Page 76 of The English Wife

“Stop that!” Georgie blinked open her stinging eyes to see Bay bending over her, one hand chafing her wrist, the other holding a vinaigrette, reeking of brimstone.

“You’re awake,” said Bay with almost comical relief. His face was a study in relief—but also something furtive, apprehensive.

Why should he … and then Georgie remembered. She remembered the garden and Charlie. And Bay.

“Get that thing away,” Georgie rasped, pushing the vinaigrette away.

The walls around her were papered with blue flowers. They bloomed improbably over the counterpane covering her. She was still in her dress beneath it, her stays loosened, but not removed. The ends of her stays poked uncomfortably into her hips.

Bay sat down abruptly on the bed beside her. He smiled unsteadily, reaching out to smooth the hair away from her face. “It’s only smelling salts.”

Georgie flinched away from his touch. “It smells like the devil’s own breath.”

Someone made a harrumphing noise. Georgie looked up to find her mother-in-law standing in the doorway, surveying the scene with displeasure.

Bay rose hastily, extending the vinaigrette to his mother. “Thank you for the vinaigrette, Mother. Would you mind returning it to Mrs. Newland?”

Mrs. Van Duyvil did not appreciate being dismissed. Ignoring her son, she said to Georgie, “You have caused a great deal of bother.”

Bay rubbed his tired eyes. “Hardly that, Mother. Only Charlie…”—was it Georgie’s imagination, or did Bay stumble over the name?—“only Charlie Ogden saw, and he certainly won’t go spreading stories.”

“If he won’t, his sister will.” Mrs. Van Duyvil looked pointedly at her son. “She’s spread enough rumors already.”

Rumors about … but no. Mrs. Van Duyvil wasn’t thinking about that. She hadn’t seen what Georgie had seen. Georgie felt a crazy urge to laugh. The rumors about Bay and Anne seemed a lifetime ago, entirely inconsequential.

“You might,” said Mrs. Van Duyvil to Georgie, “have shown the prudence to find a place of privacy before succumbing to the vapors.”

Georgie levered herself up on her elbows, saying hoarsely, “In the future, I will endeavor to save all swoons for more convenient locations.”

Bay stepped between the bed and his mother. “It will only cause more talk if we’re all gone. Someone from the family needs to see Anne off.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil nodded, tight-lipped, and retreated, vinaigrette in hand.

Bay sat on the edge of the bed, his hand near, but not touching Georgie’s. “She doesn’t mean to be unkind. She’s upset about Anne’s marriage. If you hadn’t been ill, it would have been something else.”

Why in the devil were they talking about his mother? She didn’t care about his mother. Georgie turned her head on the pillow, away from him. She could feel the mattress shift as Bay leaned closer.

“Are you … how are you feeling?” A finger brushed her knuckles, a whisper of a movement. Georgie looked up at Bay, his face so familiar and unfamiliar, all at once. “You scared me, collapsing like that.”

Don’t smile at me like that, Georgie wanted to say. Don’t smile at me as though I were a stranger and not a very bright one, someone chance met at a dinner party, someone with whom one had to make stilted conversation until the table turned and one could, with relief, turn to the person on the other side.

“It wasn’t exactly enjoyable for me either,” said Georgie, her voice rusty. All she could see was Bay and Charlie, Charlie and Bay.

“Here.” Bay rose hastily, pouring water from a pitcher into a glass. “Let me help you drink.”

The glass was crystal, etched with flowers. Usually, Georgie found the casual opulence of Bay’s world amusing, something out of a Punch cartoon, too ridiculous to be real. Today it felt all too real, pressing around her, stifling her.

She batted Bay’s hand away. “I’m perfectly capable of drinking by myself.”

Meekly, Bay proffered the glass, accepting the rebuff without complaint. Don’t, Georgie wanted to scream. Tease me, fight with me. Anything but looking so guilty.

Her fingers closed around the glass with difficulty; the room spun as she hoisted herself to a sitting position.

Bay hovered over the side of her bed, looking like a golden retriever who had lost his ball. “I shouldn’t have kept you in the sun so long.”

It wasn’t the sun. Georgie took a small sip of water, then another. The cool water felt good against her throat, keeping the queasiness at bay. She leaned back, against the pillow, letting her eyes drift closed.

“May I?” Bay took the glass from her, gently. She could hear the chink of crystal against mahogany as he set it down. “Mrs. Newland has called for a doctor.”