be advised to get out of those wet clothes or I shall end up with two patients instead of one! Mrs Forrester, perhaps you will take care of that—and get the rest of these men out of here! They have served their purpose and should all go away now!’
The red-haired woman immediately moved towards the door.
‘Of course. Thank you, everyone. If you would like to go down to the kitchens, Cook has prepared a bowl of punch for you all.’
‘Does that include me?’ asked Guy as he filed out of the room behind the others. The young woman’s large, dark eyes regarded him solemnly. She gave no sign that she had noticed his attempt at humour.
‘No, sir, you may wait for your friend in the great hall. I will have refreshments brought to you there.’
Guy followed her back down the stairs. He had not realised how chilled he had become until he felt the heat coming from the fire blazing in the huge fireplace. Thankfully he moved towards it.
‘And just who is this man dripping water all over my floor?’
The imperious voice stopped him in his tracks. He looked round to find an old woman standing on the far side of the room. She was dressed in severe black with a black lace cap over her snow-white hair and she was leaning heavily on an ebony cane. She looked very regal and Guy glanced down at his mud-stained clothes.
‘I fear I must present a very dishevelled appearance, ma’am, and I beg your pardon.’ He gave her his most elegant bow. ‘I am Darrington.’
‘The Earl of Darrington?’
‘The same, madam.’
Behind him he heard the young woman’s sharp intake of breath and smiled to himself. She had clearly not thought him of such consequence!
‘Well, you will catch your death of cold if you remain in those wet clothes! Beth, my dear, what are you thinking of?’
‘But Tilly and Martin are—’
‘If the servants are busy, then you must take the earl upstairs, girl. Immediately!’
‘I assure you, ma’am,’ Guy began, ‘I would as lief stay here beside the fire—’
Mrs Forrester interrupted him. ‘My grandmother is right, my lord, you should change,’ she said. ‘Pray forgive me for not thinking of it sooner. Follow me, if you please.’
She led him away, up the stairs and through the twisting, turning corridors. As he followed he tried to take in his surroundings. The entrance and great hall were obviously very old, probably part of the original priory, but there were signs that the house had been extended in Tudor times to make a comfortable residence. The whole building had an air of antiquity and demonstrated the family’s pride in its heritage. Everywhere was filled with fine old furniture and paintings from previous centuries; he guessed that the coffers pushed into odd corners would be found to contain a mass of unwanted objects that the old lady could not bring herself to throw away.
The young woman opened the door to a snug bedchamber with a cheerful fire burning in the grate. She walked across the room and lifted a large white cloth from beside the washstand.
‘Use this to dry yourself. And if you remove your wet clothes, I will arrange for them to be cleaned and dried.’
She avoided looking at him and, almost before she had finished speaking, she was back at the door, whisking herself out of the room before he could thank her.
Guy stripped off his wet clothes and rubbed himself down with quick, powerful movements that forced the blood around his chilled body. There was a knock at the door and he looked out. The passage was empty, but a brightly patterned bundle of cloth was lying at his feet. Shaking it out, he found it was a wrap. Unlike the fashionable silk banyan that his valet would have laid out for him on his bed at Highridge, this garment was made of fine, soft wool, warm to the touch and infinitely comforting as he shrugged himself into it and fastened the ties at the waist. It was a little short, but otherwise a good fit. He was rubbing the worst of the wet from his hair when there was another soft knock on the door. It was Beth Forrester, holding a tray in her hands. His instinct was to take it from her, but some spirit of mischief made him stand aside, so that she was obliged to enter the room and carry the tray across to a table.
‘I thought you might like a little bread and wine,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘My grandmother has asked me to look out some clothes for you, so that you may join us for supper later.’
‘Thank you. I should be honoured to do so.’ As he shut the door she whirled around, startled, and for the first time looked directly at him. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, too beautiful to hold such anxiety as he read in their liquid depths. He said soothingly, ‘Please, stay a moment—Mrs Forrester, is it not? I would like to talk to you.’ She eyed him warily and he smiled. ‘I am naturally anxious to know how my friend goes on.’
‘Doctor Compton is still with him. There is no news yet.’
‘Ah, of course.’ He moved towards the dressing table. ‘May I use this comb?’
She nodded and stood silent as he tidied his damp hair.
‘Is this your bedroom?’ His question brought her eyes to his face again and with a little smile he lifted a silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table. ‘There are red hairs in it.’
She nodded again.
‘It was the only bedchamber with a fire. With Tilly and Martin both occupied it seemed the most sensible thing ….’ She trailed off, a delicate flush mantling her cheeks.
‘It is not at all sensible to let a strange man into your bedchamber,’ he murmured, guessing her thoughts. ‘But I am extremely grateful. I only hope your husband will understand.’
‘My husband has been dead these six years, sir.’
‘I am so very sorry.’ He paused. ‘Is this his banyan I am wearing?’
‘No, it—it is my brother’s, but it was always far too big for him and he never wore it. I should go …’
‘Please, do not run away!’
‘I am not—I mean, I must find some clothes to fit you, if you are to join Grandmama for supper.’
She stood before him, like a deer poised for flight, but still Guy stood in her way.
‘And will you be at supper, too?’
‘Of course.’
‘Very well, I will let you go.’
He stepped aside, but even so in the small chamber there was only just room for her to walk by him to reach the door. He forced himself to keep still as she passed within inches of him and as she went by he breathed in the unmistakable scent of lemons.
Chapter Two
Beth’s composure only lasted until she reached the corridor. As soon as she was out of sight of the bedroom door she collapsed against the wall, her legs trembling so much she could barely stand. What on earth was she about, to enter the room with that man in there, naked save for
