“You could take the bread and butter to the dining room.”
“By all means, but I’m happy enough to breakfast here, if that is your habit.”
It was, and she had no reason not to give in. He already knew the worst of them, that they had no servants and no money but the eternally shrinking savings and the pittance she could occasionally extract from Lady Mansel.
So he placed the cutlery on the freshly scrubbed table, added the crockery and the bread and butter, and a jug of cream which had become something of a luxury, along with the sugar and honey which had somehow made their way into her larder.
The mundane domesticity took on strange significance. She was not used to help, let alone help fromhim, a viscount of ill-repute. The bizarre intimacy was interrupted by a knock on the front door.
It was the doctor, who had, under Durward’s orders, promised to return this morning.
“How is the patient?” he demanded, stepping briskly into the house.
“The fever seems to have left him as suddenly as it came on,” Carina said, “and he slept peacefully the last couple of hours. But he seems very weak still.”
“I’m not surprised,” the doctor said drily. “I’ll just step up and look at him. You needn’t show me the way—I remember.”
Allowing her father his privacy, she went back to the kitchen and began to heat some fat in the frying pan, while she worried how much two doctor’s visits would cost. The last of the savings, she presumed, at the very least. But it would be worth it if only her father were well. And stayed well.
The doctor was quicker than she expected, which she hoped was a good sign. As soon as she heard his heavy tread descending the stairs, she moved the pan off the heat and wiped her hands on her apron.
But Durward said, “I’ll go. You’ll still hear what he says.”
Leaving the door open, he walked out to the hall. She heard him say, “Doctor,” and slipped nearer to the door to hear better.
“Oh,you’re still here, are you?” the doctor said, disapproval in every word.
“Someone had to be,” Durward drawled. “Would you expect any other gently bred young lady to carry him about and perform the duties of valet as well as nurse?”
“Well, well,” the doctor said, clearly flustered and torn between dislike and reason. “I’m sure you are of considerable help to them both.”
“How do you find him?”
“With novisiblelasting damage. A day of rest and a lifetime off the bottle and he should be fit enough for work again by tomorrow.” The doctor did not lower his voice, and it struck Carina that Papa was meant to hear it too.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Durward said politely.
The front door opened, and Carina hurried into the hall in time to see the doctor step over the threshold and clap his hat back onto his head.
Durward stepped out with him. “Good day.”
“Good day.”
The doctor vanished from her view, but Durward did not immediately come back in. In fact, from the way he turned to his left, inclining his head, she presumed, with plummeting spirits, that her neighbours were on their own steps, all agog.
“That’s the doctor there again,” Mrs. Felton’s voice noted loudly. “And yourself, sir?”
Durward denied her the introduction she so clearly sought. “Yes, I’m here again, too. Someone had to be, when the captain was taken ill. His neighbours and friends were nowhere to be seen.”
Carina almost giggled, for it was a fine set-down, and she could almost see Mrs. Felton and the others bridling.
“How is the captain?” Mr. Felton asked in dignified tones.
“He will recover, but he is very weak,” Durward replied.
Someone said in outrage, “He drinks!”
“Miss Jasper,” Durward said silkily, “does not. Good morning, ladies. Sir.”
