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“Well, you can’t blame us for being curious.” Ralph made a face and shrugged one inelegant shoulder, taking no notice of how his dinner companion frowned at him.
“But I can fault you for pursuing the matter beyond the bounds of good taste.” Arthur kept his voice level. “And since both my lady and I have indicated our aversion to speaking on it in this company, I will thank you to keep your questions to yourself, Huxley.”
He could not remember the last time he had addressed Ralph so formally, and from the thunderous expression on his friend’s face, Ralph did not appreciate the rebuke nor the tone in which it was delivered. He was considering a similar warning to Samuel for the sake of courtesy and fairness when a noise intruded into the overly tense air the table had descended into.
Bradstone was there, his expression apologetic for the intrusion as he approached the table, coming straight to Nora’s side. He bowed to her, holding out a folded piece of paper. “I beg your pardon for intruding, but there is an urgent message for you, my lady. The boy at the door insisted it must be delivered at once.”
Nora took it with a nod. From his vantage point, he could see that the missive was unsealed, only folded hastily, but he could not read the words on it when it was opened.
Instead, he watched Nora’s face as she scanned the note. Concern spiked through him as all relaxation and color drained from her expression.
* * *
Abigail, as the official hostess, took the head of the table. Arthur sat at her right, with Nora at his right. The rest of them were seated in order of precedence. She was glad to see that it putthat manseveral seats away. She wasn’t sure she could have resisted trying to stab him in a delicate region with her fork otherwise.
The first course went well. The beginning of the second was the same. Nora concentrated on her food and her awareness of Arthur’s closeness, separated as they were by only inches.
So close, he looked freshly scrubbed, and smelled of subtle scents. Cedar, smoke, leather, and a masculine edge that was distinctly his own. It was alluring, and it made her want to lean closer to him. Lay her head on his arm, or perhaps even attempt to steal a kiss.
She didn’t quite dare, not with the meal on the table and their audience. Instead, she focused on remembering all the etiquette lessons of her childhood, determined to show everyone there that Arthur had chosen well, never mind her status as a former maid of his household.
The conversation among the guests was soft, and the second course was nearing its end when the fragile mood of cautious acceptance was broken by Arthur’s friends, at least one of whom had partaken of too much wine if she were any judge.
It was enough to make her heart nearly melt with relief that Arthur was not going to leave her to fend off the increasingly invasive questions herself. And it was kind of him to intercede when another might have left her to endure, as a test of her worthiness to be a Duchess and the wife of a Duke.
She had no time to enjoy her sense of happiness, however. The butler, Bradstone, entered moments later and came to her side, carrying a simple, folded missive.
Her stomach sank and churned fretfully as she accepted the note from him.
Urgent? What on earth could possibly warrant an urgent response? And who would know where to send it?
She unfolded the paper and skimmed over the contents.
Nora Dear,
I would not disturb you, but I must. Lydia is very ill, with a fever that burns like a furnace. She speaks of things that no other can see at times, and she shivers constantly. She calls out for you often when she has any sense in her at all.
You must come at once.
Scarlett
Her heart stuttered, her mood and her nerves shattering as she read the note again, hoping against hope that the words would change. They did not.
Lydia is ill.
The single thought goaded her into action. She snapped the letter closed and rose swiftly from her seat.
Arthur was staring at her with a puzzled frown that suggested he was confused and concerned by her actions, as well he might be.
It was the height of rudeness to leave a formal dinner so abruptly, and even more so this evening, when her introduction to Society was the sole purpose of the meal. And yet, there was nothing to be done. She would not leave Lydia to pine for her.
She faced the Dowager and dipped her head, hands clenching out of sight in her skirt. “Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but I must go.”
“Is there something wrong?” The Dowager’s eyes were concerned, and it gave her courage to speak that she might otherwise have lacked.
“One of my family members has taken gravely ill. I have been called home to give what aid I can.” She flushed. “I apologize for the discourtesy…”
“No, no. It is understandable. And in no way your fault. No, of course you must go at once.” The Dowager turned her head. “Bradstone, tell Jenny her assistance is needed for Nora, and then tell the boy that his message is delivered, and she will be leaving presently. Then tell the coachman to harness the horses. It will be quicker and safer than traversing the streets at this hour.”
