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Sorrow panged. “I truly am sorry. I have always had some trouble with my temper, but that is no excuse. And I’m afraid Mrs. Cleever won’t be in a frame of mind to want her girls to visit us now.”
“After the way she spoke to you, I don’t think I’d want them there anyway.” Becky tore up the invitation and stuffed the pieces back in her reticule. “I’d be worried they’d be spies.”
“I hate to admit it, but I think you might be right.” Theo placed the fabric in the gig. “Perhaps someone else might prove amenable.”
Becky shook her head. “I prefer to not worry about anyone else. Perhaps Uncle might be well enough by then to come downstairs. Then we need not worry about what anyone else might think.”
“Think on it some more, and you can give the invitation at services if you wish.”
Becky nodded, and they soon made their way back home.
Some days it seemed he existed for the sound of a certain voice, for the light tread or tap that would admit sunshine to his room and heart. Her visits brought a joy he hadn’t known he’d missed until now. Of course, that might have something to do with their conversations, with the plays and poems she read to him. And on those days when she’d yet to make an appearance it seemed his nerves grew tight, waiting, waiting. And if, by some mischance, she did not appear, then it was a day without sunshine, regardless of what happened outside.
He’d heard the gig leave earlier. Had learned from Mr. Siddons she and Becky had gone into the village. And now the gig had returned, he hoped she would return, and they’d read and converse and laugh.
Minutes ticked by, his nerves stretching, straining. Would she come?
But no. That heavy tread outside was definitely not hers. Neither was that ponderous knock.
“Enter.” His heart dipped. “Ah. And how are you, Mr. Siddons?”
“Very well, sir.” The older man jerked his head. “If you don’t mind, General Stapleton would like to have a word.”
“In here?”
“Yes.”
“Well, of course.” Daniel pushed up against the bedhead, and checked he was as presentable as could be. The conversations he’d had with the general he could likely count on one hand, and he’d never gained the impression the man liked him very much. This lying in bed, day after day, with nothing but the occasional chance to have Mr. Brigham’s help as he bathed with a sponge, meant he never felt as neat and fresh as he would like. He hoped General Stapleton understood these matters and did not hold that against him.
When he judged himself acceptable, he called for the door to be opened.
The general stalked in, his salt-and-pepper hair seeming to bristle with sparks, his brow full of thunder.
What had happened just now? “Good afternoon, sir.”
“It might be for you, but it ain’t for everyone,” he growled, tugging the chair out from beside the bed and easing into it with all the grace of a stiff-limbed badger.
“Forgive me, sir, but I do not know what you mean.”
“I just had a conversation with my granddaughter.”
“I trust she is still well,” Daniel offered.
“She’s not,” he said bluntly. “She is, in fact, quite put out.”
“What do you mean?”
“She just had the misfortune to encounter that weasel-faced solicitor’s wife in the village. Apparently she harangued Theodosia about you, wanting to ferret out all your secrets.”
Regret poked sharp and sure. “I’m very sorry that Miss Stapleton was bothered.”
“You should be. I cannot recall the last time I saw my granddaughter quite like this. Of course she was distressed when your sister died, as we all were, I might add, but Theodosia never shook because of it.”
Daniel’s heart tensed. “She is shaking?”Lord, be with her.
“I know people think I don’t have eyes that see beyond my papers, but I know when my granddaughter tries to hide things with a smile or a laugh, and I certainly know Theo well enough to know when she’s most upset.”
“Again, I am truly very sorry to hear of it.”
