“Ah, yes, Juliette,” Alexandra said, studying her well-worn green slippers. “A lovely girl, don’t you think?”
James nodded. “She dances well, is light on her feet, and yes, really quite beautiful. But the thing is, I could be Jason and she wouldn’t know the difference.”
“She and her mother visited on three different occasions during the time you were missing. We weren’t here, but Jason was. He said that Juliette was very distraught when she realized he wasn’t you.”
James thought about that, but not too much. Weariness dragged at him. He managed a lopsided grin at his mother. “Thank you for keeping me from starving.” And he closed his eyes.
Alexandra leaned down and kissed her son. She straightened, stood there looking down at him for a very long time, thanking God and Corrie Tybourne-Barrett for her son’s life.
“WHO ARE YOU?”
“I’m Freddie, my lord, the new Sherbrooke tiger,” the boy said, puffing out his chest, an amazing feat since there wasn’t much chest to puff out. “No wonder you don’t remember me, real down in the chops ye were.”
What there was, however, was a good deal of pride standing here in his bedchamber. James smiled at the boy wearing the Sherbrooke livery who had traveled to London to tell his parents where he and Corrie were.
“I remember you now, Freddie. Why are you here?”
“I ’ad this gnawin’ in me brain, me lord. I jest wanted to make sure ye were still above ground like everyone were sayin’ downstairs. Everyone is mighty pleased ye survived. Best thing I ever did was to come to yer folks’ big ’ouse, tell ’em where ye was, even though I nearly got me liver sliced.
“And would ye look at what did transpire? Jest look at me, me lord. Ain’t I somethin’ to behold? ’Ere, me lord, ye want to feel this wool? Soft as a baby’s butt, it is.”
“Yes, it looks quite soft and you do look quite splendid, Freddie. Forgive me that I didn’t remember you, but I do know what you did for Corrie and me. Thank you.”
“No matter, my lord, ye was so sick I believed I’d be bringing yer folks back fer a burying, but no, ye managed to pull yerself out o’ the casket. It was Miss Corrie who saved ye. She’s a tough ’un, she is, and she didn’t leave yer side, no she din’t.”
“What did I hear about you nearly getting yourself killed trying to get to London?”
“Set upon, I was, set upon by a gang o’ young toughs what wanted to pound me, fer the fun o’ it. Not much fun fer me, I’ll tell ye. They took the groats Miss Corrie gave me, even though I’d poked ’em down under my foot, but they found ’em. But I gets away from them and got here, looking real bad, but Willicombe knew I ’ad somethin’ important to tell ’is lordship, so’s ’e brings me right in.”
“I appreciate your bravery, Freddie, and your tenacity.”
Freddie nodded, thinking of the five pounds he now carried in his pocket, not under his foot, given to him by the earl himself, and ah, didn’t it feel good lying against that soft wool of his suit, what Mr. Willicombe called his livery. Fine word, livery. Sounded like a dressed-up body part. Freddie rubbed his clean palms over the wool breeches. “Yer pa told me Mr. Willicombe ordered six suits fer me. Six! Can ye imagine that?”
“No,” James said slowly, “I can’t.” James thought about his Uncle Ryder who took in abused and mistreated children, raised them, educated them, and best of all, loved them. How would Freddie do with his Uncle Ryder?
When Jason came into his bedchamber not long after Freddie had slipped away, still stroking wool, James said, “What about sending Freddie to Uncle Ryder?”
“Our very pleased-with-himself new tiger with his six new suits of livery? I don’t think he’d want to go, James. He’s so excited about being in the big city, can’t stop talking about seeing the Tower of Lunnon where all the heads were lopped off. Don’t you see? He’s now worth something. He’s now important to himself. He doesn’t need Uncle Ryder.”
“We’ll at least get him educated.”
Jason smiled. “He’ll probably squawk at that, but I’ll see that Willicombe brings a tutor around and keeps our new tiger in the schoolroom for a good two hours a day. Now, I’m here to tell you that Miss Juliette Lorimer and her mother are here to see you.”
James was shaking his head even before Jason had finished speaking. “I haven’t even shaved yet this morning.”
“At least Lady Juliette would be able to tell us apart.”
“That’s the truth. No, tell the lady I will be up for a visit say, tomorrow afternoon.”
Jason turned to leave, when James said, “Where’s Corrie? You know, when I woke up, her name was nearly out of my mouth, and I couldn’t smell her-it’s a light scent, maybe jasmine. It feels strange not having her right here with me.”
“No wonder. I haven’t heard a thing. She left right after we helped you out of the drawing room. You don’t remember saying good-bye to her?”
James shook his head. “Jase, would you call on her, see how she’s doing? Oh, and what about Miss Judith McCrae? Have you seen her?”
Jason gave him a remarkably austere look, which made him look like a carved Greek statue. “There’s been no time, really. I did inform her once we had you home. I dare-say I will see her again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JAMES WAS SITTING up in bed, bathed and shaved by Petrie, who clucked over him until he was ready to hurl a book at him, when Corrie was ushered in by Willicombe, who was beaming, so pleased to be the escort to the Heroine of the Hour.
And James, eyeing her, said, all stiff as a vicar, “You really shouldn’t be coming to see me alone, Corrie. You’re a young lady; there are rules about this.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Now isn’t that ridiculous? I’ve run tame in your home all my life. Now I’m supposed to have a chaperone when I come to see you? To make certain that you don’t do something improper, like ravish me in your parents’ home?”
“It’s more the principle of the thing, not really what could actually occur.”
“Looking at you now, I’d wager all my allowance that you couldn’t do a single improper thing. I bet I could arm wrestle you right now, James, and you’d be whimpering within a minute.”
“That’s the truth,” he said easily, feeling himself smile from the inside out. Everyone was being so very kind, so solicitous, so deferential, it set his teeth on edge. And now, finally, here was Corrie and within a minute she had her fist to his jaw. It felt good. He perked right up. “I’ll bet even Freddie could take me out.”
Corrie grinned, but said no more. She stood there at the bottom of his bed, just looking at him.
“I liked your whiskers,” she said at last. “It added complexity to that face of yours.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Beauty all by itself can get boring, don’t you think, James? You know, it just sits there being perfect and soon one wants to yawn.”
He said, without missing a beat, “And I miss your white ball gown, all ripped and filthy. That added needed complexity to your presentation as well. Look at you now-a nice clean green gown, nothing more, nothing less. No, it’s of very little interest at all.” He yawned, patted his hand to his mouth, and yawned again.
She struck a pose, one designed specifically to get his goat, but one that didn’t work since he’d seen her perfecting it in a mirror. She hadn’t seen him, thank the good Lord for that small favor. He waited, smiling, wondering what was going to come out of her mouth. She said, all the while tapping her fingertips to her chin, “You know, now that I think of it, I have to admit that since you were naked most of the time you were ill, lying helpless-you know, all sprawled out on your back-I don’t recall being bored for a moment looking at you. No, I didn’t yawn a single time.”