At least well enough to have a visitor.
The doctor had been called and pronounced that she and Walter had lung ailments that must be watched carefully. He prescribed saline draughts, rest, and beef tea. But by later that day, her head felt ready to split apart, and she was shivering.
Quiet voices spoke near the door, and a few moments later, her maid was pouring another draught down her throat. “I am not a child.”
Her voice sounded more like a frog’s than hers, and it was peevish. She detested peevishness.
“No, you are not, my lady,” Reid said calmly. “But the way you’re shaking, more would go on you than in you.”
“My eyes hurt.” She closed them against the faint light in the chamber.
“That’s to be expected. You’re running a fever.”
Every bone in her body ached, and she turned, trying to find a comfortable position and not able to.
Richard.
The last time she had slept well she had been in Richard’s arms. Patience wanted him now, but he wasn’t there.
* * *
The day after Richard had been told Pae was ill, he was in the reading room at Brook’s having coffee and waiting until he could try to see her again. All he’d been able to think about was her boast that she never took a chill, and now she was sick.
If she was not better today, he would send for some fruit from his succession houses. They would be much better quality than what one could procure in London.
Another gentleman entered the room, drawing a chair up next to his.
“What is my stepmother to you?”
He glanced at Lord Worthington’s stern face and carefully folded the paper, placing it on the low table next to him. “Why do you wish to know?”
“Because she has been asking for you. She’s running a fever.”
Richard stared at the younger man for what seemed like eons before he finally understood. “I’ll come straightaway.”
As he started to rise Worthington’s hand clamped down on Richard’s arm. “I’ll ask you again, what is she to you?”
He looked straight into the other man’s eyes. “The only woman I have ever loved.”
Worthington gave a terse nod. “I was afraid it was something like that.” He released Richard’s arm. “My carriage is outside.”
In short order, they were in the curricle and the horses were trotting down the streets of Mayfair.
“How bad is she?”
“Bad enough to concern me. She is never sick.”
“I know.” If only he had got her to the inn more quickly or insisted she get straight under the covers after he had undressed her.
“I don’t suppose you could be obliging enough to be a peer without an estate?” There was a hopeful tone in Worthington’s voice that Richard didn’t understand.
“No. I have a rather large estate in Kent.”
“Well, this is a damnable muddle,” Worthington grumbled. “We’ll have to sort it out later.”
They arrived at Stanwood House, and Richard jumped to the pavement, taking the stairs two at a time. The door opened and Lady Worthington came forward.
“Thank you for coming. I’ll take you to her immediately.” She began to climb the staircase. “It is the fever, of course, but she started asking for you and will not calm.”
