“I am sure I will be.” She never got headaches. This was what came from lying to him. It must be. There was no other reason for the sudden pain.
She pressed her knuckles into her forehead, and tears sprang to her eyes as her head pounded. Then she swayed.
Before she could catch herself, she was in Frits’s arms. “Where shall I take her?”
“Follow me. I do not understand it. She is never ill.” Mama left the room and strode to the hall and up the stairs.
Adeline pressed her head against Frits’s hard chest. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be as in love as he was?
“I hope she has not caught the grippe. I have heard it is going around,” her mother muttered. “I’ll have the whole house down with it.”
Frits placed her carefully down on her bed, while Mama spoke with Fendall.
“Everything will be well.” He stroked Adeline’s head. “Just give it time.”
She was trying to decide what he meant when his hand was replaced by a cool cloth. “My lady,” Fendall said, “as soon as everyone leaves I’ll make you more comfortable.”
Sometime later, when she woke, her throat was parched, and she was hot and her very bones hurt.
“Take some of this. It will help your fever.” Fendall lifted her up and touched a cup to Adeline’s lips. She was grateful for the liquid, but it was bitter. “It’s willow bark tea. Drink it down.”
She heard a male voice talking, but it wasn’t Frits. “It is influenza. Watch her for the next day. If she gets any worse, send for me.”
Worse? How could anything be worse than this? It was retribution for telling a falsehood. Every part of her body ached.
Why had Frits left?
“Because your mother would not allow him to remain.”
Who had said that? It sounded as if it had come from inside her head. Yet, it made sense. Something was making her face blessedly cool, but the rest of her body was hot. Too hot.
Adeline kicked her legs, trying to get the bedcovers off.
“Tsk, tsk, my lady,” someone said. Adeline did not recognize the voice. “You’ve got to stay quiet. Doctor’s orders.”
This must be retribution for being untruthful.
I will never, never lie to Frits again.
Chapter Thirty
Bloody hellhounds!
He’d gone too fast, again.
Frits splashed brandy in a glass and sat behind his desk.
Coxcomb. You know better than to rush your fences.
If he’d kept his thoughts to himself, Adeline wouldn’t have felt as if she had to lie to him. Why couldn’t he have just given her a kiss and waited for the rest of it? He knew she was coming around. Albeit slowly. At least he hadn’t magnified his mistake by dropping to one knee and proposing.
He’d actually blamed himself for her headache until he’d received the note from Lady Watford, telling him Adeline had the grippe. At least he couldn’t be responsible for that. No one in his household was ill.
Frits took a long draw of the brandy. He still thought getting her to Littlewood was his best course of action. But until he could manage that, he’d concentrate on things that might make her feel better; fresh fruit and flowers from his estate, perhaps some lavender. He could go to Hatchards to see if there were any books she’d like someone to read to her—hopefully him, but that was probably no more than wishful thinking. No one was going to let him into her sickroom. Therefore, that was all he could—would be allowed—to do for now. He’d also find out when Peter and his mother were going to Surrey. When Adeline was well enough, he’d be able to give her the news.
Damnation.
Frits tossed off the brandy, poured another, pulled out an already cut piece of foolscap, and made a list. He still berated himself for a fool, but doing something made him feel better. He tugged the bellpull and shortly thereafter the door opened.
