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The butler, an elderly man, inclined his head and closed the door at his back as Bess took Donna’s hand and said, “Well, then, I suppose, we must do this thing. Are you ready?”
A moment later Donna and Bess entered the cozy parlor to find Mary Russell pacing by the window. Something about her seemed off to Bess, but she put on a smile and went forward, saying, “Please, Mary, do take a seat, and I shall call for refreshments.”
“Refreshments? How can I when my poor cousin lies ill in your host’s home?” Mary said on a troubled frown.
“Well, as to that, one must eat, and, faith, Thomas will make a recovery,” Bess returned.
“I, for one, wouldn’t mind if we enjoyed some tea,” Donna said, apparently trying to appear at ease.
“Take me to my cousin at once,” Mary said in a tone that was slightly edged with irritation.
“Oh, did you not read the note I sent round to you? Aside from the fact that he is infectious, he cannot be disturbed. He is sleeping now, after a very bad night of nightmares and fever. The best thing you can do for your cousin is to leave him to rest.”
“He can do so in my home, where he belongs, where his father meant him to be,” Mary snapped.
Bess was surprised by the woman’s attitude. “That does not,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “sound very considerate to me. Thomas is resting, and we will not allow him to be disturbed. And as to his father sending him to you, here is a problem, as, you see, he did not reach you, did he?” Lady Bess watched the woman’s eyes. “No, he did not. I think that changes matters.”
Mary stiffened, and her face was a mask of fury. “You are impertinent. I am his family. You are a stranger. This is unacceptable. I shall return for him in the morning, and be certain I shan’t leave without him.”
“Really? We shall have to see about that,” said Lady Bess, her chin up. “And as to being family, as such, I would have thought you would have done more to find him.”
“Humph!” Mary turned on her low-heeled shoes and stomped off, obviously very annoyed.
Donna shrugged. “She doesn’t seem her usual sweet self, does she?”
“Hmm, I suppose she is frustrated, and as she said, we are not family. But, Donna, I had the oddest feeling when I was speaking to her … and can’t quite put my finger on it. We of course are not looking for gratitude. We are not looking for thanks or wanting to sit down and having to relate how we found Thomas and under what conditions. Yet I find it odd that she did not express some thanks for his safe return and some curiosity as to who had him and where.”
Donna gasped. “You are right. Oh dear, this grows darker, doesn’t it, Bess?”
“It does, for my suspicions grow darker,” Bess answered.
“Mine as well.” Donna nodded. “What is to do? We can only keep him away from her so long, and we can’t accuse Holland without some kind of evidence.”
“I know. I am hoping when the earl returns … well, perhaps he will know what next is to be done.”
“You know, when your father comes back here, he means to take you off to London,” Donna said with a question in her voice.
“I know,” Bess said softly.
“Well, Robby says we shall join you, as he says we should open our town house and enjoy the season for a time.”
Bess reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Oh, thank you, Donna. I know Robby would rather travel to hell and back than spend a month in London. This is your doing, and I am ever so grateful, for I would be bored to tears without you in London.”
“But, Bess, don’t you want to go to the routs and balls and meet someone suitable?”
“No,” Bess said and sighed heavily.
“Because …?”
“Because I have met someone suitable.”
Donna was moved to take her friend’s shoulder in both her hands and shake her. “Bess, Bess … I don’t know about this.”
“Why, because you don’t think he cares for me?” Bess asked, feeling sick, because a chance e
xisted that she had been fooling herself into thinking he did care for her.
“No, I think he does care—more than he wants to, and there is the crux of the problem. He doesn’t want to care. A lesser man would have thrown his single life to the winds by now and fallen a slave at your feet, Bess. I have witnessed the way he looks at you, and there is no doubt that he feels a great deal more than he means to admit to even himself. He won’t come up to scratch, Bess, and then what?”
