Page 38 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

A groan went up from Granger while Wetherby beamed at her. “Not a’tall, my dear. You must know I’d do it anytime you are in danger.”

Mr. Granger looked as if he’d eaten toads. “Then let us pray very hard that she need not call upon you for such services again, my lord. Lady Kersey, I suggest you return to the brake with your cousin, my sister, and Mr. Garrett.” The harried steward then addressed the latter gentleman. “Will you be so good as to direct the brake to come to this clearing to pick us up. Lord Wetherby is in no condition to walk so far.”

“I am completely capable of walking, Granger.” Lord Wetherby brushed past the steward, removing the handkerchief he’d been pressing to the wound. The cut welled with blood, so suddenly it dripped down Lord Wetherby’s brow and onto his cheek. The man’s face drained of color, his eyes grew wide until the whites shone all around the two dots of blue. He staggered to a halt.

Hugh leaped forward and grabbed Wetherby before his knees buckled. “Go now, Mr. Garrett!”

Torn between wishing to stay with his brother and fetching the conveyance, Garrett threw them a stricken look, then took off at a sprint, crashing through the trees and underbrush. Jane and Miss Granger exchanged a look of their own, then began to pick their way along the path, back the way they had come. Maria leaned heavily on her cousin with her head on her shoulder, quite exhausted from all the excitement. She was so glad this miserable tête-à-tête was over, although she had not yet begun to pay the piper for this tune to which she must now dance a jig.

* * *

As the ladies and Mr. Garrett vanished into the trees, Hugh returned his attention to Lord Wetherby, well aware that Lady Kersey had just given him a Banbury story for certain. The next question he wished to have answered was why.

Knowing Wetherby’s ilk, and the lady’s charms, Hugh was pretty sure the heir had assaulted her in some way. When he’d come into the clearing, both of them had been on the ground, the lady getting warily to her feet, her attention fixed on Wetherby, who had been slower to arise. Neither of them had looked to the sky as if fearing the “bird” might return to renew the attack. No, Lady Kersey’s sole focus had been making certain she stayed as far as possible from Wetherby. So if she was protecting him from retribution at his father’s or, more likely, Hugh’s hands, she must have a reason for doing so. He’d get that from the lady herself later.

“Perhaps you should sit down until the brake arrives, my lord. You don’t want your wound to bleed again.” Hugh would dearly love to plant the blackguard a facer, give him something to moan about other than the little scrape on his forehead.

“You may be right, Granger.” Wetherby sauntered to an outcropping of rock a foot or two away and sat down gingerly. “I cannot risk my life doing such heroic deeds anymore. I must think of the family’s future rather than the paltry, outdated attempts at chivalry required by Polite Society. It is ridiculous that all gentlemen must adhere to the strictures of this ancient code.”

“And yet adhere they must, or be labeled no gentleman at all.” Pacing around the clearing in an attempt to restrain himself from throttling the man, Hugh did his best not to picture his hands around Wetherby’s throat. The temptation at this moment might be too great. “Lady Kersey was very grateful for your defense of her during the ‘attack.’”

With a slow turn of his neck, Wetherby’s gaze came to rest on Hugh, his mouth drawn into an insolent smile. “You think the lady was lying, don’t you?”

“A gentleman does not accuse a lady of telling falsehoods, no matter the reason.” There must have been a good one to make Lady Kersey defend this wretched man. Hugh had made inquiries about William Garrett and his family to friends of his and his late father’s in Town when Lady Kersey had first written him that the earl had been found. The information he’d obtained had been heavily concentrated on Anthony, the eldest son. All of it had been unsavory to say the least. And Hugh’s observations of the man firsthand had confirmed his opinion of Anthony, Lord Wetherby to be correct. A bounder and a rake who gambled to excess and did not take losing with good grace, Lord Wetherby had the kind of reputation that would give mothers nightmares. His looks had allowed him to prey upon a variety of women—his position as heir to an earldom would likely entice more to be drawn to him and subsequently ruined.

“Perhaps she did not wish her reputation ruined over a bit of a romp in the woods.” The smug face, lips turned up in a cruel smile, made Hugh itch to wipe it off with a yelp of pain.

“If that were the case, I can understand the lady’s reluctance to confess such activity. However, I highly doubt that was the truth of the matter.” If, by some unimaginable quirk it had been, then Hugh would very quietly relinquish any interest in the lady whatsoever, her preference in men therefore losing her his respect.

“You seem to take a keen interest in the lady’s private doings, Granger.” Wetherby stretched his legs out before him in a languid pose. “Am I detecting an odor of sour grapes?”

Clenching his fists until his fingernails bit deeply into his palms, Hugh set his jaw and made no reply. Surely if he gave in to his deepest desire and pummeled this popinjay senseless, the earl would sack him and perhaps bring him up on charges. That thought, as well as a superior amount of self-control, prevented him from throttling the miscreant before him. The man’s words also may have hit rather too close to home.

The fact that Lady Kersey had not declared herself to him after that kiss in his office last week had preyed on his mind from time to time. Had he misjudged her actions and interest? He didn’t think so, but in light of today’s events, he would arrange to meet with her as soon as possible and discover once and for all where her interests lay. “The only smell here, my lord, is that of fear. Whether it was the lady’s or yours, I don’t quite know—yet.”

The rumbling of the brake creaking through the underbrush saved Hugh from any further conversation or temptation to plant Wetherby a facer. That time was sure to come, and the sooner the better as far as he was concerned. He’d not mind getting the sack at all if it came on the heels of pummeling that self-satisfied smirk off Wetherby’s face. It all depended on what he could get Lady Kersey to confess to him, and when.

Chapter Sixteen

Lying in her bed, dreading going down to dinner, Maria sighed and turned her face to the wall, wishing for the oblivion of sleep to claim her. No such luck. Her mind kept circling back to the moment when she’d had to lie about what had happened to her and Lord Wetherby, to the enraged look on Mr. Granger’s face when she’d thanked the scoundrel for rescuing her. Without a doubt Mr. Granger knew she was not telling the truth. The problem was to let him know why without inciting him to do bodily harm to Lord Wetherby.

When they’d returned to the Hall, Maria had pled a headache, due to the morning’s excitement. Lord Kersey had been preoccupied with tending to his son, sending to Cook for hot water, bandages, and broth. He’d subsequently declared that the decorating of the Hall would be postponed for a day or two to give Anthony time to recover, but still before the first expected guests would arrive on Wednesday. Perhaps by then she would have found time to speak with Mr. Granger and straighten everything out.

The door clicked open and Maria turned over. Her maid stood at the end of the bed.

“I was asked to give you this, my lady.” She held out a folded piece of foolscap with no name on it.

Maria scrambled to sit up. Two possibilities crossed her mind as to the writer of the note. “Who gave it to you, Hatley?”

“Mr. Saunders, my lady.”

Her late butler, now returned to footman.

“Did you ask who he had it from?”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t say.”

Taking the square of paper, Maria waved the woman away. “Thank you, Hatley.”