Regency Romances for the Ages Read online

  “Have you searched the servants?” his mother asked.

  “Each and every single one of them myself.” Ipswich shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “I even emptied my belongings out when he told me,” Deborah added.

  Dowager Lady Ipswich blinked. “You did.” She glared at her son. “You don’t suspect Miss Ray of theft, do you?”

  “Of course I don’t,” Ipswich protested. His head was pounding even more now, and the world was starting to blur. “She offered to search herself. I witnessed her lay out everything from her bag.”

  Deborah lifted her chin defiantly, looking at him with a clear, unblinking gaze. “I have never stolen in my life,” she said fervently. “And a few of the servants have been giving me strange looks.” She turned to Dowager Lady Ipswich. “I think they believe I stole the items.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I think whenever they look at me.” Deborah shook her head. “I won’t be accused of being a thief.”

  Ipswich couldn’t have loved her more. Deborah’s passion at her innocence was something to be proud of. He didn’t doubt her innocence, but clearly his servants did. Randle had made several comments in the past week towards Deborah, which had left Ipswich furious. That man was moments away from being fired if he could not accept Deborah Ray as his future mistress.

  “I would never do that to you.” Ipswich laid a hand over his future wife’s. Her fingers felt very cool compared to the burning coming from his. “Besides, you’ve never been upstairs in my house, so you wouldn’t know where to go.”

  “I just wish your staff would stop looking at me like I’m the culprit,” Deborah muttered. “And your brother.”

  “My brother?” Ipswich blinked. “When was this?”

  “He cornered me when we bumped into him and Mrs Allwood during our walk last week.” Deborah scowled. “He told me that no one wants to be associated with a thief, and I need to leave before I drag the whole family down.”

  Ipswich hadn’t spoken to Allwood from the night he proposed to Deborah until that day. The interaction had been brief, but it had made Ipswich angry. His brother and sister-in-law had been adamant they would not converse with them because of Deborah’s presence, purposefully giving them a wide berth. Now Allwood’s accusations just filled Ipswich with rage.

  “Oh, dear.” Dowager Lady Ipswich smoothed her hands on her skirts. “It sounds like Miss Ray is condemned already.”

  “I know it wasn’t her.” Ipswich pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll speak to Allwood. He had no right to say anything of the sort.”

  “Don’t, Ipswich, please.” Deborah squeezed his hand. Her fingers were still remarkably cool. “Just leave it. As long as I have a chaperone every time I visit you, then no one can accuse me of stealing.”

  Dowager Lady Ipswich frowned. “That sounds rather drastic. It would look like my son himself doesn’t trust you.”

  “It’s not Ipswich’s trust I’m trying to get.”

  The dowager countess shook her head and gave Deborah a soft smile. “I don’t think you’re a thief, Deborah.”

  “Thank you.” Then Deborah was frowning at Ipswich. “Ipswich? What’s wrong?”

  It was then that Ipswich realized his nose was streaming. Silently cursing himself, he snatched up his handkerchief and wiped at his nose. How could he have forgotten something as simple as blowing his nose?

  Then he saw his handkerchief. It was stained with blood. Where…?

  Ipswich touched his fingers to his nostrils. They also came away with blood. He hadn’t had a nosebleed since he was seven years old. What was going on?

  “My God.” Deborah jumped up, almost bumping into the table. “I’ll get Cranmer to bring the coach around. We’re taking you home.”

  “I’m fine.” Ipswich tried to stand up and follow her, but then everything swayed, and Ipswich found himself tilting sideways. He grabbed at the table which caused everything to jump and fall over. The cloth came with him in his hands as Ipswich sagged to the floor. He was vaguely aware of people around them turning to watch, but he was already falling into blackness. His mother was calling his name, and Ipswich could barely hear her.

  Then his head hit the floor, and he couldn’t hear anything at all.

  ***

  Deborah had been a nervous wreck as she and Dowager Lady Ipswich rode back to Ipswich’s house as fast as Cranmer could drive the coach. Ipswich had lain on the bench between them with his head in her lap. His face was stark white, blood still coming from his nose. It just wouldn’t stop.

  She couldn’t begin to describe how frightened she had been when she saw Ipswich bleeding from the nose, looking like death warmed up. And when Deborah had heard the screams coming from the dowager countess, finding Ipswich unconscious on the floor in the middle of the restaurant, it had taken all of Deborah’s strength not to go into hysterics herself.

  Ipswich was burning up. He had been all day. Deborah had worried about him, but Ipswich was strong. He would be fine. Some fresh air would do him some good.

  Clearly, not today.

  Randle and the butler, Blake, helped to carry the duke in once Cranmer had pulled the coach up outside the house. The doctor was sent for immediately, and Deborah and Dowager Lady Ipswich were left in the morning room, trying not to pace around wringing their hands. But it was difficult not to worry. The duke had looked like he was close to death. Deborah had never seen anything like it.

  All she could hope was that Ipswich wouldn’t die. Not now.

  Finally, the doctor came downstairs and took Dowager Lady Ipswich aside, speaking to her in low tones. Deborah wanted to go to them and demand to know what was happening, but the doctor purposefully had his back towards her. She didn’t want to cause more conflict than what was evidently there. Besides, the dowager countess could deal with the doctor.

  After a while, the doctor left with barely a glance at Deborah, and Dowager Lady Ipswich came over. She was still pale, but there was a bit more light in her eyes.

  “How is he?” Deborah asked frantically. “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, of course he’s alive, darling.” Dowager Lady Ipswich took Deborah’s hands, her fingers startlingly warm against Deborah’s cold skin. “The doctor says he’s not coughing up blood anymore, and he’s sleeping.”

  “Coughing up blood?” Deborah felt faint. She could feel herself swaying. “Oh, my…”

  “Sit down, Deborah, dear.” Dowager Lady Ipswich guided Deborah to a nearby couch where Deborah slumped onto the cushions. She sat beside her. “Take a few deep breaths. Ipswich is going to be fine.”

  “But what was it?” Deborah’s mouth was feeling dry. “Did the doctor have any idea what started it?”

  “No, he doesn’t. But he said it should only occur once.”

  “Only occur once? He was bleeding from his nose! And now you say he was coughing up blood?”

  Dowager Lady Ipswich sighed. “There were a lot of things the doctor said to me with regard to my son’s health, but all I got was he was alive. That’s enough for me.”

  It wasn’t for Deborah. She had no idea what sort of illness would cause someone to bleed from the nose and cough blood. What if this wasn’t an illness? What if this was something else? Like foul play?

  Deborah didn’t want to contemplate that. Ipswich was a good man; he wouldn’t have an enemy who would try to hurt him. Except maybe Allwood, but Deborah couldn’t see her future brother-in-law wanting to harm the duke.

  She looked up at the dowager countess. “May I see him?”

  “The doctor said no visitors, but…” Dowager Lady Ipswich sighed. “I think it would be best if you saw him. You want to make sure he is alive, don’t you?”

  “Please.”

  Dowager Lady Ipswich stood, gently pulling Deborah with her. “Come. I’ll take the blame if the doctor complains.”

  Chapter 6

  Turn for the Worse

  Deborah stumbled as she followed the
older woman up the stairs. She was aware of a few of the servants on the next floor standing around, whispering among themselves. They gave her sharp looks that had Deborah wanting to run the other way.

  They suspected something. And Deborah had a sinking feeling that they suspected her of foul play. Why suspect her? Deborah would never hurt Ipswich. Clearly, they didn’t have the same sentiment.

  Dowager Lady Ipswich reached a door at the far end of the hall and gave it a gentle knock. There was a scuffling behind the door, and then it opened to reveal Randle. He had taken off his coat, standing in just his shirtsleeves with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. His hair was standing on end, and he looked exhausted.

  His eyes widened, and he dropped into a quick bow. “Lady Ipswich, forgive me for my state of undress…” Then Randle’s eyes landed on Deborah, and his movements stilled. His expression hardened as he openly stared at her. “Miss Ray.”

  “Randle.” Dowager Lady Ipswich nodded into the room. “How’s my son?”

  “He’s sleeping,” Randle said crisply. “The doctor said he was not to be disturbed, my lady.”

  “Miss Ray only wanted to see how the duke was for a moment.”

  But Randle was shaking his head. “The doctor said no visitors, and I am following doctor’s orders.”

  “Who is it, Randle?”

  Deborah perked up when she heard Ipswich’s voice. It was weak, but it was there. That was something, at least.

  Randle glanced into the room. “No one, Your Grace.”

  “It’s your mother, son.” Dowager Lady Ipswich’s voice drowned out the valet’s. “I’m here with Miss Ray.”

  “Deborah?” Now Ipswich was more awake. There was a rustling of sheets. “She’s with you?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “I want to see her.”

  Randle frowned and shook his head. “But she cannot come in, Your Grace.” He pointed out. “People will start talking.”

  “From what I’m gathering, they’re already talking.” Ipswich snorted. “I just want a moment to see Miss Ray.”

  Deborah glanced at Dowager Lady Ipswich, who nodded. Then she stepped into the room, essentially pushing past Randle. Randle had no choice but to step back and allow the two women into the room. Deborah could feel him glare at the back of her head, but she ignored it.

  Ipswich was sitting up in his huge four-poster bed, wearing a nightgown. His face was pale, his cheeks gaunt. He looked far older than he had been. Deborah was shocked at how a few hours of being sick could age a person. But there was still that sparkle in his eyes. It was somewhat faded, but it was there.

  Ipswich’s eyes locked with hers, and he held out a hand. Deborah went to him without hesitation. She took his hand, gasping when she felt how cold his fingers were.

  “My love.” Ipswich kissed her knuckles, giving her a smile as Deborah sat on the edge of the bed. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much.”

  “You did scare me,” Deborah accused. “A lot.”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you distressed.”

  Deborah glanced over her shoulder. Dowager Lady Ipswich was talking to Randle at the far end of the room. From the way her hands were moving, and from the way her finger was pointing at Randle’s face, she was clearly displeased with him. Deborah turned back to Ipswich, lowering her voice. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like my insides have been juggled about by a clown.”

  “Interesting analogy.”

  “It’s the only one I can think of at the moment.” Ipswich pressed a hand to his belly with a grimace. “The doctor says I must have ingested something that didn’t agree with me.”

  “Food poisoning wouldn’t make you cough up blood or have a nosebleed.”

  “I know that.” Ipswich sighed. “Which makes me wonder if it’s something else.”

  Deborah’s eyes widened. “You… you think someone’s trying to poison you?”

  “I don’t think so. More like I had a near-fatal reaction to something, and I had no idea about it.”

  That sounded pathetic, and from the look on Ipswich’s face he knew it. He knew it was foul play, but he didn’t want to face it. Deborah wasn’t about to push him; Ipswich had been through enough.

  “You must fight this, Peter,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

  “Oh, Deborah.” Ipswich’s expression softened, and he reached out with his other hand. His cool fingers brushed against Deborah’s cheek. “I’m not planning on leaving you. I’m going to get better, and then we’re going to get married. That’s all I want to do.”

  Deborah wanted that as well. She smiled and kissed his palm. “Well, maybe we can make it a summer wedding,” she teased. “That would be a perfect gift for me.”

  Ipswich smiled back. “I like that idea.” His thumb brushed over her lips. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  ***

  “Deborah, dear?”

  Deborah looked up. Dowager Lady Ipswich was sitting across from her in her coach, wrapped up against the early September morning breeze. It was significantly colder than it had been over the summer.

  Summer. A season spent in London instead of at her family estate in Sussex, waiting to see if Ipswich recovered. The doctor had advised that he didn’t go to his estate in Suffolk once the Season ended as he wanted to make sure his patient stayed nearby. He wasn’t confident that the duke would make it home. So Deborah had stayed in London. Dowager Lady Ipswich had opened her house to her, so the two of them would travel every day to see Ipswich. There were days when he seemed well enough to have visitors, and other times when he was so unwell the doctor said he mustn’t be disturbed.

  Deborah was getting more and more concerned. She and Ipswich were supposed to have married by now. Ipswich had proposed marriage in January, and the wedding was supposed to be in March. Then, due to the sudden illness, Deborah had suggested some time in the summer. And now the summer was gone, and autumn was settling in. There was no end in sight.

  Deborah was beginning to wonder if they would ever get married. This illness was something else. It had attacked Ipswich so much he had lost weight, and he looked a shadow of his former self. Deborah cried every time she saw him; the man she loved was withering away before her eyes.

  If she didn’t have the dowager countess with her, or her parents as moral support, Deborah didn’t know what she would do.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to be rude.” Deborah looked at her hands in her lap. “I’m just scared for Ipswich.”

  “I know you are.” Dowager Lady Ipswich’s eyes were shining. But she didn’t cry. The woman had somehow managed to maintain her composure over the last seven months. “You love him a lot, don’t you?”

  “With every part of my being,” Deborah said fervently. “I know it sounds silly, but I do. I haven’t felt like this before.”

  “I understand. It’s first love, which is always the sweetest. And if it’s treated well, it blossoms.”

  Deborah couldn’t argue with that. She surveyed the older woman thoughtfully. “May I ask a strange question, my lady?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you ever look at your life and think what it would have been like had you not become the Countess of Ipswich?”

  Dowager Lady Ipswich blinked, staring at her. “That is a strange question.”

  “Humour me, please?”

  The dowager countess was silent for a moment. Then she sighed.

  “I have wondered. A few times, I do wonder what would have happened to me had my husband and I not fallen in love. But we would have been married in some way, just to people who would not have loved us the way my husband and I loved each other.” A small smile crept across her mouth. “We were blessed with many years together, along with two sons… I can’t imagine a life without love.”

  Deborah was startled to see a tear trickle down the woman’s cheek. Now she felt awful. “Forgive me, Lady Ipswich. I didn’t mean t
o upset you.”

  “It’s all right, my dear. It was a long time ago.” Dowager Lady Ipswich retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I miss my husband every day, but I feel blessed to have had him in my life for so long. You’ll have the same with my son. I know you will.”

  Chapter 7

  Almost Lost

  Those words warmed Deborah to the core. She couldn’t imagine life without Ipswich now. Hopefully, their married life would entail less awful situations than their engagement. The duke had spent more time in bed with this mysterious illness than preparing for married life.

  Deborah had been happy to wait until he was better. But someone was clearly not impressed that she was still around.

  Her good mood disappeared rapidly as she and Dowager Lady Ipswich entered Ipswich’s townhouse, where they found Mrs Lambert hurrying down the stairs towards them. She looked like she had been crying.

  “Oh, my lady!” The housekeeper practically flung herself at Dowager Lady Ipswich. “My lady! Miss Ray!”

  “Mrs Lambert!” Dowager Lady Ipswich managed to catch the woman before she collapsed. “What on earth’s the matter?”

  “It’s the duke. He took a turn for the worse last night,” Mrs Lambert wailed. “The doctor’s up with him right now.”

  Deborah felt her body go cold. Ipswich was getting worse? How was that possible? He had been getting better the past week. Good enough to get up and walk around. “What happened?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Randle went in to him with his breakfast and found him barely responsive as white as a sheet.” Mrs Lambert was wringing her hands. “Nobody knows what to do.”