My dear readers,
Thank you so much for your patience. I apologize for the time between my last post. It has been hectic around here with work and personal business. Sigh, sunnier days ahead. :)
I wanted to thank you all who commented last time and weighed in on the steamy romance factor debate. It was very delightful to see the views on the subject. So to allay any fears, this story will continue as is with tension and the building of a foundation to the budding romance. No major 'steam factor' in the sense of bodice ripping will appear. My goal here is to tell a story which happens to involve romance. So, I hope you are enjoying the journey so far.
I am sorry in advance for the short chapter. Without further ado here is the next chapter.
Chapter 7: Where gumption is shown, but blood is shed
George Wickham ran from Lady Grace MacKenna as fast as he could. His boots pounded the ground and he had nary a thought about what his 'innocent' actions were about to create. His concern was the emotions which had welled inside of him when he had beheld how he had wounded her. His actions were contemptible, but he was of the carpe diem sort, in that he seized opportunities when they arose. He held no concern for the cost of those actions.
His attempted seduction of Miss Gerorgiana Darcy had been for purely mercenary reasons and a way to cut his arch rival, Fitzwilliam Darcy, to the core. His attempt with Lady Grace MacKenna had not been so, but even he knew not what to call his pursuit of her. It was not mercenary. Although, it was not purely innocent at all, which is how, after he took his hasty retreat, he found himself in a tawdry village tavern ingesting copious amounts of alcohol and claiming to all who would hear him, that he, George Wickham, had managed to bed the infallible Lady Grace Mackenna.
His pronouncement earned him congratulatory slaps on the back by fellow drunken men in the tavern. They wanted to know how was her performance, was her skin as soft as it appeared, did her bedroom desire match the color of her hair. He found himself with each answer to a question spinning a lie like a thread that turned around the spinning wheel until it became entangled into a spool of yarn. He could not stop and when he was sober enough the next morning instead of standing up like a gentleman and atoning for his actions, he ran like the coward he had always been.
It was a brisk morning and a fresh snow blanketed the ground, creating an expanse of white, but it did not seem to affect Colonel Fitzwilliam's purpose. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way out to the stables to prepare Thor for the ride he and Darcy would take to check on the grounds. A stable hand could easily have readied Thor, but he found that he preferred to do the task himself. It had a calming effect on him to go through the process of saddling his horse or brushing his coat. How he longed for that calm now, but upon entering the stable Thor took one look at him and proceeded to snort and stamp his feet restlessly.
"Calm yourself Thor," Richard murmured as he approached Thor's stall, picked up his brush and entered. Thor noted the brush in his hand and casually approached his master. As soon as Thor was close enough, Richard stepped forward and began to brush his coat. The motions of brushing Thor began to calm his turbulent thoughts. "You know Thor, I much liked Lady Grace. I suspect you did too."
Thor snorted as if in response, but as horses were want to snort at anytime, who could be sure what the action meant. Richard just smiled. Yes, he had been much intrigued by Lady Grace. He furrowed his brows in concentration as he continued to brush Thor. He took in the familiar smell of the stables, a mixture of hay, animals and muck as he contemplated his next move. It was clear to him that he was intent on taking some particular action in regards to Lady Grace, but what exactly he did not know. For all of his military prowess he found himself at a loss when confronted with a mere woman. Just the thought of not knowing what to do put him in an inhospitable mood; he detested not knowing what to do. Richard scowled. "Thor she sent us away."
"You mean she sent you away" exclaimed Darcy from behind him.
Richard turned to glare at Darcy. "Darcy! Hold your tongue. This doesn't concern you."
Darcy grinned in amusement at his cousin. He casually leaned against the stable walls to watch Richard carry on this ridiculous display of indifference. Lady Grace meant something to his cousin and he was determined to find out just how dear she was. Perhaps, he should be preparing Elizabeth and Georgiana for an addition to the family.
Richard turned back toward Thor and regarded him for a moment. It was inconceivable, but just looking at Thor brought to him the image of Lady Grace, her back to him as she silently murmured to Thor. She had been breathtaking to behold in that moment. He eyed Thor and sighed. "If I promised that we would see her again would you please let me take you out for a run? Perhaps an extra sugar cube would be more to your liking?"
Thor turned his head slightly towards his master before nuzzling him. Richard chuckled and affectionately patted Thor on the nose. Richard pulled a sugar cube from his pocket which Thor happily took from his outstretched hand. A moment later he was astride Thor as we waited for Darcy to mount his own horse. As they trotted out of the stable within moments they were racing. It was habit for them to compete in a brotherly fashion. It was during this stiff competition that Richard forgot the rest of his troubles as he became focused on the thrill of winning. His legs gripped Thor's flank as he urged him on faster and faster. The wind whipped around him as he focused on the large oak ahead that marked the finish line.
Lady Grace was successfully finding pursuits to distract her from her father's intense rhetoric. She found herself devouring Wollstonecraft on long walks across the countryside. It was far more preferable to anything she had to endure at home. It was a calming time when she was among the rolling hills and the sound of the wind teasing the branches of the trees were around to speak to her. When she didn't have her nose in Wollstonecraft or wandering the countryside she was closeted in her father's library. In an effort to distract herself from the impending marriage that was sure to come once her father found a man gullible enough to accept she found herself perusing any medical book she could get her hands on. She found herself searching for some clue to Colonel Fitzwilliam's condition.
It was on such a morning, while perusing the medical books in the library, that she remembered the evening at the ball and witnessing the Colonel's distress which had remained with her. She touched her neck where the bruises had been, having long since faded, and for a moment she was transported back to the first time Colonel Fitzwilliam had touched her in an intimate manner. Her lips unconsciously opened and she closed her eyes as she recalled the glowing embers of his eyes. His eyes had been a deep mahogany swirling with emotion she couldn't quite identify. The loud thunder of a door being thrown open jolted her from her thoughts, startling her.
"What is this rubbish doing in my house?" Lord MacKenna filled the doorway; his face flushed with anger, and was holding a book above his head.
Grace gasped. Her beloved Wollstonecraft! She stood and was surprised she didn't collapse right back down in fear. "Quinn gave it to me as a gift, Father."
Lord MacKenna's eyes narrowed at his daughter. He walked toward her with calculated determination before stopping mere inches from her. "I will not have this in my home. Burn it!"
Her father has spoken with such deadly calm but she was not ready to part with her brother's extraordinary gift. Her father had already taken so much from her and perhaps it was a last bought of resistance or maybe it was a desire to prove to herself that she had not truly died. She took a deep steadying breath, squared her shoulders and set her chin at a defiant angle. "No. I will not."
It was a tense moment before Lord MacKenna's anger ignited at her defiance. His face became red and his gaze full of furry. He took in the appearance of his only daughter, her red hair and flashing green eyes and more importantly her frail appearance. It almost gave his anger pause, but it was quickly demolished as her defiance was not to be borne. "You dare to defy me? You are in my home and just as I own this property, I own you Grace which means that you are mine to command."
Grace flinched as her father in his anger shook the book in her face. "This rhetoric is not welcome under my roof. I want it gone."
Despite her rising fear she could not bring herself to destroy such a beautiful book. It only meant more to her that it came from Quinn. Quinn her dearest brother who always made her laugh even when she was cross with him. "No! I will not destroy it," she cried.
Lord MacKenna was furious and Grace found herself pushed roughly aside as her father stalked in determination toward the fire. No! She moved and grabbed her father's arm, halting his attempt to throw the book into the fire. "Please, father," she begged. "Quinn gave this to me. Please don't take this from me. It is all I have left."
"Let go, Grace." Lord MacKenna shook his arm roughly in an attempt release his daughter's tight grip on his arm.
Grace made a grab for the book in his hand. However, he would not yield. It was but a moment of struggle before her father grew more furious. He roughly pulled his arm out of her grip and as he went to throw the book into the flames she made one last attempt to capture back her prized gift. It was in that moment when he finally lost patience and he violently pushed her away and sent her hurtling backwards. She saw the book go up in flames right before her head made contact with the edge of a table. She felt a searing pain as a scream ripped through her and she tumbled to the ground, barely catching herself before she hit her head for a second time.
She felt rather than saw her father move toward her. He had just placed his hand on her arm and she jerked back as if she had been burned. She slowly lifted her head to look at her father, despite the pain, and the look on his face was almost one of concern, but she knew better. "Don't touch me," she hissed.
Lord MacKenna was in turmoil. He had not meant to hurt his daughter, but she had defied him. Perhaps, she deserved some punishment, but despite his feelings he still felt that he should be assured that she would live. "Grace, I am sorry. Allow me to help you."
Grace struggled to stand and when she finally did she glared at her father. "I cannot be here right now. I must go."
"Grace, don't be ridiculous. You are hurt and should not be running out of doors."
His words did nothing to halt Grace's path to the door as she kept moving. She fought down the nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach; she didn't know if it was from fear or the throbbing pain which was making itself at home in her head. All she knew is she could not stay here now. She knew she was being foolish and that she probably needed a physician's attention, but she felt this overwhelming desire to be away from the oppressive house. She needed to get away.
She grabbed her cloak and stumbled out the door onto the icy steps. She took a deep breath as she hurried down the steps, unconsciously touching the back of her head and wincing, as she ran toward the end of the drive. She ignored her father's bellows and her mother's cries to return. All she heard was her breath coming out in sharp gasps and the crunch of her feet on the snow. She ran and stumbled she knew not how far nor where she was headed, but it must have been for some time. It was the sudden feeling of lightheadedness which forced her to stop.
The pain in her head was increasing as she tried to still her panicked breaths. The cold was beginning to settle in around her as if threatening her. She had been so determined to run that she had failed to notice that storm clouds had rolled in. The rain had gone and brought the frigid temperatures of snow in its stead. Her breath, she noticed, was coming out in wisps of white. She rubbed her arms in an attempt to generate warmth. The pain shooting through her head caused her to raise her hand to the back of her head and what she saw staining her hand when she pulled it back into her line of vision was not promising.
Her breath caught in her throat. It was blood! She suddenly felt more nauseous than before. The world around her became disoriented. She couldn't focus and in a panic she tried to take a step back in the direction she came, but she faltered and ended up on her knees. The pain! She clutched both sides of her head and squeezed her eyes shut hoping it would clear her vision. Silent tears ran down her face as the severity of her foolishness began to descend upon her.
In desperation to get back to the house she tried to crawl, but she had not made it farther than a few feet before she collapsed again. She moaned and rolled onto her back. She was too weak to move and realized that she would probably die out here in the cold and no one would mourn her. They would remember how foolish she had been though. That much they would remember. As she lay on the ground, she began to shiver, a fresh snowfall began to drift down to the ground and the intensity of the pain combined with the cold finally caused her to lose consciousness.
Lady Matlock was startled from writing a letter by a commotion in the hall. She quickly rose to see what the problem was and was unprepared for the scene that was before her. Lady Grace MacKenna hung limply in her husband's arms and she noted that her hair was matted to the back of her head. The poor girl looked pale and near death. What in the world had she been about? The mothering instinct in her reared itself immediately as she rushed forward to assist her husband.
Directions were directed to the servants as she and Lord Matlock ascended the stairs with the unconscious Lady Grace. Lord Matlock discreetly left the room while they removed her wet clothes before placing her in a bed which was piled high with blankets and a servant worked furiously to ignite a blaze in the fireplace. Lady Matlock directed another servant to bring a chair beside the bed and when that was achieved she immediately took up residence. Lady Grace's breathing was too slow and she wasn't warming up enough to her liking. She sent to the kitchen for warm bricks to be placed in the bed.
"Henry, where did you find her?"
Lord Matlock took his wife's query as an indication that it was safe to reenter the room. He looked at his wife and in an attempt to calm her placed his strong hand on her shoulder. "Vincent and I were out riding to take a look at the outer edges of the estate. We came across her unconscious in the snow. She has taken a blow to the head."
Lady Matlock gasped and immediately rose from the chair to take a careful look at the back of her head. The wound did not look good at all. It looked ugly and painful. "I need a basin of water and some cloth. Where is the doctor?"
"The doctor has already been sent for, my dear." Lord Matlock watched his wife concentrate her attentions on Lady Grace and smiled slightly. She would never cease in her desire to take under her wing a wounded creature. It was one of the many things he loved about her even if she could be exasperating at times. He was a lucky man indeed to have such a wonderful woman as his wife.
Lady Matlock was full of questions. It was no secret that Lady Grace had experienced a difficult last few months, but who would wish her such ill fortune? The rumors which swirled around claiming Lady Grace had allowed herself to be bedded, she believed none of. Lady Grace was a true lady. There was something not right with the story which was circulating. However much she detected something afoot, she was more concerned with the young ladies health. A blow to the head could have deadly results.
The arrival of the doctor stilled Lady Matlock's musings who was forced to stand aside. The doctor, Mr. Smith, examined Lady Grace in silence, only an occasional cluck of his tongue indicating possible concern. It was a mere five minutes, but for the others awaiting news of Lady Grace's condition it felt like hours, Mr. Smith turned and looked at Lord and Lady Matlock somberly before he spoke.
"She took a significant blow to the head, but I believe the one thing which may have allowed her to live was falling in the snow." At the puzzled looks he received from Lord and Lady Matlock he elaborated. "The cold of the snow stayed the blood flow. She is in danger of succumbing to her exposure to the cold and damp, however."
Lady Matlock closed her eyes and held fast to her husband's arm. There was still a possibility of death. She took a deep breath to steel her emotions before opening her eyes and pinning Mr. Smith with a harsh stare. "Mr. Smith I will not have anyone dying while under my roof. She will live. It is the only fact I will accept."
Mr. Smith started. "Lady Matlock it is not so simple. She has taken a blow to the head and was exposed to the elements for some time."
Lady Matlock's eyes narrowed and Mr. Smith felt himself take an involuntary step back. He looked to Lord Matlock for aide, but saw he was to receive none. Lord Matlock had his hands clasped behind his back and was looking at the floor in silent contemplation. If Lady Grace died he did not want to bear the news to Richard. He was unclear how much of an attachment there was, but he did know that Lady Grace already held some piece of his youngest son's heart.
Lady Matlock was not pleased. "Mr. Smith let me make myself perfectly clear. Lady Grace will not die. Do we understand one another?"
Mr. Smith found himself nodding. "Of course, Lady Matlock. I will do everything I can to prevent her death."
Lady Matlock eyed him once more. She nodded briskly. "Good! Now what do you need to assist you in your efforts?"
