Page 85 of A Misguided Devotion

Laura took Mr Jenkin’s hands in her own, stroking her thumbs over his knuckles. “Don’t leave me, David. Please wake up.”

Kitty could feel William staring at her, but she refused to meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see there.

“I didn’t—”

“Not now, Will. Get help. We need a means to carry Mr Jenkin back to the house. And a doctor. As soon as possible.”

He sped off up the path, and not long after, Blake and another servant appeared, carrying a makeshift litter. Under Kitty’s guidance, they lifted David onto the board, but he still didn’t wake up. Was he nearer death than she’d hoped?

Once inside, Laura insisted that Mr Jenkin was laid in her own bed. She pulled up the covers over her husband’s battered form and took up a vigil by his bedside.

The doctor arrived soon after, and Kitty waited outside with her friend while he examined his patient. When they re-entered the room, it was a relief to discover he was a practical man, rather than a physician who refused to get his hands dirty. With the aid of his assistant, he had already set the broken bone in Mr Jenkin’s leg and fixed it with a splint.

“I’ve done what I can for him, Mrs Jenkin. God willing, his leg will heal, as will his cracked ribs, but this won’t benefit your husband if he doesn’t regain consciousness. Pray he wakes up soon, or you’ll be a widow before the month is out.”

The ladies were left alone by Mr Jenkin’s bedside. Laura caressed her husband’s hand. “Is he going to die?”

The situation looked bleak from every angle, but Kitty clung to the possibility that he would survive. “While there is breath, there is hope. All we can do now is pray.”

That was all any of them could do, and she prayed as fervently as her friend that the man would live. And that Laura was wrong and William hadn’t pushed Mr Jenkin down the cliff.

William had thought the nightmare was over, but it seemed it had only just begun. Freed from any need to marry Mr Barrington’s daughter, he had been rejoicing in being able to confess his feelings to Kitty. To make her his wife.

But then he’d been hit from behind. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the shock on the riding officer’s face and his cry to look out. Which also meant that when William had been attacked, he was still at the top of the cliff.

But who was going to believe in his innocence if Mr Jenkin didn’t wake up? The woman to whom he had been about to propose was the injured man’s wife, and she’d left them on the verge of a fight. He couldn’t blame her for thinking he had pushed her husband over the edge.

What hurt more was that Kitty wouldn’t look at him. Did she think he was guilty too?

As soon as the preventive officer had been handed over into the doctor’s care, William quit the house, eager to get away. He could not face Mrs Jenkin again while her husband’s life hung in the balance. Nor could he bear the thought of seeing the question in Kitty’s eyes. As if she believed him capable of such a heinous act.

To his annoyance, Mr Barrington followed him into the garden. William supposed he would have to stay and talk to him.

“There’s no need to run, Lord Droxford. It was just an accident. You were overcome. A man in love, shocked by Mr Jenkin’s deceit—as was I. Perfectly understandable. You do not have to fear retribution if he dies. I will see to it myself.”

Mr Barrington’s words tasted as bitter as lemons. If he believed him innocent, why was he so keen to help him escape justice?

“Please rid yourself of the notion that it was an accident. Someone hit me over the head and then attacked Mr Jenkin.”

The man laid a heavy hand on William’s shoulder. “If that’s the story you want to tell, I will support you. Who shall we blame—smugglers? Unlikely that they would attack you, but probably the best we can do—”

“It is not a fabrication,” William said, from between clenched teeth. “It’s the truth, though I don’t know who is responsible. Mr Jenkin saw my attacker—I observed the shock on his face. I think it was someone he recognised.”

The pressure on his shoulder increased. “Let us say that it was smugglers, then. As long as it is not you who hangs, that is all that matters.”

Why was Mr Barrington so desperate to excuse the crime he thought he had committed? Even if the worst happened and Mr Jenkin died, he couldn’t expect him to marry his daughter now…could he?

“I assure you that should Laura be freed from her foolish marriage, you still have my blessing to wed her.”

Was the man serious? How callous to give his daughter’s hand to another when her husband was fighting for his life.

“I pray with all my heart that Mr Jenkin recovers, but you can be sure of this. If he dies, I will not marry his widow.”

As if he would offer for her now, when it was obvious she was not—and never had been—desiring his proposal.

Mr Barrington nodded his head, his eyes full of sympathy. “Ah, your pride is hurt. I understand. No one cares to be second choice. But mark my words. You will come around soon enough if the situation arises.”

Frustration bubbled to boiling point. Why wouldn’t the man listen to him? William wanted to stay to argue his case. To force Mr Barrington to accept his innocence and that he would never marry his daughter.