Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(72)

Winterborne’s carpenters had devised a suspension of the stretcher on cross supports attached to the wall with heavy metal spring hooks. Garrett winced briefly as she saw that the hooks had been bolted directly into the carriage’s beautiful quartered English oak woodwork. However, the arrangement would work well to minimize shocks and jolts once the train started moving.

After the stretcher was settled into its makeshift berth, Garrett pushed a chair to the place beside it. She laid her palm tenderly across Ethan’s forehead, which was dry and hot to the touch, and took up his wrist to check his pulse. He was flushed and restless, his breath fitful.

Coming to stand at the other side of the wounded man, Winterborne regarded him with a deep frown of concern. “He’s always seemed indestructible,” he said quietly. “He’s made powerful enemies. I don’t like it that you’re in the cross wires with him.”

“He didn’t like it, either. He tried to keep a distance between us.”

Winterborne looked sardonic. “Not hard enough, it seems.”

Garrett smiled faintly. “I made it difficult for him. I can be stubborn at times.”

“I’ve noticed.” But Winterborne’s gaze was kind.

Staring down at Ethan’s face, Garrett said, “He expected from the beginning that it would come to this. He thought there was no other possible path for his life to take.”

“Perhaps you should prove him wrong,” she heard Winterborne murmur.

“I will,” she said. “If I have the chance, I will.”





Chapter 18




As the train headed southwest to Hampshire, the subdued grays and blues of London gave way to a palette exploding with brilliant color. A pink-and-orange sunrise melted to reveal a pristine blue sky. To the eyes of a lifelong city dweller, Hampshire looked like a storybook land, with winding streams, ancient old-grown forests, and green pastures divided by endless miles of hedgerows.

Ethan had fallen into an uneasy sleep, lulled by the constant subtle rocking of the train’s motion. Garrett had to restrain herself from reaching over to fuss with him constantly, like a finicky artist working on a clay sculpture. She turned her attention to West Ravenel, who was sitting by a window and watching the passing scenery with keen interest.

“How did you find out about Mr. Ransom?” Garrett asked.

West’s gaze was warm and audacious, far different from Ethan’s secretive and penetrating one. He seemed to be at ease with himself and the world, a rare gift at a time when men of his class were faced with economic and social upheaval that threatened the loss of their traditions.

“About his connection to the family?” West asked easily, and continued without requiring an answer. “Recently I learned about a secret bequest of land that had been made to him in the old earl’s will. A longtime family servant confirmed that Ransom was Edmund’s by-blow with an Irish girl, who was likely a prostitute.” His mouth twisted. “Since Edmund wouldn’t provide for the girl or her babe, she eventually married a Clerkenwell prison guard. I’ve no doubt it was a hard life. The fact that Edmund could leave both the child and the mother to the wolves, and live with that on his conscience, should tell you something about what kind of man he was.”

“Perhaps he doubted the child’s paternity?”

“No, Edmund confided to his valet that the child was his. And Ransom bears the obvious stamp of his sire.” West paused and shook his head. “My God, I never expected to be bringing Ransom to Hampshire. When I met him in London a few weeks ago, he couldn’t have been more hostile. He wants nothing to do with any of us.”

“He was devoted to his mother,” Garrett said. “It’s possible he feels that forming an attachment to the Ravenels would be disloyal to her memory.”

West considered that with a frown. “Whatever the old earl did to Ransom and his mother, I’m sorry for it. But Ransom should know that the abuse was hardly limited to him. Edmund’s children were his favorite victims. Ask any of his daughters—they’ll tell you that living with him was no picnic-party.”

A jolt from the train caused Ethan to groan in his drugged sleep. Garrett smoothed his hair, normally so satiny, now rough and stiff like a dog’s coat.

“We’ll be there soon,” West said. “I can’t wait. I nearly left London a few days ago, pining for the place.”

“What did you miss about it?”

“I’ve missed every turnip, every hay bale, every chicken in the poultry yard, and bee in the box-hives.”

“You sound like a born farmer,” Garrett said, amused. “But you’re blue-blooded.”

“Am I?” West glanced at her then, the tiny fan-lines at the outer corners of his eyes deepening. “Although I tried not to look, it seemed quite red to me.” Stretching out his long legs comfortably, he laced his fingers together over his midriff. “My brother and I are descended from a far-flung branch of the Ravenels. No one ever expected us to darken the doorstep of Eversby Priory, much less for Devon to inherit the title and all that came with it.”

“How did it fall to you to manage the land and tenant farms?”

“Someone had to. Devon was better suited to handle a snarl of legal and financial matters. At that point, my impression of farming was that one was obliged to arrange hay in picturesque stacks. It turned out to be slightly more complicated than that.”