The Wrong Bride Read online

  Now he sighed. It wasn’t Winnie’s fault. Lance tried to recreate what happened last night and failed. He could see the chair at Winnie’s door, but why was he there, in her room, in bed with her? How odd! He asked himself, why? He might just pay a visit to Doctor Collins. Lance frowned, wondering about the good doctor. Winnie had mentioned something one night not so long ago, when he’d found it hard to sleep, had gone about the house, ending up in Winnie’s bedroom. But from there, things had taken a delightful turn, though there had been confusion as well. Embarrassed at finding himself at her door, he was suddenly tongue-tied. Not Winnie, however, going on about something the doctor had said, talking to Lance as if he were a child just before she led him to bed and all the sweetness that followed. For once, she was uncommonly compliant, willing to do whatever he liked, though with some earnest, but half-hearted protestations, calling him ‘dear’ and being so sweet. And he liked all of it very well, this game she was playing, especially when she clutched him to her as if her life depended on him. He’d never made love to such a silent woman before, nor had he ever been so silent himself. Bringing up the memory again gave him the feeling it always did, that he wished very much for more of the same. And now Winnie wasn’t helping, her fragrant hair teasing his nose, the body next to him on the seat warm.

  Lance frowned remembering the day following their exquisite coupling, Winnie doused cold water on him the next morning, as if she didn’t remember a thing of it. Something was strange, that was sure. Maybe Collins could help. Lance laid his head back on the squabs and gave up the thinking which was leading nowhere. He’d been in worse stretches before and come out of them. He’d see these problems through as well. After a time, his tired eyelids dropped down and he slept, too, in spite of the sometime rough road. He’d been in worse stretches before and come out of them.

  He’d fallen asleep, the abrupt stop waking him. Beside him, Winnie stirred. “Where are we?” she whispered.

  That’s what I’d like to know, Lance thought. “We’re home, Winnie,” he replied, his voice husky and thick with sleep.

  “Home,” she repeated, “yes.” His eyes closed. In those two words was everything: acceptance, happiness, well-being. For a moment he held Winnie tighter, then opened the carriage door and lifted her out, trying not to be clumsy so as to disturb her. Frances was in the kitchen cooking, and he carried the sleeping Winnie past her without a word.

  It was Isabelle who woke her. Winnie yawned. “What time is it?”

  “’Tis after two on the clock.”

  After two! Good heavens. Winnie looked around, finding herself in her own bed. The last time she’d been asleep was in another bed in another house. Ah, but how wonderful to be in one’s own bed in one’s own house, even if one wouldn’t be saying on.

  “Missus Frances wants t’ know if ye’re hungry.”

  “I’m starving in fact.”

  Isabelle shrugged. “Wal, then, ye might choose from breakfast leftovers, an’ I believe the midday meal is just endin’.”

  “I don’t care. Either will do. Or, I’ll have both, then.” Winnie sat up slowly, the covers falling away. She was still dressed. “I don’t remember how I got here.” Her hat was on the little boxy chest beside her cot, and peeking over the edge of the bed, she found her shoes on the floor.

  “Sir Brevard brought ye in. Said ye were dire sick, fever, I think it was. But ye look fine now and if ye’re so hungry, ye must have recovered.”

  “Yes, I must have. Thank you, Isabelle.” The woman nodded without smiling and left. Winnie stood up off the bed and slipped into her shoes.

  It was in the middle of eating the remnants of a roasted chicken with oven browned vegetables with only the hint of warmth, that thought returned. “Is Sir Brevard about?” She’d checked his bedroom before coming down and the blue brocade spread was neatened and the furniture dusted.

  “He left for town hours ago,” Frances said. “Didn’t say when he’d be back.”

  Winnie nodded. Good. It would allow time for the webs in her brain to clear. She distinctly recalled, though, sitting in the chair waiting for Lance to go to bed so she could do the same. The next memory was when Cherry wakened her from the bed and rushed her into dressing. For some reason, Lance had thought her ill and he’d hastened her to the carriage, and then, she woke in her own bed. It was certainly a mystery.

  “How are you feeling, Missus Frances?”

  “Oh, I’ll be so glad when the little soul comes, though I’ve nothing t’ complain of. That part’s over and done with, bein’ sick at first. Couldn’t keep the least bit of food down for at least two months. He, or she, will come sometime after the New Year, and I’ve no idea what things will be like afterward. To be truthful, I know so little of babies.” She shrugged. “It’s supposed t’ be natural, an’ I only know of what others have said, so…” Frances sighed and bit her lip. “Wisht I knew more.”

  “We’ll bring in a midwife,” Winnie said. “I know, perhaps you and I can visit the town and the midwife one day this week. Would you like that, Missus Frances?”

  “Aye, I would. Might help put me at my ease. D’you know the woman?”

  “No, I do not. I think I’ll call on Mistress Goodwill first. She appears to me as the kind of person who knows everything about the people in town.” At Frances’ inquiring look, Winnie went on. “She’s the dressmaker.” Frances nodded and turned back to stirring the makings for mutton stew for supper.

  The door opened and Lance saw the older woman dressed nearly all in black, her very serious face shriveled something like a prune.

  Lance touched his hat. “I’d like to see the doctor if he’s in.”

  “Aye, he’s in. And you might be…?”

  Lance removed his hat. “Brevard, ma’am. Lance Brevard.”

  The sober face relaxed. “I’m Mistress Hoskins, cook an’ housekeeper. Come in. Have a chair. I’ll jes’ go fetch the doctor.” She turned to leave but decided otherwise and faced Lance. “Would you be likin’ tea?”

  “No, but I thank you for the offer.”

  The woman lifted her chin and left Lance standing. The carriage ride had been none too easy, Lance thought, glancing at the straight-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair and deciding to remain upright. Voices came to him, a man’s and a woman’s, then from another room in the house came a young man who walked leisurely toward Lance who felt at once the amiable but intense scrutiny emanating from him. “Sir Brevard, I believe.” His hand out, it was taken by Lance. Light blue eyes behind round glasses roved Lance’s face. “Would you care for something to drink? Coffee, tea? I have wine as well, though I don’t often offer it.” He chuckled. “I would have more patients, perhaps, if I did.”

  Lance’s own mouth widened in response to the joke. “I don’t doubt it, Doctor Collins.”

  “Please, call me Howard. I’ve known Winnie ever since she first came to town. We arrived at almost the same time, newcomers, we both were. Brought me a lad later on, Jem, wanted me to have a look at him.” His face reddened. “But that isn’t why you came to see me, is it?” Lance glanced down the hallway and the housekeeper was just past a far doorway. He surmised the woman was listening. “Let’s go to my office.” Dr. Collins turned around, heading for another room. “Mistress Hoskins?”

  Her head poked from the doorway down the hallway. “Aye?”

  “Might you brew up a fresh batch of tea?” The woman nodded and retracted her head.

  “This way.” Howard Collins stood back to show Lance into the well-lit, large room. It looked as if it were divided into two parts. The one to Lance’s right held a large desk, behind which was an array of shelves of thick books and boxes and to Lance’s left was a raised cot with clean, white linen. “It’s my examining table,” the doctor explained. “Have a seat.” Lance nodded, taking one of the two chairs in front of the desk, both with curved backs, both upholstered in comfortable leather. The doctor slid into his more spacious, sumptuous chair in the same brown leather behi
nd the desk.

  Lance nodded. “Thank you. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been in a doctor’s office before.”

  Howard Collins smiled. “A first time for everything, isn’t there?”

  “Not well thought of in the service, doctors,” Lance said, regretting at once the awkward admission, the first thing that had come to mind.

  “Of course not. Too many injured, not enough doctors or helpers, or medicines, for that matter. Must have resembled a butcher shop to an outsider, I suspect.”

  Lance cringed. “Yes, well, certainly it must have.” The doctor’s little serious speech was delivered with a soft touch, without giving an inch or making excuses, and Lance couldn’t help liking Howard Collins. “They surely did the best they could under very grave circumstances.”

  Howard smiled, the serious blue eyes crinkling in a friendly manner. “For the most part,” he said, equivocating. “How may I help you, Sir Brevard?”

  “First of all, by dropping the title. I’m unused to it, not certain I will ever be.” Howard nodded. All at once, Lance wasn’t sure of himself, of how to broach the subject. “Your name came up one evening in an odd way. Well, Winnie…” now that he was about to say something about how Winnie had changed, he suddenly didn’t want to discuss her with this virtual stranger, “seems worried about me. I don’t know exactly how to express it, but she mentioned offhand you’d said I was troubled from the war and all.”

  “Many have been. No one I’ve talked to has come back unscathed,” Howard said, frowning, “even if they pretend to be. And their experience makes them behave differently.” Lance rose from his chair as the housekeeper came into the room with a tray. “Ah, there’s nothing for our guest,” Collins said.

  “Said he didn’t want nothin’,” the housekeeper said defensively.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress Hoskins, but I should like to change my mind. My throat is suddenly dry as dust.”

  The woman heaved a heavy sigh, took the pot and placed it on the trivet on the side table, filled a cup for the doctor and left the room again. “How was your homecoming?”

  Lance sat again. “Confusing. But there are no words to express how grateful I was to be alive.”

  Collins nodded. “Some men feel guilty. Perhaps there was a little of that. You know, guilt because one survived when so many didn’t?”

  “Yes, of course.” There had been those bouts of mild depression he’d floundered through. Perhaps guilt was the reason.

  “Which might account for the sleepwalking.”

  “Sleepwalking!”

  “Yes.” Collins frowned. “You said you and Winnie discussed her coming to see me about you.”

  Lance was so flummoxed, he didn’t know what to say. “Well, not exactly discussed, it was more roundabout, I should think.”

  “Ah,” Collins said. “I’m not sure I don’t prefer the more direct way. I did explain she shouldn’t try anything untoward, just guide you back to bed, not upset or startle you. You know, after Winnie, er, Lady Brevard, left that last time, I looked in my books to see if I could find anything more and found a printed lecture on the subject. Would you care to have a look at it?”

  Lance’s head was dazed by so much information coming at him all at once, but he tried to follow he doctor’s lead. “I would indeed.”

  Collins stood and went to the bookshelves behind his desk. “Now, where is it?” He folded his arms and looked up and down the shelves. “Ah, here it is. And, how fortunate, I’ve marked the place.” Just then, Mistress Hoskins entered with the requested tea for Lance. “Thank you, Hopkins. That’ll be all for the moment.”

  The woman left, but Lance could sense her hovering outside the door. He tasted the tea. It was hot, but that was all he could say for it. He liked it the way Winnie made it, often adding some light spice to it, sometimes a whiff of lemon juice.

  Doctor Collins brought the book down, closed the door quietly on the housekeeper, and sat at his desk, thumbing quickly to the place where there was a folded sheet of paper marking the spot. He paused to take a deep breath and began reading; he droned on and on, quoting three case histories before snapping the book closed. “It was just as I told Winnie er, Lady Brevard, not to startle or try to waken you, only allow the roaming, which I was told was benign. Some cases are not, as you have just heard. My guess is that once your household is settled with no more upsets, the traffic of life is quieted and routine, there should be fewer of these incidents, especially as the drum of war becomes more distant.”

  “I see. How well you have put it.” Lance, rewarded with a pleased smile from Howard Collins, finished his tea and rose. “I have a great deal to think on, and I thank you. My visit has been most illuminating.” He pulled out his wallet and took out a note, pressing the money into the doctor’s hand, not knowing how much It was, but it was greeted with widened eyes. “I’ll see myself out. Thank you again.”

  Well, well, what to make of this new development, Lance wondered as he walked slowly down the lane to where his carriage awaited. It explained a great deal of Winnie’s behavior. The delightful tryst that meant quite a lot to him, she had acquiesced to, though not willingly. It explained the odd placement of the chair in her room at Blackwater’s, too. She must have been waiting for him, making sure he was alright. It was the only explanation. Had there been other instances when he’d taken advantage of her? He recalled how she’d tried to dissuade him, the little soothing things said to reassure him. There might have been other times and he wouldn’t have known anything about them, since there was no recall when he woke. What a mess. No wonder there was no shy demeanor the day following their congress, no pleasant blush of the cheeks, no breathlessness. On the other hand, if he had a mind to, he could just as easily take advantage of the situation to his benefit. Who wouldn’t want a pretty, agreeable woman in his bed as often as he chose, with only a little part to play? But that would be like what she’d once accused him of, and he wasn’t stupid or foolhardy anymore. Or was he? Lance smiled grimly as the wayward thoughts wound in and about his head. Something had to be done, and soon.

  Lance pushed through the kitchen as Winnie and Frances were taking wonderful-smelling things from the oven, the whole house filled with the aromas, thought better of it and came back. “What’s going on?” he asked a little sourly, and Winnie smelled the drink on his breath.

  “We’re baking ahead,” Winnie said. “Did you have a successful trip to town?”

  Lance sighed. “Yes. I’ve ordered enough drink to last a battalion a week. And, yes, I’ve sampled some.”

  He waited for some remark from Winnie, something sharp, but it never came. “Frances and I will go to town one day this week, as well, if you won’t mind. It will help Frances to see a midwife.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. I’ve also ordered new beds, and they should be arriving soon. Would you mind, Winnie? I’ve no eye for such things, but we’ll need coverings for them, and the rooms will need going over before company comes, perhaps you can enlist Isabelle there.” He waited a heartbeat before the next announcement. “I’ve invited your friend, Winston Trueblood.”

  Her eyes widened.” “My friend? He’s hardly that. I only bumped into him, literally, once, but he seems decent enough, very amiable as I remember. Yes, I think he’ll make a good addition.”

  Lance nodded. “And we need to make arrangements.” Immediately Winnie was frowning, and he said, lowering his voice, “personal ones.”

  “Al…alright.” Her face turned bright pink, and she swallowed nervously.

  It made him angry. Damn it, she was far too agreeable. He would be as glad as she when this charade was over, and they could sort out all the unsettling currents that ran through their association. “I’m going outside,” he said curtly. Maybe the chill air would settle his brain or feelings somewhat.

  “But supper is almost ready.” His jaw clenched, his voice brusque, he told her he’d be back within the half-hour.

  As soon as he was out the door, Win
nie asked Isabelle to set the table in the dining room, she’d be right back, too. Hurrying into the library, Winnie headed straight for the books, and it was as she’d suspected: Lance was spending far too much, in spite of his trying to reassure her. But they would be alright if he were less profligate in future, if he didn’t continue in this manner. Still, it was worrisome, the new purchases not yet having been added in yet. Winnie hurried back and was putting more pies in the oven just as Lance came in the back door.

  Mutton stew was eaten in relative silence, with Isabelle coming in and out, bringing in new dishes. During one of the girl’s absences, he asked Winnie if they could have coffee and one of the new pies in the sitting room, and would she, Winnie, bring it? She nodded quickly just as Lance had pushed in his chair and was leaving the dining room.

  “This is my conundrum, Winnie. I’m afraid I haven’t thought this through, but I wanted to respond in kind to the Blackwater invitation, and I also wanted to ask some of the new fellows I met in town. I don’t know how to mix them up, you see. And then, there is the matter of our situation, how odd it will seem if we don’t share the same room. I apologize, but I don’t know how the bedrooms will all fit in. Jesu, my head is such a muddle. I wish we hadn’t been invited to the Blackwaters’ so soon after I’d come home.”

  Winnie frowned, thinking. Lance was about to ask her another question when she spoke up. “Are the men you’ve invited married?”

  “Some are, one isn’t. And then, there’s the thing about mixing the classes. I’m afraid I might offend the Blackwaters.”

  “I see your point, though I don’t like it,” she said firmly. “Alright, then, why don’t we split up the invitations, have your friends two, three days or so, and then have the Blackwaters come. I think Lady Windermere might be persuaded to come, and a few of the more exalted church members are lesser, much lesser nobility, though Lord Blackwater isn’t all that high and mighty, either, in my opinion. But what about extra help? Isabelle is fairly capable by now, but even she won’t be able to handle all the traffic if they’re mixed up, and Frances, is, well, you know her condition.” Winnie chuckled. “And I can just see Barnaby serving.”