The pillow shifted slightly as she peeked out at him, clearly annoyed. “I had a sip of tea. That’s all.”
“Only one sip?”
“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “And now, do you mind leaving me so I can continue loathing you in private?”
He ignored the jab. “Who brought the tea in?”
“What does that matter?”
“Please.”
She relented. “It was the footman. The same one who witnessed my fall from the horse.”
Dominic stiffened. “Isn’t tea usually delivered by one of the maids?”
“Yes, normally,” Dorothea said. “But today, it was him.”
A cold sensation began to curl in Dominic’s gut as he pressed, “Has that footman ever brought tea to you before?”
“No,” she replied, clearly puzzled now. “Never. Why?”
Dominic rose from the chair with slow, deliberate movements, every instinct sharpened. “Because I believe I may need to have a word with him.”
“Good,” Dorothea said dryly. “Does that mean you’re finally leaving my bedchamber? I only ask because you are not welcome in here.”
“I shall take my leave… for now.”
Before stepping away, he turned to Tabitha, who stood dutifully near the hearth, her expression tight with worry.
“Do not give Lady Warwicke anything to eat or drink unless you fetch it yourself. No one else. Do you understand me?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Tabitha replied.
Dorothea huffed. “If I weren’t feeling so wretched, I’d be throwing my pillows at your head to drive you out.”
A faint smirk tugged at Dominic’s lips, but it was fleeting. He turned towards the door. “Do try to feel better, Dorothea.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “Don’t pretend you care.”
He paused on the threshold, one hand resting on the doorframe. His voice was quieter this time, almost gruff. “I do care.”
Then, without another word, he stepped out and closed the door gently behind him.
Dominic descended the stairs two at a time, his mind racing. Something was wrong—deeplywrong—and he could no longer ignore the unease that had been gnawing at the edge of his thoughts since the moment Dorothea had grown ill.
He found Wright in the entry hall, conversing with another servant.
“Wright,” Dominic said sharply.
The butler turned immediately. “Yes, my lord?”
“I need to speak with the footman who delivered tea to Lady Warwicke’s drawing room this morning. At once.”
Wright offered him a bemused look. “My lord… footmen don’t deliver tea. That task belongs to the maids.”
“Well, one did today. Lady Warwicke told me as much.”
A flicker of unease crossed Wright’s face. “I see. I’ll make inquiries right away.”
