Page 39 of Lord of Mistrust

“None, none at all. Oh, I am in such confusion. I have just received the news I’ve been dreading. But I should be asking after your health, your mission.”

Whiteley took her hand and tied the strip of linen around the injured finger. “My health is of no account, but I thank you. I regret to tell you, however, that Sir Robert has fallen sick.”

“Unwell!” Was that why he hadn’t come? “What ails him?”

“An infection in his wounded arm. He can’t be moved from his bed. I thought your aunt and uncle might wish to know why he has not asked after your wellbeing.”

Chloe fought to quell the rising horror in her breast. An infection in his wound! That could have terrible consequences—if gangrene set in, he might lose the limb. If he wasn’t well cared for, his very life could be at stake!

“Is his family in attendance on him?”

“His sister was sent for when he first became ill, but apparently her husband is sick, so she can’t leave him. Consequently, the task of ensuring Sir Robert is looked after has fallen to me.”

“Oh, what a tragedy that she cannot come! Poor woman—she must be worried unto death.”

Whiteley’s mouth twisted as he put the final knot in Chloe’s bandage.

“She’ll be remaining solely out of duty, methinks, and to ensure that if the man dies, his will is properly adhered to. I understand a good deal of money is involved.”

“Only from duty?” Robert’s sister didn’t love her husband?

“That is not my tale to tell.” Whiteley shuffled his feet. “You’d best return before you’re missed. I don’t want your guardians to know you’ve defied them.”

“Indeed. They’ll punish me by making me spend more time with Lord Brooke.”

Whiteley raised his eyebrows. “Lord Brooke? I’m certain Sir Robert muttered that name. But he was feverish at the time, and I cannot be certain I heard aright.”

“Oh, never mind that. Does he have a physician?”

“His usual doctor has been attending him this week but has just been called back to his family in the country, so another man’s been found. Robert’s comfortable enough—some of the staff have already arrived from Berkshire to see to the house, and his meals.”

“I must find a way to see him, Master Whiteley, I absolutely must! Will you help me?”

“If you can get away without arousing your uncle’s ire, I’d be happy to take you. ’Tis barely half an hour from here, at a brisk walk. Name a time and a place where we can meet, and I’ll escort you thither.”

It took an effort to think straight over the rising tide of panic. “I can steal out this way. The candles are usually snuffed by ten—I’ll wait half an hour thereafter, then slip out.”

“There’ll be retribution if you’re found out, Mistress.”

“I’ve survived worse than my guardians’ disapproval.” She was sure Uncle Matthew would do no more than rage and rail at her if she was caught. And if Lord Brooke found out about her nighttime excursion, he might withdraw his offer for her. That would be a most satisfactory outcome.

Whiteley bowed to her. “Be careful, Mistress. Anon.” He disappeared around the corner.

She took a moment or two to compose herself before she returned to the solar. Robert was seriously ill, and she knew not how she could help, or even if he would welcome her aid should she offer it. She must look through her herbal, and any other medical treatise she could find, to make sure she understood Robert’s ailment.

This past week had given her plenty of opportunities to doubt the strength of his feelings for her. Yet, if he should die, she’d never know where his kisses and sweet words might have taken her. She’d never know if she had gained a foothold in his heart.

And if she was going to have to marry Lord Brooke after all, she’d never know the taste of true love.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chloe retired early but didn’t undress. She threw the coverlet over herself, however, lest anyone should peep in on their way to bed. Her window was open a crack, and as soon as she heard the watchman cry the hour of ten, she began her preparations.

She donned a thin summer cloak with a hood and soft leather turn-shoes, buckled her belt around her waist with her hanging pocket and knife attached, and sat in silence until all sounds of movement in the house had ceased. Then she waited as long as she could bear it, and opened her door.

Trembling with excitement, she peered down the passageway and strained her ears for any noise. Unfortunately, her heart was pumping like a blacksmith’s bellows, and her blood rang in her ears, so it was impossible to listen out for danger. She forced herself to creep slowly down the stairs, fearing discovery at every step. The opening of the service door seemed to take an eternity, and each creak of the bolts was a thunderclap in her ears.

Finally, she was out on the street. Whiteley instantly appeared out of the shadows and took her arm. “We must go a roundabout way, Mistress, lest we be stopped and asked our business. Be on your guard for cutthroats, knaves, drunkards, and pickpockets, for like them, we shall be keeping to the darker ways of the town.”