The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2) Sahara Kelly (book club recommendations TXT) 📖

long,” he called to the driver. “My passenger is not well, so I’ll be carrying her out in a few minutes.”

“Aye, gov’,” the man touched his hat. “We’re out o’ the wind ‘ere. Ready when you are.”

Giles returned to the disaster that held the new Lady of Wolfbridge.

She hadn’t moved a muscle, and he hated to pull her from what little warmth she’d created, but lying there wasn’t doing her any good at all.

She moaned as he unwrapped her, tossing the filthy and rotting blankets aside for the rats, mice and whatever else had chosen this ruin for their home.

She was wearing some kind of flannel night gown that was not fresh at all, so Giles took a breath and managed to strip her down.

She shook and shivered, staring at him through eyes that might have betrayed a little fear, but mostly showed resignation. She was dying, he thought. Or believed she was.

“Come now, my Lady. We’re going to get you into this lovely warm robe.” He worked her arms into the sleeves and finally wrapped it around her bare, hot flesh. What there was of it. Her ribs protruded, her limbs were slender to the point of being skinny, and her skin was dry, even though she clearly had a fever.

Her hair…it was just foul. And Giles was at a loss.

However, at this time, he had one purpose only, and that was to save her life. He reached into his boot for the small dagger he always kept there when travelling.

And in moments, a pile of matted hair lay on the floor. Her Ladyship’s head was shorn, not bald because he didn’t trust himself with a sharp blade that near her scalp. But the shorter lengths lay close to her scalp and would be easier to clean once they got her into the bath she so badly needed.

Satisfied that he’d done all he could, he wrapped the fur around her, and managed to get her upright for a moment while he secured everything against the cold. Her feet were in grubby stockings, but he had none to spare, so they would have to do.

Looking over the mess surrounding them, he wondered if there was anything she would like to bring with her. Most of the items he could see were either dirty or broken, but there were two books, their covers free of dust, and that made him think she’d read them. Or was reading them.

He scooped them up and put them in his pockets, then picked her up in his arms. She weighed little and he was easily able to work them both from the squalor and outside to the waiting coach.

She shivered beneath the fur, great shudders he could feel through the thick pelts.

“Hush now, Lady Gwyneth. Hush. All will be well.”

She moaned, coughed and shivered again.

“‘Ere now, she ain’t got no plague, ‘as she?” The driver frowned at Giles.

He glanced up as he freed a hand and opened the door. “No. She is merely suffering the effects of malnutrition and poor living conditions.”

“I ain’t surprised,” muttered the man from the box. “That Kilham, the Earl? Not liked much, ‘ereabouts. Don’t keep ‘is tenants in good nick.”

“He certainly doesn’t, if this lady is an example.”

“‘Oo is she, then? Relative of yourn?”

“Something like that, yes.” He managed to get her inside, and followed her, glancing at the driver. “There’s extra guineas in it if you can get us back as fast as you can.”

Giles’s words were greeted with a nod and a grin. “Faster ’n lightnin’, gov’. ‘Ang on ter yer lady, there. Be a few bumps…”

Giles slammed the door shut just in time as a whip touched the horses and they wheeled into a fast trot back out through the woods.

He shifted and groaned a little as he sorted himself and the woman bundle in thick furs into positions that wouldn’t cramp either of them.

Fortunately, she was small in stature, besides being starved, so he could tuck her on her side on the seat across from her, and hold her in place with another rolled blanket. She seemed comfortable enough, but one touch of her forehead told him she still had a fever.

He reached for his bag and pulled out a spare cravat, wrapping it around her head to keep it warm. And also to prevent any remaining creatures from inhabiting the blankets and fur.

Sighing, he realised there would have to be a bonfire at Wolfbridge when he returned. Scrupulous about such things, any garments or items that might have picked up a flea or two…well, they were immediately thrown away.

His mind ticked over the tasks that awaited them when they got home.

First, get her clean. He didn’t worry about how sick she was; she’d be a damn sight less miserable once she was clean. Then…well, Royce could probably tell better than he could, but she would have to be checked for injuries, infected cuts, that sort of thing. Giles had seen none when he’d stripped her, but the light had been poor and his need to get her into fresh, warm clothing had outweighed his need to examine her health.

Food, of course. Broth. Evan would know what she needed. Something to help her fight whatever was giving her a fever and how to build her strength back up.

He looked at her, the daylight starting to fill the carriage as the sun rose higher in the sky. Her bones were prominent, but fragile. She was no sturdy countrywoman, nor was she a perfect beauty. She was somewhere in between, fragile now because of her condition, but probably attractively delicate once returned to full health.

Her hair, the parts that hadn’t been matted and filthy, showed chestnut and copper tints. He’d be interested to see what colour it was once soap and water had cleared away