Make Me Love You Page 8

  Brooke felt discouraged as she looked at her plate. It was obviously another ploy the wolf had arranged to get them to leave his house. But Alfreda was livid when each of them was served a plate with only two thin slices of toasted bread, burned actually, on it and nothing else, not even a crock of butter.

  “Come with me,” Alfreda said, going straight to the kitchen.

  Brooke agreed that something needed to be done about the shabby way they were being treated, but she wasn’t expecting the approach Alfreda took. First, Alfreda demanded that the servants introduce themselves. As the staff warily gave their names and positions, they stared nervously at Brooke. They probably weren’t used to a lady invading their domain, but she might have confused them, too, when she sat down at the kitchen table. They didn’t know that she was used to eating in a kitchen.

  Marsha Biscane, the cook, was much older than the other women in the room. Short and blond, she had laugh lines around her blue eyes, which hinted at a jolly disposition. Unfortunately, she wasn’t displaying it now as she stood quite stiffly, looking offended by Brooke and Alfreda’s presence.

  Alfreda pointed a finger at the cook, saying, “You’ll serve us a proper meal if you don’t want to grow warts.”

  Marsha turned quite red in the face. “I follow his lordship’s orders.”

  “To starve us? How many warts would you like? I can be very accommodating.”

  Brooke almost laughed, the other servants looked so horrified. But frightening the servants probably wasn’t a good idea, especially if she ended up marrying Dominic. So she told Marsha, “She’s joking.”

  “She don’t look like she is.”

  “She has an odd sense of humor,” Brooke assured Marsha before she got assertive herself. “I’m sure you know I am to marry your lord and eventually bear his children, so I do need to be in good health for that. You can either agree that he wasn’t serious when he told you to feed us scraps, or you can vacate the kitchen and we will make our own meal.”

  Alfreda added as she sat down at the table, “And you might also want to keep in mind that once Lady Whitworth becomes Lady Wolfe, she’ll be wielding the household ax, as it were. If you like your jobs, you might want to agree that Lord Wolfe, being in a feverish state, wasn’t thinking clearly about any orders he’s given you concerning my lady.”

  Absolute silence followed that. It probably wasn’t the best time for Raston to wander in and hop onto Alfreda’s lap. Or maybe it was. “Witch” was whispered from more than one direction, but the cook filled two new plates in a hurry and set them on the table. Were all the servants here superstitious? Possibly. But Brooke didn’t want herself and Alfreda to be treated as pariahs if they were going to be living in this house, so she needed to put the staff at ease.

  She tried a simple common courtesy first. “I was very sorry to hear about Lord Wolfe’s sister. When did she die?”

  “It was nigh two years ago when it happened and, and—” The girl, named Janie, wiped a tear from her eye before insisting almost angrily, “We don’t speak of Lady Eloise’s death. You’ll need to ask his lordship about that sad matter.”

  Brooke wondered why no one would talk about Eloise’s death, but she didn’t press. Maybe the servants didn’t even know the circumstances. But she did wonder why the wolf had waited so long to challenge her brother if his sister died almost two years ago.

  Alfreda was quite pleased with the new meal and seemed more relaxed. Perhaps to convince the kitchen staff that she wasn’t a witch she complimented them on the meal and got them talking in a more natural manner after she told a few amusing stories about Leicestershire.

  Marsha took to Brooke first, or at least she stopped being so stiff and formal. More comfortable with members of the nobility than the other servants due to her elevated position in the household, she seemed pleased by Brooke’s praise for the cottage pie she’d served them and even laughed when Brooke told a story of her own about her midnight foray to try to get her mare bred when she was only fourteen and how she’d chickened out.

  Marsha was Gabriel’s mother and aunt to the young woman Janie. Once Marsha let down her guard, Brooke understood where Gabriel had gotten his chipper, good-humored nature.

  Before Brooke and Alfreda left the kitchen, Marsha told her niece, “Go and inform his lordship that I’m feeding his children.”

  Confused, Janie pointed out, “But he doesn’t have any.”

  “He will one day and he’ll understand. Just tell him.”

  Brooke hid a grin. The woman could have just kept it a secret that she’d be feeding them proper meals, but Marsha obviously didn’t fear the wolf. She didn’t appear to fear Alfreda now, either, so Brooke had accomplished at least one goal today.

  When they returned upstairs after lunch, they found Gabriel still waiting outside Lord Wolfe’s room. He grumbled to them, “He’s annoyed with me. He won’t let me back in. But now that you’re here, you can help by distracting him so he won’t kick me out again.”

  “So he’s sleeping?” Alfreda guessed.

  “I doubt it. He’s too stubborn to actually rest. It’s been hell keeping him in that bed, er, beg pardon, ladies, but it has been difficult.”

  Since neither Gabriel nor Alfreda appeared to want to open the door to find out if Dominic was awake, Brooke did and entered the room. “Brave, ain’t she?” she heard Gabriel whisper behind her.

  It was unnerving to know that even Dominic’s friend could be wary of him. When she peeked into the room’s alcove, she saw that the wolf wasn’t sleeping. His eyes had latched on to her immediately. And narrowed. She still led her little group forward to the bed.

  “My companion,” Brooke stressed in the introduction, “Alfreda Wichway.”

  “It took you this long to convince her?” Dominic said to Brooke.

  She hadn’t realized that having given her permission to bring Alfreda here, he’d expected them to come back immediately. She took the blame, saying, “No, I wanted to have lunch.”

  “So you kept me waiting over a trifle?” Dominic demanded surly.

  Alfreda tsked, her own tone not the least bit conciliatory when she said, “She did nothing of the sort. It did take this long for her to convince me. And I am still not convinced. I will look at your wound, though, with your permission.”

  He’d just been hit with two salvos, both pointing out that they didn’t like him much. He didn’t say another word, just nodded his head slightly. Brooke suspected he found it galling to be at the mercy of his enemies. He must feel as bad as he looked to agree to this. He probably did think he might be in danger of losing his leg, and thus their help was better than none.

  Alfreda only had to glance at the wound to say, “That’s quite a serious inflammation, Lord Wolfe. Your body fights it vigorously, which is why you are feverish and likely feel like hell warmed over.”

  He didn’t confirm how he felt and instead asked, “So you are a healer?”

  “I’ve never called myself that. I am merely familiar with remedies that have been commonly known since olden days, as are most women who grow up in rural villages. You can continue with the course of treatment your doctor recommended, or I can find an herb that will do the same thing, only quicker.”

  Brooke knew that Alfreda didn’t want the people at Rothdale to know they were both prepared for medical emergencies such as this one. That was why Alfreda hadn’t brought her satchel of potions, salves, tools, herbs, and plant cuttings. The less others knew of her healing abilities, the better.

  “There’s actually such an herb that grows here?” Dominic asked.

  When Alfreda didn’t answer him, Brooke quickly interjected, “I brought some common herbs with me from Leicestershire. One of those may be what she refers to.”

  “These will need to be removed,” Alfreda added matter-of-factly, placing a finger near the leeches. “Or we can wait until they fall off. If you’ve been treated with leeches before, you know they will leave tiny wounds that will bleed. Th
ey will itch before your bullet wound does. But do not scratch them. Scratching could worsen the inflammation.”

  “Stop treating me like a child.” He swiped a hand over his thigh to remove the leeches himself.

  Brooke’s eyes flared at that display of impatience. Alfreda’s hand was knocked away from him as well as the leeches, which were now squirming on the bed beside him.

  “That, m’lord, was very—detrimental. There was time—”

  “If you insult me again . . .”

  The wolf didn’t finish his threat, but threat it certainly was. Brooke was amazed that Alfreda wasn’t already on her way out the door. How had Alfreda insulted him? By not rushing immediately to help him? By giving him sound advice that he apparently already knew? Perhaps he’d guessed, as Brooke had, that Alfreda had been about to say “foolish” instead of “detrimental”? Or maybe he was feverishly imagining some other slight?

  That was possible. In fact, all of his churlishness thus far could have been induced by his fever and his discomfort. But that might just be wishful thinking on her part.

  If anyone had been insulted, it was Alfreda. Brooke thought about leading her maid out of there and leaving the wolf to his fate. If only she could. If only she could defy everyone, even the Prince Regent. But she was still by law in the hands of her parents, and they had thrown her to this wolf. High dudgeon would only lead to embarrassment afterward because she couldn’t leave this place. She would still have to deal with Dominic Wolfe, and getting him beholden to her could definitely make those dealings go easier.

  But she was still angry enough to tell Alfreda, “I think the less time we spend in here the better.”

  She said it deliberately to direct his anger away from Alfreda and back to her. She hoped it would prompt him to kick her out of his house. If he was going to make that costly mistake, he would do it when he was in a rage. But she didn’t hear the words that would free her, and he didn’t even glance her way. He was still glaring at Alfreda.

  But amazingly, Alfreda wasn’t done with offering her help. “It’s too bad your doctor doesn’t wield a needle better. Your wound is going to leave a jagged scar. We could make it much neater.”

  “You or her?”

  “Me, m’lord.”

  “Then say ‘me,’ damnit.”

  Alfreda stiffened and stood back. “I am not your maid, I am hers. Do not presume—”

  “You truly wish to butt heads with me?” Dominic cut in darkly.

  “I am not butting heads, merely stating a fact,” Alfreda insisted.

  “Careful, wench. If this marriage occurs, I will be the one paying your wage.”

  “You are welcome to, but it isn’t necessary. Lady Whitworth is dear to me. I will serve her with or without a wage.”

  Alfreda was annoying him more and more with every word she said. Brooke could tell from his increasingly feral expression. Finally he growled, “I think you should stay out of my sight.”

  Alfreda was quick to make that happen. Brooke was speechless as she watched her dearest friend leave the room. When Brooke looked back at the ungrateful wretch in the bed, her light green eyes blazed with anger. “That was very ungracious of you, Lord Wolfe, considering she was only here to help you at my request.”

  “Do I look miraculously healed by either of you?” he shot back.

  “You look like a beast determined to be a nasty churl. She can fix you. You would mend quicker—more’s the pity!”

  Brooke marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The satisfying sound did nothing to quiet her rage.

  Chapter Fifteen

  OUT OF SIGHT, OUT of mind. How Brooke wished that were true! But Dominic Wolfe had used a single word that had eased some of her rage before she got to her room. If. He’d said, If this marriage occurs . . . Was there still a possibility that he might do something to keep it from happening?

  She found Alfreda collapsed in one of the reading chairs. The maid looked tired. She wasn’t any more used to nasty confrontations such as that than Brooke was.

  Collapsing on the bed herself, leaving her lower legs to dangle over the side, she said, “He’s intolerable. We need to consider other options.”

  “I wasn’t expecting him to be so handsome,” Alfreda remarked.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Well, it does sort of make him tolerable, I would think, at least in your eyes.”

  Brooke snorted.

  “Or not. But we don’t know what he is really like yet. A man in pain is never at his best.”

  Brooke was good at reading people, but the only thing she got out of the wolf was that he was despicable. “He’s not going to have a ‘best.’ ”

  “Then you should wait to make sure of that. And what other options have we?”

  Brooke was precariously close to tears. “I don’t know! There must be something—other than poisoning him as my brother wants me to do.”

  “If we leave here, we won’t be able to go home.”

  “I know.”

  “They will just drag you back here.”

  “I know!” And probably beat her, too. She wasn’t old enough for her “no” to matter at the altar if her parents were saying “yes.”

  A long moment passed before Alfreda said determinedly, “Then we go somewhere else.”

  Brooke latched on to that kernel of hope. “I speak fluent French.”

  “We are at war with those people. We can’t go there. They’ll think we are spies and hang us.”

  “Scotland isn’t far from here.”

  “Exactly—it’s too close. We’d be found easily there.”

  “We can catch a ship then. The coast can’t be too far from here.”

  “A day or two, but did your mother give you enough money for a long voyage? And to survive wherever we end up long enough to figure out how to earn more money to live on?”

  Brooke figured she had enough for passage, maybe, but not enough to survive on for long. The tears got closer.

  But then Alfreda added, “Or we can sneak back to Leicestershire and fetch my money from the forest.”

  Brooke let out a near-hysterical laugh. “You buried it?”

  “Of course I did. I suspected we might not stay here. And even if we did, I suspected you might want to escape every so often and could use the excuse of visiting your parents to do so. In any case, I assumed we would return to Leicestershire at some point. But you realize, no matter where we go, we still might be found. Your parents have too much to lose. They will send an army of lackeys after you.”

  “But it will be too late. The Regent will have taken what he will take.”

  Alfreda raised a brow. “Do you really want to do that to them? To your mother?”

  “She doesn’t care about me,” Brooke insisted. “Why should I care about her?”

  “Because you do. And because she does. I know you don’t like to hear it, poppet, but she does. I don’t know why she’s chosen to hide it, but she must have good reason. Did you never consider it might be because of your father? When a man decides something has no value, everyone around him must agree with him or risk punishment.”

  Brooke shook her head, unconvinced. The times Harriet had acted like a real mother were too few. Although she’d gotten quite involved in preparing for Brooke’s Season in London, almost as if she were looking forward to it more than Brooke, none of that made up for the years of neglect, never giving her a hug, never telling her “I love you.” Brooke couldn’t even eat dinner with her parents! But Robert certainly did. Still, Alfreda was right. She couldn’t do that to her mother. It would break her own heart.

  Out of options, she sighed dismally. “I’ll move up to that tower room so I will be reminded every moment I’m in it that it’s where my future husband wanted me to be.”

  Alfreda tsked. “We don’t pout.”

  “You don’t. I might find it refreshing.”

  “Pouting hurts you more’n it hurts anyone else. W
e don’t pout. But you can make him love you.”

  Brooke sat up. Her mother had said the same thing. Make him love you, precious. Make him fall deeply in love and you will have a good life with him.

  “You suggested a pretend marriage earlier,” Brooke reminded Alfreda. “Love wouldn’t be a part of that.”

  Alfreda shrugged. “You need to reach common ground with him so he stops pushing you away. He might find an arrangement or a bargain acceptable, and that might get you a truce. Then you can move in for the kill.”

  Brooke burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t exactly call enticing him to love me moving in for the kill.”

  “It’s his animosity you’ll be killing. Anything is possible after that.”

  This interesting thought was a much more palatable option. She might indeed get the wolf to bargain with her if she convinced him she wasn’t going to leave no matter what. She just needed to figure out a bargain that would benefit him. It would be a way to become friends with him. Like before love. Friends before lovers. It would give her time to endear herself to him, time to get into his thoughts and then his heart. It would certainly be a challenge, probably the biggest of her life, but if she set her mind to it . . .

  But one obstacle she might not be able to surmount. What if she couldn’t get past her dislike of him? Yet she was adept at hiding her feelings . . . well, she was before she came here! But she could get that under control. So as long as he didn’t guess that she didn’t like him. . . .

  Chapter Sixteen

  AFTER ALFREDA HELPED BROOKE out of her traveling garb and into a simple day dress, the maid immediately went off to her room in the servants’ wing to get the herbs they needed for Dominic.

  Brooke hadn’t expected her first day at Rothdale to be so trying and fraught with unpleasantness, surprises, and anger. She supposed there were a few bright spots, though. The greenhouse was not being used, so she and Alfreda could cultivate their herb garden there. She had a pretty bedroom and no one had yet come to tell her to get out of it. She walked over to a window. She found the views of the lovely park and the two horse pastures soothing. Oh, and she’d gotten in the wolf’s door. All in all, she’d made her escape from her unloving family. She really ought to keep that in mind and do everything possible to get along with Dominic Wolfe, at least until he and she could come to some sort of special marriage arrangement.