Letting Mama slip into place to cradle Beau’s head, Annabelle lifted the blood-stained skirt of her night rail and ran as fast as she could out of the room and down the dark corridor to the far end of the hall. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. She opened the door to the servants’ staircase and scrambled up the lightless staircase as fast as she could to Mary’s bedchamber. Mary was her governess and the only servant Mama allowed to help them on nights like this. The bedchamber was the first one on the right on the fourth floor, and Annabelle slipped into the room without knocking, silently making her way through the terrifying darkness to the governess’s side. She gently shook her.
“Mary, wake up,” she said in a desperate whisper.
Mary’s warm brown eyes flew open. “Oh, Annabelle, dear. It’s you.” Worry creased the servant’s brow. Mary already knew why she’d come.
“Mama needs a hot cloth for Beau,” Annabelle breathed.
Mary had already tossed back the covers and stood. She lit a candle and pulled on her dressing gown. “I’ll go down to the kitchens and fetch it,” she said in a calm, soothing voice. “I’ll meet you in your mother’s bedchamber.”
Annabelle nodded. They’d had this conversation many times before. She didn’t have to explain. Annabelle turned and rushed back out the door and down the staircase.
By the time Annabelle arrived at Beau’s side again, her brother’s ice-blue eyes were open, and his jaw was a hideous shade of purple, blue, and black. Mama had wiped up the blood as best she could with her own night rail. She cradled Beau’s head in her lap, gently talking to him, and stroking his hair.
“Beau,” Annabelle breathed, searching her brother’s injured face. “Are you all right?” She laid a hand on her brother’s cheek.
Beau nodded and winced, before lifting his gaze toward his mother. “Mama, are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Tears fell from Mama’s eyes. “Shh, my darling. I’m fine,” Mama said to Beau. “You mustn’t move.”
“I’m almost big enough,” Beau replied, his jaw clenched. “I’ll be big enough soon to fight him.”
“Shh, Beau. Just rest,” Mama said, still stroking his hair.
A few minutes later, Mary came hurrying into the room with some cloths and a small basin of hot water. Without saying a word, she knelt next to Beau, dipped one of the cloths in the water, wrung it out, and applied it to his cheek. Mama and Mary exchanged a fraught glance before Mama’s eyes filled with tears again and she nodded to Mary. Mama took over pressing the hot rag to Beau’s cheek while Mary wrung out another cloth and began wiping the blood off Beau’s face and neck.
After that was complete, Mary wrapped another one of the clean cloths around Beau’s head to keep the rag in place against his injured jaw.
“I don’t think his jaw is broken,” Mama whispered as she helped Beau to his feet. “If it was, I doubt he’d be able to speak.”
“This time,” Mary said standing also. “Will you send for the doctor, my lady? To be certain it’s not more serious than you think?”
Mama shook with fear. “You know I cannot do that, Mary. He’ll make it worse next time.” Mama bent her head, and Annabelle felt the shame and fear emanating from her.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Mary replied, her voice filled with resignation and sadness. She made her way toward the door with the wet, red rags and the bowl. Without looking back, she said, “I’ll bring fresh night rails for you and Lady Annabelle, my lady. And I’ll be back to fetch the others to wash.”
“Thank you.” Mama’s voice was hollow.
Pressing the hot rag to his jaw, Beau limped away to his bedchamber. Annabelle stayed with her mother until Mary returned. Annabelle hurriedly tossed her blood-soaked night rail over her head and put on the fresh new one that Mary had given her. Mama went into her dressing room to do the same.
“I’ll see to Lord Beaumont,” Mary said, pausing again at the door on her way out. “I’ll ensure his clothing is washed also.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Mama said again, before turning toward Annabelle.
“Annabelle, darling, do you want to sleep in my bed?” Mama asked after the servant had left.
“Yes, Mama,” Annabelle replied, nodding. This was their ritual. Annabelle liked to stay with her mother on nights like this, so she could see that Mama remained safe. She wasn’t being brave. Father had gone down to his study and would drink himself into a stupor, waking up halfway through the day tomorrow, gruff, and unapologetic. He always did.
Mama flung back the covers on the opposite side of her bed. Annabelle climbed up, then crawled over the mattress to snuggle at her mother’s side. Mama pulled the covers over them both and hugged her close to her warm body. Mama always smelled like rosewater. Annabelle breathed in the familiar scent and let out her pent-up breath. At least it would be weeks before she would have to be this worried again.
They sat in silence for several moments before Annabelle worked up the courage to ask the question she’d always wanted to ask on nights like this. “Why does Father get so angry?”
Mama smoothed her hand over Annabelle’s hair and hugged her closer. “Oh, darling. It’s because he drinks. If only your father wouldn’t drink.”
“Did you ask him to stop, Mama?” Annabelle ventured next.
Mama’s voice was resigned. “Many, many times, darling.”
Annabelle frowned. “Why won’t he stop, Mama?”
Mama rested her chin atop Annabelle’s head and sighed. “I don’t think he can, darling. I don’t think he can.”
“But why is he allowed to hit you, Mama?”
Annabelle felt the tiny pats atop her head as her mother’s tears dripped onto her hair. “Because he owns me. I am his wife.”
Chapter One
London, April 1815
David Ellsworth had been the Earl of Elmwood for a handful of months, and he was already doing a splendid job of making a fool of himself. In the span of the last hour at the Harrisons’ dinner party, he’d already tried to serve himself from the soup tureen one of the footmen had been carrying around the gigantic table; he’d incorrectly addressed Lord Mayfeather’s daughter, who apparently was a Miss and not a Lady; and he’d obviously taken up an inappropriate subject with Lady Cranberry, who looked at him aghast when he began recounting a story about his time fighting in the Army on the Continent. Apparently, the content was too graphic for her ears.
As a result, David had excused himself from the table and quickly made his way down the corridor in search of a place to hide…and to have a cigar. He hurried past a variety of doors and out onto the verandah behind the house. It was freezing outside, but he enjoyed the sharp air after being in the overly crowded dining room for the past two hours. He pulled a cigar from his inner coat pocket and lit it using the candle that flickered atop a table near the door. This was one of the last cigars he had left. They had been a gift from a Spanish officer on the Continent. He had every intention of savoring it.
David’s younger sister, Marianne, had asked him to give up smoking cigars, and he would. But not tonight. Tonight, he sucked in the familiar smoke and closed his eyes, trying to forget all the foolish things he’d done in the dining room.