Marriage Made In Shame(10)

Her uncle had reached them now, too, and he grasped her arm in a tight hold.

‘I saw what happened. Are you hurt?’

‘No, I th-think I am f-fine.’ Alec Ashfield’s attention shifted to Gabriel Hughes.

‘Lord Wesley.’ Frosty and cold. ‘Thank you for your help, but I can manage things from here.’

‘Of course, Lord Penbury.’

The chill in the earl’s voice was noticeable as he stepped back, leading his horse away as the gathering crowd allowed him a passage out.

She wanted to cry. She did. She wanted to run after Gabriel Hughes and hold on to his safety and protection. She wanted him to tell her that everything was all right in that particular dry humour of his that made her feel...special.

Lord Berrick took the place vacated by Gabriel Hughes. ‘I would have managed your horse, Miss Ashfield, but Wesley had already jumped into the fray. I did not realise that you were so inexperienced or I would never have suggested such an outing and now I am afraid your dress is ruined and your hat is quite flattened. At least your spectacles are not broken and that is something we can be well thankful for...’

Even her uncle watched Lovelace with a sort of disbelief as he babbled on, stopping only as Bertram hurried across.

‘My God, Wesley is a hero,’ he exclaimed, admiration apparent in every word. ‘If he had not dragged your mount to stillness the way he did, Addie, you would have been thrown from its back, and with an animal that size it’s a long way down.’

‘Quite.’ Her uncle’s voice was as tight as the expression on Lovelace’s face.

‘I hope someone thanked him?’ Bertram continued on, seemingly unaware of the atmosphere. ‘For his shoulder muscles will be sore from the tugging, there is no doubt of that.’

Adelaide smiled. Her cousin was such a dear sometimes despite his gambling and drinking.

‘Perhaps we were not quite as effusive as we might have been,’ her uncle said quietly. ‘I will send a note to Wesley when we get home.’

Home.

The whole episode had left Adelaide exhausted and she was glad when her uncle and cousin took charge of the horses and they headed the short distance towards the town house on Grosvenor Square.

* * *

Once she had bathed and dressed and her stomach had settled Adelaide took her large leather bag from the wardrobe and opened the flap.

She seldom went anywhere without all her oils and salves and tinctures. They grounded her and relaxed her in a way nothing else did, and she liked the weight of the mortar and pestle in her hand.

A healing salve was an easy thing to make. Gathering up an amber bottle of herbs infused in oil, she poured out a generous amount. Arnica for bruising and calendula for the abrasions. The smell of comfrey and duckweed made her breathe in, their properties of knitting the skin together and soothing irritation welcomed.

As her small burner flamed she heated beeswax on a very low temperature and added that to her mix. Lavender was placed in last, the smell pungent and masculine.

Choosing a little container of bright-green glass, she poured the salve into it and did the lid up. Around the side Adelaide twisted a thick tie of string and added a stalk of lavender.

Finished.

Taking a sheet of paper from her armoire, she wrapped it, placing a note inside. She had no idea as to where the earl lived, but, calling in her uncle’s butler, instructed him with the task of seeing that the parcel reached Lord Gabriel Wesley as quickly as it was able.

* * *

The package arrived after a late supper, brought by a minion of the Penbury household who was under strict instructions to place the offering directly into his hands.

‘Miss Ashfield says it will spoil otherwise. She said it would need to be used across the next few days to be at its most potent, my lord.’

‘Very well.’ Gabriel waited till the servant was gone and shut the door behind him. A strong smell of lavender came from the parcel.

Crossing to his desk, he opened the gift and pulled out a small green jar that had been tightly shut, a sprig of the same flower wrapped into the side. A note fluttered from the bottom of the glass, held on by a dob of red wax.

Lord Wesley,

Thank you for your help today in the park. As you were quick to point out I should probably be suffering from bad bruising if you had not saved me.

But it has come to my attention that the same might not be said for you. I sincerely hope that the abrasions on your hand have not been worsened by such a kindness.

This is a healing salve. Place it across your damaged skin once at night and then again in the morning. It would work well on any tender muscles as well. I am sure you will notice the difference.

Yours sincerely

Miss Adelaide Ashfield

Gabriel could not help but smile. His knuckles were barely wounded compared to all the other hurts he had suffered. But she had thought of him and acted upon it; a gesture that was appreciated and unexpected.

Scooping out some of the ointment, he was surprised to feel the coolness of it on his skin. Beneath the scent of lavender other smells lingered, but he did not have the expertise to identify them. Comfrey, he thought. He had smelt that after the fire in some of the salves applied to his leg and would never forget it. He wondered if the mixture would ease the tightness of the scarring on his thighs as well and decided to try it when he went to bed.

He had never really had a gift before, delivered to him and wrapped in flowers and scent. Oh, he had given small trinkets to paramours across the years, but he had not received gifts back and his own family had seldom bothered with Christmas and birthdays.

Too busy trying to simply survive with a father who was often angry. When Geoffrey Hughes had been killed in a tavern brawl in London those left had breathed a sigh of relief.

Thirteen had been an impressionable age to lose a parent and whilst he had become difficult, his sister had changed into a wild thing almost overnight.

No wonder his mother had barely coped before slipping into a melancholy that hadn’t left her.

The wreck of his family had been allayed a few years later by the warm arms of willing lovers and there had been a long line pleased to allow him succour. But no longer.

Bringing his hand to his nose, Gabriel inhaled deeply; the smell of goodness and healing and Adelaide Ashfield was comforting. He wished she had come herself to deliver the gifts.





Chapter Six

After her fright in the park Uncle Alec and Lady Harcourt did not press her into any social engagements the next morning. Indeed, they left the day up to her discretion entirely and when Adelaide expressed an interest in visiting Lackington, Allen and Co. at their Temple of the Muses shop in Finsbury Square, her uncle readied a carriage to take her.

Today accompanied only by her maid Adelaide felt freer than she had done in weeks. The muscles at the top of her arms hurt a little from her tussle with the horse yesterday, but all in all the trade-off was a good one.

With the sky blue above and the air fresh around her she stopped in front of the facade of the shop and looked up. A flag waved on top of a large dome and in the distance she could hear the sound of bells.

Aunt Jean and Aunt Eloise had often spoken of this place in hushed tones. They had told stories of the number of books for sale here and of the generosity of Lackington’s prices. Adelaide could not wait to see it for herself.

Inside was as prepossessing as it had been without, the rows of books arranged in cyclical order all the way into the ceiling and a good many men and women were browsing what was on offer.

After asking the man at the desk where to find a book on English plant life, she was directed to a less busy part of the building with rows of promising-looking tomes before her.

Milly was delighted when Adelaide assured her it would be most proper for her maid to go on her own search of things to read. She had taught the girl her letters at Northbridge and knew she would enjoy the chance to find her particular favourites.

* * *

Forty minutes later and with a large pile of books in her arms Adelaide went searching for somewhere to sit. Turning a corner promising quiet, she came upon the Earl of Wesley reading at one of the private tables.

He did not look at all pleased to see her, a heavy frown marring his forehead, though it did nothing to diminish his beauty.

‘Miss Ashfield.’

His reading material seemed to consist mainly of shipping routes and maps, but she did notice a few volumes that looked surprisingly like the botanicals she herself had chosen.

Almost furtively he laid a paper down on top of them. She wondered what he could be doing with a tome of medical botany by William Woodville outlining diseases of the body and the newest possible cures.

‘I did not expect to see you here, my lord.’ Her glance dropped to the skin on his knuckles. The wounds appeared to be considerably better than yesterday.

‘Because you imagined the gambling halls to be more to my taste?’ He had regained his humour quickly, but today there was also another emotion that she had not seen there before.

Wariness. It sat upon his face, ambushing the more normal indifference.

‘I hope the salve I sent you was of some use.’

As he glanced down at his hand he spoke slowly. ‘It was. The bruising is almost gone.’

‘That will be the arnica, I expect, and the dash of vinegar. Keep applying the ointment for two more days each morning and night. It is at its most effective fresh, but should keep for at least a few months if you make certain the lid is tight and that it is stored out of the direct sunlight.’