Chapter Two
Tori fought back tears; she missed both of her parents terribly. Life without them hasn’t been happy for her. Normally she was not known for crying, but just now, she felt vulnerable. Whether it was Lady Eleanor’s kindness or her injuries, or the medicine, she wasn’t certain.
Gerald entered just in time to see his wife hugging the weeping girl.
“What have we here?” he asked, a woman’s tears always unmanned him.
“Oh Gerald, this is Tori, Lady Margaret Spenser’s daughter!” Eleanor told him, tears sparkling in her clear gray eyes.
“I’ll be!” he smiled. “Baron Spenser was a fine man, a fine man indeed. As I recall you have no brothers to inherit the title.”
“No, Your Grace, it’s only my sister and myself. The title and lands are part of my dowry, and will go to my husband when I wed,” Tori explained. Christina had done all that she could to keep Tori from finding a husband, and had petitioned the King for the revenues from the baronage to go to her and her husband to pay for their care of Tori. Her husband Walter was dead set against it, but Christina had filed after he left for the continent, hoping that it would be completed before he returned. Christina also worked at keeping her younger sister from meeting prospective husbands, she would not have the baronage in another’s hands.
“Are you betrothed to anyone we know?” Gerald asked, standing just behind his wife.
“No, Your Grace, I’m not betrothed.” It was a sad reply.
“Too many to choose from?” He felt certain that this one would turn society on its ear.
“No, Your Grace, I haven’t been able to meet any prospective husbands.” More tears came to her eyes, and Eleanor touched her husband’s hand with a shake of her head.
It felt damn good to be clean again. Taylor had to scrub hard to remove the soot, charcoal, and ashes. They were everywhere, even in places that hadn’t been exposed. Soaking in the hot water helped his muscles relax, the various cuts and burns stinging as the soap and water touched them. Now all he needed was a good meal, and his bed.
Taylor had shaved himself; he preferred that to having his valet do it, he stood patiently while Hudson fussed over him. He was home and damned tired; he wasn’t going to pull on full formal wear at this point. His shirt, waistcoat, and breeches were more than sufficient.
Strolling into the parlor, he was glad to see James waiting for him. His throat still felt raw and it worried him that it would affect the taste of his food. “Ready to do it again tomorrow?” he asked, laughing as James groaned loudly.
“No, but I don’t think we have a choice,” James replied, his eyes reflecting worry despite the lopsided grin on his face.
“True enough. It will take days to put those flames out.” Taylor accepted a glass of wine from a footman as he and James awaited his parents. “Hudson was blathering on about my father saving someone today.”
“It’s true,” his mother said, walking into the parlor.
“Where were you?” Taylor asked, not in the least surprised.
“I had to check on the shipments, so I went to Barley Street to see Hastert. The fire had grown so quickly by then, and the streets were packed. The buildings started to collapse and a flaming timber hit a young woman and set her on fire,” Gerald told them, still feeling a bit shaky at the memory.
Taylor grimaced with a shudder; he couldn’t stand the thought of being burned. “Did you manage to get her to one of the medical aid stands they’ve been setting up?”
“They hadn’t started yet, so I brought her here and sent for Sam,” Gerald explained, sipping his wine.
“You brought a little gutter rat here? That’s rather brave,” Taylor commented.
“Not a gutter rat, dear. She turned out to be the daughter of the late Baron Spenser,” Eleanor added.
“Christina? You probably should have taken her to the corner and left her there.” Taylor made a face. He knew Christina well, and couldn’t abide the woman.
“No, son, Victoria, the younger sister.”
“I didn’t know she had any siblings. She was always spoiled rotten.” Taylor’s eyebrow raised slightly.
“Tori appears to be a very sweet young woman,” Eleanor answered.
Taylor merely nodded. “That’s surprising if she’s related to Christina. How badly was she hurt?”
“Burns on her shins up to her knees on both legs, and the left foot is bruised pretty badly. She went through hell out there,” Gerald replied.
“Didn’t we all!” James piped up, and the talk slipped back to the fire, as they went in to the dining room, both younger men more than ready. James winced with his first bite of the delicious looking roast, it tasted of burnt timber. He exchanged glances with Taylor, who was experiencing the same problem.
A footman entered with a slip of paper on a silver tray. “A reply from the message you sent earlier, Your Grace.” He held out the tray for Gerald to take it. His face turned bright red after reading it, unable to speak.
“What is it, Father?” Taylor asked, standing up. He took the note to read it. “Who is this from?”
“Lady Christina.” Gerald choked out.
“What does it say?” Eleanor asked with worry.
‘Your Grace, if the little ingrate doesn’t have my bottle of scent, tell her not to return here. Signed, Lady Christina Montrose.’ Taylor read.
“Of all the nerve!” Eleanor exclaimed.
“That’s Christina!” Taylor retorted, muttering some curses under his breath.
Gerald’s color began to return to normal as he watched the rest of the table give vent to anger. He’d heard whisperings about the oldest daughter of Baron Spenser, Lord Montrose was a good man, favored and trusted by King Charles. He was a true force for good and cooler heads in the House of Lords, his wife, though, was the subject and creator of gossip.
She was a shrew who hadn’t set foot out of their home since the plague began in 1664, but she wasn’t above sending the hapless servants or her poor younger sister out on one of her selfish whims.
She was also quite prolific with her missives of gossip, more than once blabbing something that was only to be spoken of in the halls and back rooms of parliament. Montrose had been called up and reprimanded for his wife’s loose lips on a few occasions, finally, or so Gerald had been told, the good man had ceased to make her privy to the goings on.
Calling for paper and quill, Gerald wrote out his reply:
‘Madame Montrose your gravely injured sister will be remaining here with us indefinitely. If you are so concerned about your blasted scent, I suggest that you rouse your lazy arse, and fetch it yourself!
Duke of Rothforth’
Reading over his father’s shoulder Taylor let out a great laugh. “Well done!” he intoned. It was more on the line of what he might write, not his father. Eleanor’s lips twitched as she read it, shaking her head in disapproval while her eyes reflected her son’s position. Within moments, the missive was off, with instruction to see how the fire was proceeding.
Their home was relatively empty now that their daughter, and second son, had wed, and Taylor spent most of his time on his estate when parliament was not in session, while his youngest brother, Seth was at Oxford. Taylor wasn’t a sitting member of the house, but served as his father’s clerk. Neither man found favor with wearing the hideously heavy wigs that were the fashion, nor were they flamboyant clotheshorses as many men were.
They dressed well and while Gerald did powder his hair, Taylor left his unpowdered and pulled back into a neat tail. Neither man wore the make-up, or the silly little patches favored by the fops. He was a clean and orderly man whose masculinity couldn’t be questioned. Taylor was a man of his own council, who would listen with an open mind to another’s point of view, before coming to his own decisions. They were so alike, this father and son, and they truly liked and respected each other. Life with them was good-natured, and filled with intelligent discussions, laughter, and fun. Theirs was a good household where love abided, and was extended even to their guests.
Eleanor slipped up to check on Tori, entering as quietly as she could. The girl was sleeping soundly from the laudanum. It was fortunate that Sam Marks had been able to attend her so soon. “I think she’ll sleep through the night, Ella, place the water and the call bell within easy reach, then you may retire for the night,” she told the maid who had stayed by her side.
“Yes, Your Grace. She’s been sleeping soundly. I’m a very light sleeper, so I’ll hear her should she stir,” the maid said, and then with a curtsy she left the room. Eleanor stood there for a bit longer, remembering the girl’s mother. ‘I’ll watch over her, Margaret, I promise.’ She offered silently, then dropped a kiss on Tori’s forehead, as a mother would do before seeking her own bed.
There were too many aches in his mind, and body to sleep. Just lying in the bed made him restless. With a grunt, Taylor climbed out of bed and went to look out the window. The horizon in the direction of the bridge was aglow with brilliant oranges, and angry reds. If possible, it looked much worse than before. The footman, who had returned from delivering Gerald’s scathing reply, had reported that the wind had returned, and the fire was now generating its own. Tomorrow would be another nasty day. Pacing, he couldn’t settle down, he and James would be leaving in only a few hours to return to the fire lines, he needed to sleep.
Perhaps a bite to eat might help. Since he was a boy, Taylor loved to slip down to the kitchen for a late night snack. Cook always left something out for him, usually something sweet. Given his choice, Taylor would go for a sweet pastry every time. She continued leaving offerings to this day if Taylor was in residence. Throwing his robe over his naked body, he headed down to the kitchens.
Halfway down the stairs, he heard someone moving around, knowing the house so well, he hadn’t bothered lighting a lamp--he didn’t need one. Lamps were rarely left burning in this part of the house at night. Quickening his pace, he followed the sounds thinking it might be an intruder. Many crimes would be committed until the fire was out. Thieves and burglars would be taking advantage of homes vacated by fleeing residents. Whoever they were, they were moving very slowly, and soon he could barely make out a person. Without a thought, he rushed at the intruder, tackling them in a strong bear hold that took them both crashing down to the floor.
Only when a woman cried out did it register with him, and he loosened his grip and pulled back. “Who are you and what the hell are you doing in here?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry,” she cried out in fear, and pain. “I’m Tori, and I was leaving to go home.” She was nearly fainting from the torture of her burns. It had taken forever to dress in her ragged burnt day dress, and make her way down the stairs. Each step sent shafts of pain shooting through her; she prayed that it would get better, and that she wasn’t that far from home. Knowing Christina the door would be barred and she would have to curl up in the stable until morning. The Duke and Duchess had been so kind to her, but still she needed to go home, and only the Lord knew how long it would take.
Uttering a curse, Taylor jumped up and found a candle to light. She was lying on the floor, tears running down her temples, her entire body shaking from the pain. Her dress was burnt up to her knees, exposing her bandage wrapped legs.
“Oh, damn, I’m so sorry,” he said, kneeling down to get a look at her.
“I didn’t want to disturb anyone,” she managed, making him feel worse.
“You’re in no shape to be out of bed, let alone trying to walk home.” He scooped her up, apologizing when she squealed, and blew out the candle before taking her back to bed. He hated that he’d hurt her, and she was sobbing softly against his chest. Like his father, he didn’t take a woman’s tears well.
“I feel like a louse for hurting you,” he apologized, putting her back in bed. She would have to wear her damaged clothing, there was no way that he would assist her in changing back into the nightgown. Picking up the bottle of laudanum, he read the directions then mixed it into the apple juice, and gave it to her. “This should help with the pain.”
She drank it quickly, anxious for the pain to slow down, tears still flowing no matter how hard she tried to stop them. “I really do need to go home, my sister is waiting for me.”
“Word has been sent to tell her that you’re here,” he said, wondering how long it would take the medicine to work. He was feeling angry with himself, and the damned fire that was turning all of their lives upside down.
“You don’t understand, she needs me,” Tori begged.
“I understand better than you do, your miserable sister doesn’t give a fig about you, only her blasted perfume. Don’t worry about her, she’s not concerned about you in the least,” he spat out, wishing he could pull the words back immediately.
“What?” Tori asked. He was so very angry and she knew it was her fault. “Thank you for your help, I’ll be fine on my own.” It was a very small voice, and Taylor wanted to cut his tongue out.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I know that my sister doesn’t like me, but she does need me.” Now she couldn’t hold back the torrent of tears, and covered her face with both hands. It would be so nice to be wanted for once.
“Ah, damn it!” Taylor cursed, and then sat down on the edge of the bed to comfort her. “There’s no need to cry, Tori, all will be well,” he soothed, putting his arm around her.
She cried until her head ached. The tears that had been held back for the past six years broke forth at having someone holding her, and showing her kindness. She wasn’t sure who he was, but for now, she didn’t care.
Taylor waited patiently for either the medicine to knock her out, or the blasted tears to stop. He couldn’t just leave her in this state. Damn, why did he have to go down stairs tonight? He made an oath to stop his late night forays into the kitchen. A yawn over took him, at last he was getting tired. Leaning back against the headboard, he got comfortable, it seemed that this particular watering pot wasn’t running low any time soon.
A shrill scream followed by “Oh my God!” Woke him up, Taylor pried one eye open to find one of the maids staring at him with both hands clamped to her face.
“What are you doing in my room?” he asked, with irritation, his wing of the house was off limits to most of the house staff.
“Taylor, what are you doing in here?” his mother gasped, staring at him in the same fashion as the maid.
Opening his mouth to speak, someone moved next to him, and with horror-filled eyes, he looked down at the disheveled head lying on his shoulder. “Damn. Damn. Damn.” He swore, gently pushing her aside to stand up, his robe falling open before he could grab it, showing that he was wearing nothing else. He started to explain until his father walked in and frowned with anger. “Oh just make the arrangements!” Taylor barked, and then stormed out of the room.
All eyes turned to Tori, who looked back at them wide eyed. “I was trying to go home and he stopped me,” she tried to explain, pulling back the covers to show her dress.
“Well, Tori, it would appear that you are betrothed after all,” Gerald stated, hiding the grin on his face as he left to follow his son.
“No! I don’t know who he is, and nothing happened!” Tori cried out, ignoring the burning of her legs.
“He’s my son, Taylor Adam Richard Collins Rothforth, Marquess of Heritage,” Eleanor supplied, trying to fight her own grin.
“Please, you can’t do this to your son! He was only being kind! He gave me medicine for the pain, and held me until I stopped crying. We must have fallen asleep.” Tori felt awful. Surely, they wouldn’t force their son to marry her. It wasn’t fair that his kindness should be rewarded this way.
“Don’t worry about it, my dear. Let us get you out of this dress and back into the nightgown. We’ll need to change the sheets, there’s soot all over them,” Eleanor said, getting down to work.
Gerald walked into his son’s room, from the sound, he was in his dressing room so he followed him in there. Taylor had his back to the door, pulling on one of his old shirts. There was no sense in ruining one of his good ones fighting the damned fire. It was a good thing that he kept his old clothing to wear when working. He heard his father step in. “I’m not going to fight you on this, Father, so save your breath.”
He had been betrothed before, but his fiancée died from a fever six years ago. He was devastated at the time, and hadn’t bothered trying to find a replacement. He knew that he would eventually have to marry and produce an heir, it was his duty to provide future Duke’s and Earls for the family line. After Cynthia died, he was certain that he would never love again and still believed that today.
Not a single female had caught his eye in a serious way, he’d been content to spend his time with various social light skirts to suit his needs. Light skirts weren’t frowned upon since King Charles pranced around his mistresses so blatantly at court. Personally, Taylor found that to be distasteful but one didn’t chastise their sovereign, even though he happened to be a second cousin.
“This just might work out for the best. At least she’s from good stock,” he said, turning to find his father laughing. “So, you think this funny?”
“Absolutely!” Gerald wiped the tears from his eyes and pushed away from the door. “I wish you could have seen the look on your face!”
“Well I felt like a damned fool!” Taylor shot back; he was humiliated by having his mother find him in the chit’s bed, and naked save his robe. “Do you know that she was heading out? How she was walking was beyond me. Then to put some icing on it, she was worried about that worthless sister of hers. How stupid is that?”
“She has a loving heart,” Gerald replied, finally controlling his laughter.
“Then she got Christina’s share, no doubt.” Taylor pulled on his boots and stood up. “James and I will grab a quick bite and then we’re off.”
“You don’t have to marry her, son. All of us understand that nothing happened. No one else needs to know what took place,” Gerald told his son, secretly wishing that he could join the younger men in fighting the fire.
“I’d know. How long do you think it would be before one of the servants talked? She’d be ruined forever.” Taylor pulled on a shabby coat. “I need a wife, and she needs something better than that damnable sister of hers.”
“Her legal guardian is on the continent, it would take weeks, or month’s to find him, and then he’s just as likely to say no. Montrose is quite fond of the girl,” Gerald said, deep in thought. One thing about Gerald, he was always impatient to get things done, and Taylor was the same. “I’ll take care of it,” Gerald said, leaving his son to finish dressing.