The Ugliest Man in London: Regency Romance Page 3

  “There, that’s taken care of. Rest will do him wonders and I’ve sent for Dr. Loring to come round later today and have a look at him. I’m sure he won’t be nearly so . . . so . . . purple,” she smiled with relief at the diplomatic phrasing, “once he’s healed from his wounds. Now, you girls should go upstairs and freshen up. Your trunks arrived and the maids have already unpacked your things. I’ll have the kitchen send up refreshment.”

  “I ought to make sure that my beloved gets something,” Matilda said, mindful of her duties as a married woman even if she was not quite certain how to accomplish them. “Perhaps some beef tea would help him.”

  “The very thing,” Griselda, clapping her hands appreciatively. It could not help his abominable looks, she thought privately, but it might make him less . . . less funeral.

  “I shall also need to make an appointment to see my solicitor,” Matilda said. “I must make arrangements to have my finances settled in a bank of my choice.”

  “Very good, dear. I shall accompany you to that appointment, as your husband is quite unable to do so at the moment. Or for some time, I fear.”

  “And I shall require the services of a dentist,” Matilda continued. “To cast molds for his missing front teeth.”

  “Yes . . . that will help. Now, you let the gentleman sleep while you eat something. Then, after he has had his rest, you will be able to take care of him.”

  For Marcus, the days had been a blur. He could recall vividly the pain inflicted by his half-brother and the accomplices who had cornered him and attacked him, until he was rescued. But then matters became decidedly less certain. He would have sworn an oath that his rescuers were females, but that was impossible, of course; females would hardly fire weapons at a gang of marauders. Then he remembered a journey, and a carriage, and leaning against someone while he promised something to someone. Then a longer carriage ride and finally, blissfully, he was in bed in a quiet room.

  He heard the door open and the sound of skirts rustling as a woman approached the bed. He tried, but failed to open his eyes. Courtesy seemed to require some sort of acknowledgement, but he was quite unable to speak; his throat felt as if there were a terrible pressure against it that precluded speech.

  “Sit still,” said a young woman’s voice. “You’ve had rather a busy time of it and now we must see that you mend. The doctor will come later this afternoon and take a look at you, but you wasn’t worry. Aunt Gretchen believes that you are made of strong mettle and that you will be well, and she is never wrong about such things.”

  Aunt Gretchen? Who the devil was Aunt Gretchen? He made a sound, but was embarrassed when it bore no resemblance to human utterance.

  “I’m afraid that those vile creatures wounded you all about your head and neck,” the woman said sympathetically. “I believe they meant to kill you. When you are better, we shall look into the matter. Such monsters should not be allowed out, clearly.”

  Henry. But Henry would not have done this on his own. The Duchess—the Dowager Duchess she was now—must have been involved somehow. What were they thinking now? Did they assume that he had died of the wounds, or were they awaiting a chance to renew their murderous efforts? There was some grim satisfaction to be taken from the fact that, if he had no idea where he was or whom he was with, neither would they know. Of course, if he disappeared, what would happen to the title?

  He felt the brush of a woman’s silken sleeve brush against his cheek. The fragrance of something floral accompanied the fabric. The voice was low in pitch, with warm, comfortable tones that, he suspected, in better times would invoke humor.

  He felt the pillow raise behind his head. The strain of the posture was not pleasant, but then a cup was raised to his lips and a warm liquid entered his mouth. He almost felt restored by its warmth.

  “That’s very good,” the woman encouraged. “Have another sip. We’ll do this slowly; I don’t think you can swallow very easily, can you? Never mind, don’t try to speak. You must be in a great deal of pain. Aunt Gretchen gave you a bit of laudanum and that helped, I am sure. Dr. Loring will give you a bit more, just to help with the pain. When you are well, we shall go to the authorities and see if those vicious brutes may be apprehended. I should very much like to see them end up in prison for what they’ve done.”

  Marcus felt that he would prefer to return the actions which Henry had inflicted upon him. One could not, as a duke, send one’s half-brother to the gallows; one had to find less public ways of taking care of the matter. But for the time being, he was incapable of doing much of anything except reclining in this bed, while a solicitous angel who smelled of honeysuckle and wore soft silk ministered to him.

  Perhaps he was dead and this was heaven, and an angel was at his side. He doubted that, with the life he had led, heaven wouldn’t be his destination, but perhaps God had taken pity upon him.

  “Poor man,” he heard the woman say in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. The cup of tea was taken away. He felt blankets pulled up close to keep him warm. The fire in the room was blissfully blazing, taking out the chill of the autumn day. He didn’t know where he was, but he felt safe and, strangely, he felt as if he were at home. That was ludicrous, certainly; home was Winchester Hall. No, home was London. But he was supposed to be in Scotland, out of sight, until he could decide what to do about his stepmother and half-brother and their designs upon his inheritance. But Henry had struck him, and then he had been rescued by girls.

  “Rest,” the voice said. “You’ve had a dreadful time of it and there is much to explain.” The woman hesitated. “But now is not the time.” Was there a note of relief in her voice? “Sleep now,” she said, the assurance returning. “Dr. Loring will come and he will prescribe something to make you better. I shall sit here at your side while you rest. You are quite at home here, so you have nothing to fear.”

  There was something amusing in the thought that he had nothing to fear when he was unaware of his surroundings or his location, and another thought pushed at his mind, but he could not retrieve it. Why was he safe now? Who was this woman and why had she taken him into her home? Where had he been before? It was too much to consider. He let the weight of his eyelids overrule his curiosity and fall. Within minutes, he was asleep.

  6

  A Complicated Marriage

  “You see, Dr. Loring, my husband has been beaten to the very brink of death,” Matilda explained earnestly.

  Dr. Alastair Loring frowned. “You should have sent word that his wounds were so severe,” he scolded. “I would have come at once.”

  “Oh, no, we would not trouble you, that is, we tended to him and he is better. Not well, but better,” Matilda said. “Will you have a cup of tea?”

  “I should be seeing my patient, Mrs.---“

  “Yes, of course, quite right,” Matilda gave him a generous smile. “I shall take you to him. Please do not make reference to me, if you would be so kind. He is very troubled, you see, about his condition and . . . “Matilda lowered her gaze. Her embarrassment was not entirely feigned. “And his inability, given his wounds, to perform, er . . . “

  “I quite understand,” the doctor assured her. “I shall make no reference to you at all, should he ask.”

  “Oh, he won’t ask,” Matilda promised. “He is unable to talk.

  “He is mute?”

  “No, I mean . . . he cannot speak at present. One of the hooligans who attacked him tried to strangle him—you shall see the bruises around his throat when you examine him—and his speech has been affected.”

  “I see. You really should have sent for me sooner. It sounds rather serious.”

  “Yes, it is, only he is quite strong and I believe that with proper care and rest, he shall rally admirably. I simply wished to explain matters to you.”

  “I hope that you have contacted the authorities,” the doctor said as she led the way to the bedroom where her husband slept.

  “It wasn’t in London,” she answered. “I shall send word to the vi
llage constable, as soon as I have the time.”

  “My dear Mrs.---what did you say your—“

  “Ahh, here we are. I shall wait right outside here for you, should you need anything. Thank you so very much, Dr. Loring, we are quite in your debt.” Matilda’s smile was radiant as she opened the door to admit the doctor.

  As soon as the door closed behind Dr. Loring, Matilda’s three friends came scurrying out of the chamber at the end of the corridor.

  “I had no idea marriage could be so complicated,” Matilda confessed in a whisper. “I am frantic at being asked to provide a surname. Whatever shall I call myself now that I am married?”

  “You might as well continue the charade that you employed at Gretna Green when you told the blacksmith that your husband’s name was Weldon Weldon,” Nell said.

  “I was in a panic and couldn’t think of anything better,” Matilda said crossly. “My own name was all that came to mind.”

  “It’s going to make matters rather complicated after he recovers,” Abigail predicted. “You won’t really be married in the eyes of the law.”

  Sophia was not entirely certain that Matilda was legally married in the present, in any case, but saw no reason to present more obstacles when there were quite enough already. “Perhaps, once he recovers and is able to speak, he will be so enamored by your kindness that he will give you his name in earnest,” she suggested.

  “He is more likely to be enamored by my inheritance,” Matilda replied realistically. “But at least he will not dare to make a claim upon it, as The Detestable would have done. I suppose we shall manage somehow,” she said.

  “Do you suppose your Aunt Gretchen has told your parents by now that you have married?” Nell asked.

  Matilda shook her head. “Aunt Gretchen won’t do that. For one thing, she will expect me to do it. And for another,” she smiled, “she’ll never give me away like that. She’s far too sporting. She will tell them that I have gone on to London to stay with Sophia and they will be put out and cross and will ignore me.”

  The door opened and the doctor emerged, taken aback at the quartet of young ladies hovering in the corridor. He recognized Sophia.

  “Ah, Miss Gilland, I hope that your parents are well?”

  “Very well, thank you, Dr. Loring. My Aunt Griselda is staying with us while they are away.”

  Dr. Loring had been the Gilland family physician since before Sophia was born and she was as familiar to him as her comrades were not. “Your husband, madam,” he said to Matilda, concealing the fact that he felt he had forgotten her surname and not wanting to reveal his inadequate memory.

  “Oh, yes, Dr. Loring,” Matilda said, gazing up at him with limpid brown eyes filled with gratitude. “I hope that you are able to help my poor beloved.”

  “I . . . yes, I believe so. You are right; he is a very hearty young man. His wounds are serious, he took a punishing from those thugs, and the law should be set upon them without delay for what they did to him. His vocal cords are injured from the grip of the person who tried to strangle him. I prescribe warm poultices on his throat, three times a day. You will see to it?”

  “Certainly.”

  “He is bruised, as you know. Bruises heal. Miraculously, no bones appear to be broken; I was fearful that perhaps his ribs had taken injury but that is not the case. He is rather fearsome-looking with the swelling in his face, but swelling will recede in time. Youth and vigor are marvelous healing agents. I will check on him again at week’s end. In the meantime, see to the poultices on his throat and feed him soft foods; swallowing will be too much for him just now. Sleep is, of course, the best medicine, and he is asleep now. Let him rest as much as he can, but gradually, he must move about or he will become an invalid.”

  “I wonder if you could recommend a dentist,” Matilda asked. “His front teeth need to be replaced and I have heard that there are ways of doing so that defy belief.”

  “There are,” the doctor said, “but it is not an inexpensive proposition.”

  “If it will restore my beloved,” Matilda declared, “no amount is too much.”

  Considering that her husband resembled nothing so much as a grotesque empurpled simian, the doctor was impressed by her dedication. “The dentist’s name is Marcel Lefevre,” Dr. Loring said. “He is from Switzerland and very experienced in these matters. His clientele is of the most exclusive and I have heard only praise from his patients.” He provided her with the location of the dentist’s office, reminded her again of the measures to be taken to restore her husband to health, and took his leave.

  The young ladies, aware that they had much to discuss that could not be shared with Sophia’s Aunt Griselda, went to the library. It was a place where Aunt Griselda, who believed that bookish women were likely to fall ill of unnamed complaints, never ventured.

  “This is all very tangled,” Abigail said when they were inside the room and the door closed behind them. “We are very fortunate that your parents are away, Sophia, but what shall we do when they return?”

  “Nothing at all. If Matilda is married, and owing to her husband’s condition has chosen to let him convalesce here, it is of no great significance,” Sophia said with a confidence she was far from feeling.

  “They will find it very odd if Matilda has married a man whose name is unknown to her,” Nell pointed out.

  “Perhaps he will be able to speak by then,” Matilda said.

  “And what will he say when he can speak? That he was set upon by a gang of ruffians and rescued by four young ladies who are far more adept with firearms than any of their parents are aware, and that, somewhere between this rescue and regaining his ability to speak, he was married? We shall have to do better than that.”

  “He might fall in love with you,” Sophia suggested.

  “Fall in love with me?” Matilda repeated. “What a silly notion. Why ever should he do such a thing?”

  “Why not? You are a dear and we all adore you. Why shouldn’t he come to feel the same? After all, you are taking care of him, nursing him, and seeing that he has medical attention. You could have left him for dead. Yes,” Sophia said, “upon consideration, I do believe that is the very best option.”

  “How long will your parents remain in the country?” Matilda inquired.

  “Oh, Papa won’t miss the hunting and to be frank, he does not like London nearly as much as Mama does,” Sophia said brightly. “I expect that they will be away for the rest of the year. I shall have to return to the country for Christmas,” she said. “Aunt Griselda will return also; we have the entire family stay for Christmas. But by then, he will be better and quite in love with his angel of mercy.”

  “As Matilda is a married woman,” Abigail pointed out, “she is not in need of a chaperone. She can stay here.”

  “I shall need to purchase a house in London,” Matilda said. “I shall need to set up my own residence.”

  “But Matilda,” Nell said, “you don’t know anything about such matters. Gentlemen do those things.”

  “It cannot be so hard to do,” Matilda argued. “One needs a house, therefore one purchases one.”

  “Yes, but so much is involved,” Nell said, having a vague understanding that there were matters for which males were uniquely better suited to handle. “I don’t know anyone who has purchased a house. People simply have them already.”

  “I shall ask Hubert,” Sophia announced. “He will know.”

  “Hubert! I thought you had sent him off after his last proposal.”

  “So I did,” Sophia acknowledged. “I told him that I cannot marry him until the four of us are all married. But now that Matilda is married, we are on our way to weddings, are we not?”

  “You may be, and Matilda is, but I am no nearer to the altar than Matilda’s husband is to being handsome,” Abigail said glumly. “I have nothing for a dowry except a pittance and Mama is in despair that I will not be able to attract a husband. And Nell is so very particular that she will not accept any
one who offers for her.”

  Nell began to defend her stance, but Matilda waved her hands in front of them to silence the girls. “Hubert will be able to help us,” she said. “He knows gentlemen who will be delighted to pay suit to you both. Abigail needs a rich suitor and Nell needs a paragon. We shall rely on Hubert to provide both.”

  7

  Improving Under Matilda’s Care

  “There, is that better? I am afraid that the view is not very inspiring now that the leaves have fallen from the trees and everything looks quite bare,” Matilda said, opening the curtains to let the scant daylight into view, “but there is a little bit of sunlight and it’s so much better than the rain which has plagued us all week.”

  Marcus nodded. The young woman whose name was Matilda moved away from the window and returned to his bedside.

  “Today is going to be quite an important day for you,” Matilda said as she held the spoon to his lips so that he could have a sip of broth. “You are going to be shaved. Dr. Loring thinks that your swelling has gone down sufficiently so that it will not hurt you. At least,” she corrected herself, “it will not hurt you so very much. Then you will feel much more yourself, will you not?”

  Marcus nodded. Speech still eluded him, although the doctor had assured him that this was a temporary condition. The growth of beard on his face was itchy and irritating; he had always been clean shaven. At the prospect of a shave, Marcus brightened.

  Matilda noticed his reaction. “Yes, that will make matters much better,” she said as he swallowed another spoonful of soup. “And I have more good news. Dr. Loring thinks that, now that your face is healing, and now that you have front teeth again, you are up to eating more substantial food.”

  Marcus nodded his eagerness. No matter how Matilda tried to tempt his palate with broths, blancmange and other easily digestible offerings, he had come to loathe everything that was delivered to him by spoon.