Page 63 of Dare it all for Love

“Sorry, love,” he murmured, a hand stroking her hair gently. “Come now, none of that. Wait, where is Foster now?”

“It’s all right, Mr Oak is going to….” she began, and then her breath caught as she saw Susan Cooper standing in the doorway, holding a pistol. It was aimed at Joe Foster who was holding a wadded towel to his shoulder and staring at her, wide-eyed.

“You ought to have killed him, my lady,” Susan said to Florence’s mother, tears tracking down her cheeks. One eye was swelling, already almost swollen shut. Foster had beaten her, the vile brute.

“Perhaps,” Mama said. She was still training a pistol on the man too. “But he will be punished for his crimes. I do not wish for a man’s death on my conscience, and the burden of his death ought not rest with you.”

“He tricked me, miss,” the girl said, staring at Florence. She did not appear to have heard anything Florence’s mother had said to her. “I only wanted Mr Stanhope to understand how his family had treated us, how much damage they’d caused, but I never meant to hurt him, nor no one else. Especially not you, miss. Truly. I only tied you up to keep you safe. I was afraid you’d interfere.”

“And so I have,” Florence said, trying to find a smile for the girl. “But it’s all right, Susan. Put the gun down and—”

Foster lunged, grabbing Susan’s ankle and pulling. She fell with a scream but still pointed the gun at Foster, who lurched sideways, out of the way. He must have seen her determination to finish him, seen the fear and anger in her eyes as she pulled the trigger.

Suddenly everyone was screaming, screaming Florence’s name as Henry slammed her to the floor, covering her body with his own.

Florence stared up, into Henry’s warm brown eyes. Her ears were ringing, and she couldn’t breathe, though she wasn’t yet sure if that was terror or the fact Henry was squashing the life out of her, his considerable weight pressing down on her. She was dimly conscious of commotion behind them, of someone hitting Foster and the man dropping like a stone, but all she could see was Henry.

“Florence, Florence, are you hurt?” he demanded, his hands moving over her in a way that made her blush, considering her mother was present, not to mention half a dozen other people, and was that her father’s voice?

She shook her head, blinking at Henry, still a little dazed, until she saw the blood.

“Henry!” she whispered. “Henry! Henry, you’re bleeding! Oh, help!”

Henry groaned and rolled off her to lay flat on his back. “Damnation, I need a rest.”

“Florence!” Suddenly her father was kneeling beside her, his large hands cupping her face before he pulled her to him for a hug, holding her tightly. “Oh, my darling girl. I thought… I thought I’d lost you for a moment there.”

“I’m fine, Papa, I’m fine, b-but Henry, he’s hurt…” Florence sobbed, pushing her father’s hands away and struggling to get to Henry.

Her father held her back whilst he inspected Henry himself, he turned to smile at her. “Just a flesh wound, love. He’ll be fine.”

Florence gave a strangled sob and Henry held out a hand to her. “Your father is right, Florence. I’m fine, love. Though I’d appreciate a few hours without someone trying to murder me. Ah, don’t take on so. You’re safe now.”

“You c-could have been k-killed,” she stammered through a storm of tears she did not seem able to check.

“She’s right,” her father said, staring at Henry intently. “You saved her life, you know. If you hadn’t pushed her down....”

Florence stared at her father, hearing his voice quaver. He was white with shock. He rubbed his face with his hand and let out an uneven breath.

“Henry loves me, Papa,” Florence said, meeting his eyes.

Her father stared at her and gave a soft huff of laughter. “Well, I suppose I can’t ask much more proof of devotion from a husband than that he lay down his life for you, can I, love?”

“God Almighty, I hope not,” Henry muttered. “Someone get me a drink.”

Chapter 17

Bainbridge,

I need your help. I’m worried about Raphe. If he keeps up as he is, he’ll be dead before the year is out. I want to get him to here at Rowsley, where I can keep an eye on him. Give me a hand, old man. I’ll never get the devil on the train without someone to help me strongarm him.

I’m leaving for London Friday morning. I’ll hope to see you at the station.

―Excerpt of a letter from Daire ‘Dare’ Kelburn, Viscount Roxborough to the Most Hon’ble, The Marquess of Bainbridge.

18th August 1839, Saxenhurst Hall, Sussex.

By the time the Foster had been given medical attention and been hauled off to the local magistrate, and the doctor had seen to everyone else, it was late in the afternoon. Mr Oak had made it his business to round up all of Henry’s errant staff and send them back to work, each with a flea in their ear, so the house was being brought swiftly back to rights. By the time Henry made it down the stairs to his parlour, there seemed to be an informal tea party underway. Lady Helena, Gabriel Knight, and their daughter Miss Evie, the Comte de Villen, the Earl and Countess St Clair, Montagu and Matilda, and even Pippin and Mrs Dharani were all squeezed into the front parlour. Tea, sandwiches, and a variety of cakes had been provided and everyone seemed to be speaking at once.