Oppressed & Empowered: The Viscount's Capable Wife (Love's Second Chance Book 11) Read online

  “Thank you,” Lord Ashwood replied, his shoulders once tenser as though he had not just received good news. Instead, his gaze remained almost painfully focused, his arms linked behind his back as he held her gaze. “I appreciate all you’ve done.”

  Evelyn frowned. Did he truly mean what he said? After all, he had not wanted her to tend to his sister in the first place.

  Before Evelyn could dwell on this question further, her father’s hand brushed over her arm in a fleeting, seemingly unintentional gesture before he toppled backwards and almost crashed into the armchair he had vacated only moments before. “Father!” Evelyn exclaimed, lunging herself forward and reaching for his arms to keep him from dropping to the floor.

  Chapter Five – Careful Thought

  Although Richard could not deny that he felt relieved to hear that his sister had awakened, he could barely concentrate on anything appropriate to say as Miss Procten’s deep brown eyes seemed to tie up his tongue in the most inconvenient way. Dimly, he could hear himself stammer a thank-you as well as something else–probably unintelligible–which he could not recall the moment the words left his lips.

  This was hell! Utter and devastating–

  Her eyes narrowed, and Richard froze, wondering what that meant. Was she confused? Displeased? Angry? Had he offended her somehow? If only he could recall what he had just said!

  Then her gaze shifted from his, and he drew in a deep breath, feeling the tension leave his muscles as though her eyes had kept him trapped in the moment…and he was now free again. Himself again.

  “Father!” the word tore from her lips with such a cutting edge that Richard’s head jerked around, his gaze landing on the pale-faced doctor. In the next instant, the old man seemed to disappear from view as though he was being sucked down into quicksand.

  Miss Procten reached for his arms lightning-quick–quite obviously, her thoughts had not been clouded by that strange haze that had befallen him–and pulled her father toward her, sliding one arm under his head and then easing him to the floor. Her face was flushed, and a strand of her hair had come undone by the time she sank to her knees, her quick hands flying over her father, lifting his eyelids and pressing down on the side of his neck. Then she momentarily closed her eyes and exhaled a deep breath.

  Everything happened so fast that both he as well as Mr. Bragg had failed to react. The latter was only now joining his master’s daughter by his side on the floor. “He merely fainted.”

  Miss Procten’s lips tightened at the man’s words; her eyes narrowed. Still, she did not utter a word. Instead, she continued to gaze down at her father before rising to her feet. “Lift his legs,” she then told Mr. Bragg as she reached for the armchair her father had sat in only moments before. “We need to elevate his legs.”

  Mr. Bragg scoffed, “That seems to be your answer to everything.” He shook his head at her and did not move.

  Miss Procten’s gaze narrowed once more before she chose to ignore the man by her side. Pulling up the chair, she then positioned her father’s legs a bit awkwardly on the seat while moving the chair into the optimal position. Then she knelt back down, brushing a gentle hand over her father’s forehead.

  Within moments, he came to, blinking his eyes.

  “Are you all right, Father?”

  “I believe so,” the old doctor replied. “What happened? Why am I staring up at the ceiling?”

  “You fainted,” his daughter told him, a sharp edge to her voice that Richard could not understand. Was she angry with him? After all, he could not have made himself faint intentionally, could he?

  Dr. Procten chuckled. “I do apologise for being such an inconvenience.” Then he tried to sit up, but his daughter pushed him back down.

  “You will not rise until I tell you to; is that understood?”

  Mr. Bragg scoffed, “Who are you to tell your father what to do? He knows very well–”

  “He does not!” Miss Procten’s brown eyes seemed to have darkened as she rose and turned to glare at Mr. Bragg. “As is evidenced by his position on the floor. Now, if you wish to be of any assistance at all, you will ensure that he does not get up. Have I made myself clear?”

  Mr. Bragg seemed to be equally taken aback by her harsh words, for he merely stared at her without objecting to her orders–for that is what they were, orders! Unbelievable! Never had Richard seen men ordered about like this!

  To Richard’s great surprise and utter consternation, Miss Procten then directed her gaze at him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he watched her step around Mr. Bragg and approach him, her brown eyes softening a fraction–if he dared believe his eyes!

  “My lord, may I have a moment?”

  Richard cleared his throat, wondering what she would do if he were to refuse her. “Certainly.”

  Walking over to the window, she waited for him to follow her, her shoulders tense and her hands almost balled into fists. Clearly, she was agitated about something. Was it her father’s fainting spell? Her argument with Mr. Bragg? Or – God forbid! – him, Richard?

  “My lord, as I have mentioned before,” she began, her brown eyes settling on his in a rather frank way, “my father’s health is not what it once was. Any form of agitation–be it good or bad–can cause his blood pressure to drop.”

  She inhaled a shuddering breath, and for a second, Richard feared she might join her father on the floor. He almost reached out a hand to steady her, but then thought better of it. What would it feel like to touch her? Would it rob him of his faculties altogether?

  “My father ought never have come here,” she continued, her voice sharp as though all of this had been his fault.

  But then again it had, had it not? He had been the one to call on her father. He had been the one who had insisted her father tend to his sister. His gaze narrowed as he watched her and tried to understand the hidden meaning of her words. Did she blame him for this? Was she indeed angry with him?

  “However, he cares very deeply for your family and would not be persuaded to remain behind.”

  Apparently, she had tried and failed, Richard surmised, absentmindedly watching the small curl of her cinnamon brown hair that had come loose and now danced up and down beside her left cheek as she made her point.

  Richard blinked. What was her point? He cursed himself, gritting his teeth as he fought to listen.

  “My father needs rest,” Miss Procten said, her eyes wide as she looked up at him. “I do not wish for his health to decline further.”

  “Nor I.” Clearing his throat, Richard held her gaze, amazed by the softness he found there. “Of course, he is welcome to stay at Farnworth Manor until he has sufficiently recovered to return home.” There. A coherent sentence. Was that so difficult?

  A smile came to Miss Procten’s face that seemed to light up the whole room. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I trust Mr. Bragg will then tend to my sister?”

  In an instant, the light vanished, and Richard found himself facing the same woman who had snapped at Mr. Bragg only minutes ago. How had this happened?

  With narrowed eyes, she glared at him, hands on her hips. “I’m perfectly capable of tending to your sister, my lord. Mr. Bragg, however, ought to return to the village in case medical assistance is required there.”

  Disappointed by the sharp tone in her voice, Richard nodded.

  Naturally, he could insist Mr. Bragg stay and order her to leave instead; however, the words would not leave his lips. As much as he abhorred the effect she had on him, there was something deep inside him that sought to keep her near at all cost. And now she would stay, would she not? As long as her father and his sister were recuperating, she would stay at Farnworth Manor. After all, he had invited her to do so, had he not?

  As she returned to her father’s side, Richard frowned, trying to recall their conversation. Indeed, he had offered, but had it truly been his idea? Had it not in fact been she who had guided him to that conclusion? Had she manipulated him into agreeing to wh
at she wanted?

  Richard inhaled a deep breath, cursing his inability to read her intentions. It had always been thus. Only people of long acquaintance, like his family and childhood friend, was Richard able to understand on a deeper level. Their underlying intentions and meanings he could detect here and there. Not always, but comparatively more often. However, when it came to those he barely knew, he mostly found himself at a loss. If they were not forthright in their speech, which people generally were not, he mostly found himself at their mercy. If they did not want him to know, there was no way for him to tell.

  It was utterly frustrating!

  Unfortunately, the only way to become aware of Miss Procten’s hidden agendas was for him to get to know her better. But did he dare? What would she be able to learn of him in return?

  He would have to give this careful thought.

  Very careful thought.

  Chapter Six – An Unwise Decision

  After a quick breakfast with her father, Evelyn walked down the corridor toward Miss Davenport’s bedchamber. Even from afar, she could determine what door it was for Mr. Adams stood guard beside it, his head swinging to look at her as she rounded the corner. “Good morning, Miss Procten,” he offered when she had approached. “I trust you’re well.”

  “I am. Thank you.” Relieved to see a friendly face, Evelyn smiled at him. “And a good morning to you as well. How is our patient?” she asked when Miss Davenport’s rather agitated voice came echoing through the door.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t presume to know.” Despite the calm in his voice, Evelyn thought to detect a hint of humour in the soft crinkles around his eyes.

  Knocking on the door, Evelyn entered and found the late viscount’s daughter propped up in bed, a tray with tea, bread and jam beside her. “Good morning, Miss Davenport. How are you this morning?” Closing the door, Evelyn approached the bed, taking note of the slight flush on the young woman’s cheeks.

  “Miss Procten, I’m so glad you’re here,” Miss Davenport exclaimed, eagerly pushing herself farther upright. Once again, the words flew from her mouth as though the young woman had no need to breathe or had found an alternative way to do so that did not require her to cease talking. “My mother insists I not eat bacon and eggs,” she complained, gesturing at the tray beside her with a hint of disgust, “for she says I ought to start out with something simple to test my stomach. Is that true?”

  “Well, I–”

  “It cannot possibly be so,” Miss Davenport interrupted, completely unaware that Evelyn had begun to reply to her question. “I feel perfectly fine and see no need to be deprived of my breakfast. After all, I merely fainted. There was nothing wrong with my stomach. Do you think Mother is right? Or would it be all right if I had some eggs?”

  “As long as you–”

  “Oh, curse my brother!” the young woman exclaimed abruptly, waving a clenched fist as though she wished to plant it in his face. “I am certain he had a hand in the matter. You see, he never grants me anything. He is an absolute bore, and he cannot fathom that there are others who would feel trapped by the life he leads.”

  Unable to deny her own curiosity, Evelyn asked–before Miss Davenport could cut her off once more, “What do you mean? I noticed Mr. Adams outside your door.”

  The young woman frowned. “Mr. Adams? Oh, you mean the footman.” Her face darkened, and yet, her hands gestured wildly as though fresh energy coursed through her body. She seemed indeed perfectly fine. Merely upset. “Yes, that is precisely what I mean. He has me locked up! Do you believe that?” Staring at Evelyn with wide eyes, Miss Davenport for once seemed to be waiting for an answer.

  Pulling up a chair, Evelyn sat down. “I cannot imagine why he would do so.”

  “Neither can I,” Miss Davenport exclaimed, exhaling audibly as she sank back into her pillows. “I shall die of boredom I tell you. Locked up in this house all day, with no one to talk to and a guard following my every step. I expect I shall become raving mad any day now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that you are so unhappy,” Evelyn said carefully. Clearly, the young woman was in almost desperate need to share her story, and Evelyn could not deny that she longed to hear it. “I'm certain it was not your brother’s intention to see you thus.”

  Miss Davenport scoffed. “I do not believe he even noticed.” Turning to Evelyn, the viscount’s sister leaned forward conspiratorially. “You see, my brother is not like other men or even other people. He does not share my need for companionship and, therefore, does not see the misery I’m in. He thinks I’m merely spoilt, a head-strong child he needs to admonish. It has always been thus. He’s always been like a third parent rather than my brother.” A touch of sadness clung to her voice as she spoke those last words, and Evelyn got the distinct feeling that above all Miss Davenport dearly missed her brother.

  “Not that I agree with his methods,” Evelyn began, thinking it a bit harsh of Lord Ashwood to lock his sister up, “however, I cannot help but think that he merely does so out of concern for you and a deep desire to keep you safe.”

  Miss Davenport sighed, “All my life, I’ve been chastised for who I am. No one ever understood my need for…living life, for adventure, for…something more than this.” The young woman’s blue eyes settled on Evelyn’s face, all but pleading with her to understand. “I cannot help who I am.”

  “Neither can your brother.” Before Evelyn knew what she was saying, the words had left her lips.

  “Certainly, that is true,” Miss Davenport agreed, sounding unexpectedly reasonable, quite unlike the effervescing young woman Evelyn knew. “However, he is the one who intrudes on my life, not the other way around, while I’m the one who suffers because of what he thinks is right, is proper, is expected.” Shaking her head, she once more leaned back as though all strength had left her. “I cannot live like this.”

  Evelyn swallowed, wondering if enquiring further would cross a line. Still, she was no match for her own curiosity. “Is that how you came to find yourself with child?”

  Miss Davenport’s eyes rose to meet Evelyn’s, and she placed a gentle hand on the slight bump under her night gown. “I suppose it is,” she whispered, momentarily closing her eyes. “Still, I do not blame my brother,” she suddenly exclaimed, once more sounding rather agitated. “This is my life, and it was my choice. It might not have been the wisest choice I’ve ever made, but it was mine nonetheless.” Her features calmed, and for a long moment, she held Evelyn’s gaze, clearly torn between confiding in another and the risks that came with revealing a secret. “I never loved him,” she finally whispered, a calm determination coming to her eyes.

  “Who?” Evelyn asked gently.

  “William Montgomery.” Sighing, Miss Davenport sank further back into her pillows. “We danced. We chatted. We drank champagne. We laughed.” A soft smile flitted over her face at the memory of one of the rare, carefree moments in her life. “He saw me. He listened when I talked. He was sweet, and he cared about me. At least a little. The idea to elope…I can’t even remember whose it was…but it seemed the answer to my prayers. Before I knew it, I found myself in a carriage to Scotland.”

  Evelyn inhaled a deep breath. The viscount’s sister had run off to Gretna Green? Admittedly, now she understood at least partly why Lord Ashwood had her watched. Still, it did not explain how the young woman suddenly found herself with child, but still unmarried. What had happened?

  “His brother discovered us before we could…,” she scoffed, “tie the knot and demanded that William return with him to England at once.” A long, drawn-out sigh followed, one that spoke louder than any words, allowing Evelyn a deeper glimpse at the disappointment this young woman had faced. “And he did. He abandoned me.”

  Shocked, Evelyn gawked at her patient. “He left you behind?”

  Shaking her head, Miss Davenport met Evelyn’s gaze. “His brother said I ought to return with them, but…I simply couldn’t. When William turned from me, it was as though I lost every last hope of
ever finding even a shred of happiness.” Blinking rapidly, she tried to will back the tears that threatened, and her lips pressed into a determined line. “I became so angry. I’ve never felt anything like it. I barely remember how I got back to the inn where he had secured a room for us. For our wedding night. Everything was lost. I knew I’d be ruined no matter what I did, and so…,” a soft smile played on her features as she shook her head, “…I threw caution to the wind. I wanted one adventure. Only one.”

  A disturbing sense of foreboding encroached on Evelyn as her gaze shifted down to Miss Davenport’s midsection. “So, Mr. Montgomery is not the father of your child?”

  The young woman shook her head, quick fingers brushing away the lone tear that had spilled over. “I suppose not. At least, he denies that we’ve ever been together.”

  Once again, Evelyn found herself gawking at Miss Davenport. “What on earth do you mean?” she demanded, belatedly realising that she was not talking to a friend, but a patient instead.

  Miss Davenport, however, did not seem to object as her gaze remained distant, her mind conjuring the few memories she still possessed. “Never in my life have I indulged beyond a glass of champagne or two. After all, my brother would not allow me. But that night, I suppose I took it too far, for I cannot remember anything between returning to the inn and awaking in our room the next morning.”

  Staring at her patient, Evelyn felt goose bumps crawl up and down her arms. “You do not know who your child’s father is? You don’t remember him? Being…with him?”

  Closing her eyes, Miss Davenport shook her head. “Does that make me an awful sort of person? I never thought anything like that would ever happen to me. I always thought that despite everything, I was a good person.” Once more, her blue eyes found Evelyn’s. “I never meant for this to happen, and I know that I made a mistake, but…does that mean I deserve to be locked away?” Another tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. Only this time she did not bother to brush it away.