Free Amy Lake by The Marquess Takes a Fall

“And someday,” he said, “ you will be the Duchess of Devonshire.”
      * * * *
    It was agreed that Lord Ashdown would be told nothing of this new situation nor, of course, would Madelaine. Dee knew Fiona, and he suspected that no matter how worried she might be, she would simply carry on as if nothing had happened, and try to put the approaching visit from some unknown cousin out of her mind. The doctor had pointed out this tendency on more than one occasion, and Mrs. Marwick agreed that it was a weakness, but she preferred to avoid unpleasantness as long as she was able. Dee remembered full well the days leading up to Joseph’s death; Fiona had carried on in absolute calm until the last moments, and when the blow fell she had simply collapsed, in silence, on the floor.
    Perhaps it was best that way, but the doctor couldn’t help thinking that some situations demanded a cry of outrage.
    Such as the impending loss of Tern’s Rest. Although he had promised to say nothing of Mrs. Marwick’s cousin to Lord Ashdown, the doctor had no intention of leaving the matter as it was. The law was the law, and if it came down to it he would look into hiring a solicitor. But in the meantime Deandros Fischer decided that he would find out something more of Wilfred Thaxton.
     

Chapter 13: Unbidden Visitors
     
    Nearly a month had passed since Lord Ashdown had broken his leg and come to stay at Tern’s Rest. He remembered little of the first few days; then there had been an interminable period spent in bed—in reality, no more than a fortnight—after which the Bath chair had arrived. At first the marquess had accounted himself happy in the chair, especially since it gave him access to the kitchen, and considerably more time spent in Mrs. Marwick’s company. The crutches made a further improvement, but his progress had now stalled; the injury had pained him rather more after he had attempted them and Dee insisted he return to spending most of his day in the Bath chair.
    “It’s because you tried too much and too soon. A bone knits at its own rate.”
    Colin was tired of the Bath chair. He was, on the other hand, becoming rather a dab hand at stringing beans and slicing carrots with a cutting board laid across his lap. Mrs. Marwick was amused at the sight of an English lord preparing vegetables, and her laugh—a soft, silvery peal—affected Lord Ashdown at some level that he could not even identify.
    The kitchen was his refuge, a place to avoid beginning the rest of his life.
      * * * *
    Two mornings after Fiona received the letter from Wilfred Thaxton—a letter which Colin, of course, knew nothing about—he was relaxing in front of the kitchen fire with a cup of strong tea. Fiona had gone with Madelaine to visit ‘old Mrs. Cadogan’ who was apparently doing quite poorly and needed, as he recalled, a tisane of tansy and beth root.
    Lord Ashdown was feeling particularly self-satisfied at that moment. He had finished shelling a large bowl of peas and was also making considerable progress with the carrots. Mrs. Marwick’s kitchen was nearly the most agreeable room he had ever spent time in, and he thought that only his tiny study at Kirriemuir, with its outsized fireplace, could come close to providing such a degree of warmth and comfort on a late autumn day.
    Lord Ashdown heard quick footsteps approaching, and felt the sudden chill of an open door. He turned the Bath chair, with some difficulty, and saw Sir Irwin standing in the kitchen doorway. Colin frowned.
    “This is a cozy sight,” drawled Ampthill.
    The man looked almost angry. Lord Ashdown made a quick mental calculation. He knew Sir Irwin’s name, but should he admit to it?
    No.
     The marquess waited, saying nothing. He had found that people would say the most extraordinary things if one simply waited.
    “I,” said the man, “am Sir Irwin Ampthill, Baronet of Ferndale.”
    Colin could have laughed out loud. “Ah,” he said, nodding.
    “And I suppose you