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Henry shook his head. As far as he knew, his grandmother was safely tucked into her own bed. And as for the Dowager Countess of Barrow… he hoped she was unable to rest well, as her words had caused Eleanor such dismay. Henry shook his head again to try and banish such uncharitable thoughts from his mind. He wanted to focus solely on Eleanor and her health.
“Eleanor has taken ill,” Henry said.
“Eleanor!” Before Lady Clay’s astonishment had seemed generic, as if she were playacting, but now, her shock was real. Her eyes widened and filled with tears almost at once.
Henry nodded. “Just after dinner. She felt rather ill, and I took her to her bedchambers. I do believe she is sleeping now, but…”
Rosalin interrupted. “May I see her?”
Henry cast her a dark look.
“Please, Your Grace. Regardless of what you think of me, and my actions, I love Eleanor as if she were my own sister. I cannot bear to think of her suffering. Please, allow me to see her.”
Henry hung his head. He exhaled deeply. “Yes, of course. You’re right. You are Eleanor’s dearest friend. She would want to see you, I imagine. But if she is sleeping, do not wake her.”
“Of course, not, Your Grace,” Lady Clay replied as she began backing out the door. She let the hood of her cloak fall then, revealing her pale face. A single, exquisite tear rolled down her cheek.
“Do not fear, Your Grace. All will be well,” Lady Clay murmured.
As Henry watched her leave, he glanced around the dimly lit study.
Maybe I’m making too much of this. Maybe Eleanor really did feel unwell after her talk with her mother and once she sleeps for a few hours, she will be herself again.
Henry told himself all these things, but somewhere deep inside, he did not believe any of them.
