Rescued By The Forbidden Rake. Mary Brendan

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СКАЧАТЬ I should know about, Michael?’

      ‘I’m tired,’ her brother said, pulling the covers right up and closing his eyes.

      ‘You can rest in bed tomorrow to get over this.’

      ‘I was going to meet my friends at the fairground.’ Michael made to sit up but fell back, exhausted, against the pillow.

      ‘We’ll see about that in the morning.’ Faye closed the bedroom door.

      A pearly glow was painting the walls of the corridor and she felt drawn to the window to gaze up at the silvery orb decorating the sky. There was still a faint summer light on the horizon and she leaned her warm forehead against the cool glass, observing a fox prowling in the shadowy garden below.

      Peter had gone; there was no sign of his horse tethered by the gate. But it was the image of another man and another stallion that was imprinted on her mind as she stared into the twilight.

      The look Ryan Kavanagh had given her as he sat on the grass with the superb steed close by was annoyingly unforgettable. She suspected that if he were to discover how affected she had been by clashing eyes with him just twice, that half-smile of his would turn to laughter.

      She pivoted away from the moonlit scene, feeling ashamed for having allowed a stranger to push her fiancé from her mind. And there was something else: the niggling anxiety that her brother had been on the point of disclosing something important about Claire. Faye didn’t want to seem to be prying unduly into her younger sister’s life...but she was her guardian and the memory of the guilty look on Claire’s face earlier that day now seemed to warrant further investigation.

      With a sigh Faye resolved to speak to her sister in the morning. Feeling suddenly quite weary, she went downstairs to check the locks, as she always did, before retiring.

      * * *

      The following morning Faye was seated at the parlour table, penning an invitation to Peter to dine with them later, when her housekeeper hurried in to the room.

      ‘You’d best come and take a look at your brother, Miss Shawcross.’

      ‘Why? What is it, Mrs Gideon?’

      ‘I took him up a breakfast tray. Master Michael’s still feeling poorly and I’d say there’s more to it than scrumping.’

      Quickly Faye followed her housekeeper’s plump figure up the stairs. Michael had seemed fine when she checked on him before turning in for the night. He’d been sleeping soundly so Faye had blown out the night light she’d left burning at the side of his bed. This morning she’d risen early and gone straight downstairs, not wanting to disturb him.

      ‘He’s got a fever and I asked him to show me his chest as it occurred to me that when folk congregate at fairs, infections can spread.’

      Nelly Gideon had acted as nurse to both of Mr Shawcross’s youngest children and had no hesitation in pulling open the lacings on Michael’s nightshirt to display a patch of red skin on his breastbone. ‘That rash tells me a doctor needs calling.’ Nelly had lowered her voice to an ominous whisper.

      A burst of anxiety flipped Faye’s heart over. She sat on the edge of her brother’s bed and put a hand against his forehead. He felt very hot and clammy and she knew that if he did have scarlatina they should get a doctor to examine him straight away. Faye knew enough about infections to suspect the doctor would tell them to keep themselves to themselves for a week or two to prevent it spreading.

      ‘Would you ask your husband to fetch Dr Reid, please?’ Faye turned her blanching face up to her housekeeper’s furrowed countenance.

      Nelly nodded and hurried from the room. The fact that stoic Mrs Gideon seemed alarmed increased Faye’s anxiety and she tried to block from her mind what Bertram Gideon had told her about folk dying of the disease.

      Faye got to her feet and smoothed strands of lank fair hair back from Michael’s brow. He seemed half-asleep, but his breathing was noisy. He was young and strong, Faye impressed on herself. And there was a possibility that something less serious could be ailing him.

      She rushed to the window and gazed out, seeking the doctor’s pony and trap although she knew it was far too soon for a sighting of the vehicle. But somebody was coming and she recognised the horse and rider...

      Quickly she bolted down the stairs.

      ‘I’m sorry, Peter, but I think it best you don’t come in.’ Faye stood behind the half-closed door.

      ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Peter demanded, taking a stride forward as though he might force entry.

      ‘Michael might have scarlatina. He’s very unwell and has a rash on his chest...’ Faye’s voice tailed off.

      Peter immediately stepped off the doorstep. ‘I see; have you sent for the doctor?’

      ‘Mr Gideon has gone to fetch him. He should be back soon.’

      ‘I came over to apologise for being grumpy last night.’ Peter raked a lock of brown hair back from his forehead.

      ‘Well, if you were, it would be understandable,’ Faye said with a strained smile. ‘I hope I did not seem unwelcoming. I look forward so much to seeing you. It is just a shame circumstances are what they are.’

      ‘I shall leave earlier than planned for London. I had hoped we might dine together again this evening, but it seems we won’t.’

      ‘I had written you a letter inviting you,’ Faye said ruefully. ‘When will you be home again?’

      ‘In a few months, I hope. I’m off to Malta. But my application for an admiralty position is under review so nothing is certain.’

      ‘That’s wonderful!’ Faye pulled the door open, but remembered at the last minute not to rush forward and congratulate her fiancé with a hug.

      ‘I am only flesh and blood and I want a wife,’ Peter said. ‘You are not a children’s nanny, my dear, but my fiancée.’ He paced to and fro, fingers flexing at his sides. ‘As soon as I have the time I am going to Ireland to find that confounded woman. I’ll search everywhere for her and make her look after her children.’

      ‘You cannot do that, Peter,’ Faye said, stifling her annoyance. ‘The children don’t want to go to Ireland...and I won’t make them—’ Faye broke off at the sound of a vehicle rattling along. The hunched figure of Bertram Gideon, pipe clamped in his mouth, hove into view. And he was alone.

      Faye immediately pushed open the door and sped to meet him. ‘Is the doctor coming soon?’ she gasped.

      ‘He’s been called out already this morning. Gone to the big house so his servant told me.’ Bert climbed down from the cart and lifted up one of his horse’s back legs, tenderly prodding it.

      ‘Dr Reid is at Valeside Manor?’

      Bert nodded. ‘I’ve left a message with his housekeeper to send him right over when he do get back.’

      ‘Perhaps they have scarlatina at the manor as well.’ Faye paced to and fro in agitation. ‘Oh, how long will he be, do you think?’

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