A Viscount of Mystery

  A Viscount of Mystery

  A Tales From Seldon Park Novel

  By Bethany M. Sefchick

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015

  Bethany M. Sefchick

  All rights reserved

  Prologue

  Early February 1816

  "Oh, God. Marc. My love. What have they done to you?"

  Lady Caroline softly whispered the words as she looked upon the nearly nude male form lying on the counterpane, the sheets beneath bloodied and twisted about his body. His cheeks were sunken and his mouth a thin, pale slash across an even paler face. The bones of his upper body were clearly, almost painfully, visible, as were his ribs. Thin, angry-looking red lines, the result of being bled repeatedly, traced spider-like webs across his chest and down his arms adding to his already gaunt appearance. He looked near death and her stomach flipped in an ill manner as she took in the scene before her with horror, wondering what other injuries he had suffered. She could not see below his waist and was thankful for small favors. She did not imagine those parts of him looked any better.

  Marcus was a proud man, a renowned libertine and rake. He was a man that others envied and attempted to copy in both manner and dress. Strong. Dashing. Powerful. Daring. Those were all words that had once been used to describe her old friend. No longer, she feared.

  As she continued to study him, she noticed with horror that his one foot protruded rather limply from beneath the covers. Upon closer inspection she could see that his ankle had been bled as well, and she noticed a series of long cuts, including a few that had gone deeply into the muscles beneath. From the stain on the sheets near his hip, she had the awful feeling that someone, another idiot physician had attempted to "clear the infection" by way of his leg, slicing deep into the flesh near his hip and then at his ankle, as if that might some how trap the fever within his leg and allow it to leach out of his body and into the air.

  It was a rare but barbaric practice. Unfortunately, someone had practiced it on her friend.

  For a moment, she wondered if he would ever walk again. Then she realized that she was being silly. The better question was, would he even live to see another sunrise? Somehow, she doubted it.

  This man lying before her was not the Marcus she had left behind four years ago when her uncle had forced her from town to live in the wilds of Northumbria. That Marcus had been strong and healthy after many years of illness as a child. He had a body that made many a woman swoon and many men positively green with envy, the very picture of robust male health. Now it was as if time had reversed itself and she was looking upon her friend as if he were seven again and not seven and twenty.

  A sound from the hallway beyond startled her and she spun around, her mind desperately seeking an excuse for her presence in Marcus' room. If she were discovered, she would be ruined. Of course, she might very well be already, but still, she should not be courting more trouble. The fact remained; she should not be there. She was alone in a room with a naked man. No matter that he was unconscious and not in any way a threat to her. Not that he would have been anyway. She was the last person Marcus would hurt, even on his worst days.

  However none of that would matter. By remaining where she was, she toyed with her own ruin. Yet she could not help herself. What if he woke? He would be alone and possibly afraid. She had heard rumors that he had lost his sight. What if it was true? Worse yet, what if those eyes never opened again? Could she really leave him to die with no one who cared for him beside him?

  Caroline had returned to town less than a fortnight when she had discovered all that had transpired in her four-year absence. So much change. So many chances lost. Things were no longer as they had once been, including Marcus. Especially Marcus.

  She had to see him for herself, to see how ill he truly was. At least that was what she silently told herself on the carriage ride over. After all, Marcus' sister Lady Amy had made the situation sound very dire indeed. Now, Caroline could see with her own eyes that it truly was.

  Caroline had attempted to visit Marcus a few times before but each time, she was turned away from the Cheltenham's door. Oh, she could sit in the drawing room with Lady Amy and converse pleasantly, certainly, but each time she had asked to at least see Marcus, Caroline had been denied.

  It was frustrating. It was maddening. It was damned annoying.

  It was as if she had meant nothing at all to him and his family. Improper though such a visit might be, surely if she was properly chaperoned, it would be acceptable. Wouldn't it?

  It was not and not likely ever to be.

  Which was why Caroline had waited until all of the Cheltenhams, including the earl and his wife, the Countess of Evanston, as well as Amy were out for the day, leaving only a small staff on hand, the season not yet fully begun. It was to this staff, in particular the Cheltenham's butler Towson, that Caroline had appealed for entry.

  She had skillfully played on the older man's sympathy and undying affection for his young master, reminded Towson of how she and Marcus had been inseparable in their youth, and how she had not seen him in over four very long years. All she wanted was to know that he still lived and then she would be gone, she promised. Just one last glimpse of her old friend, especially if he was dying. She was hardly a stranger at Cheltenham House, after all, and had played endlessly with Marcus in the fields surrounding Heatherton Abby when they were children. All she wanted was to say good-bye to her once beloved playmate. The young boy who had once been her best friend.

  That last, final plea had done the trick and Towson himself had escorted Lady Caroline to Marcus' bedroom, muttering the words "highly improper" the entire time. Still, he had done it, much to her relief.

  The sight that had greeted her as she stood in the doorway to his chambers had made her stomach clench with disgust, however. Could the Cheltenhams not see that their son was dying? Why did they not try something else? Find another physician, one with less barbaric methods? She knew two in particular who would find Marcus' current course of treatment abhorrent. She had even sent Lady Amy a note not even three days ago, suggesting to her old friend that perhaps she seek out the advice of the physicians that Caroline knew and trusted. She had thought that at the very least it could not hurt and perhaps might even help.

  She must have said the last part aloud, as something in Towson's face had softened a bit, as he realized that Caroline was not there to discover gossip to spread but rather was concerned for an old friend. Then a maid had beckoned and Towson had - albeit begrudgingly - given Caroline a moment alone with Marcus, probably realizing that this would be the last time she would see her old friend. He insisted that he would only be gone a moment and then he would escort her back below stairs.

  Except that Towson didn't come back in a moment; he was gone far longer. And Caroline could not help but venture deeper into the room, the sight of Marcus looking so fragile and helpless calling to a part of her that she no longer though capable of feeling.

  Pale early afternoon sunlight cascaded through a nearby window, rays of sparkling light falling across the bed and revealing the true extent of Marcus' injuries. It was a stark contrast to the bright blue sky beyond where wispy white clouds wafted by on a gentle breeze.

  Yet in this room, time itself seemed to stand still. The rest of the curtains in the room were drawn shut, creating deep shadows beyond the bed, making the pool of light that he lay in all the more stark in contrast. Around her, she could smell sickness and
death, the scent clinging to the dark, heavy furnishings in the room, painting the entire scene with a dark air of despondency.

  Yet Caroline stood there, unable to move. Able only to gaze upon her friend and long not only for the time that had passed but for what could have been as well.

  When Towson still did not return, she knew she should leave of her own volition. It was not right or proper for her to remain a moment longer, no matter how unlikely it was that Marcus would spring from the bed and ravish her. Yet she found that she could not. Now with muted footsteps echoing in the hall, someone was coming and it was too late to leave. Back in town only a few weeks and already facing ruin. Then again, it was nothing more than she had expected. One could not keep secrets forever.

  Except that the man who appeared at the door wasn't a friend of Marcus' or a member of the Cheltenham family. Instead, it was a physician, and, given the dried blood on his medical bag, not a very good one. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, as if uncertain what to do next. Then his gaze fell upon Caroline and his eyes narrowed in mistrust.

  "And 'oo might you be, miss?" The man had a vaguely Scottish accent tinged with a trace of the lower English classes. Whitechapel or Cheapside perhaps, though even those areas might be too good for this man. He also had a rough look about him and once more, Caroline wondered just how desperate the Cheltenhams were to save Marcus if they allowed men such as this to treat their son.

  Drawing herself up to her full height, keeping in mind that she was considered a wisp of a thing most times, Caroline did her best to remember the strong young woman she had once been. That woman would fight to the death for her old friend. She needed to be that woman again. Even if only for a little while. "I am Lady Caroline Turner, daughter of the previous Viscount Redwing, and cousin of the current viscount. And you are?" She prayed her imperious air would not enrage the man further. She also wondered where Towson was and prayed further that he would hurry back to check on her.

  The unknown man glared at her, as if unused to being challenged and suddenly a memory tickled the back of her mind, something Gibson had mentioned when he had treated her for yet another injury at her uncle's castle several years ago. He had told her that the more desperate a family was for answers to medical mysteries, the more susceptible they were to those unscrupulous types who played on fear and desperation. Men who were nothing more than charlatans masquerading as physicians hoping for a quick payment from a suffering family. This, she decided, was just such a man. In response to her unspoken thoughts, she raised her chin just a fraction of an inch higher, as if daring the man to prove otherwise.

  "I'm Dr. McTavish. Dr. Ezekiel McTavish, but everyone calls me Mac." The man didn't offer her his hand for which Caroline was thankful. He looked downright filthy and she marveled that he had even been allowed in the door. "You might say the Cheltenhams what sought me out when things went wrong 'er they did. Now if you'll kindly leave 'er I can see about me business. I can finish what I begun the other day." He gestured to Marcus' sliced leg, resulting in a fresh wave of anger washing over her at his words.

  For some reason, the name Mac set off a warning in Caroline's mind, but try as she might, she could not place where she had heard of this man before. It did not matter she decided, white-hot fury at everyone one and everything in the world welling up inside of her. All the while, the disgusting man continued to stare at her as if he wanted to see what lay beneath her blue sprigged muslin day dress. She also had the distinct impression that he might not take no for an answer if she refused.

  It was no matter. This man was trouble and she was not about to allow him to touch Marcus again. She would deal with the earl and his wife later.

  They might be blinded by grief and despair. Caroline was not. Nor would she stand helplessly by and let this...this...this monster lay another hand on Marcus. Not while there was still breath in her body. If this Mac meant to slice open Marcus again, he would have to kill her first. In truth, her life was worthless, especially when compared to Marcus'.

  "No." It was a single word but one uttered with all of the cold, condescending fury that Caroline had kept bottled up inside of her these last many years. She might have been powerless before, but no longer. She would take back control of her life, provided she lived through this moment, and she would start by saving Marcus.

  "Not your choice, lovey," the man clucked as if explaining something to a child, reaching into his dirty bag for a scalpel that was even more filthy than the rest of him as he did so. "Just a little knick at his wrist to bleed out the bad from 'im and ill be done. That's all." The dull blade of the knife glinted darkly in the light and Caroline knew the man meant to do as he pleased. He did not see her as a threat to his plans, that much was clear.

  She also knew from time spent in the company of both Dr. Hastings and Gibson, now Dr. Blackwell, that a cut on the wrist was especially dangerous. One could feel a person's heartbeat there and she knew from them that those points were particularly vulnerable. A cut to his wrist would ensure that Marcus would loose vast amounts of blood, perhaps even enough to kill him. Given the look of him, he had lost so much blood already that a little more would surely be the end of him.

  Drawing herself up straighter, Caroline adopted her most haughty tone, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. "I said no."

  "An I says yes." There was an unholy light in Dr. McTavish's eye, if he was even a doctor, something that Caroline was beginning to doubt. "Now jus step aside, lovely, and we c'n be done wif this." The more nervous he became, the more his accent deepened and the more Caroline felt her stomach clench.

  "No." Real fear gripped her now and without thinking Caroline snatched up the heavy, cut-crystal pitcher that had been placed along side Marcus' bed. At the moment, it was filled with water, adding significantly to its weight. "If you take one more step towards him, I promise you that you will regret that very much."

  That made McTavish laugh which only enraged Caroline further. "Oy, ye be a feisty one, ain't ye? Ah, ye'd do well at my friend's place down in Covent Garden, ye would." Then he shrugged, as if her threats were of little consequence to him. "But first? This." He moved closer to Marcus, the scalpel in hand.

  No. She could not allow this to happen. Not to Marcus. Not before she could have either Hastings or Gibson assess his health. Without thinking, she hoisted the pitcher high above her head and began to advance upon McTavish. The pitcher was blasted heavy, far more than she had anticipated, but she barely felt it. All she could feel was rage - at everyone and everything - boiling inside of her. She had not been able to save herself from her uncle's machinations, but by God, she would save Marcus from this man.

  "Leave. Him. Be." She uttered the words through clenched teeth and gripped the pitcher tightly, her arms shuddering slightly from the effort. "Go away and never darken this doorstep again. For if you think the Cheltenhams will allow you near their son again when I inform them of exactly how you planned to treat him, then you are gravely mistaken."

  McTavish shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "If 'es dead, it won't matter."

  Enraged, Caroline let out a blood-curdling scream and rushed towards the man, pitcher in hand, ready to bash it over his head if that was what it took to defend Marcus. A part of her noted the crash of something breaking elsewhere in the house, another scream, some yelling and the pounding of footsteps. All of that was in the distance however, as if coming from many miles way. Instead, her gaze never left McTavish's as she advanced upon him, wielding the pitcher like a weapon and ready to do battle as if she was Astraea, the Greek goddess of justice preparing to mete out punishment upon the man before her.

  Caroline was so focused on protecting Marcus that she did not even notice the arrival of the earl and his wife, their daughter Amy, and Towson, who was being followed closely by another man. When she heard her name spoken, she looked up just as she was about to bash McTavish over the head to see the very welcoming and familiar face of Dr. Hastings. In that moment, a small sense of reli
ef washed over her and Caroline wanted to weep. There was yet a chance that Marcus might live. That was all she had ever wanted. In fact, she wanted it so badly that she would have given her life for Marcus' - something that Dr. Hastings knew very well.

  Chapter One

  April 1819

  "Did I just hear you slander my sister, you vile, pathetic little worm of a man? Please say that I did, for I would very much like to see you suffer greatly for your disgusting words, you wretched heap of refuse."

  Lady Caroline Turner heard the deep rumbling voice before she saw him, her heart seizing in her chest. No. It could not be. She did not even dare to hope. Gibson had informed her just the other day that Marcus, though recovering admirably, was still not completely well and had not responded to numerous pleas to return to London to oversee his ailing mother's care. That was the singular reason why she had forged the letter, after all.

  Yet that voice could belong to no other. She had heard it so many times in her dreams, clung to the sound of that deep baritone as if it were a talisman. On this night, Marcus had returned to London and her heart soared at the realization.

  Slowly, she turned toward the source of the voice, vaguely aware of her friend Lady Jane Ashford standing beside her, clearly just as overcome with awe as Caroline was. Jane's family was hosting the evening's musicale and for a moment, it crossed Caroline's mind that for the second year in a row, the Devonmont musicale was home to some type of grand social spectacle. The previous year, it was the Duke of Radcliffe's brilliant set down to some chits who were tormenting Radcliffe's future wife, Lady Julia Rosemont. This year, Lord Marcus Cheltenham, Viscount Breckenright had returned to town and made his first public appearance in three years in Jane's family's ballroom.

  Events such as these were the beginnings of legend. Tonight's very public scandal would be yet another juicy tidbit for Lady X's gossip column the next morning.