Part 19 (2/2)

He took it up and scanned the pages. ”I wonder how you make anything of this gibberish.” He set down the pamphlet and took up a narrow volume.

”This is still worse. I should go howling mad trying to read the first sentence-and it's only three-quarters of a page long.”

”They are doctors, not writers,” said Gwendolyn. ”You ought to see their penmans.h.i.+p. It is a wonder the printers are not all in Bedlam by now.”

”Yours is nothing to boast of,” he said with a meaningful glance at the untidy pile of foolscap covered with her even more untidy scrawl.

She wrinkled her nose. ”Yes, my handwriting is horrid. Not at all like yours. I'm sure you were the finest copyist those London solicitors ever had.”

”I should be happy to copy your notes legibly,” he said. ”In fact, I...” He trailed off, his mind snagging on a recollection. Something she'd said weeks ago. Something ”misinterpreted.”

Catching her worried look, he shrugged. ”I'm all right. My mind wandered, that's all. I had interrupted for a specific reason, and the medical jargon and your ghastly handwriting distracted me.” He ruffled her hair. ”I came to ask if you'd like to visit Athcourt with me.”

”Athcourt?” she said blankly.

”I wrote to Dain a few days ago,” he explained.

”I need advice on some business matters. He's now a member of the family, his place is but a few miles southeast of here, and he's an excellent manager, from all one has heard.”

”Athcourt is reputed to be one of the most prosperous, well-run properties in the kingdom,” Gwendolyn said, nodding. ”I'm sure his business judgment is sound.”

”At any rate, he's made me feel welcome.” Dorian withdrew a letter from his pocket and gave it to her.

As she perused it, her mouth began to twitch. ”The man is incorrigibly wicked. And what is this?” She read aloud, ”'If that nitwit Trent is still loitering about, you might as well bring him, too, since mayhem can only result if he's left to his own devices. Still, you know what will be expected of you in that case.'” She looked up. ”It would appear you are better acquainted than I had guessed.”

Dorian laughed. ”Dain was still at Eton when Bertie first came,” he explained. ”About once a fortnight, Bertie would fall down the stairs or trip over something or otherwise contrive to stumble into His Lords.h.i.+p's path. Fortunately, I was on the spot the first time and hustled Bertie away before Dain could dispose of him by more violent means. After that, whenever your cousin strayed into the Satanic presence, His Lords.h.i.+p would summon me. 'Camoys,' he would say, as cool as you please. 'It's back. Make it go away.' And so I would make Bertie disappear.”

”I can see Dain doing it. And you, too.” She patted his arm. ”It is your protective streak.”

”It was my instinct for self-preservation,” Dorian indignantly informed her. ”I was scarcely twelve, and Dain, even at sixteen, was as big as a house. He had but to set one huge hand on my head to squash me like a bug.” He grinned. ”Still, I admired him tremendously. I should have given anything to get away with what he did.”

She laughed, a delicious sound. ”So should I,” she said. ”It was not hard to understand why Jessica was captivated with him. Or why she was so vexed about it.”

”I thought you'd enjoy visiting with her while Dain and I talk business,” he said.

”I should, very much.” She gave the letter back. ”I am glad you thought of Dain as a business advisor. A better choice than Abonville. The duc is a foreigner and of another generation.”

”I knew you had reservations about him.”

”He's a wonderful man, but he can be too paternal.”

Dorian hesitated. He did not want to upset her; on the other hand, they could not spend the remaining time avoiding all mention of what lay ahead. ”I trust you won't mind, then, if I end by making Dain my guardian instead,” he said quietly.

There was only the briefest pause before she spoke. ”If I encountered difficulties, and you were unable to a.s.sist me, there's no one I'd rather have on my side,” she said. She met his gaze, her own clear and steady.

He could guess what the composure and steadiness cost her, and it distressed him. Nevertheless, they couldn't pretend they would have forever when they didn't.

He bent and lightly kissed her. ”That's how I feel,” he said. He drew back and grinned. ”If we must choose an ally, it makes sense to pick the biggest one we can find.”

A few days later, they went to Athcourt, intending to stay for two days. They wound up staying for a week.

Dain turned out to be knowledgeable-and obstinately opinionated-about a vast array of topics, and the two men were soon quarreling happily, like old friends or brothers. They raced each other over Athcourt's vast park and into the surrounding moorland. They fenced and practiced pistol shooting. One day, Dain undertook to teach Dorian some of the finer points of pugilism, and they knocked each other about in a corner of the stable yard, while their wives cheered them on.

Dain's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son lived at Athcourt as well. He was a wicked piece of mischief, eight years old, whom Dain proudly referred to as the Demon Seed.

Little Dominick was wary of Dorian at first, but within two days, he was inviting the Earl of Rawnsley to visit his treehouse. This, Dorian learned, was signal honor. Until now, only the boy's adored papa had been privy to the refuge's location and initiated into its mysteries.

And so, Dorian came away from Athcourt with sc.r.a.ped knees and elbows, Dain's a.s.surances that Gwendolyn's affairs would be properly looked after...and a mad yearning for a child.

Dorian told himself it was ridiculous to long for a child he would never see born and ruthlessly focused his energies on realizing Gwendolyn's hospital dream.

Daisn had agreed with him that her influential t.i.tle and wealth would not fully compensate for her being a female, and a young one at that. She would be contending with scores of men, few of whom held an enlightened view of feminine capabilities.

”I can deal with the men,” Dain had said, ”but I should want precise instructions. I know nothing about hospitals, even the everyday variety, and it seems that your lady has something novel in mind.”

”I'm not sure she'll be as precise as one would wish, when the time comes,” Dorian had answered. ”Already I detect signs of emotional strain. I had thought that if I started the project now, it would make a healthy distraction. Moreover, if I am directly involved in its founding, others will take it more seriously. If the Earl of Rawnsley says the building must be a perfect hexagon, for instance, another fellow won't pipe up that it must be a perfect cube and start a row with someone who says it must be an octagon, according to the best authorities. Instead, they will all murmur, 'Yes, my lord. A hexagon. Certainly,' and write down my every word with the greatest care, as though it came direct from the throne of Heaven.”

Dain had chuckled, but something in his dark gaze made Dorian edgy. ”Am I overly optimistic?” he'd asked. ”If you have doubts of my capabilities, Dain, I wish you-”

”I was only wondering why the devil you don't cut your hair,” Dain had said. ”While I doubt your coiffure would affect your credibility-you're a Camoys, after all-I should think it was a d.a.m.ned nuisance to look after-as though there won't be enough in organizing this project.”

Dorian had smiled sheepishly. ”My wife likes it.”

”And you are besotted, poor fool.” Dain had given him a commiserating look, then laughed. ”Well, then, I collect this is as rational as you're ever going to be. Make the most of it, I say.”

Dorian was determined to make the most of it.

Accordingly, on the second night of their return home, he explained to Gwendolyn his idea about getting an early start on her hospital.

She told him it was an excellent idea and she seemed very enthusiastic, but Dorian could not shake off the feeling that her mind was elsewhere: on his accursed ailment and its provoking mysteries. He was strongly tempted to lecture her. He suppressed the urge and made love to her instead.

The following afternoon, they settled down in the library to discuss the matter in detail, and she was the same. She talked enthusiastically of her ideas, and obligingly sketched out a rough plan for the building itself and described the functions of different areas. All the same, Dorian sensed that her mind was not fully engaged.

In the following days, she went on working cheerfully with him, transforming her dreams into orderly facts and specifications, but the note of abstraction remained.

Dorian bore it patiently. He had learned from her that it was often possible to combine several treatments to combat an ailment's array of symptoms. One remedy for sick headaches, for instance, combined laudanum with ipecac-the former to dull the pain and the latter to relieve the nausea by inducing vomiting.

He had, likewise, devised a combination treatment for her. One of the ”medications” arrived a week after their return from Athcourt.

Dorian slipped into her study and left the packet on her desk while she was consulting with the cook about the following day's menu. Then he left the house, to work on the next part of the remedy.

An hour later, Gwendolyn stood in the study doorway, gazing blankly at Hoskins.

”He's gone to Okehampton,” the manservant said for the second time. ”He had an appointment. Something to do with the hospital, he said.”

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