Barbara Metzger by The Duel Read Free Book Online Page A

by his butler, Hull, who made sure enough candles were lighted, the decanters were full, the fire was burning warmly for such a chill evening. All of which Ian correctly interpreted as meaning that his major domo had something to say.
    “How goes it with the boy?” he asked, afraid for what he might hear. Thunderation, Carswell had been wrong, Ian thought. He should have stayed home instead of going out and enjoying himself, or pretending to be enjoying himself. What kind of cad goes dancing when his houseguest—his victim—lay so perilously ill?
    Hull answered, “The surgeon returned, and both of the physicians. They disagree as to the treatment, but all concur that a fever was not unexpected.”
    Which meant there had been a contretemps between the quacks. Ian should have been here, instead of leaving the household to manage on its own. He hoped his man Hopkins and his housekeeper knew more about nursing than he did.
    “And that Macelmore personage,” Ian’s superior butler was going on, “was here also. At the front door.” Hull’s nostrils flared in disapproval. “He visited the sickroom, then said he would return in the morning to speak with you, my lord. I did inform him that he should use the servant’s entrance. What he said in return cannot be repeated in a gentleman’s home.”
    Ian was positive that whatever the old sailor had said, it had been spoken previously, but perhaps not in such colorful terms. “I will see him, whichever door he chooses to use.”
    “Very good, my lord,” Hull said with a sniff before turning to leave the room.
    Fine, now his butler was offended. Ian called him back. “These are trying times, Hull. We must make do.”
    Hull tipped his powdered head. “Indeed, my lord. I made allowances for a loyal servant dismayed at his young master’s pain.”
    “Pain? The boy is in pain and none of the medical morons can help him?”
    “I believe the use of laudanum for a head wound was at the root of the physicians’ disagreement. Too deep a sleep and he might not awaken.”
    Ian reached for a bottle. Any bottle. The ache in his gut felt permanent. Perhaps he should take the laudanum, if the liquor was not dulling his anguish. Then he could stop the clock from ticking, at least in his own mind. He could think of no other way to make the hours disappear, to get him through this night.
    He did not want to forget; hell, he wanted the memories to disappear entirely.
    How did one halt time, though, make the hands of the dial travel backward? How could a mortal man reclaim a moment, recall a hasty word, return a pistol ball to the gun barrel? There had to be a way, if only for an hour.
    *
    Athena had her Bible out, but she neither read nor prayed. She sang, instead. She was slightly off-key, but she crooned all of Troy’s favorite songs, there by his bedside. When she forgot the words, she hummed, and when she ran out of popular tunes, she sang Christmas carols and hymns. She was hoarse, but her brother seemed to rest more easily when he heard her voice, so she sang. When she was quiet, he started to thrash around, crying out at the pain, sending himself deeper into the fevers.
    She had run out of things to tell him hours ago. How many times could you tell a boy that you loved him, that you would be furious if he did not get better soon, that everything was going to be all right? She told him about the heroic earl who had rescued him, the magnificent horses who had carried her there, and the concerned servants who were helping care for Troy now.
    They were as far from the sullen, uncooperative, and overworked staff at their half-brother’s house as Derby was from London. Here, too, the Renslows were honored guests, not poor relations to be ignored and endured. The servants at home took their direction from their mistress, Veronica, Lady Rensdale, who saw Troy as a reminder of her barrenness. She saw Athena as a rival for the respect of their neighbors and tenants, although the