Valentine

Chapter Twenty-five

Theo awoke to bright sunshine. Sleepily, she hitched herself on her elbows to look at the clock. It was almost ten. How could she ever have slept so late? But then she remembered. She lay back on the pillows, her hands drifting over her naked form, reminding her skin of the touches that had brought so much pleasure during those joyous hours before dawn.

She turned her head and frowned at the empty space beside her. When had Sylvester left her? Presumably he'd woken long ago; he rarely slept after the sun came up. She closed her eyes again, running her hand over the sheet where he'd lain, over the pillow that still bore the indentation of his head.

He claimed to care for her, yet he demanded that she keep her distance from him in all but passion. What kind of love was that? But, then, perhaps no one had ever loved him, so he didn't know how to express such an emotion.

She thought of Lavinia Gilbraith, mean-spirited, carping witch that she was. It was impossible to imagine her loving anyone, even her son.

She would just have to teach her husband herself… by example.

On that energetic determination Theo sprang from bed, guiltily thinking of her mother-in-law, who was presumably waiting for her hostess's attention. She hoped the cabbage roses in the pink bedroom hadn't upset Mary's delicate digestion. After pulling on her dressing gown she reached for the bellpull to ring for Dora.

She heard Henry's voice in Sylvester's room next door. It was pitched very low. Then she heard a sound that sent chills down her spine, and her hand dropped from the bellpull. It was an inarticulate, animal-like moan of pain, interspersed with the dreadful sounds of helpless dry retching.

She crept to the wall and pressed her ear against it. What was happening? Was Sylvester ill? The dreadful moan came again, a sound that chilled her blood, it was so filled with despairing endurance.

Sylvester had that headache again. That other part of his past – his precious privacy – that was forbidden to her.

She went out into the corridor and tried to lift the latch on Sylvester's door. The door was locked. In the name of goodness, she thought with a surge of exasperation, how could he expect to spend a lifetime with her, to grow old with her, all the while keeping the most vulnerable parts of himself secret from her? And most particularly this hideous curse?

Back in her own room, she stood thinking for a minute, then went to the window. There was a narrow iron balcony, little more than a foothold outside. Its twin was outside Sylvester's room, a large sideways footstep away. Curzon Street was two floors below. A barouche bowled down it at a fast clip as she leaned out. She craned her neck and saw a scrap of curtain at Sylvester's window flutter in the wind. The long window was cracked open.

Without conscious decision she ran to the armoire, pulled out her riding habit with the divided skirt, and dressed rapidly. She braided her hair, slipped a pair of light, soft-soled slippers on her feet, and returned to the window.

Heights had never bothered her. For years she and Edward had clambered over the cliff face at Lulworth Cove searching out gull rookeries without once considering the crashing surf and jagged rocks beneath them. But a busy London street below was unnerving in a way surf and rocks had never been.

Theo turned her back on the street, faced the wall, and threw her leg over the low ornate railing, feeling for the brick ledge that ran between the two balconies. Her foot found it, and she straddled the railing, taking a deep, steadying breath. She'd have to bring her other foot over, and for a minute she'd be standing on this narrow ledge that would accommodate only her toes. But her hand could reach the other balcony. She stretched her arm, and her fingers closed over the iron. She would have a firm grip on both balconies while her feet were in no-man's-land. Once she'd got her left foot onto Sylvester's balcony, she'd be home and dry.

It was pure craziness. It was exhilarating. More than anything, though, it was necessary. Sylvester needed her. She had opened herself to him. He must open himself to her.

With a swift prayer to the gods, who certainly owed her something, Theo swung her other foot to the ledge and for a terrifying second was poised above the street, her toes clinging to the ledge, her hands, white-knuckled, gripping the balcony on either side. Her heart thudded in her throat as she gingerly raised her left foot Now she was held by five toes and ten fingers. She swung her left leg sideways, over the rail behind her left hand, and as the cold metal touched her calf she heaved a sigh of relief. The rest was easy.

A minute later she was standing foursquare on Sylvester's balcony, easing open the window.

Soft-footed, she stepped into the darkened bedchamber that, despite the slightly opened window, felt as stifling as a greenhouse.

"Who's there!" Henry spun from the curtained bed, his eyes glowing in the dimness, his outraged whisper hissing in the quiet.

"It's me," Theo said calmly, crossing the room. She had very little to do with Henry – none of the household did. It was accepted that he had a special relationship with the earl, one that Theo decided was more intimate in essentials than her own. But that was going to change.

"My lady!" His outrage was superseded only by his astonishment as he gazed at the window behind her, the curtain fluttering in the breeze.

"What is it, Henry?" Sylvester's voice was a cracked thread, like the voice of a very old man. It put Theo in mind of her grandfather in his last days.

"It's all right, m'lord, don't go fretting now," Henry said, laying a hand on Theo's arm. "You must leave here at once, my lady. His lordship can't have visitors."

"I'm not a visitor, Henry." She shook his hand off her arm, and her eyes flashed in the darkness, her voice frigid in contrast. "I am his lordship's wife."

"My lady, I must insist!" He renewed his hold on her arm.

"Take your hand away, or I might break your wrist," Theo said with the same soft, cold ferocity. She raised her free hand, the edge of her rigid palm hovering like a steel blade above the wrist of the manservant's gripping hand.

The dreadful dry retching came from the tented bed, and a groan that filled Theo with a horrified pity, but she maintained her menacing stance, and after a second Henry's hand dropped from her arm.

"Thank you," she said, brushing her sleeve pointedly. "You may remain if you wish, but I will be responsible for nursing Lord Stoneridge, as is my duty."

Henry stood openmouthed as she walked quickly to the bed, gently drawing aside the curtain at the head.

Sylvester's face was a pale shadow on the pillows, gray and waxen, his right eyelid so swollen that it was almost closed. Lines of pain etched his brow and ran down his nose to his mouth, as deep as the furrows of a plowshare.

His hand moved, shuffling to the bedside table where the bowl and a glass of water stood. She took the glass and gently slipped an arm beneath his neck, holding the glass to his lips.

"Theo?" he croaked. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hush," she said. "Henry's right, you mustn't become agitated."

"But how in the devil's name did you get in here?"

"I flew through the window," she said, bending to lay her lips on his forehead. "I wish I could take it away."

His mouth twisted in what might have been a gruesome travesty of a smile, but whatever he'd been about to say was lost as he groaned and reached for the bowl.

Henry jumped forward, but Theo forestalled him, holding the bowl until Sylvester fell back on the pillows, racked with renewed torment.

Theo wiped his mouth, gently bathed his face, and laid a lavender-soaked cloth on his forehead, ignoring the hovering Henry.

"Theo, go away," Sylvester murmured after a minute. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't want you… don't want you here, seeing me -"

"Hush," she interrupted with quiet force. "You're my husband, and I will be a part of your suffering. There's nothing you can do about it anyway."

Whether through weakness or acceptance, he ceased to object and lay still and silent, wrestling with his agony.

Theo moved away from the bed and whispered to the still outraged Henry, "I have to go down and see Lady Gilbraith, but I'll be back directly. You're to leave the door unlocked." There was such crisp authority in her eyes and the set of her jaw, such an edge to her soft voice, that Henry bowed and moved to open the door for her.

Theo sped downstairs. She could hear her mother-in-law's irritable voice from the hall.

"I cannot think how a household can be run in this fashion. It's past midmorning, and there's no sign of either Stoneridge or his wife."

"I do beg your pardon, ma'am," Theo said, jumping down the last two steps. "Sylvester is ill."

"Ill? What on earth do you mean, ill? He's never had a day's illness in his life. And what kind of a slugabed are you, girl, to appear to your household at this late hour?"

Theo ignored this latter complaint "Sylvester has a war wound that afflicts him with severe headaches," she said with an attempt at patience. "I'm afraid I must leave you to your own devices today, I'm needed at his bedside. Please feel free to order things as you wish, and, of course, if you'd like to take the air, or pay some calls, then the barouche is at your disposal. Now, if you'll excuse me -"

"Goodness me, gal. If the man has a headache, it's ten to one he dipped deep in the cognac last night. He should take a powder and sleep it off. There's no need for you to dance attendance on him, and I wish you to accompany me on some errands. Mary's too busy sniffling and moaning to leave her bed."

"My apologies, ma'am, but I must beg you to excuse me. Foster will attend to everything for you."

Lady Gilbraith's complexion turned a curious mottled salmon color, and she began to huff, but Theo didn't wait for the head of steam to burst forth. She turned and ran back upstairs.

Henry looked up from the bedside as she came quietly in, but he moved aside when she came over.

Throughout that interminable day, and half the next night, she sat beside the bed, offering what little relief she could, concealing her horror at the hideous pain that turned a powerful, self-determining man into an inarticulate, groaning husk barely capable of raising his head from the pillow.

Henry, initially tight-lipped, changed his attitude as the hours went by, and she didn't flag, didn't shrink, from performing whatever service was necessary, and didn't hesitate to ask his advice. He found himself telling her of how he'd found the major in the prison transport, barely alive, his head wrapped in foul, blood-soaked bandages. He described the hellhole where they'd languished without medical attention or supplies for the best part of a twelvemonth.

Theo listened, and a few more pieces of the puzzle that was her husband fell into place.

"Were you at Vimiera with his lordship?" she whispered when they'd drawn away from the bed and were eating supper over by the open window, so the smell of food wouldn't increase his misery.

Henry shook his head. "No, ma'am. But his lordship talked of it during his illness."

"What did he say?" Theo tried to hide her intense curiosity.

"Oh, he was out of his head mostly, ma'am. It was all disjointed, like. Couldn't make hide nor hair of it, mostly. Besides, he couldn't remember what happened before that damned Froggie bayoneted him."

"Oh." Theo was disappointed. She returned to her vigil beside the bed.

"We'll give him the laudanum now, my lady?" Henry spoke softly behind her. "It's been all of fifteen minutes since he last vomited, and maybe he'll keep it down long enough to fall asleep."

"Will that be the end of it?" she asked anxiously, watching as he measured a few drops into the class of water. Sylvester seemed barely conscious, although his swollen eyelids jumped and twitched.

"Please God," the manservant said. "Here, my lord." He slid a strong arm around his neck and lifted him, holding the glass to his lips.

Sylvester swallowed the opiate without opening his eyes. He seemed no longer aware of either of his attendants and lay still on the pillows.

Henry stepped back, drawing the curtains around the bed again. "You'd best get some rest yourself, my lady. I'll sleep on the truckle bed in here."

Theo was dead tired; last night had been a very short one, but she looked doubtfully at the shrouded bed, listening as Sylvester's breathing deepened.

"He'll sleep now, my lady," Henry said insistently.

"Yes," she said. "Did he have these attacks when he was a prisoner, or did they come on afterward?"

"No, he had them even worse in France," Henry told her, his face screwing into an expression of loathing. "Damned French wouldn't give him anything, not even a drop of laudanum. And he'd be screaming… screaming that name all the time."

"What name?"

Henry shook his head. "I can't rightly remember, ma'am." He bent to pull the truckle bed from beneath the poster bed. "Gerald, I think it was. Miles… Niles… Gerald. Miles Gerald or some such."

Miles, or Niles, Gerald. Theo shrugged and turned to the door. "Good night, Henry. Call me if I can be of help."

"Good night, my lady."

Theo went into her own bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. She was almost too tired to undress but somehow managed to drag her clothes off and fall into bed, sliding into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

She awoke very early the next morning and, still half-asleep, slipped from her room and quietly put her head around Sylvester's door. She heard only the deep, stertorous breathing from behind the curtains, interspersed with low rumbling snores from the truckle bed. The sound of his sleeping filled her with sweet relief. What must it be like to live every day with the knowledge that that hideous, degrading agony could – no, would – sweep over you without warning, and there was no cure, no promise of a future without such a curse?

Back in her own room she rang for Dora and, when the maid appeared, asked her to bring up hot water for a bath. She bathed and dressed in leisurely fashion, sipping chocolate and nibbling sweet biscuits, contemplating her next move. She must go to Brook Street and enlist her mother's help in the entertainment of Lady Gilbraith. If she could shuffle off some of those responsibilities, she'd have more time to tackle the mystery surrounding her husband. Maybe Edward could find out if anyone who had been at Vimiera with Sylvester was in London. It would be a place to start… although not as promising as the Fisherman's Rest.

It was still very early, and when she went downstairs, Foster answered her inquiry by informing her that neither Lady Gilbraith nor Miss Gilbraith had yet rung for their maids. That gave her a couple of hours before they'd be up and about and demanding attention, Theo reasoned. "Have my curricle brought around, Foster, I'm driving myself to Brook Street."

While she waited, she went into the library and wrote a note to Sylvester, then ran back upstairs. In her own room she adjusted her hat in the mirror, arranging the silver plume on her shoulder, then, picking up her gloves and riding whip, she tiptoed out to Sylvester's door and opened it softly. The curtains were still drawn around the bed, but Henry was now moving around in the dim light, setting the room to rights.

"Is he still asleep, Henry?"

"Aye, m'lady." He came to the door.

"Give him this when he awakens, please." She handed him the folded paper.

The manservant took it with a respectful nod.

"Yes, m'lady."

It was a beautiful morning, and her spirits rose as she stepped up into her curricle. Something had happened during the long hours she'd spent by Sylvester's bedside, impotently sharing his suffering, wishing she could take it from him. Theo was in love with her husband. At least, that was the only explanation she could come up with to explain this joy she felt at the prospect of seeing him well again, with his dry smile and his strong, elegant hands and his cool gray eyes. Her blood sang and her heart danced. She knew she'd come to care for him many weeks ago, but she'd not expected this quicksilver pleasure at the very thought of him. Everything in the crisp and beautiful morning seemed especially magical. The deep russet tones of the leaves on the trees lining the streets, the tang of smoke from a bonfire, a trio of rosy-cheeked children playing ball in a square garden.

She bowled around the corner onto Berkeley Square, enjoying the neat fashion in which she caught the thong of her whip, sending it up the stick with an elegant turn of her wrist. Sylvester would have approved.

Neil Gerard was strolling across the square when Lady Stoneridge's curricle came into view. His heart jumped. Sylvester's wife was alone but for her groom. It had been two days since he'd seen her outside the Fisherman's Rest. He'd called at Curzon Street the previous day, hoping to begin the cultivation of his quarry, but the butler had said her ladyship wasn't receiving. However, this was a perfect opportunity to bait his hook.

Theo was still congratulating herself on her whip play when she became aware of a waving figure on the pavement. She drew rein immediately, recognizing Neil Gerard.

Miles Gerald.

An accidental juxtaposition? Perhaps not. A surge of excitement lifted the hairs on the nape of her neck.

"Good morning, sir." She smiled down. "You're abroad early, Captain Gerard."

"I might say the same of you, Lady Stoneridge." He approached the curricle, resting one hand on the footstep, smiling up at her in the weak sunlight "I don't wish to be impertinent, but you took that corner in capital fashion. You're a most accomplished whip."

"Why, thank you, sir. I don't consider that in the least an impertinent compliment. I'm going to Brook Street May I take you up if you're going in my direction?" Theo had no clear plan of campaign, but she trusted inspiration would come to her once she had the man captive in the carriage. His face looked rather as if it had recently come into contact with a hard object.

"You do me too much honor, Lady Stoneridge." He climbed aboard the curricle. "Brook Street is on my way."

Theo flicked the reins and the horses walked on. "Were you at Vimiera with Stoneridge?" she asked casually. "I can't remember if you said so the other evening at Almack's."

Neil's thoughts and conjectures raced through his brain. What did she know? What did she want to know? This was the woman who'd been in the Fisherman's Rest – not once but twice. "We were, but not in the same engagement."

"I see. Then it seems you were lucky, sir. In view of what happened to my husband." She smiled sweetly, slowing her horses as they crossed Grosvenor Street.

"That was an old scandal, best forgotten, ma'am," he said.

"What scandal?" She turned to him with a look of complete innocence. "Do you mean the court-martial? I understood it was routine in such cases. My husband was exonerated, was he not?" She turned her eyes back to the road, and he didn't see the intense speculation racing in their blue depths.

"Of course," he replied smoothly. "As you say, it was a purely routine matter. But it caused some unpleasantness for your husband."

"Yes, so I understand." She glanced up at him. "Were you in the vicinity of the engagement, sir?" It was a shot in the dark, but if Gerard's name had haunted Sylvester's delirium, then there must be a reason.

The cold brown eyes shifted, and something fearful flared beneath the flat surface. "Uh, no, ma'am. My company was engaged elsewhere," he said after an imperceptible pause.

You lie, sir. The blood began to speed through her veins, and her pulses raced with this sudden and absolute conviction. The man was lying, and for some reason he was afraid.

"I understand your sister, Lady Emily, is betrothed to Lieutenant Fairfax," Gerard said abruptly. "He also served heroically in the Peninsula."

"Yes, indeed," Theo responded, willing to change the subject for the moment. She had enough to think about. "The wedding date is set for June."

They reached the intersection with Brook Street, and she drew rein behind a carter's dray that was making a delivery in Three Kings Yard.

"I will set you down here, Captain Gerard, if this suits you." She smiled pleasantly, extending her gloved hand in farewell.

"Thank you, Lady Stoneridge." He shook hands and jumped lightly to the pavement. "I hope I may return the courtesy. Would you do me the honor of driving with me tomorrow?" His smile was as inviting as he knew how to make it. "I'd dearly like to see you handle my chestnuts."

A triumphant rush of excitement swept through Theo. The man was playing into her hands. "I should be delighted, sir," she responded with a warm smile, and drew back into the stream of traffic.

Could it have been Neil Gerard in the Fisherman's Rest?

But of course it must have been. It explained that strange inkling she'd had that the man was familiar. It explained almost everything. The puzzle pieces tumbled in her head and formed the picture. Gerard was behind the attacks on Sylvester, and Sylvester knew it. And it was all to do with Vimiera. But what and how?

She drew rein outside her mother's house and jumped down, handing the reins to her groom. "Stable them in the mews here, Billy. I shan't be needing them for several hours."

"Right y'are, Lady Theo." The groom led the horses away, and Theo ran up the steps to the house.

What had happened at Vimiera? Sylvester couldn't remember, but whatever it was, it concerned Neil Gerard. And Gerard would provide the answer… somehow. She was driving with him tomorrow, a golden opportunity if she could think how to use it.

The door opened under her brisk knock. "Morning, Dennis." She greeted the butler with an ebullient smile. "Is Lady Belmont up and about yet?"

"Her ladyship and the young ladies are in the breakfast parlor, Lady Stoneridge."

"Don't announce me." She tossed her whip onto a chair and bounded down the corridor at the rear of the hall, stripping off her gloves as she went. "Good morning, everyone." She flung open the door to the small parlor at the back of the house, looking out on a square walled garden.

"Theo!" Lady Belmont looked up in surprise. "You're abroad early."

Theo bent to kiss her mother. "Yes. The witches are still abed, so I took the opportunity to escape… No, don't scold," she said, seeing her mother's disapproval "I only say it in private, not to their faces. I am starving," she continued almost without a breath. "I left before breakfast."

"I came to Curzon Street yesterday, but Foster said you were with Stoneridge and I couldn't see you," Rosie stated, sounding a trifle aggrieved, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth.

"Yes, Sylvester was indisposed," Theo said. "He gets these hideous headaches, Mama. He had one at Stoneridge, if you remember."

"Poor man," Elinor said compassionately. "I've heard of such curses. He's better now, I trust"

"He was sleeping peacefully when I left." She sat down at the table. "Emily and Clarissa, I need you to come on an errand with me. May we take the barouche, Mama? I drove myself here, but the curricle isn't comfortable for three."

"What errand?" Emily inquired, passing her sister the coffeepot.

"It's a secret," Theo said, pouring coffee. "But I need you both to come for moral support."

"Theo, what mischief are you planning?" Elinor demanded, recognizing the aura of energy and purpose surrounding her daughter, whose eyes and skin were aglow.

"No mischief," Theo said with an innocent smile, helping herself to a slice of ham and buttering a roll.

"Lieutenant Fairfax, my lady," the butler intoned before Elinor could respond to this insouciant reassurance.

"I trust I'm not intruding, Lady Belmont." Edward came in on the announcement, his eyes immediately searching out his betrothed. "I know it's early, but -"

"You couldn't keep away," Rosie finished for him matter-of-factly. "I don't know why you don't live here, Edward. I'm sure it's more comfortable than your lodgings, and it would save you a deal of traveling time."

"Rosie!" protested Emily. "You make it sound as if Edward isn't welcome."

"Oh, but of course he is," Rosie said placidly, taking another piece of toast. "It was only an observation. Clarry's knight is the same. He's practically moved in, too."

"That's enough, child," Elinor rebuked her. "Sit down, Edward. You know we're always pleased to see you."

Edward sat down next to Theo, observing with a grin, "You managed to escape the tabbies."

"Edward, for shame!" Elinor protested. "Such an example for Rosie!"

"Oh, I don't mind," Rosie said. "Did the dragons really make Mary go green? Clarry said she was quite pea-colored when she came downstairs."

"That's enough. I don't want to hear another word about the Gilbraiths," Elinor said in a tone that they all knew meant business.

"Very well, Mama," Theo said with a placating smile. "But will you invite her to go visiting with you or something… just to relieve me of a little of the burden?"

Elinor's expression so clearly indicated how little she relished such a prospect that her daughters burst into peals of laughter, and accusations of "hypocrite" flew around the table. Elinor shook her head ruefully. "I suppose we should all take a turn."

Edward took the cup of coffee Emily poured him. "Well, I hope you'll excuse me this morning. I was hoping to persuade Emily to drive with me in the park after breakfast."

"Oh, it'll have to be later," Theo said. "Emily and Clarry are coming on an errand with me."

"Oh, well, I'll accompany you, then."

Theo chuckled. "I don't think you want to do that, Edward. You'll be most uncomfortable." She turned to her mother. "We may have the barouche, mayn't we?"

Elinor sighed. "I suppose so, if you promise you're not up to some mischief."

"Mama, I am a married woman," Theo declared loftily. "How could you possibly think such a thing?"

"Very easily," Elinor said wryly.

"Well, I have to be back by eleven o'clock, because Jonathan is coming to finish his portrait," Clarissa said. "He's going to hang it in the hall of his mother's house, and she's going to give a soiree so that people may see it. Once they realize how talented he is, he's bound to get a host of commissions."

"I haven't seen it yet," Theo said. "Do you like it?"

Clarissa blushed. "He won't let me see it, not until it's finished."

"Well, if I were you, I'd just take the cloth off and have a peek when he's not here," Rosie declared.

"That's cheating," Clarissa exclaimed.

"I don't see why. It's a picture of you, not anyone else, so it sort of belongs to you. At least that's what I think."

"You have the same unorthodox attitude to conventional rules as your sister," Edward said pointedly.

Theo glanced at him. They'd had no chance to talk in private about the disastrous events at the Fisherman's Rest. He seemed to have forgiven her for involving him, but she knew he was curious to know what had transpired between herself and Stoneridge. She would tell him later, when she explained about the other scheme percolating in her mind. She'd need his involvement there too, but his role wouldn't require physical intervention. Once she'd explained her suspicions and her plan to him, she was convinced he would give her his wholehearted support, as he'd always done.

She leaned across and pecked him on the cheek. "Don't be stuffy."

"Someone needs to be where you're concerned," Edward said, burying his nose in his coffee cup to hide his reluctant grin.

Theo, perfectly satisfied with this response, pushed back her chair. "If Clarry has to be back in two hours, and I have to be back to look after my mama-in-law, we'd better get moving. I've no idea how long this is going to take."

A renewed chorus of What? rose round the table, but she just grinned mischievously and went into the hall to give order for the barouche to be brought around.

Fifteen minutes later the three of them were on their way to a discreet establishment on Bond Street.