A Regency Christmas Pact Collection Page 7

  Harry looked down at his jacket and shrugged. “It’s comfortable.”

  “It’s ugly.”

  “I had no idea you were such a slave to fashion.”

  Berks lifted his brow. “You just usually look more put together, that’s all.”

  His brother chuckled. “Usually I’m not trapped inside Wellesbourne Park for days at a time. If I’m to be stuck here indefinitely, I’m going to be comfortable.”

  “Heaven forbid I keep you from being comfortable.”

  Harry agreed with an incline of his head. “How very kind of you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a kiss from my wife, and you are blocking the corridor.”

  Berks couldn’t help but laugh. Harry had been quite the nuisance with his bit of mistletoe over the last sennight. “More coercion?”

  “I prefer to think of it as a diversion.” Harry then grinned rakishly, lightly shoved Berks’s shoulder to get past him and said under his breath, “Watch and learn, brother mine.”

  Berks resisted the urge to snort. There was nothing to learn. He’d been watching Harry bait Miranda with that sprig of mistletoe for days now. Still… Miss Birkin was in the white parlor, and she had sounded so cheerful just a few moments ago. It wouldn’t really hurt to catch a glimpse of her, would it?

  Before he could change his mind, he followed his brother’s lumbering form into the white parlor, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him. Miss Birkin was still as lovely as an angel. Her silky, flaxen hair was knotted over one shoulder and her sea-colored eyes flashed up to meet his gaze. Damn it all, he’d been a giant fool to have said the things to her that he’d done.

  A tentative smile tipped her lips, and for the briefest of moments Berks was certain he’d have slain a dragon if just to have her keep smiling at him.

  “Harrison Casemore,” Miranda began stubbornly, drawing Berks’s attention to his sister-in-law, who sat across from Miss Birkin. “You put that mistletoe back in your pocket this instant.”

  But Harry only lifted his brow in response. He held the little sprig out before him, the very one he’d been brandishing for a sennight whenever the urge to kiss his wife struck him. “You mean this mistletoe, Miranda?”

  His wife feigned an indignant sigh. “I am not kissing you right now. I don’t care…”

  “So I shouldn’t do this?” Her husband lifted the spring right above his head. “Because if I do this, you’ll have to kiss me, won’t you?”

  Berks bit back a laugh. Though a girl like Miranda would drive him mad within a day, it was rather sweet how much in love Harry was with the chit.

  Miranda pushed up to her feet and punched her hands to her hips. “I have kissed you a million times. I think that bit of plant has worn out all of its magical powers. Be gone with you.”

  Harry chuckled. “Worn out its powers? My darling, each time you’ve kissed me, it’s only grown stronger. And I know you don’t want to go against tradition. It’s bad luck and all, besides—”

  “You are incorrigible, you know?”

  Harry inclined his head in agreement. “And still desperately in love with you, my darling Miranda.” He wiggled the mistletoe over his head. “Come now, don’t make me wait.”

  Like a dutiful wife, Miranda crossed the floor, and lifted up on her tiptoes. Harry dipped his head down to his wife’s and gently pressed his lips against hers. Berks glanced back at Miss Birkin to find her eyes still on him. If only there truly was some magic in Harry’s sprig of mistletoe. A fanciful thought, of course, but if he could gain her forgiveness, if he could kiss her but once—

  His reverie was instantly broken when Davis nearly barreled over him in his haste to enter the white parlor. “I am so sorry, milord,” his butler apologized. “I didn’t see you.”

  “What is the matter?” Berks asked, frowning at his old servant. Davis was never one to rush anywhere, and he always watched where he was going, the epitome of comportment.

  “It’s Mr. Pratt,” Davis returned quickly. Then he glanced across the room at Miss Birkin. “Your uncle isn’t feeling well. He’s asking for you.”

  Miss Birkin was on her feet in the blink of an eye, her pretty face now etched with concern. “He’s not feeling well?” she asked, rushing towards the doorway. “He seemed fine at breakfast.”

  “I really don’t know, Miss,” the butler replied. “The footmen helped deliver him to his chambers and Miss Mills said I was to retrieve you right away.”

  “Of course,” she nodded, her face a bit ashen.

  Before he could stop himself, Berks offered her his arm. “Allow me to escort you, Miss Birkin.”

  She glanced at his arm as though it was an asp bent on her destruction, but after a brief pause, she slid her arm around his. “Thank you, my lord.”

  What he wouldn’t give to hear her call him Berks, to have that sound roll off her tongue. What he wouldn’t give to be able to erase the worried expression from angelic face.

  He directed her down the corridor. “Don’t fret, my dear. I’m certain he’ll be fine.”

  Her brow creased in consternation. “I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s not,” she said softly, her voice more than a little shaky. “He’s all I have left. The only family I have in the world. He has to be all right. He just has to.”

  Poor girl. Berks squeezed her hand that was resting on his arm and smiled what he hoped was reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. I’ll make certain he is.”

  She tilted her head slightly, as though to get a better look at him; her blue-green eyes clouded with a mix of concern and embarrassment.

  Oh, he must think her a fool. Blathering on about Uncle Martin when she knew absolutely nothing about what was wrong with him or even if there was anything wrong with him. Her uncle might very well be all right, sitting up in bed with a mild headache and a cup of tea, looking for her company. She hadn’t seen him yet. There was no point in getting herself worked up over absolutely nothing.

  Uncle Martin had been perfectly fine at breakfast. He’d be fine now. He had to be. There was nothing to worry about. He probably just needed some rest. He wasn’t as young as he once was, and he’d been keeping later nights than he was accustomed to at home.

  Tessie couldn’t keep the panic from coursing through her veins, however. After Aunt Margaret’s untimely passing this last year, it was no wonder she was overly sensitive about her uncle’s health. Her aunt’s illness had come on suddenly and hadn’t lasted long. Tessie wasn’t even certain if the woman who’d raised her had even heard her final goodbyes. She couldn’t take repeating that experience with her uncle. She just couldn’t.

  Even so, she shouldn’t have blurted out every worry she had to Lord Berkswell, of all people. Of everyone at Wellesbourne Park, he was the very last one she should confide in. Still, the marquess’s warm, brown eyes shone with kindness, and by some miracle, Tessie managed to walk without faltering under his gaze. She knew it was foolish to find comfort in his words, especially considering the things he usually said to her. Yet, she found herself slightly relieved by his strong presence and calm certainty anyway. “Thank you,” she muttered quietly.

  “No need for thanks. I am at your service.”

  Her heart fluttered a bit, but she forced the sensation away. Only a fool would take some sort of meaning from his words. And after everything Tessie had gone through, she was determined never be a fool again where men were concerned. Besides, she knew very well what Lord Berkswell truly thought about her. A few kind words now wouldn’t change that fact.

  Before she knew it, they stood before Uncle Martin’s door, and Lord Berkswell pushed it open. He released his hold on Tessie’s arm and let her precede him into the bedchamber.

  The marquess’s great aunt stood at the foot of the bed, worrying her hands in concern. But Tessie hardly noticed the elderly woman as her gaze almost instantly landed on Uncle Martin, lying in bed, his eyes barely open.

  Oh good heavens! She raced to her uncle’s side. “What h
appened?” she asked, touching a hand to the old man’s brow. She yanked it back a half-second later, her fingers nearly scorched. “He’s burning up!”

  “We were strolling the orangery and he collapsed,” Miss Mills said, her voice more than a little shaky.

  Collapsed? Tessie’s throat constricted in panic.

  Lord Berkswell patted his great aunt on the back. “Are you all right?”

  “It was the strangest thing.” The old woman nodded quickly. “I do wish Doctor Clarke was here, but with this storm…”

  Heavens! With this storm, there wouldn’t be any way to retrieve a doctor for Uncle Martin. Tessie’s breath rushed from her lungs as her eyes locked with Lord Berkswell’s.

  His brow furrowed, he nodded evenly. “I’ll retrieve Clarke.”

  Hope blossomed in Tessie’s chest, but a deep gasp from the threshold drew her gaze away from the marquess. She hadn’t even realized Lord Harrison had followed them. The man raked a hand through his dark hair, concern splashed upon his face. “The roads aren’t passable, Berks. Not according to Powell.”

  But Lord Berkswell shrugged slightly. “I’ll be careful.”

  Tessie’s heart leapt with hope, but she couldn’t let the marquess risk his own life. It was kind of him to offer, but…“It’s too dangerous, my lord. You can’t.”

  He cast her a sad smile. “I told you I’d make certain your uncle was fine. I am a man of my word.” With that, he spun on his heel, pushed past his brother, and strode into the corridor.

  Taking the coach would be too dangerous. Berks would have to retrieve Clarke on horseback. Thankfully, Virbius was an excellent hunter that Berks had purchased from Cumberland earlier in the year. The chestnut was no stranger to wintry weather, and his foot was more than sure. Retrieving Clarke wouldn’t be simple, but it wasn’t impossible either.

  So he’d need his greatcoat, his warmest gloves and—

  “Wait!” The urgent sound of Harry’s voice from behind him halted Berks in his step.

  He turned back to face his brother and said, “Time is of the essence, Harry.”

  “You don’t know that.” Harry shook his head. “His fever could break and you could end up with a snapped neck in a snowdrift, and we wouldn’t find you until the thaw. “

  There was nothing his brother could say that would dissuade Berks from his course. The look of panic and fear that flashed on Miss Birkin’s face when she reached her uncle’s side had been like a stab to Berks’s heart. He’d retrieve Doctor Clarke if it was the last thing he did. “As I said, I’ll be careful.”

  His brother gaped at him as though he’d lost his mind, and perhaps he had. But there was no time to discuss that possibility at the moment.

  Harry scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration. “Going out in this weather is reckless, and you know it.”

  Perhaps. But Berks knew the terrain as well as he knew his own name. He’d grown up at Wellesbourne, lived there all of his life. He’d be fine. Relatively. “We can discuss this when I get back with Clarke. “

  Without another word, Berks turned around and started for his chambers to find his valet and gather what he’d need for the excursion.

  “Why are you being so stubborn?” Harry called after him.

  Berks glanced back at his brother once more. “Because she’s afraid of losing him, and I think she’s lost quite enough as it is, don’t you?”

  Apparently dumbfounded, Harry simply blinked at him as though Berks was a foreign species he’d never glimpsed before. “Tessie?”

  Berks shook his head. His brother needn’t sound so hypocritical. Over the years, Harry had performed more than his fair share of reckless acts. There was no reason for him to cast judgment on Berks now. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t brave this storm for Miranda. I know you would.”

  “Of course.” Harry nodded, though his ever inquisitive green eyes narrowed on Berks. “But Miranda’s my wife. And Tessie’s just a girl you barely know, and by your own actions don’t even like.”

  “I like her just fine.” And Berks would really rather not think too deeply about his brother’s words. Which was quite simple to do, actually. It was difficult to think about anything else when Theresa Birkin’s tortured face flashed over and over again in his mind. He’d brave a hundred storms to keep that expression from ever settling on her pretty face again.

  “Enough to risk your life?” Harry asked in surprise.

  “Apparently,” Berks replied before turning once more and striding down the corridor, away from his brother’s furrowed brow and questioning gaze. Sparring with Harry wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all Miss Birkin and her uncle. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return.

  Berks found his valet in the master’s chambers, went about preparing for the journey, and sent word for Virbius to be saddled and ready to ride. He rushed through his preparations, trying to forget the painful expression Miss Birkin had worn.

  As soon as he was able, Berks trekked from the manor house to the stables, ignoring the bitter, biting wind that whipped about his face.

  Tessie blinked back tears, sitting vigil by her uncle’s bedside. He hadn’t so much as fluttered his eyes in the hours that she’d been sitting there. She grasped his hand which was still radiating heat and prayed, once more, that he’d awake, whole and hale. To no avail.

  Hours had passed since Lord Berkswell left in search of Doctor Clarke. Tessie prayed for him too, that he’d stay safe in the midst of the dreadful storm. He’d been terribly brave to head out into this weather for Uncle Martin. There was no way she could ever repay him, not if she lived a hundred years. I am a man of my word, he’d said, sounding both honorable and sincere. And those words echoed in her mind every few minutes. He’d vowed to find Doctor Clarke, and she had no doubt he’d give every breath in his body to do so. But if it wasn’t enough…? If she lost Uncle Martin, if something awful happened to Lord Berkswell… Tessie wasn’t certain how she’d cope with such an outcome.

  “No change?” came Pippa’s voice from the threshold.

  Tessie’s gaze darted from her uncle’s face to the countess’s, and she shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.”

  “I can’t imagine how worried you must be.” Pippa St. Austell crossed the floor to stand at Tessie’s side. “I am so very sorry for you.”

  Tessie was too. She smiled sadly at the countess. “It’s rather dark out there, isn’t it?”

  Pippa glanced towards the window and heaved a sigh. “It’s stopped snowing and the moon is reflecting off the white ground, giving a bit of light. It could be worse.”

  Still neither Lord Berkswell nor their country doctor had arrived at Wellesborne. There was no point in stating the obvious, however. Tessie could only hope that the two men were on their way to the estate and hadn’t encountered some sort of trouble before the snow had stopped falling.

  “Besides—” Pippa smiled brightly “—no one has a better seat than my brother, and he’s ridden these lands since before I was born. He’ll retrieve Doctor Clarke. Don’t fret about that.”

  Tessie couldn’t tell which of them the countess was trying to reassure. Perhaps both of them. “I’m certain he will. And it was very brave of him to go out in that storm.”

  “Now I know what I have to do to gain your favor,” Lord Berkswell said as he stepped into Uncle Martin’s chambers.

  Tessie’s gaze shot to the doorway, to Lord Berkswell covered in white frost, his dark hair still glistening with snow. Oh! Her heart soared upon seeing him. She hadn’t even realized how worried she had been about the marquess until he’d appeared. She leapt from her seat, dashed across the room, and threw her arms around his neck.

  The marquess’s arms slid around her, and he held her against him. Before she could think the better of her actions, Lord Berkswell dipped his head lower and pressed his lips to hers. In an instant, Tessie was lost. Tingles raced across her skin as warmth washed over her.

  Heavens! She never wanted him to release her.
In his arms, safeness enveloped her, and she felt certain that all would turn out for the best, a feeling she couldn’t remember ever having before.

  Lord Berkswell slowly lifted his head, staring down at her. And Tessie realized the chill from his clothes was seeping into hers, and that Pippa and a middle-aged fellow, all dressed in black, just a few feet away were staring at them.

  What in the world had come over her? Tessie inhaled sharply and took a step away from the marquess. “I-I’m so sorry.”

  A rakish smile tipped his lips. “I’m not.” Then he glanced at the man beside him and said, “Do let me know if you need anything, Clarke.”

  “Yes, of course, my lord.”

  The doctor’s dark gaze flashed to Uncle Martin’s bed. “How long has he been unconscious?”

  “Nearly twelve hours,” Tessie replied. “We’ve tried to keep him cool, but—”

  “You should get your rest, ma’am.” Doctor Clarke smiled warmly. “You won’t be any good to him in the morning if you’re too exhausted to stand.”

  Was her exhaustion so very obvious? Tessie couldn’t help but meet Lord Berkswell’s eyes. Could the marquess possibly blame her untoward behavior as exhaustion? Good heavens, she’d practically thrown herself at the man. She would never do something so forward under normal circumstances. All she’d done this evening was reinforce his already low opinion of her.

  Rest was the least of what she needed. A good cry was in order too. “Of course. But please retrieve me if there’s any change in my uncle’s condition.”

  “You have my word,” Lord Berkswell replied smoothly, his warm gaze heating Tessie’s skin once more.

  Good heavens! With him looking at her like that, it was only a matter of time before she foolishly threw herself at him again. Unless she wasn’t there. So Tessie nodded a quick thank you and the rushed from her uncle’s chambers before she could do something she’d regret the rest of her days.