Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife

‘Have you had the doctor in? What does he say?’ Tiredness made her head fuzzy, blocking her thoughts.

‘Doctor MacFarlane says that only time will cure him. It is out of our hands.’ Simon Clare crossed his arms and gave her a dark brooding look. ‘Robert must be nursed here.’

Robert was not mad. It was his illness. He had contracted rheumatic fever. It had to be. It bore all the hallmarks of what Edmund had had. St Vitus’s dance. Phoebe paused, unclear how best to proceed. Then she decided that she would simply have to say it, tell Mr Clare the worst. But hopefully, once he knew, then he would stop using the ropes. It had to work.

‘My youngest stepbrother, Edmund, contracted rheumatic fever after his bout of scarlet fever. His limbs and face would shake and move. Our doctor called the condition StVitus’s Dance. It affected his heart, not his mind.’

‘And how does he fare now?’ Simon Clare’s hoarse whisper echoed down the corridor.

‘He can run as well as any man, better than most. He has finished his last term at Oxford.’ Phoebe could not resist a note of pride creeping into her voice. Of all of her stepbrothers, Edmund was the one she felt closest to. He made her feel as if she was not an outsider, as if he truly cared about what happened to her. ‘He hopes to join one of the Inns of Court soon and train to be a lawyer. Hardly the actions of an imbecile.’

She forced her gaze to meet Mr Clare’s green one, felt it bore down into her soul as if he were searching for something. Every inclination in her body told her that he would yell and storm, but she kept regarding him, refusing to flinch. He looked away.

‘Is it not an affliction?’ Mr Clare’s voice was a husky rasp. ‘Will Robert recover? Will he return to his old self? Do you promise me?’

‘I have every reason to hope Robert will recover as well. He looks so much like Edmund,’ she whispered. ‘It may take a long time, but there is hope. You do not need to use ropes. He must be kept calm. Please let me try. Your sister believed I could help.’

‘You have seen him at his worst and have not run. It is more than several of the maids were able to stand. Perhaps Diana’s judgment was not misplaced.’ The colour drained from Simon Clare’s face, but his shoulders straightened. ‘What do you propose?’

‘Keep him quiet. Speak to him gently. Reasonably. He looks to be an intelligent boy.’ Phoebe forced her voice to be calm and matter of fact. Excitement surged through her. She had this one chance to prove her worth. ‘He is not to be put under any undue stress.’

‘But he needs to take his medicine. I refuse to allow him to become a little savage. I refuse…’ His voice tailed off in exhaustion.

‘Allow me to handle this. I will get him to take the laudanum.’ Phoebe said the words with far more confidence than she felt. ‘Allow me to prove that I can nurse Robert. If I can’t, I will leave in the morning and you can hire another nurse with references.’

‘You have ten minutes.’ He held out his hand. ‘And, Miss Benedict, he must take his medicine.’

Phoebe swallowed hard and touched her fingers to his. They curled around hers for an instant, warm and strong. A pulse went up her arm and she rapidly withdrew her hand. ‘It will be enough time.’

Silently she prayed that her words were true.

Chapter Three

Ten minutes to get Robert to trust her enough to take his medicine quietly. She had made a bargain with the devil. But it did give her a slim chance. Phoebe pushed open the bedroom door as the wails started again. Her legs threatened to give way and her stomach knotted. Her easy words to Mr Clare echoed in her head. She could get this frightened child to take his medicine. She ` gave a half-smile and wondered why it was so easy to say things, but so difficult to actually achieve them.

She placed the wicker basket down at the entrance and willed the kitten to stay there. She would not need the ropes. All she had to do was to believe. A calm firm voice and slow movements—the same way she had captured the kitten earlier in the day. The same way she had nursed her stepbrothers.

At her approach, Robert stopped crying and regarded her with eyes that were too large for his face. His entire body went still. Behind her, she was aware of Mr Clare’s looming presence, watching her every move, doubting her ability. It irritated her that she was intensely aware of every little movement he made—the fierceness in his eyes, the way his fingers curled into a fist, the warning hunch of his shoulders. She stopped, turned back and shut the door with a decisive click.

‘Who are you?’ Robert shouted. ‘Go away! I want my aunt!’

‘Robert, your Aunt Diana sent me in her place. I have a message for you.’

‘A message?’ Robert tilted his head to one side. ‘What sort of message?’

A breath escaped Phoebe’s lips. She had his attention. Everything would turn out fine. She made her voice sound sing-song, unhurried, easy and light as if it did not matter that time was sliding through her fingers. ‘Your aunt is very sorry. She wanted to be at your side, but she can’t come.’

‘Who are you?’ His face was a reflection of his father’s except his eyes seemed to dominate his shrunken face.

‘Phoebe Benedict. I am to look after you until you get well. I have come all the way from London at your aunt’s request.’

‘I want my aunt! I miss her.’ A small hand scrubbed at his eyes. He looked all of about six, instead of the ten that Lady Coltonby had said he was.

‘She is…going to have a baby. Soon you will have a little cousin to love and cherish.’ Phoebe looked directly at the boy. Her entire being tensed. Would he go into another fit? And then what would happen? Why had she made such a rash promise? ‘They would not let her come. She wanted to, very much. You must believe that, Robert. She told me to tell you that she loves you and wants you to get well.’

‘I miss her.’

‘And she misses you too. It is why you must be a good boy and get well.’

Phoebe pressed her hands together and willed him to stay quiet and to trust her. She resisted the temptation to brush the sweat from the back of her neck and simply stood there, hands outstretched.

‘Are you going to tie me up?’

‘No ropes.’ She held out her hands and showed him they were empty. She bent down so her face was level with his. ‘I don’t believe in tying boys up.’

‘Me either.’ Robert gave a decided nod as his limbs began to convulse again. ‘But I don’t like this either.’

‘You need to relax and the spasms will ease.’

‘What is happening to me?’

‘You are ill. You need to rest. Your body wants to get well.’ Phoebe kept her voice soothing. ‘Take a deep breath, Robert. In. Out.’

‘I can’t catch my breath. It frightens me. Really frightens me.’ His eyes swam with tears. ‘I want to live and not go to hell like Mrs Smith said I would.’

‘Your body will find it easier if you are quiet.’ Phoebe cast her eyes upwards and wished she could throttle the nurse. What was Mr Clare thinking when he hired her?

Robert closed his eyes. The trembling and jerking in his limbs subsided slightly. Phoebe risked another step towards the bed, willed him to keep calm. She touched his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. Cool and without fever. The worst had passed, but Robert would need a long time before he recovered his strength. Phoebe lifted her hand from his forehead and stared at the wallpaper. A mixture of anticipation and misgiving filled her.

She had written to her stepmother that it would be for a few weeks at most. She had never considered that the time might run into months. Months. Maybe her presence would be missed. Maybe they would realise they missed her and how much she tried. She wanted them to be proud of her, to feel that she was part of their family, instead of part of the furniture. She had given her promise and she would see that this boy became well. She paused. As long as she could get him to take his medicine.

‘Why did you do that?’ Robert asked, bringing her back to the present.

‘Because I wanted to see if you had a fever.’

‘And do I?’ Robert screwed up his face. ‘I have had such strange dreams. I want them to go away. They frighten me.’

‘The doctor has left something to keep the fever and the dreams away.’ Phoebe reached for the medicine bottle.

‘What are you going to do?’ Robert rubbed his shaking hand across his eyes.

‘I am going to give you something to drink. It will make you feel better. A little sleepy, but better.’

‘I don’t want any medicine. Nasty.’ Robert pulled a face. ‘I won’t take it. I won’t!’

‘Robert!’ Mr Clare’s voice echoed throughout the room as the door came open. His footsteps resounded on the floor and Robert’s eyes grew wide again.

Inwardly, Phoebe cursed and willed Mr Clare to the devil. She had gone too quickly, she knew that, but little time remained. She could get Robert to take his medicine if only Mr Clare would be quiet. ‘It will help. I promise you that. It helped my youngest brother when he was ill like you.’ Her tongue flicked over her lips. ‘Shall I tell you about Edmund? I started looking after him when he was a boy about your age.’

‘I want my aunt. She won’t make me drink anything!’ The boy’s voice started to rise again. ‘Aunt Diana! Aunt Diana!’

‘Miss Benedict!’ She heard Mr Clare’s warning sound behind her.

‘My time is not up! You promised!’

She spun around and nearly collided with his hard chest. Behind him, two footmen stood with ropes dangling from their fingers.

‘No!’ Phoebe put out her hands and placed her body between Robert and the men. ‘I won’t let them pass. He will take it! Give him a chance! Give me this one chance!’

‘Stand aside, Miss Benedict! He must take his medicine. You had your chance and failed. My only consolation is that I was correct in my assessment.’

‘Ten minutes. I want ten minutes.’

‘You can see what Robert is like.’ Mr Clare nodded towards the bed. ‘Why are you intent on making him suffer?’

‘You are frightening him. Please let me try again. You didn’t give me ten minutes.’ Phoebe glanced at Robert. His mouth was set mutinously as his eyes flickered between them. ‘What harm will a few moments do?’

‘Miss Benedict! No one defies my orders in this house!’

‘Mr Clare! Someone should!’

She stood toe to toe with the man, aware that with one sweep of his arm she could be brushed aside. But she refused to allow her gaze to waver. Each breath she took seemed like an eternity.

Finally he bowed his head and took a half-step backwards. ‘Very well, a few moments. One more chance.’

‘I rescued a kitten earlier today,’ Phoebe said, speaking rapidly and praying that her words would provide a distraction. She kept her eyes trained on Robert, but every particle of her body was alert to Mr Clare’s movements. ‘Would you like to see it? Shall we see if your cries have made him wake?’

Robert’s mouth closed and he lifted a thin shoulder. Phoebe ran to where she had placed the basket and opened the cover. Despite the uproar, the kitten had gone to sleep.

Carefully she carried the basket over to the bed. The kitten gave a loud purr, but did not open its eyes. Robert put his fingers to his lips. ‘It’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him.’

Phoebe replaced the cover and placed the basket beside the bed.

‘He’s sleeping now. It would be a shame to disturb him. Shall I let him sleep here? We must be very quiet, the kitten has had an exhausting day.’

‘I will try, truly I will try, miss, but it is hard. Sometimes …’ He closed his eyes and his face became stiff with concentration. Phoebe forgot to breathe. ‘Will the medicine help me to be quiet?’

‘It helped my brother. Truly it did.’

‘Then I will take it…for the kitten’s sake. He looks tired. And sweet. I have always wanted a kitten.’

‘Good boy.’ Phoebe glanced back over her shoulder at where Mr Clare stood. He lifted one eyebrow. With a trembling hand she poured the liquid on to a spoon and held it out to Robert. He made a face, but swallowed it with one gulp.

‘Is the kitten for me? As a gift?’ Robert asked, wiping his hand across his mouth. ‘I have never had a cat before. We used to have a dog, but…he went with my aunt.’

Phoebe gave a slight laugh. ‘Cats can never be given. They choose their owner.’

Robert pursed his lips and nodded. His brow knitted together, but he remained quiet. ‘That makes sense.’

‘He is a wee thing and his mother has just died. I wanted to protect him. He is quite a lively thing when he is awake.’ Phoebe kept her voice light as she knelt beside Robert. The storm appeared to have passed. Somewhere her prayers had been answered.

‘My mother died as well. We can be friends, the kitten and I.’ He paused and his bottom lip trembled. ‘Will you protect me? I am not ready to go to heaven or to the other place. Mrs Smith says that I will burn for ever in the torment.’

‘Who says that you will die?’ Phoebe looked at him, shocked. How much had he heard of her whispered conversation with Mr Clare? How much about his condition did he know? ‘Did your papa tell you that? Or the doctor?’

‘They thought I was asleep—Mrs Smith and Gladys, the maid. I will go to hell because I am wicked through and through.’

Phoebe heard a growl behind her, but she held up her hand, stopping Mr Clare from speaking. She had to do this.

‘Sometimes you only think you hear things and really you are dreaming. It is best not to think on such things.’ Phoebe grasped Robert’s hand and his fingers folded around hers. ‘Shall I look after you for a little while? Your aunt would like that.’

‘You do not smell of barley water or peppermints.’ Robert’s lips turned up and he gave a tiny laugh. ‘And you have a kitten. I have often longed for a kitten. Do you think it might choose me?’

‘There is no accounting for kittens, but when you are stronger, I will introduce you.’ Phoebe did not dare to glance at Mr Clare. She could feel the heat of his gaze from where she knelt. Maybe he had learnt his lesson. He wouldn’t dismiss her as some silly woman who did not know how to run a sick room. ‘And you will only get stronger if you keep taking your medicine.’

‘Did…did my uncle say anything before you left? Did he send any message?’ His shoulders tensed. ‘He is not disappointed that I have had to come home from school, is he? I had promised him that I would stay at school, but they sent me home.’

‘Your uncle did indeed give me a message.’ Phoebe strove to keep her voice light. ‘He said that if you were to get well and strong, then he’d see about teaching you to drive a carriage, regardless of what your dear papa says.’

She ignored the outraged growl behind her.

Robert collapsed back against his pillows and all the tension eased out of him. ‘I want to get strong again. All my puff seems to have gone. The littlest thing appears to bother me.’

‘My cousin strikes me as a man who keeps his word.’

‘Uncle Brett does.’

‘And I will work with you to get you strong again.’ Phoebe gritted her teeth. Mr Clare would have to eat his words. She believed that she had proved him wrong. She would do all in her power to get Robert strong enough to drive carriages, with or without Mr Clare’s consent.

‘I will.’ Robert’s lashes fluttered closed. ‘I like you, Miss Benedict, you and your kitten.’

She watched him for another moment as his lips turned up into the sweetest smile and sleep claimed him. She pulled the blanket up to his chin and tiptoed out. A small glow of triumph filled her. She had succeeded. She could do this. This really would be a new beginning. All her debts would be paid and her stepbrothers would get the start in life that her father would have wanted them to have.

‘Very neatly done,’ Mr Clare said softly from where he stood watching her. ‘You seem to have a knack, Miss Benedict. It took Gladys and two strong footmen three hours to calm him last night. And the maid before her only lasted until Robert tossed a bowl of porridge at her. My words to you were hasty and ill thought out.’

Phoebe tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She longed to say that she had told him so, but she would be magnanimous in her victory. He would never know how deeply his remarks had wounded her. ‘One learns a lot about boys and their ways when one has three stepbrothers. The so-called nurse did far more harm than good.’

‘She will be gone by morning light. I shudder to think what she nearly did…what she nearly had me believe. Her references were excellent.’

‘No doubt sent by people who were pleased to be rid of her!’ Phoebe wiped her hands on her gown. ‘I will need to freshen up and then there is the question of the boy’s care. We should discuss this downstairs, away from Robert.’

Mr Clare caught her elbow, stopping her progress. ‘It would appear my sister was correct to send you. You will work admirably if you wish to stay.’

‘There is no need to apologise.’ Phoebe attempted to ignore the sudden flood of warmth on her cheeks. ‘It must have come as a huge shock.’

‘I never apologise, Miss Benedict, for stating the truth. In this instance I was mistaken. I judged you too harshly.’

‘The important thing is that Robert is now sleeping.’ Phoebe clung on to the remnants of her temper.

‘Shall we quarrel about that as well?’ A smile touched Mr Clare’s face, transforming it. ‘I fear my sister will have misled you. My temper has become far shorter since the accident. I do assure you, Miss Benedict, that my bark is worse than my bite. Above all else, I want Robert to get well.’

‘Hopefully, there is a room near Robert’s where I can store my things.’ All the exhaustion from her long journey returned, crashing over her in one great wave. All she wanted was a warm bath and the welcoming embrace of clean sheets, but these would have to wait until Robert was better. She knew her duty. Phoebe stifled a yawn. Even the armchair in Robert’s room would be welcome after the hard springs of the coach.

‘I refuse to allow you to start tonight. You have just arrived. Someone will watch over him.’

Someone? Gladys, the upstairs maid? Did she dare risk another confrontation? Phoebe forced her body to relax. She had to be content with her small victory. He might decry arrogant aristocrats, but Mr Clare was without a doubt one of the most pigheaded people that she had ever met.

She willed a smile to cross her lips. Her time in the ton had taught her how to be polite to the rudest people. ‘Robert’s health is more important, Mr Clare. I want to hear if he cries out in his sleep.’

‘Very well, if you wish.’ He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Jenkins, put Miss Benedict’s things into the little room next to Robert’s rather than in Miss Diana’s old room. She appears determined to look after him. You will be able to hear Robert if he cries out.’

‘Your sister entrusted me with his care. I gave her my promise.’

‘How much did my sister tell you about this house?’

‘Very little. There was not time. Speed was of the essence according your letter.’ Phoebe kept her voice steady. ‘I expect I will learn the house rules as I go on.’

‘There is one request I must make of you, Miss Benedict.’ His face became stern. ‘Onnoaccountspeak to Robert about his mother.’

‘Why ever not?’ Phoebe’s eyes widened and she wished that she had questioned Lady Coltonby more closely about the precise nature of the situation. What had this boy’s mother done before she died?

‘I have no wish to encourage morbid fantasies. His mother is dead and that is the end of the matter.’

‘But—’ Phoebe stared at the man. Surely he had seen the hunger in Robert’s eyes when he mentioned that his mother had died. She knew what it was like to be alone and motherless. She knew what it was like to be without a family. Did Mr Clare?

‘That is the one charge I make on you.’ Mr Clare inclined his head. ‘I have agreed reluctantly to my sister’s scheme, but I will have the rules obeyed in my house.’

‘I will take it under advisement.’

‘You will obey my orders.’

‘If I had obeyed your orders, Robert would now be tied to his bed. Or, worse, in a madhouse. Robert is seriously ill and has been treated badly.’

Mr Clare opened and closed his mouth and his scar became a livid red. A small thrill of satisfaction ran through Phoebe. She enjoyed seeing the barb hit home. It might make her wicked, but she felt Mr Clare deserved it.

‘You speak very boldly.’

‘I fight for those who need it. And I will fight for Robert.’

‘Then I must be grateful that you intend to do that.’ Mr Clare gave an imperious nod and turned away down the hall.

A soft noise woke Phoebe from where she slumbered on a narrow cot. It took a few moments to work out where she was. She forced her muscles to relax as she realised that it was not Atherstone Court and she would not have to see her sister-in-law today.

She listened again, hoping against hope that Robert was not about to experience another fit. The noise appeared to have stopped. She nodded and forced her breathing to come easy.

She was safe here. No men would come knocking at the door, demanding money for unpaid bills, no stepmother would look at her with injured eyes when she suggested economies. No sister-in-law to roll her eyes when Phoebe suggested starting a dressmaking or millinery shop, rather than sinking slowly into the mire of impoverished gentry.

Here, she was giving James a chance. He had not asked for Father to go walking on the frozen Thames. He had not been the one to refuse to join him on that stroll, preferring to stay at home and trim a bonnet. She knew who bore that guilt. And he had not caused Charles to take the corner too fast, overturning his carriage on his way to mediate a dispute between her and Alice. She trusted that Lord Coltonby would do as he had promised. Then there would only be Edmund to worry about. She hoped all of them understood the sacrifices she was making and why. Far too often they seemed to take her feelings for granted. Phoebe pushed away the thought. They were the only family she had and belonging to a family was important. She would keep her mind only on the good things, the way forward.

She’d concentrate on the little boy and his heartless parent. Imagine having your only child looked after by a creature like that and in such conditions. It was not as if they lacked money. The whole house screamed money, but it lacked love and tenderness. It lacked a heart.

The noise sounded again. It appeared to be halfway between a sob and a wail. Phoebe’s heart sank. She did not want to think about confronting Mr Clare at this hour.

She wondered if Mr Clare had been true to his word. Robert could be alone in there or with someone as unfeeling as that miserable maid. She refused to let that happen. The boy needed help.

In the moonlight, Phoebe fumbled for her shawl and wrapped it around her body. She lit a candle and held it aloft as she tiptoed over to the door that separated her from Robert. She opened the door slightly, but kept to the shadows.

Robert appeared to be asleep, but a figure knelt at the side of the bed, head bowed, one arm stretched out on the coverlet.

She raised the candle higher, trying to discern who was there. The too-long hair and finely moulded shoulders could only belong to one man. Simon Clare. For confirmation, she spied the cane lying by the side of the bed. She started to tiptoe out when she heard a hoarse whisper.

‘Let me take his place. Please…I will do anything. Punish me, not him.’

Phoebe put her hand to her mouth. She had inadvertently intruded on this man’s grief. How she could have thought him heartless? A sudden fear gripped her. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Clare? Is Robert…?’

At the sound of her voice, the quiet groans ceased. He lifted his head. His white shirt was open at the throat, revealing his golden skin. In the darkness, his face had become all shadows and planes, but she could clearly see how handsome he was. He was no monster, but the personification of masculinity.