Page 18 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Eight

Ysella awoke the next morning to the sound of cheerful humming. Martha was drawing the curtains to let bright sunlight spill into the room and a fire already blazed in the grate. “Good morning, Miss.”

Ysella sat up and Martha brought her the warm shawl she’d discarded the night before. Glad of the thick fabric, Ysella drew it close around her shoulders to keep the warmth in. Fire or no fire, her bedroom did not feel cozy.

A moment passed before it dawned upon her that the humming she’d heard indicated good spirits. And good spirits could mean nothing else. “Martha!” she called out as the maid bustled about the room, tidying what didn’t need tidying. “Morvoren—how is she?”

Martha turned her round face towards her mistress, a smile splitting it almost from side to side and revealing a few gaps in her dentition. “The fever’s broken, Miss Ysella! Doctor Busick’s been here all night with her ladyship, and he says the crisis is past. Her ladyship’s over the worst.”

Forgetful of the chill, Ysella bounced out of bed, the shawl dropping to the floor. “Good heavens. That’s wonderful news. Might I go and see her today, do you think? I need to get dressed. Whatever is the time? Where are my clothes?”

“The dowager said I was to let you sleep in. She said you were right tired after the journey and all the gallivanting you’ve been doing in Town. So I did. But then his lordship told me to get you up because he wants to celebrate and he needs you to help him. It’s gone eleven, Miss.”

“Gone eleven! Then I’ll have missed breakfast and I am starving!” Ysella’s stomach rumbled as if in agreement, and she giggled. “Quick, where are my clothes? Not that dress. This house is like an ice box. I’ll have the brown one with the long sleeves. Not the prettiest of gowns, but by far the warmest.”

Within a very short space of time, Ysella was skipping along the corridor to her brother’s rooms, her heart suddenly as light as air. Morvoren had turned the corner. Her poor little baby boy was not going to grow up without his mother like Sam had. All was right in the world.

Kit must have heard her coming. He stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Ysella threw her arms around him, holding him tight. “Oh, Kitto! I’m so happy for you. Can I see her? Just for a moment?”

He held her close, his face against her hair, his heart beating against hers. His body shook. With gentle care, Ysella extricated herself from his hold. He was crying.

“Oh, Kitto, don’t. I can’t bear it if you cry.” She took his face in her hands, the stubble rough under her touch. “She’s going to get better now. You don’t need to cry.”

He shook his head, the tears streaming down his face. “I can’t help it. When she was so ill, I forced myself not to give in to tears. I thought if I cried, then she’d surely die. It would seal her fate, because I’d be accepting what was going to happen to her.” He managed a feeble laugh. “Make no mistake. These are tears of joy, not sorrow. And now I don’t seem to be able to stop them.” He wiped the back of his hand across his cheeks. “It’s ridiculous, I know. But if I’d lost her… well, then I’d have been lost too. I couldn’t have borne it.”

Ysella hugged him again, his head on her shoulder. “You can cry with me if you need to.” This seemed to be the thing to do, because he hung onto her like a drowning man for several minutes. Indeed, until Mama emerged from the sick room.

Ysella and Kit separated, and Mama put a gentle hand on his back. “Do you want to come in and see Morvoren?” she asked Ysella. “Just for a minute or two, as she’s so very tired. But she asked for you as soon as she heard you were here.” She smiled at Kit. “And you, my darling boy, can go and eat something, then try and get some sleep. Loveday and I will attend to anything Morvoren needs this morning. You’ve done more than enough. Time to look after yourself.”

With a rueful grin, as of a man put upon by his womenfolk, Kit departed, and Ysella followed Mama into the bedroom. The curtains had been drawn back to let in the sunlight of a spring day at last without rain, and the room was no longer as stifling hot as it had been just a few short hours ago. Morvoren lay propped up on at least half a dozen pillows, as pale and wan as before, but at least now without the sheen of sweat on her skin.

Ysella ran to the bed and plumped herself down on Loveday’s low stool. Reaching out with both hands, she took one of Morvoren’s in hers and clung onto it. How thin it felt in her own strong grip. So unlike the Morvoren she knew and loved.

Morvoren’s dry, cracked lips curved into a smile. “Ysella. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.” Her words emerged as croaky as a frog. “I’m so sorry I’ve spoiled your season.”

Ysella shook her head. “Nonsense. That doesn’t matter a fig.” Only that wasn’t quite true, was it? An image of Oliver in his scarlet regimentals leapt into her head, only to be pushed away. The image didn’t want to go.

Morvoren licked her lips. “Have you been having fun?”

The urge to be honest and disclose to Morvoren that she’d fallen in love with someone burgeoned, but Ysella held her tongue. No heart-to-hearts with Mama and Loveday so close. Maybe tomorrow? She yearned to share her excitement with someone, and Morvoren would be by far the best person. She understood all about love.

“It’s been wonderful,” Ysella said, choosing her words with care. “After I was presented, I had so many invitations to soirées and picnics and dances and routs. And Lord Flint organized an enormous ball to honor the new Lady Flint—and guess what, she’s as big as a house, just as you said you were. Who’d have thought it? He’s hoping for a boy this time, of course, but I’ll wager it’ll be another girl. How cross that will make him. I shall laugh, and I daresay others will too. Mama took me to the ball, and I danced with so many handsome young gentlemen. Such a press. The whole world had come, it seemed.”

Morvoren was looking at her as though she suspected there might be more to her experiences in London than she was letting on.

Ysella chided herself. Maybe she was prattling on just a little too fast. Despite Morvoren’s weakened condition, it seemed her astute nature had not vanished.

Ysella gave her sister-in-law the sweetest of smiles.

“That’s enough for now, Ysella,” Mama said, her voice stern. “Morvoren needs to sleep a while before taking some beef broth to build her strength. You need to let her have some peace from your chatter. You can visit again tomorrow.”

Morvoren squeezed Ysella’s hand. “Perhaps you might visit the nursery and see how my son is? Before tomorrow? And let me know? Your mama says I’m still too weak to see him.”

Mama harrumphed in a way that was remarkably similar to the way Martha harrumphed when displeased.

Ysella squeezed Morvoren’s hand in return. “I saw him yesterday, and he is thriving. But I shall go again today and then again tomorrow morning before coming to see you. I promise.”