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“Mrs. Parkem, are you well?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said shakily. “I just— Forgive me.”

She made as though to stand, pushing her chair back from the table. The men all jumped to their feet as she collapsed, sweeping her remaining knives to the floor as she went.

She fell harder than she’d expected, hitting her head on the rounded edge of the table. It throbbed something fierce, but she kept her eyes screwed shut and forced her body to go limp. If this was going to work, she needed them to take her off to a quiet part of the house. She needed them to believe that she’d fainted dead away.

“Mrs. Parkem!” she heard Wark shout amid a great scraping of chairs and clattering of men’s shoes against the floor. In a rather dispassionate voice, Mrs. Wark told the butler to send a footman for a doctor while someone crouched next to her.

A hand—Wark’s, if she had to lay money on it—rested on her shoulder and she was shaken gently. The motion ground one of the steel bones of her corset into her hip and nearly made her gasp.

“Mrs. Parkem,” said Wark, trying to rouse her.

“Best to give her some space,” said a man she thought was probably Harrison.

“He’s right, my dear,” said Mrs. Wark, her tone still dry. “You don’t want to crowd the woman when she’s fainted.”

“We should get her up off the floor though,” said Douglas. “Is there a sofa she can rest on?”

“The yellow bedroom,” said Wark immediately. “Take her there.”

“Really, Harold, she’ll be just fine in the drawing room. The yellow bedroom hasn’t been aired for guests,” said Mrs. Wark.

But her son either didn’t hear her or didn’t care to pay her any heed. “Donaldson, tell the maids to bring water and cloths for the cut on Mrs. Parkem’s head.”

So that was why her head hurt so badly, she thought as she felt herself being lifted up into the air. She kept her body slack so that her head lolled away from the man’s chest and her arms fell away.

“Mother, perhaps you would like to assist me in attending to Mrs. Parkem,” said Wark.

There was a hesitation, but at last she heard the scrape of a chair against the parquet wood floor. “Of course. If you gentlemen will excuse me.”

Lavinia bumped along as she was carried through the house and up a flight of stairs. She heard a door open and a rush of cool air hit her.

“Why isn’t there a fire in this room?” Wark barked.

“Because I told you, it hasn’t been opened for guests. No one is supposed to be using it, Harold. Really,” said his mother.

“When I announced that we would use the yellow bedroom, I expected that someone would have gotten it into his bloody skull to jump to it and prepare it. What is the point of employing so many footmen if not a one is trained to do his job?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Footmen do not lay fires or air bedrooms.”

“The only thing ridiculous is that we keep four of them. Not even your Mr. Douglas’s Duke of Livingston has so many regularly employed. And not a one is any use right now when Mrs. Parkem has fallen ill.”

“She’s just fainted,” said Mrs. Wark. “She probably laced herself too tightly. Who knows when the last time she wore an evening gown was.”

If she hadn’t still been pretending to be unconscious, Lavinia might have arched a brow at that, true though it was.

She was just being laid out on a soft surface she could only assume was a bed when Donaldson’s voice came from a few feet away. “Here are the water and towels that you requested, sir. The doctor has been sent for.”

The sound of enamel clicking against wood and the slosh of water was followed by Mrs. Wark. “There. You’ve done more than enough. You can go back to your guests now.”

“No,” said Wark. “Her wound needs to be attended to. And build up that fire.”

“My apologies, sir. Evie is here with the taper,” said Donaldson.

“Give me that,” said Mrs. Wark fiercely. Suddenly there was a soft, damp cloth being pressed against her throbbing head. For all that she knew the woman hated her, Lavinia couldn’t fault Mrs. Wark for her nursing. Her hostess had a gentle touch, which was good, because Lavinia wasn’t sure she could’ve held back her reaction if Mrs. Wark had pressed down on the cut.

“There,” said Mrs. Wark. “The doctor won’t even need to apply stitches.”