Jack realized that his lordship was losing his fight and gestured to where Lady Butterstone sat with a teacup in her hand.
She hurried over, knelt beside her husband, and held his hand. “My love.”
“Forgive me, Mary, I’ve been a fool…” His head rolled back.
Lady Butterstone gasped and collapsed onto the floor in a dead faint.
“Mama!” Lady Althea tried to help her mother. When she couldn’t rouse her, she looked at Jack with an appeal in her eyes.
Jack grasped Lady Althea’s shoulders and gently moved her aside. He hefted the unconscious woman up into his arms and carried her to an upholstered chair. The lady leaned her head back against the padded cushion, her face very pale.
He’d seen a great deal of dying men during the war, but watching these women was especially difficult. He hated feeling helpless. “I wish I could have done more.”
Lady Althea patted her mother’s hand. Her tear-filled blue eyes searched his. “There was never anything anyone could do.”
She was shocked but did not seem surprised. He wondered if she referred to something other than the attack.
“Your father asked me to escort you and your mother home. But might it be better to stay here until daylight? I’m sure Peck can find you a room.”
She straightened her shoulders, as if drawing on her own fragile strength. “I need to get Mama home. But you must be tired, Captain Ryder. We will have roused you from your bed.”
“After five years in the army, I am used to going without sleep.”
When she nodded, a pale-gold ringlet stirred against her cheek. She tucked it back, clearly exhausted. Violet shadows lay beneath her eyes, and faint worry lines creased her brow. “But we live twenty miles from here. Won’t it take you too far out of your way?”
“I’m not in any hurry. Your father asked me to remain with you until your uncle arrives. I’m happy to oblige, if your mother wishes it.”
“I’m sure Mama will be most grateful.”
“Did you recognize your attacker?”
She shook her head while continuing to stroke her mother’s limp hand.
“Did he steal from you?”
“No. I suppose he panicked.”
When she met his gaze, something unspoken hovered in the air. As if she wanted to say more.
Lady Butterstone stirred.
“Mama, can you sit up? Take a little brandy? This gentleman is Captain Ryder. Papa asked him to take us home.”
Jack addressed the prostrate lady. “I’m told you’ve lost your groom, my lady. I’ll see to your coach. And when you are stronger, tomorrow, perhaps? I’ll escort you both safely to Ivywood Hall.”
Lady Butterstone blinked at him, evidently bewildered. “Thank you, but I wish to go home.”
Jack crossed the room to where Peck waited. “Have the parish constable and the magistrate been sent for?”
Peck nodded. “Sent my ostler. Sad business. Lord Butterstone was much liked in these parts.”
“Any idea who was behind the attack? I wasn’t aware of highwaymen roaming this part of the countryside.”
“They haven’t been seen around here for years,” Peck said. “I don’t know who the murderer is, but the locals will be worried.”
“Lady Butterstone wishes to return to her home—tonight.”
Peck scratched his head. “Understandable, I suppose. It’s as well as the inn is booked out.”
