There's Something About Lady Mary Page 9

  “And if you will let me,” Mr. Summersby continued, stopping her short once more, “hell, even if you will not, I promise to do whatever I can to keep you safe. Nobody is going to hurt you, not as long as I have anything to say about it.”

  Mary stiffened in her seat as the world around her came to a screeching halt. “What do you mean?” she asked numbly as she eased herself away from him.

  He let out a heavy sigh and squeezed her hand as if he meant to reassure her. Instead, a slow dread swept over her as she waited to hear what he wished to tell her. “I saw the look on your face the other day when you opened that letter,” he said, turning to her with deep concern in his light blue eyes. “For whatever reason, you were terrified of its contents.”

  “That is hardly enough for you to assume that I might be in danger,” she told him cautiously. “You have no idea of what that letter said.” She looked at him imploringly, hoping that he’d merely been jumping to conclusions.

  “No,” he agreed, “it is not. But before you and I met, I was approached by a good friend of my family’s, a man whom, it appears, was also a close friend of your father’s. His name is Sir Percy Foxstone.” He was silent for a moment, as if waiting for her to confirm her knowledge of this gentleman, but she’d never heard of this Foxstone fellow, so she just sat there, offering Mr. Summersby a blank stare, her every nerve on sensitized alert. “He asked, on behalf of your father, that I keep an eye on you. Apparently, your father was under the impression that you would be in grave danger if anything were to happen to him; he asked Percy to ensure your protection, as a personal favor to him.”

  Mary gazed back at Mr. Summersby, while tears began to prickle behind her eyes. How could she have been such a fool? He hadn’t sought her company because of how attractive he found her, or because he liked her company more than the next woman’s. As it turned out, she was nothing more than an assignment to him—possibly a nuisance even. With startling clarity, she saw that he’d begun calling on her for no other reason than to keep a watchful eye on her at all times and perhaps even to gain access to whatever information he might need.

  She should have known that a man like Mr. Summersby would never be drawn to a woman like her. Circumstance had thrown them together, and they’d allowed themselves to get carried away by it. The worst of it was that he was no innocent and that he would very likely have carried on in much the same way with a Covent Garden nun if his need had been great enough. But now, because she was a lady of the ton, he was planning to sacrifice himself on the wedding altar in order to save her reputation. There was no other explanation for it—unless, of course, he was after her money and had just laid a very neat trap. Her heart sank at the very thought of such a possibility.

  “Why you?” she asked in a tight voice that conveyed the extent of her growing anger. “Why would this man. . .Sir Percy was it? Why would he ask this of you?”

  Mr. Summersby hesitated for only a moment. “Because,” he said simply, “I used to work for him as an agent for the Foreign Office. But after my last mission, I chose to return to Oxford instead, in order to finish my studies and get a degree. The fact of it is, Sir Percy wanted this matter to be kept private and confidential, so he enlisted me rather than an agent already employed by the Home Office.”

  Mary gaped at him. She simply did not know what to say. Clearly, they had rushed when it came to considering something as permanent as marriage; they really didn’t know each other at all, yet she’d practically been prepared to toss away her innocence only five minutes earlier. It didn’t even bear thinking about.

  “I know you must be shocked by all of this,” he told her apologetically. “I hope it does not change anything between us too drastically.”

  “Ryan, I. . .Mr. Summersby,” she amended. “How can you possibly think that this will not change anything between us? This changes everything. Your only interest in me was based entirely on your assignment. You do not really want me, sir, but you appear to be stuck with me all the same, and somehow that has clouded your better judgment. So, in answer to your previous question, no, I will not marry you. I want someone who truly cares for me, not someone who is prepared to go blindly to the altar because society dictates that he must.”

  Mr. Summersby stared back at her in bewilderment. A slow frown had begun to mar his handsome features. “I am sorry if you see it that way, my lady,” he told her in a clipped tone. “I assure you that I meant no offense. In fact, I genuinely like you and—”

  “If such a bland word is the best you can think of to describe the way you feel about me,” she shot back with growing agitation, “then we truly are ill-suited for one another.”

  “Well, you are entitled to your own opinion, of course.” He crossed his arms in a highly annoyed fashion. “However, there is still the matter of your safety to discuss. As it is, I have already encountered a stranger prowling about outside your house on two separate occasions. He asked that you stop meddling with matters that do not concern you.”

  Mary’s eyes narrowed into two angry slits. “You’ve been watching my house at night?”

  “My lady, I cannot help but find it rather vexing that the point which seems to have you most aggrieved is not the presence of a dubious stranger outside your home, but rather the fact that I have been trying to keep you safe from harm.”

  Mary grimaced. She couldn’t deny that he had a point. “What did he look like?” she asked.

  “I do not know. It was dark, and he was using a scarf to conceal his face.”

  Mary clenched her jaw. “In short, you have nothing useful to tell me, other than admitting that you’ve been spying on me.”

  “I was not spying on you, my lady. I was merely trying to determine why somebody might wish to harm you,” he told her defensively.

  “Well, your answer is as good as mine,” she snapped as the carriage rolled to a sudden halt. Not bothering to wait for a footman, she reached for the handle and opened the door to get out.

  “Then at least tell me who the young man is that I have seen leaving your house on two separate occasions. Is he a messenger of some sort?”

  Mary gave him a frosty glare. “That, Mr. Summersby, is absolutely none of your concern.”

  He grabbed hold of her wrist before she managed to alight, forcing her to stay and listen. “I only want to help you, Mary. That is all.”

  Mary paused in the doorway of the carriage. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and against her will, they spilled over and poured down her cheeks. “Is that so? Because only a moment ago, you were telling me that you wanted to do a whole lot more.” She snatched her arm away. “And in the future, you will please refrain from using my Christian name. I am Lady Steepleton to you. I suggest you try to remember that. Good day, Mr. Summersby.”

  Unwilling to be detained by him a moment longer, she quickly snatched her arm away, stepped down onto the pavement, and ran inside her house, fleeing from the ridiculous hope she’d allowed her mind to foster: that a man like him might genuinely care for a woman like her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  Mary raced up the stairs to her bedroom, locking the door firmly behind her. She didn’t care that Thornton had gawked at her or that Emma had made a heroic attempt to follow. No, she needed to be alone for a while; she needed to think. Her heart raced as she contemplated her time alone with Mr. Summersby in the carriage. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d behaved in the most deplorable manner, but God help her, she’d liked it. But then to discover that he’d sought her companionship, not out of choice, but because it had been his job to do so left her heart close to the point of breaking.

  Still, he’d told her something that she had to consider. The letter that she had received hadn’t been the only threat. There was the stranger Mr. Summersby had mentioned. Mary contemplated this for a moment, then thought back on the conversation she’d had with Lord Woodbridge. He’d advised her to consult her father’s journals, but until now she hadn’
t had the opportunity to do so.

  Moving quickly toward her wardrobe, she yanked the door open and sank down onto her knees, pushing her shoes aside as she began pulling out the boxes that she’d brought with her from Belgium. She paused for a long while on a couple of the ones containing her father’s more personal effects: his pocket watch, a monogrammed handkerchief, his favorite pipe, and a few other knickknacks.

  Wiping the sentimental tears from her eyes, she put the boxes carefully aside and grabbed hold of a larger one that had been shoved into one corner. Dragging it out onto the floor, she took a deep breath before slowly lifting the lid and setting it aside on the carpet. Inside were ten leather-bound books, all arranged in two neat rows, their spines all facing up. Mary just stared at them, almost too afraid to touch. These had been her father’s most prized possession, notes that he’d accumulated over a span of thirty years relating his trials and tribulations, his successes and aspirations, all with one purpose in mind: to advance medicine.

  She traced her fingers over them in wonder. Was it possible that they held a secret so powerful that people she’d never even met felt threatened by it? It seemed ridiculous, yet she had the letter and had also been made aware that someone was keeping a watchful eye on her. She shook off the shudder that threatened to run down her spine and returned her attention to the books. Each volume had been branded with a gold number. Mary picked up a dark green edition with the number 1 etched into it and, opening it to the first page, began to read.

  It was almost ten in the evening when Mary found herself awakened by Emma, who was kneeling beside her and urgently shaking her shoulder. “What is it?” she asked, looking about with sleepy eyes and seeing that she’d fallen asleep on the floor. Her father’s journal had slipped from her fingers and was lying snugly in her lap.

  “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, my lady, but it appears that the Dowager Duchess of Warwick is here to see you. She claims that it is a matter of utmost importance.”

  Mary was confused. “Is it not the middle of the night, Emma?”

  “Not quite, my lady, though I must say that it is rather late for a social call. I did attempt to tell her so, but she’s a rather formidable woman and refused to take no for an answer. When she insisted upon seeing you this very instant, I found it hard to refuse her once she explained that Lady Arlington had told her about you and that she has come to seek your help. I am sorry, my lady, truly I am, but I really did not know what else to do, short of sending her on her way, which I fear would have been rather rude—especially if the matter is as urgent as she claims.”

  “It is quite all right, Emma. Would you please show her ladyship into the parlor and offer her some tea. I will be down shortly to greet her.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Emma offered Mary her hand and helped her mistress off the floor before smoothing her skirts with her hands. “Should I call upon any of the other servants?”

  Mary had no desire to disturb any of her staff. Still, she knew she’d probably be hungry later, having missed her supper, so rather than answer Emma’s question, she asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know if Thornton left a plate for me in the dining room, would you?”

  “He did—some ham and cheese with bread and pickles, I believe.”

  “Then I do believe that we shall manage just fine without disturbing anyone else, as long as you will see to the tea. After that, you may go back to bed.”

  Emma bobbed a small curtsy and went to see about her business, while Mary removed her spencer. She’d been in such a hurry upon arriving home earlier that she’d quite forgotten to take it off. She thought of Mr. Summersby again and sighed in annoyance. What an infuriating man he was! Well, she was better off without him, she decided, grabbing a shawl and winding it about her shoulders. A man like that would only get in the way of her work, no matter how appealing she might find him.

  I will not think of it, she told herself as she made her way downstairs to greet her uninvited guest, pausing for a brief moment in the hallway to glance at her reflection in the mirror. No, she wouldn’t think of the handsome Mr. Summersby at all.

  Groaning at the impossibility of the task that she was setting for herself, she quickly adjusted a few stray hairs, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the parlor. “How do you do,” she said politely as she took in the slim figure of the elderly woman who was sitting on the sofa. Lady Warwick’s posture was exceedingly dignified as she gracefully balanced her saucer in one hand, while holding her teacup in the other.

  “I apologize for troubling you at such an unseemly hour, Lady Steepleton, but I wish to discuss a matter that requires complete discretion. I hope you will forgive me.” Her voice held a distinguished tone that spoke of true aristocracy, while the intensity behind her eyes told Mary that she was in the company of a highly intelligent woman. She was immediately curious to know what had brought her ladyship to her home so late in the evening.

  “Lady Arlington is my grandniece, you see, so when I visited her earlier today and discovered what you did for her. . .well, I immediately knew that I must seek your advice. You cannot begin to imagine how many physicians I’ve spoken to about my predicament.” A deep frown creased her forehead, and her lips drew together in a thin line as she shook her head in open frustration. “They all claim that an operation will be far too risky, especially with my age taken into account. If you ask me, they’re all a bunch of cowards. Still, the matter remains that I refuse to live with the pain a moment longer. I dearly hope that you will be able to help me.”

  Mary walked quietly over to one of the armchairs and took a seat across from Lady Warwick. “You know, it would help me a great deal if you could tell me precisely what it is that’s troubling you,” she told her kindly as she refilled Lady Warwick’s teacup before pouring herself a cup as well.

  Folding her hands in her lap, her ladyship took a deep breath before saying, “I have been told that I have an unpleasantly large kidney stone lodged inside me, and frankly. . .” She suddenly scrunched her face and gasped as she gritted out, “It’s a rather unforgiving bugger.”

  Momentarily startled by the dowager’s use of profanity, it took Mary a second longer than usual to react to what was happening, but once she did, she quickly produced a bottle of laudanum from a cabinet designed to house carafes filled with brandy and other such drinks. Instead, it contained most of Mary’s medical equipment. She understood that Lady Warwick was enduring an intense amount of pain and consequently added as much of the medicine to her tea as she deemed safe. “Here, drink this,” she told her quietly. “It will ease your suffering.”

  The dowager obediently complied. It took a few minutes for the laudanum to take effect, but once it did, she drew a deep breath and returned her cup to Mary, settling back against the sofa with a drained expression upon her face. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t usually agree with taking that stuff, but it was necessary this time. It seems as if the pain is getting worse—unbearably so.”

  “If it is a kidney stone that you are suffering from, then I will most likely have to operate in order to have it removed.” Mary met the dowager’s gaze. “It will be not only an uncomfortable procedure, but a painful one as well, I’m afraid.”

  The dowager gave her a hard stare of determination. “I have never been the sort to be bowled over by anything, Lady Steepleton, not by men, not by the pestilent rules of society, and not by the difficulties of life itself. Consequently, I simply refuse to allow such an insolent little stone to dictate my level of well-being when I am otherwise in perfectly good health. I have reached the point where I will happily endure whatever I must, if it will only free me from this constant torture.”

  Mary nodded her head sympathetically. “I must also warn you that the opinion of the other physicians you’ve consulted must not be entirely dismissed. Such an operation is not without risk.” The dowager opened her mouth as if to protest, but Mary quickly continued. “I’m not trying to dissuade you, but since you are contemplatin
g putting your life in my hands, I do feel obligated to tell you this. My track record is good. I’ve lost very few patients, and none after performing a lateral lithotomy—which is what this situation will call for—of which I’ve done five. In addition, you will require one to three months to recover, so if we do it now, you shall be forced to miss the remainder of the season.”

  “Pfft. . .” The dowager waved her hand dismissively. “As it is, I haven’t attended a social function in over two years due to my ailment. But if you are able to help me, then, who knows? Perhaps I’ll be able to dance a jig next year.”

  Mary smiled. She really liked the older woman. “If you feel up to it,” she said. “I can examine you right away, and then tomorrow evening, I can come to your home and perform the procedure, if that is agreeable to you. Do you have a maid or a lady-in-waiting whom you would trust enough to assist?”

  The dowager nodded. “Mrs. Harper will do; she was there when my children were born, so I know she’s not the squeamish sort.”

  Mary blinked, realizing that Mrs. Harper must be a trusty servant if she’d been in her mistress’s employ for so many years. Composing herself, she got ready to examine her ladyship. It didn’t take long for her to confirm that a kidney stone was indeed the culprit. “Will nine p.m. tomorrow evening suit your ladyship?” she asked as she walked the dowager to the door.

  “I think it would be splendid,” Lady Warwick replied. She smiled, and as she did, Mary couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were sparkling with the onset of tears. “I cannot possibly thank you enough. Really, Lady Steepleton, I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

  Upon seeing her out, Mary retrieved the tray of food that Thornton had left for her in the dining room and then made her way back upstairs to her bedroom, completely exhausted. She was almost at her door when a soft thud, followed by a rustling sound, brought her to a halt. She paused to listen, but no other sound followed. Convincing herself that it was probably nothing, she eased her bedroom door open and instinctively glanced around the room. Nothing looked particularly out of place until a cold wind gripped her and she saw that her window stood gaping wide open. Setting down her tray, she ran across to it and looked out, just in time to see a dark shadow disappearing over the garden wall. “Oh God,” she murmured as her stomach tied itself into a tight knot of despair.