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Fire cracked and popped in the hearth, the orange glow casting over Mr. Blakemore’s worried countenance. He rested both hands over the lion-shaped cane head and frowned.
“We can have a room made up for you if you’d like to remain here with your son,” Pippa said.
Mr. Blakemore’s gaze shifted to her and away again. “I will return home, but I trust he is in good hands.” It was spoken like a threat, and Pippa brushed off his abrasive tone. He was a concerned parent.
“Oh yes. I’ve hardly left his side.”
Mr. Blakemore’s attention rested on his son again, not betraying the least surprise at this admission. They sat in silence, the time stretching, unbroken except for the popping of the fire and the steady breathing of the invalid.
“Dr. Garvey mentioned that he believed William will make a full recovery, Mr. Blakemore. I assure you that we are doing everything we can to aid in his comfort and healing.”
“I believe you.”
“We’ve yet to see Roger—”
“Roger has left.”
Pippa stilled. “Where has he gone?”
“Away. He went to join Jack on the boat.” Mr. Blakemore glanced up sharply. He likely hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but all Pippa could think about was Lily.
“Does he intend to return?”
“No.”
She sucked in a quiet breath. Did Lily know of this? Was her heart broken?
If it wasn’t so late at night, Pippa would go to her.
Mr. Blakemore stood. “I should be on my way.”
Pippa laid a hand on his forearm. “I promise that we will send someone to inform you the moment William stirs.”
“Thank you.”
He left, and Pippa hovered in the doorway, hesitant to leave William’s room. Despite her promise to Mabel, she didn’t want to be away from him. If someone was to bathe his forehead in cool water, why could it not be her? Was it really so much better if a servant saw to the task?
Footsteps on the stairs recalled her attention.
“Please wake soon,” she whispered quietly, then turned to follow Mr. Blakemore downstairs, leaving William’s sickroom behind.
