“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He huffed. “My father was constantly putting a Turkish fig poultice on his stomach because the doctors said they had a medicinal quality.”
“You don’t believe that to be the case?”
“My father hired the best doctors for his care, but they always resorted to the usual practices of blood-letting, dieting, and laxatives.”
“I’m afraid it was the same situation for my father,” she revealed. “But the doctors made him drink this concoction of rum and boiled milk, sweetened only by loaf sugar.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“I remember my father throwing it up more times than he kept it down towards the end,” she admitted dejectedly.
Lord Bideford’s eyes held compassion as he said, “It is hard to watch someone waste away in front of you.”
“That it is,” Ellie readily agreed. “I just wish I had my miniature portrait of him.”
“Did you leave it behind with your mother?”
She shook her head. “Lord Worthington wouldn’t let us take anything with us, other than what he approved.”
“And he denied you a miniature portrait of your own father?” he asked, his voice growing in agitation.
“I’m afraid so.”
Lord Bideford clenched his jaw so tightly that a muscle pulsed below his ear. “That was poorly done on his part.”
“It wasn’t unexpected,” she admitted. “He removed all the portraits of my father and put them in the attic.”
“Did he state why?”
“He did it all to try to force my hand into marrying him.”
Lord Bideford met her gaze. “I’m glad that you didn’t relent. You deserve so much better.”
“As am I,” she replied. “I am most fortunate that my mother also supported my decision to turn down his offers.”
“You have a good mother.”
“I do,” she replied. “Much like your own.”
Lord Bideford smiled. “It would appear we are both blessed in that regard.”
Ellie’s eyes landed on his lips, and she realized that he had one of those rare smiles that managed to break through her defenses most effectively.
“May I escort you back to your bedchamber?” Lord Bideford asked, rising.
Ellie rose as well. “I would appreciate that,” she replied, accepting his arm.
As he led her back to her bedchamber, she found that she couldn’t think of anything clever to say, and he didn’t appear to mind the silence.
Lord Bideford stopped outside her bedchamber and dropped his arm. “Here you are,” he said in a low voice.
“Here I am,” she murmured.
Ellie stood there, watching him for a moment, unable to move. His eyes roamed her face and eventually landed on her lips, causing her breath to hitch. Did she dare believe that he wished to kiss her?
He started to lean closer, but he abruptly stiffened. “It is late,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I should be going.”
