16
Cecilia laughed while tears ran down her cheeks. “Of course! Nate?”
“Yes, my lady, immediately,” the young footman said. He threaded his way through everyone in the hall to get to the door and quietly closed it behind him as he went out.
James leaned over to help the Earl back to his feet. Soothcoor staggered, almost too tired to stand. Damon got on the other side of him to offer support.
“Let’s get you to a room, and I’ll have a tray brought to you,” Cecilia said.
“No,” he said, his breathing still labored. “Must see Christopher first. Must see my nephew.”
“I understand,” said James. “Mr. Partridge?”
“Of course, Sir James.”
James and Damon half carried, half led Soothcoor to the nursery. Rani ran ahead of them. From a sideboard in the hall, she lit a candle. She quietly opened the nursery door and motioned with her finger for all to be quiet. She walked toward the bed and held the candle aloft so Soothcoor could see Christopher.
Tears ran down Soothcoor’s cheeks. “Thank you,” he whispered, and turned away to signal James and Damon to take him out of the room. Rani indicated she would stay with Christopher.
“I’m afraid you will have to help him up one more flight,” Cecilia whispered to James and Damon. “It will be the first room on the left.
They nodded. “Cecilia, send my man up, please,” James said grimly. He’d never seen Soothcoor in such an exhausted state. He might have to have Dr. Seeton see to him in the morning, as well as Christopher. He couldn’t imagine how Soothcoor had gotten back to London so fast. Time for revelations and stories on the morrow. He was here, and they had to make sure he recovered. Blast the man! Killing himself wouldn’t help Christopher. He frowned as he and Damon carried the exhausted man up the stairs.
After sending James’s valet to Soothcoor’s room, Cecilia joined David and Lewis in the entry hall and escorted them back to the library.
“I think I could use a brandy now,” she said on a deep breath. “Anyone else?”
Lewis and David chuckled and agreed.
“Allow me,” David said, getting clean glasses out of the small hutch between the windows. He poured brandy for Cecilia and Lewis.
Fifteen minutes later, James and Damon joined them. David rose to pour them brandies.
“Thank you,” James said, as he settled on the sofa next to his wife. “We can expect Charles here tomorrow,” he told her. He turned toward the others. “At the last change of horses, Charles was too tired to go on. Soothcoor feared he would fall asleep and slide off his mount. He convinced him to take a room and follow along in the morning. Soothcoor felt he was too close to wait another day, so he pushed his horse and himself to get here.”
“Once he saw Christopher, whatever will power he’d been using to keep going burned away, like burning the last bit of oil in a lamp snuffs the light.” Damon said.
“I hope he sleeps late, now that he knows Christopher is safe.” Cecilia said.
“He won’t,” James said. “He’ll be awake with the first light to make sure what he saw last night was real. Then he’ll want to be on the hunt.”
Lewis set his brandy glass on the side table. “I’d best be leaving, then. I’d like to see what I can learn about this Dr. Lakewood. And speak to Mr. Peasey as well. I’ll return in the morning to speak with Lord Soothcoor.”
David and Damon set their glasses down and rose, saying they too would be back in the morning, each man wanting to be included in the hunt.
Cecilia and James saw them to the entry and waited with them as Nate retrieved their coats and hats.
As they turned to leave, Lewis turned back, frowning. “This isn’t over. I feel that in my gut.”
“We won’t be complacent, Mr. Martin,” James promised.
Lewis nodded and left.
* * *
Cecilia tooka small sip of sherry as she studied the fichu she’d been embroidering, studying each side to ensure the design on one side was a mirror of the opposite side. She had a missing vine and some French knots yet to do, but it was almost done. She felt pleased with her work. She lacked the needlework skills and the patience of many of her peers. However, she had been improving. She might even try embroidery next on a larger field than a fichu. Perhaps a spring jacket sleeve, she mused. A light-weight pelisse in an apple green, perhaps.
She set her sewing aside and took another sip of sherry. She was too restless to seek her bed yet. Besides, it was early still, the clock on the mantel only chiming nine times within the last ten minutes. She glanced over at her husband, who sat in a chair next to the fireplace, reading.
