Chapter Nine
Lizzie opened her eyes and groaned. The nap she’d taken after the physician had examined her had only increased her headache. Since he said she could not take laudanum with a head injury, the only solace she had for the pain in her head was a lavender-soaked cloth.
“Are ye awake, Miss?” Young Bernice, a tweenie in Wycliff’s employ, studied her with concern. “Ye gave us all a scare, you did.”
“I apologize. I don’t remember too much, except the physician examining me. What happened?”
Bernice’s eyes grew wide. “Why, Miss, you was thrown from yer horse, and Lord Hawkins had to carry you back on his horse. Knocked unconscious you were.” She nodded, crossing her arms over her slim body.
Lizzie closed her eyes. The light bothered her. “Oh, yes. I remember now. I was taking a jump over a hedge and lost my seating. Strange, that. I’ve done that jump—with Magpie—dozens of times.” She opened her eyes. “Is Magpie all right?”
“I don’t know for sure, Miss, but I haven’t heard anything about the horse.”
Both their attentions were drawn to a light scratch at the bedchamber door. Bernice hurried over and opened the door. Lord Wycliff and Lord Hawkins stood there. Lizzie was immediately embarrassed to death to be lying abed, in her nightgown, with the two men staring at her.
“We won’t come in, Miss Moore, but when you are feeling up to it, we would like to speak with you,” Lord Wycliff said.
“Is Magpie all right? She wasn’t injured, was she?”
“No,” Wycliff said, moving farther into the room. “She is fine. And how are you feeling?”
“My head hurts, and my muscles are a bit sore, but otherwise I am well. Perhaps I can dress and meet you in the library, so we may speak?”
Lord Hawkins turned to Lord Wycliff. “You stated the physician suggested a couple of days of bed rest. I don’t think it a good idea for her to be up and about already.”
Wycliff rubbed his chin. “You are right.” He turned his attention back to Lizzie. “There is something of importance that must be discussed.” He considered her for a minute, then addressed Bernice. “Please help Miss Moore into her clothes and assist her to sit up in the bed. We shall return when she is ready.”
The two men left, and Bernice walked to the armoire and pulled out one of Lizzie’s day dresses. “Will this suit, Miss?”
“Yes, that is fine.”
While Bernice removed her nightclothes and helped her into her undergarments and dress, Lizzie considered Lord Wycliff’s words. There was something of importance that needed to be discussed. Whatever could that be? She’d taken a tumble, true, but certainly he wasn’t about to withdraw her riding privileges because of that?
And even if that were the case, why was Lord Hawkins with him, in a joint interview? She shook her head at the thoughts running through her mind, and immediately stopped and placed her hands on her head. No, she should not move her head too much. The pain had gone from throbbing to excruciating.
Bernice finished up, brushed her hair, put it up in some fashion without pulling too much on her scalp, and left to tell the men she was ready. Once she closed the door softly, Lizzie leaned her head back on the headboard and closed her eyes. Hopefully, this would not take too long because the light from the windows was making her head hurt more.
She had dozed off when a soft tap on the door woke her. “Come in, please.”
Only Lord Hawkins entered, along with Bernice. “Wycliff had an emergency come up on the estate, but I decided to go ahead and speak with you.” He nodded to Bernice. “Please leave the door ajar and stay in the room.”
He dragged a chair from in front of the small fireplace and set it next to her bed. Bernice moved away from the bed and sat in the corner, her hands clasped in her lap. Lizzie was grateful that Lord Hawkins had asked Bernice to stay. Even though he had no idea she was a lady, speaking alone with her in her bedchamber would ruin her.
Not that she would ever need to worry about that, certainly, but years of training reminded her of propriety.
“Miss Moore, the reason you took a spill this morning was because the girth on your saddle was cut.”
“What?!” She was certain she must have misunderstood. “My girth was cut? You mean on purpose?”
He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That appears so. It was a clean cut, made with a knife, about two-thirds of the way through the strap. Any stress on the saddle would have made the girth snap, and the rider tumble from the horse.”
Her heart sped up, and she continued to stare at him. Someone purposely tried to harm her? That didn’t make any sense. She was a mere governess.
“Why would someone do that?” She licked her suddenly dry lips, her head hurting even more with this information. “Do you know who did it?”
Hawk shook his head. “No. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to harm you?”
“Absolutely not. I am a governess. I have no problems with the staff, or anyone I’ve met in the village.” This was ridiculous, and she was having a hard time keeping her voice down.
He studied her for a minute, before leaning forward. “Have you spurned the attentions of any men?”
Lizzie took in a deep breath, trying to remain calm. She was an employee, for heaven’s sake. When would she have time to enjoy the attentions of a gentleman? “No. I am not a frivolous lady of the ton. I am a governess, with no time, or desire, to encourage men.”
“Wycliff said this was your first job as a governess. Had you other positions before? A companion, perhaps? Somewhere that troubles at that position might have followed you?”
She could easily get out of this by telling him this was her first position, ever, but that would lead to other questions she did not want to consider. “No. I have never had problems before.”
“There is always the possibility that the strap was cut accidentally.”
Lizzie studied him. “But you don’t think so.” It was not a question, but a statement. There was no doubt in her mind that Lord Hawkins suspected something. Panic welled up from her middle. If he were to learn her identity, it would be necessary to flee once again. But now, she’d have no Lady Franklin to find a spot for her. Drat his visit here. Why couldn’t he have stayed in London, where he’d led a merry life—according to the gossip sheets—and left her alone?
“No, I don’t think so. But if you cannot ascertain why someone would want to cause you harm, then there is nothing further to be done for it. We have already questioned the stable master—”
She sucked in a breath. “Oh, Mr. Lennon would never do such a thing!”
Hawkins nodded. “Based on what Wycliff has told me about the man, I agree. However, if the cutting was done on purpose, someone did do it.”
“A new employee?”
“We already asked. No one whom Wycliff suspects of nefarious purposes.”
They both grew silent, each with their own thoughts. Lizzie had no idea where Hawkins’s thoughts led him, but hers were focused on how she could escape if she was found out.
Since the Crown was never anxious to admit to traitors among the House of Lords, she’d seen nothing in the newspapers about her father since she’d left London. Buried as she was in the country, the first time she’d learned of his death was when Hawkins had casually mentioned it the other night.
“I choose to believe it was accidental, and whoever did it will not own up since it might cost them their job.” Hopefully, her determined words would dissuade his lordship from asking more questions.
She really did like this job.
…
Three days later, Lizzie joined Lords Wycliff and Hawkins at the breakfast table. It was her first day out of bed, and she was feeling better, but still weak. The swelling on her head had gone down, leaving a bruise she covered with her hair.
Lord Hawkins had not returned to question her further, and she hoped the entire incident had been relegated to an accident. That conclusion had caused Lizzie to relax and stop her plans to flee from Wycliff Estates. Not that she had any idea what to do, but at least she had money saved, if it did become necessary.
No matter how lovely her employers were, she suspected they would not want to have a traitor’s daughter in their home. Especially one teaching their children.
“Good morning, Miss Moore.” Both men stood as she entered the room. Hawkins held out a chair for her. “I hope you are feeling better?”
“Yes. I am ready to resume my duties.” She shook out her serviette and placed it on her lap. “How do the children fare, my lord?”
Lord Wycliff lowered his newspaper. “They miss you dreadfully. It took all of nurse’s persuasive skills to keep them from bounding into your room to show you the various drawings they created for you while you recovered.”
“I shall be delighted to join them this morning, and ooh and ah over all the artwork.” The thought of spending her day with the children cheered her up a great deal. She was not one to lie abed, and the restlessness had begun to get to her.
Lizzie took a sip of tea, then added eggs, bacon, a roll, and pickled herring to her plate. “This looks delicious. I am especially hungry this morning.”
“I guess all that lying about works up a young lady’s appetite.” Lord Hawkins grinned at her as Smith entered the room, holding a salver with several envelopes on it. He stopped at Lord Wycliff’s seat. “The morning mail, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Wycliff shuffled through the stack of correspondence and pulled two envelopes out. “These are for you, Hawk.”
Lord Hawkins wiped his mouth with his serviette and took the envelopes from Wycliff. “Thank you.”
Lizzie leisurely ate her breakfast while the men perused their letters. Hopefully, the children had kept up with their lessons while she was recovering. Nurse had stopped by her bedchamber yesterday to tell Lizzie how the little ones were getting on. She had assured her that all was in order, and between her and one of the other maids, they had handled everything quite well in her absence.
Her eyes roamed over to Lord Hawkins as he began to open his second letter. She really wished the man did not affect her the way he did. Even if she weren’t a disgraced runaway, he would never be the type of man to pay her any attention. If she ever began to think otherwise, all she had to do was remember they had danced together once, yet he had no memory of her at all. Gentlemen like Lord Hawkins preferred sophisticated alluring widows, opera dancers, and bored matrons for their beds, and lovely, sweet debutantes for their wives. She was neither.
Except she was the one he’d kissed in the carriage a few days ago. So maybe she was not so unmemorable after all.
As she watched him, he began to read his letter. His eyes immediately shifted to her, then he went back to reading. His lips tightened, and he inhaled deeply. He looked as though the missive had upset him a great deal. Unsure why, she began to fidget, heat rising to her face.
Suddenly anxious to leave the room, she pushed her chair back. Both men looked up. “Please stay seated,” Hawkins said.
Lord Wycliff looked from Hawkins to her with more interest than Lizzie would have liked. This was not good. What was in that letter?
Finally, he laid the vellum carefully in front of him. Lord Wycliff studied him. “What is it, Hawk?”
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded her with an icy stare. “Perhaps you would like to comment again about your horse’s cut girth, Lady Elizabeth Munro?”