Dermott had hardly eaten anything since the duel, and the amount of liquid he'd drunk was so limited, the doctor was becoming fearful of dehydration. The earl's weight was dropping precipitously. In order to keep him from wasting away, the doctor ordered he be fed at least a few spoonfuls of broth every half hour. But the procedure was laborious and not always successful. Despite Dermott's weakened condition, he was still a strong man, and even sedated, occasionally he'd strike out at the annoyance and the soup and spoon would go flying.
One afternoon, in a rare moment of rest, Shelby and the doctor stood on the terrace, breathing in the fresh sea air.
'He's better-don't you think?' Shelby had been diligent in his duties, scarcely leaving the earl's side since the duel.
'He's not worse.' The doctor was cautious, particularly with such severe wounds.
'Not worse is good news in itself.'
McTavert nodded. 'It's an indication of the earl's general good health. He's been able to fight off the infection I feared. At least, so far.'
'It could still appear?'
'It could, but it's not as likely after this much time. I'm more concerned that his wounds won't heal if he continues to be so unsettled.'
'I'll take care of that,' a soft voice affirmed.
The men turned to find the dowager Countess of Bathurst standing in the doorway. 'I've already been to see Dermott. He's much too thin, of course, but he seemed to know my voice, and I was able to quiet him.'
'How did you know we were here?' Shelby was astonished. The earl had particularly wished his mother to be spared any anxiety.
'I believe you mentioned the seashore in your note, Shelby, and there is only one seashore for Dermott. He's always loved this place. I came as soon as I received your note and could get my maid to pack.' She smiled. 'Betty is not easily persuaded to travel.'
'Countess, may I introduce Dr. McTavert.' With a small gesture Shelby indicated the doctor. 'He saved Lord Bathurst's life.'
'Pleased to meet you, ma'am. Although I've been cautioning Shelby about being too optimistic. Not that your son is in any immediate danger,' he quickly added.
'But we must get some food into him,' the countess asserted, her mind crystal clear when it came to her son. 'If someone would bring me a cup of tea and make up some barley soup for Dermott, I'll go to sit with him.'
'I'll see that a room is prepared for you,' Shelby said.
'Betty is already unpacking in my usual room, Shelby. And if someone would see that she has a wee bit of brandy, she will prove much more amenable. She likes it with warm water,' the countess added with a sweet smile. 'Come, Doctor. I wish for an expert opinion on my son. And I warn you, I listen only to good news.'
While the doctor was explaining the nature of Dermott's gunshot wounds, Isabella was aiming a small pistol at a target Joe had set up in the orchard. They'd been practicing for several days now, and as a pupil, she was showing great promise.
'Sometimes I wonder why I let you talk me into this exercise.' Isabella squinted down the barrel of the firearm.
'Because we saw those strange men loitering in the village and again, not half a day later, near your stables. And they weren't lookin' for work, even if they pretended they were.' And you needed to get out of your room, he thought, and stop crying. 'Squeeze that trigger nice and slow now.'
Isabella exerted deliberate pressure on the trigger, held her breath, and fired.
'Right through the head!' Joe gleefully exclaimed. 'You have talent, damned if you don't.'
Joe had drawn a human form on the target, against Isabella's better judgment. Which is why they were well away from the house. She found it mildly disconcerting to be learning to shoot another human being.
'Thanks to your teaching, Joe.' But she was smiling, pleased she was capable of learning to shoot straight. There was a certain satisfaction in taking charge of one's safety, and she had Joe to thank for her increasing expertise. 'Now, if only I could learn to reload faster.'
'That just takes practice, Miss Isabella. But an eye, now, that's another thing. Some people have it and some don't, and your aim is tops.'
'So you think I might actually have to shoot one of my uncle's henchmen?' Still not completely reconciled to the possibility, she carefully took aim with the second round in the chamber.
'I'd say you'd better be prepared. I hope I'm here to guard you, but you never can tell. They know Mike and me are here, and any attackers are bound to try to deal with us first.'
'If I don't want to spend the rest of my life hidden in my room, waiting for a possible attack, I suppose I'd better learn to protect myself.'
'Now you're talkin', Miss Isabella. I'm glad you're comin' around.'
His arguments had fallen on deaf ears at first, Isabella refusing to believe her life was still in danger. But Bathurst was gone, Joe had reminded her, and with him the only real threat her relatives respected. And the two strangers with their dubious story had finally convinced her. They hadn't had the look of day laborers or farmhands.
A small explosion of gunpowder left a puff of smoke in the air, and her second ball took out the target's eye.
'Remind me to keep on your good side,' Joe teased.
'And now I have to reload,' Isabella grumbled, the procedure lengthy.
'I'll do it for you this time.' Joe took her weapon from her and bent to the task.
Dropping onto the grass, Isabella leaned back on her arms and gazed up at the sun-filled sky. 'It seems so peaceful out here, it's hard to fathom my uncles' malevolence.'
Joe looked up from his task. 'It's just about money, miss. You have it and they want it.'
'It's hard for me to fathom such greed when they have enormous wealth of their own.'
'People like them don't never have enough. I'd suggest you think of their fat, evil faces when you're aiming-'
She quickly shook her head. 'I couldn't, Joe. Not ever… even this target is disturbing for me, though I understand your reasoning. But I don't want to think of them at all if I can help it.' She briefly shut her eyes, as though she could erase the memory of her relatives with so simple a gesture. 'Let's not talk about anything distressing,' she suggested. 'Especially on such a lovely day.'
It warmed Joe's heart to see her able to enjoy the fine weather, when she'd been so wretched their first week at Tavora House. Part of the reason he'd suggested teaching her to shoot was to deliver her from the prison of her room. She'd not stepped outside her apartments the first week in the country; she'd barely eaten, and whenever he'd spoken to her concerning some matter of guarding the estate, her eyes had been red from crying. He'd almost welcomed the Leslie spies, for it gave him the opportunity to lure her outside and attempt to distract her from her melancholy. The lessons had served to focus on something other than her loss of Dermott. And her constant fear that he was dead.
As an added advantage, the shooting practice gave Joe another opportunity to be near her.
That night after Joe and his brother had patrolled the grounds before trading shifts outside Isabella's door, the two men stood in the kitchen garden and smoked their evening cigars.
'It wouldn't do for you to fall in love with our employer.' Mike's tone was mild. 'Just a cautionary word.'
Joe didn't immediately answer.
'I see how you look at her.'
Joe blew out a cloud of smoke. 'It doesn't hurt to look.'
'It will eventually. You can't have her.'
Joe half smiled at his younger brother. 'Allow me my pleasures.'
'She's very trusting.'
'She's been protected all her life. And I intend to see that she continues to be. Fat Leslie isn't going to have her.'
Mike chuckled. 'At least she'd have a wide target if he shows up.'
