Perhaps the cold dousing had actually helped to clear his mind.
Just then she saw her aunt hurrying toward them, along with the signor.
“Good God, whatever happened?” Beatrix exclaimed in alarm upon seeing Eleanor's sopping wet gown and bedraggled bonnet.
When Eleanor repeated her explanation, Signor Vecchi grew visibly angry, but evidently not at her.
“We are grateful, Donna Eleanora,” the diplomat said with a bow. “Your quick thinking very likely saved Don Antonio from drowning.”
“It was no matter, signor, but I hope you will believe me now when I say that someone wishes him harm.”
A worried frown darkened the prince's brow. “What do you mean,
Eleanor would have reminded him about the dart that had struck his neck, but his elder cousin intervened. “Your highness, you have suffered a severe shock. We should take you home at once.”
“Signor Vecchi,” she protested, “it might be unwise to move Prince Lazzara just yet, since he still appears to be disoriented. And I think we should summon Mr. Geary to examine him and make certain he has suffered no ill effects-”
“He looks well enough to me, considering,” the diplomat observed impatiently. “And he is likely to catch an ague if he remains here in his sodden clothing. Forgive me, Donna Eleanora, but I feel I must act to preserve his health. Come, your highness.”
Apparently accustomed to obliging his countryman, the prince stood with the help of a footman and swayed dizzily before regaining his balance.
“This is becoming extremely vexing,” he muttered, allowing himself to be led away.
Her Aunt Beatrix was of a similar mind as Signor Vecchi. “Eleanor, we must get you home and out of your wet clothing. And of course you must have a hot bath to warm you and”-she wrinkled her nose in distaste-”to remove that foul odor of the river.”
Suddenly realizing that she was shivering in the September breeze, Eleanor decided not to protest further and accepted the quilt offered by one of the footmen. But she was not ready to leave just yet.
“Give me one moment, please, Aunt.” She at least wanted Geary to examine the dart, if she could find it.
Wrapping the quilt around her shoulders, Eleanor quickly moved along the path to the spot beneath the willows where the prince had stood just before the accident. Searching the ground, she found the small dart half covered by leaves. It was clear proof that she hadn't imagined seeing him shot.
Upon returning to her aunt, she tucked the dart into her reticule, then allowed Beatrix to usher her into the Beldon carriage and whisk her home while the servants remained behind to clear the remnants of the picnic. But during the journey, Eleanor debated silently with herself about the best course to take regarding the prince's latest misadventure.
She wasn't certain where Mr. Geary lived, or if he would be working at his hospital, but she knew Damon could tell her. And although there was no love lost between the English and Italian noblemen, she trusted Damon to act honorably if the prince was in real danger.
Therefore, as soon as she reached the privacy of her own bedchamber and shed her wet gown in favor of a warm velvet wrapper, Eleanor wrote to Damon while waiting for her bathwater to be heated, asking him to call on her as soon as possible, and requested the Beldon butler to have her missive delivered without delay.
When the copper tub was filled, Eleanor washed her hair and scrubbed off all traces of the river. Then she sent her maid, Jenny, away and enjoyed a long soak.
She was drying her hair before the fire in her bedchamber when Jenny returned with word that Lord Wrexham was awaiting her in the blue salon.
Eleanor quickly dressed in a kerseymere afternoon gown. Then taking the dart with her, she went downstairs to the salon to find Damon standing at the window, frowning pensively. His eyebrows lifted, however, when she carefully shut the door behind her so they could be private.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” she began, but he brushed off her apology.
“Geary told me about the prince's punch being drugged last evening, and now you say that he has suffered another misfortune?”
“Yes, only this time I am certain it was no accident.”
Crossing to Damon, she told him about the ex cursion to Kew Gardens and showed him the dart, recounting how it had struck the prince and likely caused him to faint and fall in the river, which resulted in her having to rescue him.
Eleanor was not surprised to see a scowl darken Damon's face at her account. What did surprise her, however, was that he barely glanced at the dart she held in her palm.
“What the devil do you mean,” he demanded even before she concluded, “jumping in the Thames? Do you have any idea what treacherous undercurrents lurk in that river?”
Eleanor was taken aback by Damon's vehemence. “There was no help for it. I could not just let the prince drown.”
“You could have drowned yourself!”
She felt her spine stiffen defensively. Yet not wishing to argue with him, she took a calming breath. “I did not ask you here so you could scold me, Damon. Rather, I hoped you would solicit Mr. Geary's opinion about this.” She held out the dart for him to look at more closely.
Damon's ire seemed to cool a measure as he took it from her and examined it. “This could be a curare arrow…” he said after a moment.
“What is that?” Eleanor asked.
“A hunting weapon used by certain Indian tribes in the southern Americas. The arrow's tip is coated with poison, then blown from a hollow stalk of bamboo.”
Her eyes widened. “How in heaven's name do you know about poison arrows from the Americas?”
Damon smiled faintly. “I am interested in medical science. Sir Walter Raleigh described curare in his book on Guiana. And Sir Benjamin Brody experimented with the effect of curare on animals here in England several years ago.”
“Is the poison fatal?”
“It can be. Chiefly, it paralyzes its target and prevents the ability to breathe. But Sir Benjamin proved that if the victim can be kept breathing by artificial means, it will recover and show no ill effects later.”
Eleanor frowned as she tried to recall exactly how the prince had behaved after being struck. “This arrow caused him to faint,” she said slowly, “but he seemed to be recovering.”
“Perhaps curare was not used, or if so, the dose was so small, the result would not have been fatal.”
“Do you think Mr. Geary can determine if the tip contains poison?”
“He could possibly analyze the chemical composition, although that's unlikely to garner any conclusive results.”
“If poison
Damon's pensiveness returned. “Or Lazzara wants us to think so. Before this, I wondered if he might be causing these accidents himself.”
Eleanor stared at him. “Whyever would he do such a thing?”
“To garner your sympathy. Perhaps he thinks you will find him more appealing if you must constantly fret over him.”
“He wants me to think him a weakling?” If so, it was an absurd theory, Eleanor decided. She liked strong, capable men, not frail, impotent ones.
“Or perhaps,” Damon added, “someone else merely wants to make the prince look weak in your eyes.”
“That explanation seems more plausible to me,” she said thoughtfully as she glanced down at the arrow in his hand. “And for the prince's sake, we must assume he is an innocent victim. In fact, I think he must be warned. I had no time to discuss my suspicions with him, either last evening or today. And Signor Vecchi was clearly not interested in hearing them.”
She returned her gaze to Damon. “Will you help me, Damon? We must stop these attacks and determine who is behind them. The next time could end his life.”
