Page 61 of The Viscount of Shadows

Chapter 21

Claudia lay in bed, watching the sun peek over the grand buildings across the street. She slept an hour here and there, but it wasn’t the deep, restful sleep needed to recover. The activities of the past forty-eight hours still churned about in her mind. Laying aside the danger they had faced, what was still hard to grasp was that Oliver—was the Sentinel.

Claudia believed him to be a stuffy, bored aristocrat when he was anything but. How fascinating, such complicated layers. When he spoke, ‘For the rest of our lives,’ it momentarily chilled her heart but also caused its beat to speed up due to the wave of absolute bliss that inundated her. Yes, Oliver caused a great deal of confusion within.

His candid, emotional confession in the carriage became even more intense after she had been rescued. Smitten? Falling for her? Captured his heart? Those heartfelt words yielded a tumult within her, prompting her trepidation to spike.

But oh, those words.

They arrowed straight to her heart, causing it to practically burst from her chest. If only she could be as open and honest as Oliver—confident of his feelings with a clear understanding of how to deal with them and verbalize them. Claudia had yet to learn how to do it. She felt utterly flummoxed.

Bitterness and cynicism made her believe no man was worth her attention or affection. Claudia had accepted she would be alone for the rest of her life and planned accordingly. How does she reconcile her low opinion of men in general, particularly wealthy ones, with the near perfection of Oliver Wollstonecraft?

Very well, he wasn’t faultless. No one is. His hero—what to call it? —obsession? No, that did not fit. Perhaps a preoccupation or fixation? Blast it; it all meant the same thing, and Claudia wasn’t exactly sure if it was a negative or positive.

The door facing the hallway burst open, and a woman carrying a tray entered the room.

“Baroness Addington?” The woman she had met at Olivia’s tea party?

“The very one.” She placed the tray on the sideboard and moved to close the connecting door. “The viscount is still sleeping. We do not want to disturb him.” The baroness turned to face her. “Do you need assistance sitting upright? I have brought you a little breakfast. And it is very little, oatmeal and toast, as per Doctor Hornsby’s orders.”

“I can manage.” Claudia gingerly sat upright, her gaze never leaving the baroness, who quickly snatched the tray and placed it on Claudia’s lap.

“I suppose you are wondering why I am here,” Lady Corrine stated as she pulled a chair over to Claudia’s bedside and sat on it. “I was with Althea Galway yesterday when Detective Simpson arrived to give the news of finding you and the viscount.” Lady Corrine waved her hand. “It is not my business to know what occurred. But I offered my services. I am a trained nurse.”

A baroness, a trained nurse?

“Please excuse what must be my shocked expression.”

Lady Corrine chuckled lightly. “I am a member of the Royal British Nurses’ Association. For nearly ten years, I nursed in a workhouse infirmary until I agreed to an arranged marriage to the new baron because my family needed the money. So, here I am. In a loveless marriage, I am trying to find a way to make myself useful again. Too much information?”

“No, not at all. I am impressed.” Claudia picked up the mug of tea and sipped it. “I am sorry to hear that your marriage is not, er—”

“Ideal? I had no illusions going in. After all, I am thirty years of age. Why he pursued me of all women, who knows? I never asked him.”

“Wait, aren’t you the daughter of Viscount Rothley? Perhaps that was the reason.”

The baroness pushed the plate with the toast closer to Claudia. “I managed to smuggle a bit of jam out of the kitchen for you.” Lady Corrine lifted the napkin to show a small ramekin dish. “Raspberry preserves.”

“Oh, thank you.” Ravenous, Claudia dipped her spoon into the jam and slathered it on her toast. “I have to ask, why would a viscount’s daughter become a nurse?”

“Money. Pure and simple. Or at least it is one of the reasons. My family has no money at all. My younger brother—the heir to this underprivileged viscountcy—also works. He is a vice president at a bank. I saw a way to clean the debt slate and give my family a new start. The old baron had a lot of money tucked away in the bank. Scads of it. It worked out all around.”

Claudia frowned. Why is it always the women that had to make sacrifices? Why didn’t her brother marry money? Whatever the explanation, it was none of her business. “Except for you, my lady.”

“Well, it is what it is. Now, tell me about Detective Sergeant Simpson. What do you know about him?”

Claudia watched Lady Corrine closely. Asking about the detective? Why? “I only met him briefly yesterday. I know next to nothing about him. Oliver, I mean, the viscount, respects him. I have no idea if he is married. Is that what you wanted to know, my lady?”

A slow smile curved about the baroness’s lips. “Why, yes. I am merely curious.” She exhaled. “Oh, drat it all. He caught my attention. Hardly proper for a newly married woman, but I am not dead.”

Claudia laughed. “I liked you from the moment we met.”

“It is the same for me. Now, I am here to examine your wound, then you must sleep. Which I believe you will since you drank my tea concoction. Do not worry. There are no opiates in the tea; it is cat mint and chamomile. It will help you relax. I assumed you haven’t slept much.”

“No, I haven’t.” For many reasons, including the enticing viscount next door.

Lady Corrine stood and removed the tray, then lifted Claudia’s nightgown. Carefully pulling the plasters and gauze aside, she examined the wound. “What skilled stitching. You will hardly have a scar.” She lightly touched all around the injury. “No swelling and no seepage or signs of infection. You should be up on your feet in a matter of days.” The baroness placed the plaster back in place.