Read Online A Wicked Pursuit by Isabella Bradford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Isabella Bradford
Ads: Link
clamoring for my return.”
“I would imagine so,” Gus said, still watching the sleeping earl. “Will you be taking his lordship back with you?”
“Oh, good heavens, no,” the surgeon said, drawing back a fraction as if from something distasteful. “I would not recommend moving his lordship for some weeks, even months to come. A long journey by carriage would quite kill him at present. There is no question of that. No, Miss Augusta, I fear he must be your father’s guest for some time longer.”
“We shall welcome his company,” Gus said, her thoughts racing ahead to the basic logistics of such a grand houseguest for a lengthy stay.
“I should imagine your sister will enjoy it,” Sir Randolph said, smiling slyly. “There’s no better way for a pretty lady to win a gentleman’s heart than to nurse him winsomely back to health.”
Gus smiled, too, only because it was expected. But then, she knew what Sir Randolph didn’t: that after the single disastrous visit to Lord Hargreave’s bedside, Julia had refused to return. Nor had she shown any wish to discuss his health or circumstances, no matter how Papa had pressed her.
To be sure, Gus herself had spent so much time at Lord Hargreave’s bedside over the last days that she wasn’t exactly sure what Julia had been doing or saying, but from Papa’s ill humor on the subject, it had been easy enough for Gus to guess. Privately she felt sorry for his lordship for having Julia turn so skittish and squeamish and ignoring him as she had. Julia was her sister, but to Gus her actions just didn’t seem right.
Still, there was no real reason for Gus to think of his lordship as anything other than her sister’s future husband. Everyone else did. Nothing had changed. His lordship might babble in his fever-dreams about how Gus was his lucky angel, but his heart still belonged to her beautiful sister.
All of which was why, when Sir Randolph began speaking of how Julia would be so pleased to look after the earl, Gus realized that her sister should also be informed of his lordship’s improvement.
“Excuse me, Sir Randolph,” she said, “but I’m going to share this excellent news with my sister and my father now.”
With a final look at the sleeping earl, she left the room and hurried down the long hall to the wing with the family’s bedchambers. She wouldn’t be gone long, intending to return before he woke.
It was still early in the morning, and the house was just starting to rouse for the day. The parlor maids were beginning to open the curtains and sweep the hearths, and the aroma of Papa’s black coffee came drifting from his bedchamber. Gus expected to find Julia still in bed and dawdling over her breakfast tray, or perhaps sitting at her dressing table to have her hair brushed and arranged for the day.
What she didn’t expect, however, was to find Papa raging and swearing and crashing about like a caged bull in Julia’s pink-and-white bedchamber. The bed was unmade, and clothes and hats and stockings and shoes were strewn about the room, as if tossed aside in great haste. An open trunk stood near the wardrobe, half packed with more clothes; none of the disarray made sense.
“Gus!” Papa exclaimed as soon as she appeared in the doorway. “Thank God you’re here. What do you know of this? What has your fool of a sister done now?”
He was standing in the center of the room, red-faced and waving a letter in his hand. He was still wearing his paisley dressing gown, his nightcap shoved back on the crown of his head. Footmen and maidservants stood guiltily around him, as if they were somehow to blame for whatever had happened.
“I don’t know anything yet, Papa,” Gus said, using her calmest voice to try to settle him. “You must tell me first. Where is Julia?”
“She’s bolted,” he said. “Run back to London like the cowardly brat that she is. Look, she even admits it.”
Gus plucked the letter from his waving hand. It was indeed
“I would imagine so,” Gus said, still watching the sleeping earl. “Will you be taking his lordship back with you?”
“Oh, good heavens, no,” the surgeon said, drawing back a fraction as if from something distasteful. “I would not recommend moving his lordship for some weeks, even months to come. A long journey by carriage would quite kill him at present. There is no question of that. No, Miss Augusta, I fear he must be your father’s guest for some time longer.”
“We shall welcome his company,” Gus said, her thoughts racing ahead to the basic logistics of such a grand houseguest for a lengthy stay.
“I should imagine your sister will enjoy it,” Sir Randolph said, smiling slyly. “There’s no better way for a pretty lady to win a gentleman’s heart than to nurse him winsomely back to health.”
Gus smiled, too, only because it was expected. But then, she knew what Sir Randolph didn’t: that after the single disastrous visit to Lord Hargreave’s bedside, Julia had refused to return. Nor had she shown any wish to discuss his health or circumstances, no matter how Papa had pressed her.
To be sure, Gus herself had spent so much time at Lord Hargreave’s bedside over the last days that she wasn’t exactly sure what Julia had been doing or saying, but from Papa’s ill humor on the subject, it had been easy enough for Gus to guess. Privately she felt sorry for his lordship for having Julia turn so skittish and squeamish and ignoring him as she had. Julia was her sister, but to Gus her actions just didn’t seem right.
Still, there was no real reason for Gus to think of his lordship as anything other than her sister’s future husband. Everyone else did. Nothing had changed. His lordship might babble in his fever-dreams about how Gus was his lucky angel, but his heart still belonged to her beautiful sister.
All of which was why, when Sir Randolph began speaking of how Julia would be so pleased to look after the earl, Gus realized that her sister should also be informed of his lordship’s improvement.
“Excuse me, Sir Randolph,” she said, “but I’m going to share this excellent news with my sister and my father now.”
With a final look at the sleeping earl, she left the room and hurried down the long hall to the wing with the family’s bedchambers. She wouldn’t be gone long, intending to return before he woke.
It was still early in the morning, and the house was just starting to rouse for the day. The parlor maids were beginning to open the curtains and sweep the hearths, and the aroma of Papa’s black coffee came drifting from his bedchamber. Gus expected to find Julia still in bed and dawdling over her breakfast tray, or perhaps sitting at her dressing table to have her hair brushed and arranged for the day.
What she didn’t expect, however, was to find Papa raging and swearing and crashing about like a caged bull in Julia’s pink-and-white bedchamber. The bed was unmade, and clothes and hats and stockings and shoes were strewn about the room, as if tossed aside in great haste. An open trunk stood near the wardrobe, half packed with more clothes; none of the disarray made sense.
“Gus!” Papa exclaimed as soon as she appeared in the doorway. “Thank God you’re here. What do you know of this? What has your fool of a sister done now?”
He was standing in the center of the room, red-faced and waving a letter in his hand. He was still wearing his paisley dressing gown, his nightcap shoved back on the crown of his head. Footmen and maidservants stood guiltily around him, as if they were somehow to blame for whatever had happened.
“I don’t know anything yet, Papa,” Gus said, using her calmest voice to try to settle him. “You must tell me first. Where is Julia?”
“She’s bolted,” he said. “Run back to London like the cowardly brat that she is. Look, she even admits it.”
Gus plucked the letter from his waving hand. It was indeed
Similar Books
