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“The physician? At this time of day?” She swung her legs over the side of the bed at once, fully awake now. “Did he travel all night?”

“Dawson woke me to send for you. He arrived a short time ago. As for traveling through the night, I know nothing of that except . . . he is here already and with your mother.”

Idalia didn’t even pause long enough to visit the garderobe. She slipped out of her chemise and into the shift and gown Leana had prepared. She chewed on a piece of mint her maid handed her as she tied the laces at her back.

He was here.

Finally.

“Is Father with them?”

“Aye,” Leana confirmed. “Shall I wake Tilly as well?”

Idalia started to say nay, then thought better of it. Her sister often accused her of treating her like a child when, in truth, she was closer to womanhood than Idalia would care to admit.

“Aye. Send her to Mother’s chamber.”

When Leana finished brushing her hair, she gave the maid a quick squeeze of her hand in thanks and bolted from the bedchamber.

Making her way to her mother’s chamber, Idalia’s heart hammered in her chest, the dream completely forgotten. Or mostly forgotten. She and Lance had talked for hours last eve, the awkwardness between them fading as they shared stories from their youth, and yet he’d held fast to his resolution not to touch her. It was little wonder her waking fantasies had bled into her dreams.

But none of that mattered right now. Nothing mattered except her mother.

If anyone could help her, it was this doctor.

When she entered the chamber, Idalia hastened to her father’s side. The physician was standing next to the bed speaking to her mother.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

The man who looked down at her was her father, not the earl. It had taken some time for her to understand that dichotomy. A couple of years earlier, a neighboring baron—and a confidant of the man who was now King John—had visited the hall to ask for Roysa’s hand in marriage. Her father had sent Idalia away, saying the matter was a discussion ill-suited for her ears, and she’d run upstairs weeping, seeking her mother’s comfort.

Her mother had taught her a lesson Idalia had never forgotten.

The Earl of Stanton was one of the most powerful men in the north. Like his father and grandfather before him, he was continually called upon to balance the king’s demands with potential alliances that could alter the course of Stanton’s future.

She’d learned two valuable lessons that day.

First, her father was more than just the man who’d sired her. As the Earl of Stanton, he had an obligation to care for his people—and oversee their relationship to their king.

Second, she must never speak ill of either her father or their king to anyone.

Not even the man I love.

Idalia, like her father, despised King John for the way he treated his people. But neither of them would ever utter such a thing aloud.

To do so would be to court trouble.

“He only just arrived,” her father explained, “and has been asking her questions.”

Her mother, thank the heavens, was awake. And seemed to be answering the physician’s questions with ease. He asked about her headaches and what had been causing them, then inquired about the discoloration of the whites of her eyes.

After a few more questions, the physician turned to them.

“If you will.” He looked toward the door.

“I am not leaving,” Idalia’s father said emphatically.

That, the voice of the earl.