a full halt.
“Randolph!” she exclaimed, starting to move forward but a dull pain in her chest drew her up short. She pressed the offending spot, while looking for confirmation that the brief glimpse of the passenger was reality. “Can it be?”
“It would seem so,” William said, letting his displeasure seep into his voice. “The question should be: why?”
Emma grasped Franny’s elbow. “Are you hurt?”
William watched for her response. He’d be surprised if there weren’t some repercussions from that fall beyond her disheveled appearance. Franny, however, shook her head. “Just a bit sore. I fell from Thalia.”
“Who is this Randolph fellow?” Nicholas asked, advancing to join the others. “Why is he here?”
“William invited him,” Franny replied with a glance to her husband.
He scowled. “I’ve never met the man.” He could have continued that he had no wish to meet him, but Franny’s eyes were lit with such enthusiasm and delight—he refused to say anything to lessen her glow.
Carruthers advanced to open the carriage door.
“On the
Republic
,” Franny said. “Do you not remember that you invited Mr. Hairston and his cousin to call upon us?” She slowly advanced toward the carriage, hand on hip.
“Mr. Hairston is not Randolph Stockwell,” William said softly at her back, still puzzled by the sudden appearance of the man from Franny’s past, especially at this inopportune moment.
She didn’t stop but replied over her shoulder. “Randolph is Mr. Hairston’s cousin.”
“Bloody hell!” He swore softly to himself. He could have just as well as fallen victim to a tumbled load of marble block for the heavy burden this unexpected visit caused.
The door to the carriage opened and a tall, fuzzy-jawed American emerged, his gaze intent on Franny.
For her part, Franny seemed as giddy as a girl just introduced to society, even though in her current state of disarray, she looked more the part of a street urchin. She curtsied to the young man, even though she held the higher ranking according to British standards. William’s lips tightened. She apparently had forgotten that as a duchess she need only curtsy to the Queen and other heads of state.
The Randolph fellow kissed her hand and, in William’s opinion, lingered a bit too long at it. He started to move forward, but his brother blocked his path with his walking stick. Though tempted to break the impediment, he glanced at its owner. Nicholas nodded with a lifted brow, signaling restraint. Frustrated, William took a deep breath and worked to control his rising ire.
Franny introduced the young man—the young barrister, he modified, to the welcoming party. Her hand pressed to her side, she seemed to be having some minor difficulty. Before he could step forward, Randolph offered his arm for assistance. She took it—gladly, William silently fumed. She should be leaning on his arm, no one else’s. When Franny guided Mr. Randolph Stockwell toward him, William offered a curt handshake and forced a tight smile. She guided her visitor toward the house, issuing orders to a footman in her wake. Dick trotted behind at her heels.
William scowled at their backs; the visitor’s timing could not be worse. Still, William walked over to have a word with the driver of the barouche, one of the rentals available in town to transport rail passengers to their country destinations. The driver nodded, then wheeled his carriage about to return to the village.
“I take it you know this fellow?” Nicholas asked, waiting for his brother after the two Americans and Emma had entered the abbey.
“I’d never met him before, but I know of him,” William replied, pausing outside. “Francesca fancied herself in love with the man before she was forced to marry me.”
Nicholas whistled low. “And you invited him here?”
William squinted into the sunlight. “It would appear so.”
“Your balls must be of tougher stuff than those slabs of stone they’re hoisting on the west side.”
FRAN TOOK RANDOLPH TO THE BLUE SALON TO GIVE the housekeeping staff time to prepare a room and to discover all that had transpired since she had last seen him. She introduced Randolph to Lady Rosalyn, who paled at his first utterance. She quickly excused herself, Fran assumed to find a vial of smelling salts. Lady Mandrake, on the other hand, took immediate interest in the newcomer. Good. Perhaps that bit of flash would shift her focus away from William and onto Randolph.
“I must admit I wasn’t confident of my reception here,” he said. “And you”—he surveyed her from head to toe with appreciation—“look different than I remembered.”
She patted her hair, then realized the extent to which sections of Mary’s elaborate upsweep now dangled about her shoulders. Her straw hat, dusty and battered from the fall, dangled in her hand. She imagined her appearance certainly didn’t conform to the Newport de rigueur, much less a duchess persona. Perhaps Randolph wasn’t the cause of Lady Rosalyn’s distress, after all.
“I had a bit of a spill earlier. I usually look . . . cleaner.” Hastily shoving some of the fallen tendrils behind her ear, she sat on one of the blue-satin cushioned chairs and invited by gesture that Randolph do the same.
“I’m so pleased you decided to act on William’s invitation,” Fran rushed. “I’ve been so homesick, it does my soul good to have you here. Please say that you’ll stay till the grand ball for the Prince of Wales.”
“The Prince of Wales is coming here?” Randolph asked, his face incredulous. “I would think making his acquaintance would make old Whitby stand up and take notice. But, Fran, I have to tell you,” he said, suddenly looking very serious. “I didn’t come here as the result of the Duke’s invitation.”
“You didn’t?” Confused, she nevertheless maintained her smile. “Then what brought you here?”
“Your letter.” His face expressed the confusion she felt. He reached in his inner jacket pocket and began to tug at a paper. “You were obviously under a delusion that—”
“There you are,” William said, joining them in the salon. “I’m sorry to be detained. Apparently, some difficulties in the renovations presented themselves while the Duchess and I were riding.”
Randolph quickly pushed the paper back into his pocket, then tugged at the bottom of his jacket, straightening it.
“Tell me, Stockwell. Do you know anything about British contract negotiations?”
“I was doing something along those lines for Mr. Winthrop’s interests in Germany. I’m not sure—”
“Excellent. Allow me to show you the extensive renovations we’re making on the abbey. As you can see the venture involves a number of guilds. Come.” He waved Randolph forward.
Poor Randolph appeared flustered, Fran thought with a grin. But then he’d never encountered Williams’s relentless determination. “But I was just explaining to the Duchess—”
“After our long ride this morning, I suspect my wife is most anxious to soak in a hot tub and freshen her attire. Aren’t you, my dear?” Before she could answer, he continued on. “We’ll see the women again at dinner. You know how long it takes them to prepare. Come. Let me show you what we’ve done thus far.”
She supposed she should have protested William’s heavy-handedness with their new visitor, but quite honestly, a hot bath sounded wonderful. That spill had affected her more than she’d realized, in fact she wouldn’t mind borrowing one of Nicholas’s walking sticks. Fortunately, Emma came by to check on her and with very little persuasion assisted Fran up the stairs to her room where, she discovered, William had already ordered a bath be drawn for her. Such a considerate man, her husband.
“MR. STOCKWELL IS HERE? HE’S STAYING IN THE ABBEY?” Mary obviously had no reluctance to let her shock resonant in her voice. It brought a smile to Fran’s lips as she soaked in the tub. Mary had tossed a handful of rose petals and lavender into the water and the resulting fragrance was wonderfully relaxing.
“I’ve asked him to stay till the ball. It’ll be lovely to have another American on the grounds.”
Mary shook her head. “Didn’t you say he married some German girl?”
“I thought I’d mentioned it to you on the
Republic
. It seems that was a lie perpetuated by—”
A knock on the door interrupted. Mary cracked the door and spoke briefly with the person on the other side.
“The doctor is here to tend to you, Your Grace.”
“Doctor? I don’t think I need a doctor,” Fran said, not wishing to leave the soothing comfort of the warm water.
Mary retrieved a night rail and placed it on the bed. “Nevertheless your husband sent for one.” She picked up a towel and held it wide. “Up with you and let’s get you ready.”
Mary wouldn’t allow the doctor entrance to the room before Fran was properly dressed and tucked into bed. Once she had Fran situated, she opened the door. “You may come in now.”
An older man, about her father’s age, entered the room with William on his heels. William quickly introduced Dr. Shipley.
“Your Grace,” the doctor bowed to Fran. “We were introduced on the day of your arrival at Deerfeld, but I imagine with so many new faces, you may not recall mine.”
“You are mistaken,” Fran replied, finding it easy to slip into a mistress of the manor role with William in observance. “I’ve found it’s always wise to memorize the faces of medical professionals whenever I travel to a new city. One never knows when such knowledge will be needed.” She shifted to sit a bit straighter, but grimaced with a quick pain in the chest. “However, this is not one of those occasions.”
“I believe the doctor should be the judge of that.” William moved to the far side of her bed. “That was a nasty spill off your horse.”
Irritated, she glanced at William. Surely, she would know if she needed a doctor. There had been no blood, her limbs functioned sufficiently, her muscles ached from her fall—but none of that justified another man examining her in this state of undress. She had no need of a doctor . . . unless . . . unless Bedford was using her fall as an excuse to have the doctor examine her for a possible pregnancy. She grimaced. Her word should have been sufficient, but if this is what it took . . .
“Will you stay?” she asked, directing her question to William.
“If you like.” He sat on the mattress by her side.
“I’m going to first check your limbs for breaks,” the doctor said. He ran his hand down her arms and legs, just as William had done immediately after the fall. The doctor, of course, found nothing just as she had anticipated.
“Now I’m going to check your breathing. Could you possibly sit straight, madam?”
William immediately braced her shoulder with his arm, helping her to lift into a sitting position. His close proximity reminded her of the quiet intimacy they’d shared on his horse. She nuzzled her forehead against his chin while the doctor placed a metal cup attached to rubber tubes on her chest. She had kept hold of the sheet to cover her breasts for decency’s sake, but now she wondered if even the sheet would conceal the effect William’s nearness had on her body.
“There’s certainly nothing wrong with your heartbeat, madam. It’s healthy and strong, perhaps a mite fast.” He smiled down at her, then placed the metal cup on her back. “Take a breath, please.”
She compiled, then he repeated the procedure a few more times before he would allow her to lie down. William continued to hold her hand, even after she lay back upon the pillows. She glanced at him, surprised he would do this in plain view of the doctor.
“I need to check her rib cage. Will you allow me to turn back the sheets?” His question was directed to William, which seemed odd. William nodded and the doctor turned back the top sheet in wide folds to her waist. He lightly pressed her nightgown down her sides, then pressed her chest in the vicinity of her rib cage. Her breath caught from the sharp pain, but it quickly abated.
“I believe that is all I need,” the doctor said, unfolding the sheet to its original position. “Rest is all you need. You’ll be sore, but there’s nothing serious about which to be concerned.” He removed a bottle of liquid from his bag and poured a bit into a spoon. “I’d like you to swallow this.”
She let the sweet medicine slide down her throat.
“It’s laudanum for the pain.” He explained to William. “I’ll leave this bottle for her use. Just let her take some as needed.”
William appeared relieved. Fran would have drawn a deep breath but she thought it might hurt too much. She straightened in the bed and brushed the top of the sheet.
“While the doctor is here, Bedford, is there another examination you wish performed?” she asked with a meaningful glance to the juncture of her legs.
He raised a brow in her direction. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
The doctor’s brow lowered as he glanced from Fran to William, then he eased into a wide grin. “I’m afraid it’s too early to tell if the seed has taken root, if that is your question, madam. You’ve only been married a few weeks.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless, of course, you two . . .”