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She wondered vaguely whether it would be a good idea to rise and find something to do. Perhaps taking a walk would help.

Why, why did I tell him I loved him? Why did I hide the truth about Richard Marley or trick Philip into that ridiculous discussion about Jane’s family?

She vaguely recollected that she had thought about rising a few moments earlier to take a walk and start clearing her head. However, that would take energy and effort, and her body felt too boneless.

Later … later she would get up and eat. Right now, she would sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

“Child, you have been in your room two days and the better part of another, and it is time to get up!” Mrs. Harris’s roughened voice startled Annabel out of a doze.

“Mrs. Harris?” Annabel cracked an eye open to stare up at the perforated cornice of her magnificent mahogany bed, ivory and red drapes woven through to fall in majestic folds that she had kept drawn closed since taking to her chambers. The bed she had shared with the duke almost every night since their wedding. But not since he had left her.

“Yes, my girl, I’m here to ensure you eat a full breakfast and rise.”

“Where is Mary?”

“Your lady’s maid is worried about you and does not think she can talk sense into that thick head of yours, so she came to find me.”

Annabel slowly turned onto her back and tilted her head to look at the housekeeper. “What makes you think you can?”

“Girl, if I must, I am going to drag you out of that bed and spoon-feed you until you eat an entire meal. I am quite aware that you have been picking at your meals and only had a minimum to eat. I will not stand for it. Sit up and start eating!”

Annabel knew there was no point in arguing. The cheerful older woman could turn quite stern and shrewish when she was determined to put her mothering hat on. Since Mama had died, Mrs. Harris was not afraid to get parental with her.

She struggled into a sitting position and beckoned for the tray. The smell of eggs and ham hit her, causing her stomach to heave in protest. She knew from experience that beginning with a small piece of fruit would open her appetite up, so she picked up an apple quarter and took a small bite. As she chewed, she realized she was relieved Mrs. Harris was here. Like Philip had fallen into a grieving period not so long ago, now she appeared to have done the same.

Sometimes, she mused, you just need someone to intercede when life gets too overwhelming. Someone like Mrs. Harris, who refused to allow a disastrous situation to fester in her vicinity. Mama would have been happy to know Annabel had such a loyal friend.

“My girl, I am going to have a bath prepared. You need to clean up and leave your bedchamber. There is more than one person to think of now, so it won’t do to dawdle.”

Annabel nodded and kept chewing on the apple. Swallowing was difficult with her throat locked up. Once she was done with the apple, she gingerly started on the eggs, sipping hot tea between mouthfuls. Two of us to take care of? How did her eating help Philip? He was not even in residence.

Annabel shrugged to herself and kept eating. As she ate, she felt her muscles relaxing and eating became easier. She acknowledged that barely eating the past couple days had been a poor choice, for the despair and nausea were now abating to a manageable level. Slowly she became more aware of the room around her—the sound of the servants filling the tub, birds chattering outside the window, the apparent gray pall that had lain over the bedchamber receding to reveal the true warm ivory, rich mahogany, and lush red.

She paused in her eating, feeling full. Mrs. Harris noticed and walked back over to the bed to peer at her tray. “Your Grace, you will need to eat more than that,” she commanded in a menacing murmur, mindful of the other servants in the room.

“But—”

“Eat!” the housekeeper hissed.

Annabel gave a small nod and finished the eggs before picking at the ham.

She saw the housekeeper shooing the other servants out, the bath now ready. Annabel rushed to devour the ham before the housekeeper could scold her again.

Mrs. Harris walked back over and looked at the empty plates. She gave a nod. “That will do. Now finish that tea and come bathe.”

Over the next thirty minutes, Mrs. Harris bullied her along to wash up, even washing her hair for her like she had when she was young. She had forgotten that many years ago, Mrs. Harris had started as her nanny. Mama and Mrs. Harris had bonded, becoming quite close, and Lady Filminster had promoted the older woman first to upper servant, then to housekeeper when the last one had retired.

“Mrs. Harris, how long were you with Mama?”

Mrs. Harris had been briskly massaging Annabel’s scalp. She hesitated at the question before commencing with the washing, her voice suspiciously gruff as she spoke next. “I knew Catherine Ridley when she was a girl in torn dresses, chasing around after John Ridley like a shadow. She was a rapscallion, your mum.”