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“I have to tell you…” he muttered and then shook his head. The words were little more than a slur. Caroline had one hand at each of his shoulders as she kept him balanced in the upright position. His skin beneath her palms was on fire but, more than that, she felt a strange rippling texture where there might have been smooth muscles. Another scar then, she noted.
“Don’t speak,” she murmured, again pushing the hair from his face. “You must reserve your strength.” She tucked it behind his ear as she might have her own and he seemed to lean into the comfort of the gesture.
“…have to know.” His long slow breath was shallow but the determination in his voice was clear.
“Tell me what?” she prompted when he seemed to have drifted away. She needed to keep him focused. Talking nonsense was better than slipping back into unconsciousness. “What would you tell me?”
He mumbled something incoherent, only allowing her to catch the final word. ‘Important.’ He shivered as the fever rolled over him anew. She refreshed the cloth in the basin, freeing one hand by stretching an entire arm across his shoulders and allowing him to lean slightly against her. For a man without a spare pinch of fat upon his frame, he was so very heavy.
“Tell me,” she pressed. The cloth circled his face and then his neck but the chill water had little effect. He caught it on the next pass, holding her delicate hand palm upward in his two dwarfing paws. He stared down into their hands as if there were answers to be found there. One thumb traced lazy circles in the center of her palm. She knew that he must be delirious but she did not pull away because the action seemed to help him focus and if she were being honest with herself, it felt nice.
“I sent it,” he breathed with great effort. She had had to lean forward to hear him, but she was certain that is what he said.
“I know,” she murmured in reply. And she did know. She had known it somewhere deep within but it had been easier to blame him than to wonder what could have kept her father from coming to her straight away. In this moment all of her anger from their earlier row had dissipated. It seemed petty now to hold a grudge for reasons that seemed no longer important.
“I did send the letter,” he murmured with what little energy he had left. He seemed not to have heard her response because he continued to repeat his truth as if he must make her believe. “I promise. I did.”
“I believe you,” she said a bit louder this time. She flipped her hand so that theirs rested palm to palm and he curled his fingers to hold on. He then turned his face an inch or so in order to look sideways at Caroline. He was struggling hard; she could see it in the way his eyes had trouble focusing on her face. Again, he whispered his promise and for a third time she told him that she believed.
An ease took over and he released a deep sigh that seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders. She begged that he rest and not think on it any further. They could speak when he was recovered. He must recover. She willed it with every inch of her being. Of everything she had endured there was one thing of which she knew to be good, and that was the duke. Even if he did find himself caught up in the wrong of this house, she knew that he would not allow it to continue once he was well and truly at the helm. If anyone could right the wrong in this house, it was he.
“Not supposed to… you know,” he added when Caroline disentangled her hand and began wiping his brow once more.
“What?” Her breath hitched. Not supposed to help her? Not supposed to tell her the truth? What was he not supposed to do? She felt at once that the answer was important.
“I’m not supposed to…” She could shake him for the fact that getting answers was as simple as wrangling a bull but she knew that it was the fever talking. Yet again she called for clarification. One frail hand reached up to brush her cheek before it fell away. “Want you,” he said with a tone that could break even the steeliest of hearts, “for myself.”
His eyes rolled back and his full weight fell against her nearly knocking her back onto the bed. The tonic had taken hold. It was indeed as effective as he had been led to believe. She grunted as she pushed and shoved him into what she hoped was a comfortable position. She pulled the blankets up around his shoulders and even though she knew that she should not have, she pressed a hesitant kiss to his temple. Despite what he had said there could be no future for them. It was a truth that they both knew, although for differing reasons. Still, she could not help but wish things had been different if fate had not been so cruel time and time again. She had come to cherish their friendship and was loath to know that it would soon come to an end. She had allowed herself that small affection as a memory that she could treasure, as some small token of this conversation that not even he would remember. When all was said and done, he would hate her even more for having kept her secrets. For the depth of trust that she had withheld that went far beyond that of the letter. What might he think when he discovered that she had been wed to his father? What might he think when he found out that she had been lying to him for months about who she really was, that everything, or mostly everything, that he knew about her was nothing more than a farce? She had lied so completely and thoroughly to him. He had no knowledge of how much she had not trusted him, but he would know. Once her father came, he would know, and he would hate her. Oh, he might understand her motivations but he would never trust her again. So, she had kissed his forehead to express her deep regret at the hurt that was yet to come and to thank him for caring when no one else had.
She checked once more that he was sleeping with ease and then she left the room in search of a few manservants who could bathe and dress him when he woke.
CHAPTER20
Caroline could not stop his words from replaying over and over in her head. She could tell from the way that he had spoken that he knew that there could never be a future between a maid and a duke. His tone and the sadness that it held had said as much. He had already resigned himself to that fact and had never pushed her for more unlike his brother who had had no qualms about such dalliances. Caroline found that made her respect him all the more, that he would not ask a maid to take on such a risk when his position would protect him and hers would not. If it had not been for the fever Caroline doubted that he ever would have made the confession that could only hurt them both, and yet she was glad that he had. She was glad that she knew that he had cared even if it was to be fruitless.
But he had said such things at a time when he did not know that she was not a maid. He did not know that if it had not been for this muddled life, this messy situation that Caroline had found herself in, then there was no reason why a baron’s daughter and a duke could not have made a pair. True, she was reaching, but they were both gentry, and they would have never met since she would have remained in Northwickshire, she reminded herself. Still, she found that his confession had wrecked something inside of her. Despite all of the anger and the fear that she had experienced these past weeks she could not deny that he had been a light in her darkness. He had been a friend when she had been alone in the world. It was true that she had wanted to hate him. If she were honest, she had gone out of her way to hate him on more than one occasion. Yet, he had risen to the challenge, and she found herself acknowledging that she did care for him. Not in that way, she amended. She did not think that she loved him. One could not afford romance when one’s life was quite literally on the line. She only clung to him because even though she never showed him her trust, he was one of the only people in the house she could trust at all. She cared for him to be sure. She enjoyed his companionship and valued his brilliant mind. She already mourned the loss. At least let him live, she prayed. If they never spoke again, she would sleep at night knowing that he was at least alive and well. That much she could hope for. That much would be enough.
“It is not as if he said that he loved me,” she found herself saying aloud when it seemed that her mind needed a firm talking to. He had said he wanted her. That could mean any number of things. Lord Edward wanted every female. Mrs. Reilly wanted a good maid. There were many ways that he could have meant that he wanted her. Except, she recalled, he had said that he had wanted her… for himself. What was she meant to do with such knowledge? She needed to put such thoughts from her mind. She shoved the thoughts away. The duke’s feelings were the least of her concerns at the moment. In a day or two it would not matter either way. She would just have to pretend that their conversation had never happened. That was the only solution. He would have no recollection of it, she was sure, but telling herself to forget was going to be more difficult.
She was pondering that exact matter when she overheard voices in the kitchen.
“Put a pinch more,” Mrs. Reilly’s voice could be heard along with that of the head chef. Caroline had never actually learned the man’s name as he was resolute that he only be referred to by his title. “It worked better this last time.”
Caroline peered covertly around the corner to see the portly man pouring a clear liquid into a bowl of soup. The housekeeper then placed that bowl on the duke’s tray! She could not believe her eyes. She knew without a doubt that there was no tonic being added to his soup. She recognized the concoction. It was the same elixir that caused nausea with only a drop, but they were adding much more than a drop. They were poisoning the duke. She felt the truth of it deep in her bones.
“When that wench comes down to collect the tray tell her that he needs to drink all of the broth this time,” Mrs. Reilly added. “This round should do it.”
“You made sure that she was the only one to serve him?” the man asked again with a tone that said he doubted Mrs. Reilly’s abilities. Caroline had never heard anyone talk down to the housekeeper.
“Do you think me a fool? Of course, I did,” Mrs. Reilly snarled. “She said we need to make sure she knows that we could pin the entire thing on her if she ever opens her mouth about her time here.” Caroline felt rage grow within her. Not only would they murder the duke but they would pin it on her? She knew exactly which she the pair were referring to. Caroline made a promise to herself in that moment that she would destroy this entire operation if it were the last thing she did.
The chef swore, low and foul. “What do you think the twit did that they need that kind of promise to keep her mouth shut?” Not what she did, Caroline thought, but who she was and all that she had seen. These ingrates were mere henchmen. She felt some relief that they were not fully aware of her position or else she might have received poison herself.
“I don’t ask questions,” Mrs. Reilly huffed. “We do our job and that’s that.”
Caroline barely had time to slip behind the door that led down to the cellar before Mrs. Reilly came stomping out of the kitchen and into the hall.
She waited ten minutes before abandoning her hiding place and retrieving the tray, which came with firm instructions regarding the broth. While she had been waiting, she had taken the time to mull over what she had learned. Unbeknownst to her she had been feeding the duke his poison. Looking back, she acknowledged that he had always taken a turn for the worst after a meal but she had never tied the two together as it had taken time for the potion to do its work. She felt like an idiot. Worse, she hated that he had suffered at her hands. She had thought she had been caring for him and she had been unknowingly aiding in an attempt to kill the man!
