The Perfect Rose Read online

  As he carried Brodie into the house another servant came to her aide but she waved him away. She could not remember dismounting but in the next moment she was following others into the house. A footman took the cape she wore, leaving her chill. The stairs loomed before her eyes. Rhionne was ahead, Brodie in his arms. Justin's voice came from above. “You have him! Oh, that is wonderful!"

  His father gently prodded him. “He is hurt. I don't know how badly yet. Be sure the fire in the room you share is stoked. He must not be exposed to any more chill."

  Justin disappeared from view. Torie pulled herself up by the balustrade, step by step. She wanted to see Brodie's condition before she considered her own. Rhionne had him settled on the bed, in the room shared with Justin. He ordered a maid to bring a nightshirt while he unfolded Brodie from Torie's cloak. There was not one inch of the boy's clothes that was not covered in dirt and mud. When he attempted to divest Brodie from his shirt, the boy awoke and whimpered. “It hurt's Father."

  In haste Rhionne tore the shirt and threw it to the floor. Torie gasped. She could see Brodie's arm was at an odd angle. Not at all natural. “Oh, my poor, brave little man!” She did not realize she had spoken aloud. Indeed, if the room had not been so quiet no one would have heard the whisper that was her over-worked voice.

  His lordship's voice floated to her. “It's all right. It's not a break. Only the shoulder is dislocated. Justin, summon a footman and some brandy. Tell Mrs. Tewksbury to summon the doctor from the village. Torie you'd best go to your room. This is not something you'll care to see."

  Torie shook her head in denial. His lordship did not argue. His mind was on the task before him. “Very well. Sit by his head and comfort him as best you can. Put this in his mouth when I say.” ‘This’ was a pencil from the nursery that Brodie had hidden under his pillow for some unfathomable child's reason.

  Justin brought the footman and the brandy, then raced to tell the housekeeper to send for the doctor. Torie protested when Rhionne forced Brodie's lips apart and poured dose after dose of the spirits down his throat. Brodie struggled and cried, but soon was mellowed by the effects of the brandy. “Torie, put the pencil in his mouth. Now hold him!” Rhionne ordered the footman. “Don't let him move in the slightest."

  Torie thought there was little chance of this. The boy was in a drunken stupor. But when Rhionne suddenly jerked Brodie's shoulder back into place, the child screamed, biting the pencil near in two, and would have shot bolt upright if it weren't for the footman pinning him to the bed. Torie had to bite her own knuckles to keep from crying out. She soothed Brodie as best she could and soon he relaxed and fell asleep. Torie sat and stared at the sleeping form. He looked so small and helpless! She began to cry softly, unable to help herself.

  A hand on her shoulder made her look up into dark blue eyes. “He'll be all-right. It won't pain him beyond soreness for a week or so. Come, he'll sleep until the doctor comes."

  Torie allowed him to lead her by the hand, like a baby, to her room. Her face felt flushed and her eyes burned brightly. Her hair hung in wet ropes down her back. Rhionne's long tapered fingers stroked along her cheekbone. Torie turned her face into his palm. It was deliciously cool and soothing. He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. She was burning up! He swore under his breath and hastily unbuttoned Torie's fog-dampened gown.

  She would have protested but she couldn't seem to grasp the importance of it. Somehow she ended up in a dry chemise, under the covers of her bed. The fire was stoked high, even though she protested she was too hot! Fretfully she kicked the covers off. They were pulled back up and she struggled. Her voice came out a harsh bark. “Let me be!"

  "Torie! Stop it!” Rhionne's voice came to her. “You have a fever and don't know what's best for you.” A sudden chill seized Torie and she shuddered, suddenly reduced to crying like a child again. “Hush it's all-right.” He stroked her hand soothingly. “I'll stay with you till you fall asleep. When you awaken the doctor will be here."

  "I don't need a doctor ... Doctor for Brodie.” She was becoming fretful again.

  "Brodie is fine. The doctor will see him, too. But you were out on the moor too long and have caught chill. You could get worse if you don't cooperate. Do you understand, darling?"

  The room was hazy and so was Rhionne's face. His voice, too, could have been distorted when Torie heard him use the endearment. She really was ill, she realized, and gave over to his demands, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

  Torie drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes there was a maid's face next to her ... sometimes Justin's or Rhionne's. She even dreamed Brodie came to see her, but how could that be? It was too soon. The doctor came and went a few times, but she was not conscious when he was present and so she did not see the dour shake of his head when he contemplated her case.

  There were moments when she was lucid and wanted out of bed. The maid was forced to yell for help and once Torie even managed to reach the hall before she collapsed and Rhionne's face swam before her. “I've got you. Come on, be a good girl. Back to bed."

  "Not a child.” Torie protested. Her throat hurt like she'd swallowed fire and her lucid moment was gone.

  His voice came from far away. “Of course not. But you must get better. You must!"

  Chapter Twelve

  Torie woke without a clue as to what time of day it was. She felt tired but her thoughts were clear. The maid sitting next to the bed was dozing as Torie reached for the flacon of water on the table beside the bed and knocked it over when her hand refused to grasp it. What was wrong with her? She was weak as a kitten.

  The maid jumped to her feet. “Glory be! You're awake and not flushed, nor beady-eyed! I must tell the master!"

  The silly goose! Torie thought. What was the fuss about and why couldn't the pea-headed girl have gotten her a swallow of water before running off like a headless-chicken. She was feeling decidedly peevish.

  A small crowd came into the room. There was Justin and Rhionne and yes ... Brodie! Torie couldn't help exclaiming over this. Proudly Brodie pointed to his shoulder, held in a sling fashioned from a pillow casing. “The doctor said Father did the right thing and he really wasn't needed for me. I'll be fine in a couple of weeks. But it was a good thing the doctor came cause you..."

  "That will be fine,” Rhionne cautioned. “Torie needs cheering up, not a recounting of her week."

  "Week?” Torie questioned. “I've been sick a week?"

  "Nearly!” Justin volunteered. “We thought you were going to die. The doctor said..."

  "Enough.” Rhionne was growing impatient. “The doctor said Torie was to have bed rest and limited visiting. So you boys go on and play. Justin, tell Cook to bring up broth before you go gallivanting outside.” He turned to Torie. “When you feel up to it, we will talk. For now you rest and try to eat. You look to need nourishment."

  When he'd left, Torie ordered the maid, “Bring me a looking glass."

  "Oh, miss. I don't think you want ... Let me tidy your hair a bit."

  "No. Please..."

  The gaunt face that stared back at her was a stranger's. The green eyes were dull, sunken into hollows. Her hair was a fright, long and wild. She looked like a mad woman!

  The maid began timidly, “Don't worry, Miss. Your looks will come back. You just eat the broth Cook brings and you'll regain you're strength soon enough."

  When Cook arrived, she herself insisted on spooning the broth to Torie. “It was a good thing you done gave your cloak to the young master. But it cost you your health. We at Lairdscroft will never forget your sacrifice and if there's anything we can do for you, you just name it. If there's any special dish you want I'll fix it! Of course the doctor says you can have only broth for the first few days. But after that, you tell me what you want and I'll procure it."

  For the next few days it was all Torie could do to sit up in bed and take the spooned broth. For a woman who had enjoyed robust good health for the majority of her life, it was too frustrating,
and at times tears would gather. Cook would get misty-eyed herself and try to comfort Torie in the only way she knew how. She put chicken in the broth and sneaked scones to her at tea time. Soon Torie was able to get out of bed with assistance, but her walks were short and exhausting.

  Torie did not lack for visitors. If Rhionne did not chase the boys away frequently, they would never have left her side. They took their meals with her when their father was gone and generally played games, or read to her when she was tired.

  There came a day when she was able to stay out of bed and walk about without aide. She dressed herself in a shockingly loose gown of blue dimity that had once fitted snug, and cajoled Justin into helping her down the stairs. Justin did this under protest that his father would not like it, but Torie was adamant. She was tired of being treated the invalid!

  Torie had to admit she was weary within the hour. She sat in the salon with Brodie at her feet, playing marbles while Justin read aloud. They made a pretty picture and might have been any family spending the afternoon happily occupied. Torie must have dozed in her chair for a voice as loud as thunder woke her with a start.

  "What the devil are you doing down here?” Justin dropped the book he had been reading and Brodie jumped nervously, sending marbles scattering about the room. Rhionne McLairdin's smooth fitting tan breeches and molded cinnamon frock coat presented the picture of easy elegance and belied his wrathful countenance. “Good Gad! Have you feathers for sense, you pea-goose? And no fire in the grate? Justin I hold you responsible!"

  Justin bowed his head. “Yes, Father."

  Torie would have none of this. “No, he is not to blame. He did not want to bring me down, but I insisted. He was the perfect gentleman to acquiesce so gallantly. Now boys, if you'll excuse us, I would have a few words with your father."

  Thankfully reprieved, the boys scampered for the door. Rhionne's eyebrows rose in surprise at Torie's no nonsense tone. He remained standing but Torie did not hesitate. “I apologize for the inconvenience my infirmity has caused. I know it has near turned the house upside-down trying to accommodate my special needs. I therefore will try and not put you out any longer than necessary. If my calculations are correct the mail coach will make rounds in two days and I will be on it. I trust this will be satisfactory."

  His lordship stamped his well-polished boot heel in irritation. “No, it will not! I have seldom heard such nonsense. Surely my dear, you must realize after what you did for Brodie, not to mention given your current condition, I will not allow it."

  "But..."

  "But nothing. I am not Justin to be bullied into doing your will. Now, this discussion is closed and you will go straight up to bed. By the by, I took the liberty of ordering you a new cloak from the city. Your other is beyond salvation. The substitute should arrive shortly."

  Torie dare brook no argument. Indeed, she was euphoric over his news of her reprieve. She only wished she felt more like celebrating. But truth to tell she was wondering how she was going to make it upstairs without Justin's aide. Wearily she rose to her feet. Her hair, swept back with a ribbon, already regaining it's lost vitality, fell forward to cover her face. Even the effort of brushing it back was too great and she left it where it fell.

  An extra set of hands came to her aide. Rhionne tenderly brushed the strands from her eyes and combed his fingers through the thick mass several times, to smooth it before retying the ribbon. “You know your recent illness has made you much more complacent."

  His expression was serious but Torie caught the gleam in his eye. “Don't become accustomed to it. It's only temporary, I can assure you."

  "Pity, I could get to like it."

  Torie would have liked to saucily sweep from the room but it was beyond her capabilities. She made do with a careful one-foot in front of the other step. She only made a few feet progress before something held her back. Rhionne still had hold of her hair. He had let it slip through his fingers like smooth satin, but he had a firm grasp on the ends.

  "I don't think so, my dear. I don't relish seeing you tumble down the stairs. Now, you can either let me carry you up, demurely quiet. Or you can scream to your heart's content and I'll merely tell the servants your fever has returned and you are raving. You can decide on the way up, for it matters not to me one way or the other."

  And it obviously didn't for without so much as a by your leave he swept her up in his arms and carried her from the room. Torie had the insane urge to giggle. She was too tired to be affronted. Besides, he was really being quite sensible.

  * * * *

  It was a full two weeks longer before Torie recovered a modicum of her former good health and energy. Day by day she was up longer and longer with Nanny Ada, her constant companion, at Rhionne's orders. One would have thought Torie was a child the way the old servant shook her finger, wagging it at something Torie would do that met with disapproval. Torie did act the petulant patient at times. Even she had to admit she was not the easiest invalid. But when it became apparent Torie was able to traverse up and down the stairs at a reasonable pace, it became obvious Nanny Ada would once again be relegated to the nursery floor.

  The bloom was fast returning to Torie's cheeks and she felt almost her old self. Enough so, when her new cloak arrived, she wasted no time in trying it on. True to his word Rhionne had replaced her old red woolen with a fur-lined blue cloak of woven camlet. Torie had never had a new cloak. Even her old one had been a hand-me-down from one of her cousin's in days gone by. But that did not bear thinking on. What was this? On her bed, spread underneath the voluminous cloak so she had not seen them, were two new gowns.

  A beautiful turquoise sarsenet with satin underskirt gleamed up at her, while under this lay a slightly more subdued but lovely, jonquil yellow muslin. These were too much to accept and she meant to tell Rhionne just that the next opportunity she had. This came about in a most unexpected way.

  As the afternoon slipped away, Torie sat in the front parlor taking tea and biscuits with the boys. Justin kept one eye on the fire to be sure it never burned low. He did not relish another set down from his father on the subject when he came in. His other attention was devoted to reading aloud a book his father had recently purchased for just such a purpose ... Gulliver's Travels.

  It was to this scene of domestic bliss a caller was treated. Torie could not have been more surprised when the footman announced Jonathan Pickwick.

  The parson hesitated to break in upon such cozy banality. Especially in a house whose master did not attend service ... ever. It boded well to see the Christian belief in family togetherness was practiced. He smiled approvingly as if affirming a conclusion and immediately hurried to take Torie's hand. “My dear. It is good to see you up and about. No, do not rise!"

  Torie had not been able to attend church since her illness and she had heard from Nanny Ada that the younger parson had not been at Sunday dinner as of late. She remembered the circumstances of her last meeting with Jonathan and blushed.

  "I wonder if I might have a word with you, privately?” He glanced meaningfully at the boys.

  Justin's eyes narrowed and Torie thought he was growing more and more like his father. She half expected him to protest and insist on staying in the room. Reluctantly he rose and motioning to Brodie, who was stuffing sweet biscuits in his pockets like there was no tomorrow, they left the room.

  With little notice the parson fell to his knees, still grasping her hand. “When I heard how ill you were it was as if a knife were being plunged into my breast! I rushed over but Lord Lairdscroft would not let me see you. He said you mustn't be upset. I know you haven't been yourself lately. I blame the influence of some in this house.” He rolled his eyes and Torie was left with no doubt whom he meant. “Your selfless act to save the child shows me how I wronged you. You are most deserved of being my wife and I reinstate my offer! Will you accept?"

  He stared so intently Torie had to blink. She wished the boys would come back. As well as she felt, she was not up to this. She
had not the heart to hurt him and yet how was it possible not too? “This is so sudden...” she began. “I am not..."

  "Of course. I understand you are still recovering. Quite acceptable to take your time. I only wanted to broach the offer so I could sleep easy. I cannot tell you how I suffered thinking if you died, I should never tell you I forgive you, your weakness of the flesh. There are some that prey on the weak and it is those that should take the brunt of blame. You will think on it?"

  "Of course.” Torie would do no such thing. She would send a refusal note tomorrow to the parish, but she could not bluntly refuse him. For one thing, she was alarmed by the fanatical gleam in his eyes. She vowed never to receive him alone again!

  "Then I will leave you to your tea. I will await your answer with bated breath.” He got up from his knees, but did not immediately release her hand until Torie withdrew it forcibly.

  Torie hoped he would take his leave straightaway. She did not want Rhionne to find him here. Another scene on the subject would be tediously repetitious. Torie used the boys as the excuse to remove his presence. “They are most vexing and into everything at this age.” She fabricated a conceivable pretext. “You must forgive the seeming haste but they are my charges. Good evening."

  Torie had just finished congratulating herself on the expeditious way she handled what was an awkward situation at best, when she heard assured boot steps. Rhionne entered, not apologizing for his slightly disheveled appearance. He had been out the better part of the day with the bailiff visiting tenants. Without so much as a greeting he went straight for the brandy decanter, poured himself a healthy measure, and quaffed it with relish. He grimaced. “Good Gad!"

  "What is it?” Torie asked. “Has it turned?"

  He ignored this and bellowed, “Hoskins!” A footman came running. “This is not the import! How in the blazes did it get in the square Venetian decanter? The domestic has always been kept in the round. This has been the habit since my father's time. Suddenly we must change? I think not!"