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She pointed down. “And is this another bar of soap on the floor?”
“Er…yes, I must have been rather clumsy this morning.”
“Blake, is there something you're keeping from me?”
“There are quite a few things I keep from you,” he said with absolute honesty, trying not to think about Caroline sitting out in the stairwell, presumably laughing her bloody head off at his predicament.
“What's this on the floor?” Penelope bent down and picked up something white. “Why, it's the note I wrote to Miss Dent! What is it doing here?”
“I haven't had a chance to send it yet.” Thank God Caroline had forgotten to open it.
“Well, for heaven's sake, don't leave it here on the floor.” She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. “I say, Blake, are you feeling quite the thing?”
“Actually, no,” he replied, seizing the opportunity she'd offered him. “I've been a touch dizzy for the last hour or so. That's how I knocked over the chamber pot.”
She touched his forehead. “You don't have the fever.”
“I'm sure it's nothing a good night's sleep won't cure.”
“I suppose.” Penelope pursed her lips. “But if you're not feeling better by tomorrow I'm summoning a doctor.”
“Fine.”
“Perhaps you ought to lie down right now.”
“Yes,” he said, practically pushing her out of the bathroom. “That is an excellent idea.”
“Right, then. Here, I'll turn down your sheets.”
Blake let out a huge sigh as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He certainly wasn't happy about the latest turn of events; the last thing he wanted was his older sister fussing over him. But it was certainly preferable to her discovering Caroline amid the chamber pot shards and soap slivers.
“Mr. Ravenscroft?”
He looked up. Perriwick was standing in the doorway, balancing a silver tray laden with a veritable feast. Blake started shaking his head frantically, but it was too late. Penelope had already turned around.
“Oh, Perriwick,” she said, “what is that?”
“Food,” he blurted out, clearly confused by her presence. He glanced around.
Blake frowned. The damned butler was obviously looking for Caroline. Perriwick may have been discreet, but he was damned clumsy when it came to out-and-out subterfuge.
Penelope looked to her brother with questioning eyes. “Are you hungry?”
“Er…yes, I thought to have a bit of an afternoon snack.”
She lifted the lid off of one of the platters, revealing an enormous roast ham. “This is quite a snack.”
Perriwick's lips stretched into a sickly sweet smile. “We thought to give you something substantial now, since you requested such light fare for supper.”
“How thoughtful,” Blake growled. He'd bet his front teeth that that ham had originally been intended for supper. Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle were probably planning on sending up all the good food to Caroline and feeding gruel to the “real” occupants of Seacrest Manor. They certainly had made no secret of their disapproval when Blake had informed them of Caroline's new domicile.
Perriwick turned to Penelope as he set the tray down on a table. “If I might be so bold, my lady—”
“Perriwick!” Blake roared. “If I hear the phrase ‘if I might be so bold’ one more time, as God is my witness, I'm going to toss you into the channel!”
“Oh dear,” Penelope said. “Perhaps he does have the fever, after all. Perriwick, what do you think?”
The butler reached for Blake's forehead, only to have his hand nearly bitten off. “Touch me and die,” Blake snarled.
