Page 19 of A Daring Desire

“Mr Jones!” Mrs Mortimer remonstrated, shocked by this cant expression uttered in her ladyship’s hearing.

Cat shook her head. “No, he was not overindulging on this occasion,” she said, struggling to keep her countenance. “Indeed, he has pneumonia and I suspect pleurisy into the bargain, the poor man, and quite knocked up he is.”

Mr Jones paled, looking truly alarmed now. “But… he’s going to be well?”

“I hope so,” Cat said quietly. “I was very afraid these past days, but I believe we are over the worst of it.”

Mr Jones let out a breath of relief, and Cat wondered how much of that was due to the position he would lose if Kilbane died, and how much to genuine affection. She suspected the latter, and hoped his lordship would employ his faithful valet, for she intended to make an ally of him.

“Of course, I would ask you to keep that information strictly between us,” she said, giving him a hard look.

Mr Jones stiffened. “I never spoke a word about his lordship’s private affairs before or after his employ and I’m not about to start now.”

“I never doubted it,” Cat said. “But as we do not know each other at all, I prefer to be frank with you.”

Mr Jones nodded, giving her an approving smile. “Quite right too, my lady. Quite right.”

Chapter 6

Dearest Puss,

How cross you are. At least you’ve not spent the past week in bed sick as a horse because you did go out in horrid weather and got soaked to the skin. Not only did I get scolded, but I’ve been wretched and bored, and it was all my own fault. So, you ought to thank your nurse for looking after you, for I shall never be so addled brained again.

As for petticoats and skirts, they are a blessed nuisance I admit, but I rather like mine all the same, for they are pretty, though no good for climbing trees, I grant you.

I do hope your camp didn’t get blown away. The next time I come to Beverwyck, if the weather is fine, I shall help you rebuild it. I wonder if we might have a campfire if we promise to take very great care? Perhaps if dear Harry were to come and keep an eye on us, your papa will allow it?

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Dorothea Carmichael – ten years old – (daughter of The Right Hon’ble Maximillian and Phoebe Carmichael, The Earl and Countess of Ellisborough) to Lady Octavia Adolphus – ten years old – (daughter of Their Graces, Prunella and Robert Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin).

22nd December 1849, Connaught Place, London.

Cat ate the last bite of the delicious lemon soufflé her clever chef had sent up for her dessert, though her mind remained upstairs and in company with her husband. She knew she must tread carefully, for if she pushed him too far, too fast, there was nothing to say he would not pack up and go elsewhere, putting him once again out of her reach. That he neither trusted nor wished for her to get close to him was obvious and put her in mind of a horse her brother Thomas had once rescued. It had been wild from years of ill treatment and starvation and had lashed out at anyone who got close. It had taken him months of gentle coaxing before he could even get near the poor creature. So, she must be patient, and cautious, two things which were entirely out of her character. She sighed, well aware that the coming weeks were likely to try her. Then, belatedly, she realised she was supposed to arrive at her parent’s house in time for Christmas.

Christmas! Good Lord, she had completely forgotten about it, but if she left Kilbane now, she doubted she would ever get another chance to find a place in his life, never mind his heart. It was now or never, though she quailed at the idea of telling her father she was foregoing Christmas at Dern to be with Lord Kilbane.

That, however, was a problem for tomorrow. Today, she needed to see if her husband was awake, and willing to take his faithful valet back into his employ. She certainly hoped so, for she did not relish the task of returning to Mr Jones with the news that he had given his notice in for nothing.

With a soft knock, Cat entered the bedroom, smiling at Berrycloth, who was sitting and reading a book while Kilbane slept. He got up, setting the book down as Cat approached the bed.

“How is he?”

“Bad tempered and irascible, so about the same as usual,” Berrycloth said with a smile. “He drank a little coffee but took a pet when I told him he wasn’t getting near a bottle of brandy until he was fully recovered.”

“Brandy? Good heavens, I should think not,” Cat said crossly.

“Quite, but he was not best pleased, is all I shall say. Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Oh, yes, but I have a Mr Jones downstairs, desperate to return to his lordship’s employ.”

“Jones?” Berrycloth said, his eyebrows going up. “Have you, now? Well, not that I’m surprised. Devoted to his lordship, he was. He stayed behind because his mother was sick and had no one else to care for her but, truth be told, I think it was touch-and-go whether he would abandon her and come with us.”

“Yes, I rather got the impression,” Cat said. “Is he a good fellow?”

Berrycloth nodded. “Didn’t get on too well with the other staff, jealous of his position, but faithful? Lord, yes, and about the only person I’ve ever heard give his lordship a trimming and not have his head handed to him after.”

“Berrycloth, are you gossiping with my wife again?” demanded a terse voice.

They turned to see Kilbane glaring balefully at them.