“If you feel strongly that the boy should be punished, then punish him for something that he knows was wrong and won’taffect his pride. Punish him for wandering off without letting anyone know.”
“Well that, certainly?—”
“No, make it that only, Miss Grantley."
Jane looked like she would protest again, but just at that moment, the rest of the Culpeppers came out of the parlor and hurriedly made their good-byes. Mrs. Culpepper was quietly badgering Mr. Culpepper for information on what had transpired. But it didn’t look as if she met with any success. They saw them out to the carriage. By the time Mr. Culpepper bundled his nagging wife into the carriage, his face had again assumed a choleric hue. He slammed the door on her and climbed up beside his coachman so abruptly that the man nearly dropped the reins. Though the driver looked uncertainly at Mr. Culpepper, he didn’t say a word as he whipped up the horses and turned down the drive.
Watching them race down the lane, Jane leaned against the doorframe. She was suddenly exhausted. Muscles she didn’t even know existed began clamoring for attention.
The earl studied her closely. "You, young woman, belong in your bed.”
“That’s what I told her when I sent her upstairs,” added Lady Elsbeth.
“Enough, both of you. I am all right.”
“Listen to her. She talks as if falling down a hillside were an everyday occurrence,” snapped her aunt.
“It is perhaps good that I am accustomed to hell’s fires,” the earl casually told Lady Elsbeth, “for I don’t feel ice.”
Before Jane could react he had bent over and scooped her up into his arms as he did at the blackberry patch.
“Lady Elsbeth, would you care to lead the way?” he drawled, ignoring Jane’s outraged gasp.
“Of course, Lord Royce. This way, please,” Lady Elsbeth said, struggling to keep the laughter from her voice. "Now Jane, don’t carry on so, you’ll only injure yourself further. I’m confident you’re quite safe. That is, you will be if you’ll stop squirming. Be careful lest his lordship drop you on the stairs and you tumble down, adding bruises to the ones you already have.”
Realizing her aunt and the earl were beyond reason, Jane gave up struggling and settled for glaring at them with a full Ice Witch’s freezing intensity.
Later that eveningLord Royce summoned his groom to see him. When the man appeared, the earl handed him a letter.
“I want you to take this to the Marquis of Conisbrough. I believe you’ll find him in Brighton somewhere. If he’s not there, track him down. Give him this letter with my compliments. Do you understand?”
The grizzle-haired old man nodded and tucked the letter into a waistcoat pocket. "Aye, my lord. And I take it I’m off tonight?”
“Yes, Robert, I’m afraid so. But first, have a glass of brandy to warm your insides,” the earl invited, smiling.
The old man smiled as well. He’d worked loyally for the earl. He knew the earl’s copybook was blotted within society, but that didn’t matter to him. If the earl were truly the Devil’s Disciple, Robert would follow his path to hell itself, he would, and no denying that. He tossed back the small glass of brandy, then contentedly sighed as it fired his insides.
“Thank you kindly, my lord. Good day to you, sir,” he said, setting the glass back down on a small table and bowing. He placed a grubby cap on his head, then turned to leave the room, his hobnail boots ringing on the marble hallway floor.
CHAPTER 6
When Jane woke the next morning, she immediately knew that she’d taken her tumble down the hillside far too lightly. There did not seem to be a square inch of her body that did not ache. She groaned as she stretched.
“Sore ye’d be, I prophesied to Lady Elsbeth, and sore ye are,” stated a clipped Irish voice.
Jane turned her head to see her dresser, Mrs. O'Rourke, lay down the petticoat she was mending. The widow of an impressed seaman, she’d been with Jane since her come-out and had long adopted the forwardness of a lifetime servant. She was an imperious-looking woman with a stern long face and gray hair swept severely off her high brow. Other servants were in awe of her. She was good at her job but secretly given to periodic indulgences with the bottle, spouting prophecies and conversing with 'little people' no one else could see.
“You were not alone in that prophecy,” Jane said tightly as she straightened cramped limbs and struggled to sit up. "I believe I was the only one who did not. I stand, or rather sit,” she amended as her legs gave way under her when she attempted to stand, “corrected. I do not recall ever hurting so. I suppose my aunt has another liniment ready for me to try?”
“Aye, a minty one. Sweet smellin’ and bound to clear yur head if not ease yur pur muscles." She crossed to the dressing table and came back carrying a white wide-mouthed jar. She liberally rubbed the creamy lotion into Jane’s skin, her wide spatulate fingers kneading tight muscles. Slowly Jane relaxed and gave herself over to enjoying the massage.
“Hmm, I must admit I do feel better,” admitted Jane when Mrs. O'Rourke stopped and recapped the jar, rubbing her hands on her apron front.
“Now you be restin’ there while I send fur yur breakfast and inform yur lady aunt that yur awake.”
“You’ve massaged my muscles until they’re incapable of movement. I will not be going anywhere,” Jane assured her, languidly closing her eyes and savoring the cold-hot sensations of the lotion on her skin.
She must have drowsed lazily for several minutes, for the next thing she was aware of was the sound of rattling china. She opened her eyes to see Lady Elsbeth pouring a cup of tea. Jane struggled to sit up against the pillows.
