The Heir - Catherine Coulter [19]
The earl halted a moment at the edge of the front lawn, staring thoughtfully ahead at the bright candlelit mullioned windows.
“Is there a staircase to your room through the west entrance?”
He felt her nod against his shoulder.
As the earl turned to skirt the front doors, they were suddenly flung wide and Lady Ann waved to him. She looked frantic.
“Justin, thank God. You have found her. We’ve been distraught with worry. Bring her here, quickly, quickly.”
He leaned his face close to Arabella’s and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there seems to be no hope for it. I would have spared you if I could have. But she is your mother. I would never disobey a mother. I’m sorry for it, but there it is.”
She said nothing at all, but she was as still as a board in his arms. He called out, “Yes, Ann, I have found her. I’ll bring her to you.”
Lady Ann did not shriek or fall into hysterics. Her blue eyes fastened with disbelief on her daughter’s ravaged face. She saw the tear streaks trailing through the dirt and blood down her white cheeks. “Dear God,” she managed, then fell silent.
The earl felt Arabella clutch at his coat as if she wanted somehow to disappear inside of him. He sensed her deep shame and said quickly, “She isn’t hurt, Ann, merely cut up a trifle from an accidental fall. It is nothing more than that. Is. Dr. Branyon still about? I think it wise that he see her.”
Arabella gathered remnants of pride and struggled in the earl’s arms to face her mother. “I do not wish to see Dr. Branyon. Mother, I am perfectly fine. It is as he said, I simply took a stupid fall and hurt myself just a bit. If you will please let me down, sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped her to the ground.
She staggered against him and would have fallen had he not slipped his arm around her waist. She had dignity, she simply had to dredge it up. She raised her chin, placed her hand calmly upon his arm, and walked stiffly beside him into the house.
* * *
Dr. Paul Branyon straightened over a now clean Arabella and said with his charming smile, “Well, my little Bella, though you were a rare mess to be sure, I can find nothing in particular wrong with you that your bath did not cure. You will be a trifle sore here and there for a couple of days, but nothing of consequence. I do, though, insist that you have a good night’s sleep.”
This evening the lurking twinkle always present in Dr. Branyon’s brown eyes didn’t draw a smile from her. She adored him, always had, for he had been a part of her life since she was born. Still, he had seen her fail, even though he didn’t realize it. She hated herself. She also felt sore from the top of her still-damp head to her bruised feet. She eyed him as he carefully measured out several drops from a small vial into a glass of water. Like her father, Arabella hated sickness, the earl having convinced her over the years that weak persons used various illnesses to gain attention. Succumbing to common complaints showed lack of character. “I will not take that laudanum, for that is what it is, isn’t it, sir?”
“Yes, just a bit, my dear.”
“No. Give it to Mrs. Tucker. I know she uses it in her tea. She says it makes her feet relaxed.”
“Always giving orders,” Dr. Branyon said, smiling at her. “You do it well, but it doesn’t matter this time. I do not wish to have your mother shred me into pieces, and that is what would happen if I don’t take thorough care of you. Isn’t it, Ann?”
Lady Ann stepped forward. She said with a firmness that Arabella found unnerving, “Be quiet, Arabella. It has been an extraordinarily trying day. There is much change and much for you to think about. I will not have you bleary-eyed and in a snit all for want of a good night’s sleep. Drink the water.”
Arabella could not believe it had been her own dear mother speaking to her all hard and calm like that.
“Mother? Is that truly