the heart to have him change back into his old clothes. Douglas had told Willicombe to have a half dozen suits made up for him.
Tied securely to the roof of the carriage was a keg of old Janie’s sweet milk, a lovely gift from Mrs. Osbourne.
James slept most of the way, propped up between his father and Corrie, Jason on the seat opposite them, ready to catch James if he fell forward.
Douglas had wanted Corrie to tell them exactly what had happened, but he’d no sooner told her he’d informed her aunt and uncle that she was safe, than she gave him a sleepy smile and her head fell against James’s shoulder. He looked to see that Jason was staring fixedly at his brother and the young woman sleeping so naturally against him.
Douglas wondered if James had yet realized the consequences of this mad adventure.
AUNT MAYBELLA AND Uncle Simon were seated in the drawing room with the twins’ mama, all three of them drinking tea and worrying endlessly until Douglas and Jason helped James into the drawing room.
There was a good deal of pandemonium until James, deposited on the long sofa by his father and brother, two blankets tucked lovingly around him, said to Maybella and Simon, “I was so careful to keep Corrie covered as best I could because I was terrified she would become ill-and look what happened. I was the one. As Augie would say-tar and damnation.”
And Corrie, on her knees beside the sofa, said without hesitation, “I wish it had been me, James. I’ve never been more scared in my life than that second night.” She said to the room at large, “He was burning with fever, thrashing about so I couldn’t keep the blankets on him. Then he fell on his back so still I was certain he was dead.”
“I’m too mean to die,” he said.
“Yes, you are, and I’m very happy about that, although stubborn is more the truth of it.” She looked up then and said, “But he drank down all the water and lemonade I put to his mouth. And then buckets of tea.”
James took a sip of tea, laid his head back against the soft pillows his mother had placed beneath his head, and said, “You should have seen Corrie riding that horse through the cottage door, a pitchfork held like a lance under her arm. She was, naturally, wearing a white ball gown.” He began to laugh. “Good Lord, Corrie, it’s something I’ll never forget as long as I live.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Alexandra couldn’t help herself fluttering around her son, her relief was so great.
“Corrie sporting a lance?” Uncle Simon said, and turned to his niece. “Dearest, I remember when you were a little girl and going through your knight-in-Medieval-England phase. James taught you how to hold a long pole without impaling yourself. I remember he stood there laughing when you held that pole and ran full tilt toward a chicken. But you actually did it this time on horseback?”
“I’d forgotten that,” James said. “You missed the chicken, Corrie.”
“She was fast,” Corrie said, “really fast and then she had the nerve to run behind a tree.”
James said, “And you rammed the pole against the tree and the impact sent you flying back on your bu-well, on, you sat down, really hard.”
He cleared his throat even as his mother said, “James tries to be careful in his bodily descriptions. He knows it’s appreciated by his mother.”
“Ha,” Jason said.
James said, “Well, Corrie wasn’t running with a pole this time, sir, she was on horseback, a bridle, no saddle, a pitchfork under her arm, and she did it wearing her evening gown.”
“She ran at a tree?” Aunt Maybella asked.
It took another hour before everyone had digested the entire tale. Douglas saw that his son was exhausted. He rose. “The man who paid the three villains said he was Douglas Sherbrooke. This gives me great pause. I don’t suppose that this man, Augie, used my name to taunt you, James?”
James shook his head, very nearly asleep. “He’d never heard of you, sir. He wasn’t making it up.”
“You’re ready to fall off the sofa, James,” Alexandra said, lightly stroking her fingertips over his face. “Ah, look. Your hair is all shiny and clean.”
“Corrie washed me, hair included, this morning.”
“Oh,” said Aunt Maybella and shot a glance at Simon, who wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at the oak trees, their leaves beginning to sport their fall plumage. She heard him say under his breath, “That gold is very nice indeed. I have browns and wheats, but no gold that specific shade. I must get it for my collection.”
He was out of the drawing room before Corrie could blink. She smiled after him. She saw several governesses with their charges in the park, and knew that they would be admiring her uncle, never realizing that he had no interest in them at all, just in those gold oak leaves.
Maybella was tapping her toe and staring at the lovely ceiling molding. Douglas said, “Er, let me get Petrie, who’s doubtless waiting in the entrance hall with Willicombe and all the rest of the staff in this house, ready to fight over who gets to carry you on his back to your bedchamber.”
But it was Douglas and Jason who helped James up to his bedchamber, Petrie and Willicombe hovering three steps behind them, ready if needed, Freddie three steps behind them, arms out, ready. James smiled up at his father and brother. “Thank you for coming to fetch us.”
He fell asleep, hearing Petrie bragging how he could shave his lordship and not wake him up in the process.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WHEN JAMES AWOKE, it was nearly midnight, his bedchamber dark, embers burning low in the fireplace, and he was as warm as a lovely pudding just taken out of the oven. He realized he needed to relieve himself and managed to get himself out of bed and locate the chamber pot. He was damnably weak and it infuriated him. He’d no sooner gotten himself back into bed when he realized he was starving. He focused on the bellpull then drew back his hand. It was very late. He lay back, listening to his stomach growl, wondering if he could manage to walk to the kitchen. Forget the food, then. At least he was at home and in his own bed. He wasn’t going to starve, and best of all, he was alive.
Not three minutes later, the door to his bedchamber quietly opened.
His mother came into the room, wearing a lovely moss green dressing gown, carrying a small tray in her arms. James simply couldn’t believe it. “Have I died and gone to heaven? How did you-”
Alexandra set the tray down on the bedside table and said as she helped him sit up, “Petrie was sleeping in the dressing room, the door open. I had told him he was to awaken me the moment he heard you stirring. He did. Now, I have some delicious chicken broth for you and some warm bread with butter and honey. What do you think about that?”
“I would marry you if you weren’t my mother.”
Alexandra laughed and lit a branch of candles.
James said as he watched her, “I remember when I was a little boy, sick from something, I don’t remember what it was, but you were always there. I woke up in the middle of the night and there you were standing beside me, holding a candle, and your hair looked like spun flame in that light. I thought you were an angel.”
“I am,” Alexandra said, laughed, and kissed him. She studied him a moment. “You’re looking brighter, your eyes more focused. Now, I’m going to stuff you.”
She pulled up a chair and sat watching her son while he ate every scrap on the tray. When he was finished, he sighed and leaned his head back against the pillows. He said, his eyes still closed, “When I awoke, my first thought was, where is Corrie?”
Alexandra made a low humming noise.
“She saved my life, Mother. I honestly don’t think my chances of escaping those three men were all that good.”
“She’s always been a resourceful girl,” said Alexandra. “And always completely loyal to you.”
“I never really appreciated that until this happened. Can you believe she saw me taken and jumped right up
