A Gentleman Always Remembers

by Candace Camp

  “I pity the man. To have been so close to you and be unable to—it must have driven him mad.” Fitz caressed the side of her face. “I am so sorry. If I had known I would not have acted as I did. I assumed you were a woman of experience. Not an innocent.”

  “I am not sure that I would qualify as an innocent.” Eve grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling, and linked her hands behind his neck. “Certainly not now.” She reached up to plant a feather-light kiss upon his mouth. “I am glad. I did not want you to act any differently. I am exactly where I want to be.”

  A slow, sensual smile spread over his lips, and Fitz bent to kiss her again, more lingeringly this time. He raised his head and lay, looking at her, tracing his forefinger down her face, skimming over her forehead and down the line of her nose, brushing across her lips.

  “I will protect you,” he assured her. “We will be very careful after this. I will not allow even a hint of gossip to attach to you.”

  “No sneaking off alone together to the maze?” Eve asked flirtatiously.

  “No, you minx. No meaningful glances across the drawing room, either. Or popping into the library for a stolen kiss. No assignations of any kind unless we are absolutely certain no one will know.” At those words he glanced toward the door and let out a soft oath. Rising lithely to his feet, he strode over to turn the key in the lock. He turned back, looking grim. “No more of that. Anyone could have walked in on us.”

  Eve could not help but giggle. “I fear they would have had quite an eyeful.”

  His smile was rueful. “Indeed they would have.” He sank beside her again and gathered her up in his arms. “But we must be more careful.”

  Eve lifted her hand and laid it against his cheek. “We will be. Tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” His eyes darkened, and he leaned down again to take her lips. “Tomorrow.”

  Eve awakened the next morning and lay for a moment staring at the tester above her, a smile playing about her lips. There was a soreness between her legs as well as a heaviness deep in her loins that was unaccustomed, but these feelings brought more pleasure than pain. She laid her hand on her abdomen, her mind going back to the night before.

  They had made love again and lain together, talking in soft, loverlike murmurs, but finally they had risen and dressed. Fitz had checked the hallway to make sure that there were no servants about, and Eve had slipped up to her bedroom, sure she would be unable to sleep with all of the joy bubbling inside her.

  But surprisingly she had fallen asleep almost immediately and slept solidly through the night, even awakening a bit late this morning. She got up, stretching, and went to open the drapes, letting in the morning sun. It was then that she realized the maid had not come into her room to open the drapes and bring a pot of tea as she usually did. It was not surprising that she had slept later than usual.

  She dressed, choosing a sprigged muslin round gown with graceful long sleeves that Fitz had complimented the first time she wore it. After that she could not keep from taking a little extra time to wind her hair into a softer style than the knot she frequently coiled atop her head. Teasing out little feathery curls beside her face, she studied herself in the mirror.

  Did she look different? She could not keep a smile from her face no matter how hard she tried to pull her features into serious lines. She hoped no one would question her cheerfulness. After tucking a fresh handkerchief into her pocket, she swept out of the room. She was halfway to the stairs before she remembered Camellia.

  With a stab of guilt, she turned and hurried back to the girl’s room. How could she have let her happiness carry her away so much that she had not even thought of poor Camellia in her sickbed?

  She tapped softly on the door, opened it a crack, and peered inside. Camellia stirred in her bed and turned toward her.

  “Eve?” The girl’s voice came out in a croak.

  “Yes, dear, it is I.” Eve came over to the bedside. “Has Jenny come in to bring you any tea?”

  Camellia shook her head. Her face was flushed, and she frowned when Eve leaned over to open the drapes.

  “No, please, the light hurts my eyes.”

  “Cam, dearest . . .” Eve laid her hand on Camellia’s forehead. She was hot, her eyes feverishly bright.

  “My throat hurts.”

  “Poor dear.” Eve wet a rag at the washstand and wrung it out to lay it on Camellia’s forehead.

  She was just about to ring for the maid and ask for tea and toast for Camellia when the door flew open, and Betsy, one of the downstairs maids, popped in.

  “I’m sorry, miss. Jenny’s sick this morning, and Mr. Bostwick sent me up to do for you.” The maid drew a breath and paused to look at Camellia for the first time. “Ooh, are you sick too, Miss Camellia?”

  “Yes, I fear she is,” Eve answered. “If you would be so good as to fetch her a pot of tea and some toast, perhaps she’ll eat a little.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After the maid left, Eve continued to bathe Camellia’s face, dipping the cloth in water and wringing it out several times. When the door opened again a few minutes later Eve swung around, surprised that Betsy had returned so quickly. But it was Lily who slipped quietly into the room.

  “I came to see how Cam is doing.” She came closer. “Oh, goodness, Cammy, you don’t look well at all.”

  “I feel worse,” Camellia assured her sister with some of her usual spirit.

  Lily turned frightened eyes to Eve. “What’s the matter with her?”

  “I’m not sure. You are not feeling ill at all? I understand that one of the maids is sick as well.”

  Lily shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

  Eve folded the cool, damp cloth and laid it over Camellia’s eyes. “I was expecting to find Camellia feeling better this morning. I’m afraid perhaps we should send for the doctor.”

  Camellia groaned, and Lily explained, “She doesn’t like doctors.”

  “I don’t want a doctor,” Camellia muttered from her bed, setting her jaw.

  “Now that your eyes are covered, I’m going to open the drapes a bit so I can see you better,” Eve told Camellia.

  She twitched aside a corner of the drapes, sending a shaft of sunlight across the floor. It did not reach the bed, but the light was enough to show Camellia’s flushed face more clearly. Eve returned to the bed and bent over Camellia. Her eyes were drawn to a red dot near the girl’s hairline. There was another at her jaw.

  “Oh dear.” She leaned closer.

  “What?” Lily looked alarmed.

  “What’s the matter?” Camellia picked up the bottom edge of the cloth to look at her.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Eve smiled with a great deal more calm than she was feeling. She did not want to alarm the girls. “It’s just . . . I think you’ve caught the measles.”

  Chapter 14

  Eve arrived downstairs twenty minutes later, Lily trailing behind her. They had stayed with Camellia and persuaded her to sip a little tea and nibble at some toast. On the promise that she would try to sleep again, they left her with Betsy sitting watch and went down to eat.

  “We are going to need to keep up our strength,” Eve told Lily as they walked toward the dining room. “My guess is that Jenny is suffering from the same complaint, and there may be others.”

  “Cam is going to be all right, isn’t she?” Lily asked, frowning worriedly. “I’ve heard of people dying with the measles.”

  “Usually not strong, healthy young women like your sister,” Eve replied. “It is the weaker ones who succumb—young children, old people, those who are underfed or ill. But I cannot lie to you; it is harder, I think, on those who get it when they are grown than it is on people who catch it when they are younger. I am afraid she will feel quite ill for the next couple of weeks. We will need to watch over her carefully and keep her fever down. Get her to eat some soup or gruel if she can.”

  She put her arm around Lily’s waist and hugged her, assuring her wi
th a smile that something like the measles could not lay Camellia low.

  Fitz was still sitting at the table when they entered the dining room, a nearly empty plate before him. It was late enough that even Neville was there. Both men were listening to the butler, whose usually imperturbable face was creased with lines of distress.

  Fitz turned when Eve and Lily entered the room, his face brightening. “My—Mrs. Hawthorne.” His eyes met hers, warm and intimate, before he pulled his gaze away and looked at his cousin. “Lily. We were beginning to worry that perhaps you ladies were not feeling well. Bostwick just informed me that some of the servants are down with the measles. How many, Bostwick?”

  “The pot boy, a scullery maid, an upstairs maid, and the housekeeper.” He released a heavy sigh.

  “Oh dear,” Eve commented. “I am sorry Mrs. Merriwether is ill. I do hope she will not have too hard a case of it.” The housekeeper’s age, she feared, might make her more likely to succumb to the illness.

  “I am sure she will be fine,” Bostwick stated. “But I fear the household may not run as smoothly without her. I apologize for any disruption in advance, Master Fitz, but ’twill be difficult to maintain our usual standard of service. We shall endeavor to do so, of course.”

  “No need to apologize,” Fitz replied easily. “Do the best you can.”

  As they talked Neville had seated Lily, and Fitz now offered the same gesture to Eve. She felt the faint brush of his fingers against her shoulder as he pushed in her chair. She turned to look at him as he walked away, then remembered that they were supposed to be very discreet.

  She had a suspicion that they had not started off well in that regard. Eve stole a glance at Lily and Neville, but they were looking at each other, not at her. She could not help but breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I hope that you ladies have both already had measles,” Fitz told them. “We may be in for a bit of an epidemic. I remember the other day when I was at the estate manager’s cottage, both of his daughters were ill.”

  “I had them a long time ago,” Eve said. “But I fear Camellia is not so lucky. We just left her upstairs. She’s running a fever, and she has a few red spots.”

  Neville turned to Lily, frowning. “Have you not had them?”

  “My mother said I had them when I was a baby, although I don’t remember it. It seems odd that Camellia did not catch them at the same time, though. But wouldn’t I have caught them from Cam by now if I had not had them already?” She glanced around at the others, a line forming between her brows. “I should hate to come all over in spots.”

  “What about that other chap?” Fitz asked. “The balloonist? Bit of bad luck for him if he catches them.”

  Eve drew in her breath in a gasp. “Oh dear! I completely forgot about Monsieur Leveque. I wonder if the servants remembered to take him a breakfast. With Camellia ill he has probably been quite neglected. I shall look in on him after breakfast.”

  “I can read to him,” Lily offered. “Cam listens to all that ballooning talk, but that is too boring.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “I’ll join you,” Neville suggested. “Perhaps we could play a game. Or talk of something besides balloons. He’s a pleasant enough chap if you get him on another topic.”

  “You’ve visited him?” Eve asked, surprised.

  “A few times. One cannot desert a man one’s shared a bottle of brandy with, after all.”

  “But surely, Nev . . .” Fitz said casually, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t mean to stay on now, do you?”

  “No!” Lily exclaimed, looking alarmed. “You cannot go!”

  Neville turned an appraising gaze on his friend. “What’s this, Fitz? Trying to chase me off?”

  “It can’t have been much of a stay for you,” Fitz went on. “And now that we’ve been struck by measles, it’s positively dangerous. Have you had the disease?”

  “I haven’t any idea,” Neville returned.

  “Then you should make haste. You would not want to catch them.” There was a challenging light in Fitz’s eyes.

  “Indeed not. But who will communicate with your Frenchman when he gets excited and forgets his English? Your French has always been execrable. No, I cannot desert you in your time of need.” Neville’s light blue eyes glinted with amusement.

  “I appreciate your devotion.” Fitz’s mouth curled sardonically. “But think, man, your valet might fall ill.”

  “I shall have to do without his services.” Neville assumed a look of noble sacrifice.

  “The meals will perforce be casual affairs. No more than four courses, probably. Fires may go unlit. Linens unpressed.”

  Carr shrugged. “I expect I shall endure the deprivation. What sort of a chap would I be to desert you now?”

  “One who thinks of the future,” Fitz retorted drily. “I cannot allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. If you should catch the disease . . .”

  “Indeed I may already have,” Neville pointed out. “What would I do then? ’Twould be most uncomfortable to fall ill on the road.”

  “He cannot do that, Cousin Fitz.” Lily leaned forward earnestly. “That would be awful, to be alone and ill in some ramshackle inn.”

  “Mm. Doubtless it would be ramshackle.”

  “He could spread the illness to other people,” Eve admitted with a sigh. “It would be thoughtless of us to endanger others.”

  “Well, of course, when you put it that way, Neville must stay.”

  “You are so kind,” Neville responded in a bland tone.

  “It is the least I can do.”

  “I know.” Neville chuckled, and Fitz could not keep from grinning ruefully.

  After breakfast Eve went upstairs to Monsieur Leveque’s room. At her knock he called out “Entrez!” and Eve stepped inside. The Frenchman was sitting propped up against his pillows, a tray on the bed beside him.

  “Bonjour, monsieur,” Eve said, exhausting a good portion of her knowledge of French. “You are looking better.”

  “Merci. I feel better.”

  “I came up to see if I could do anything for you. I see they brought your breakfast.”

  “Oh yes. Very English breakfast. But it is not the usual—Jeanne, is it?”

  “Jenny. No, I fear Jenny is sick.”

  “And Mademoiselle Camellia? She is not sick, too?”

  “I am afraid so. Apparently the measles are going around.”

  There followed a few minutes of Eve trying to explain the word to the mystified Frenchman, but at last his face cleared. “Ah! La rougeole!” He shook his head. “La pauvre Mademoiselle Camellia. This is very bad.”

  Eve was a trifle surprised at the intense concern on the man’s face. Could it be that an attachment was forming between Leveque and Camellia, as she and Fitz had joked? She hoped not; she could just imagine the earl’s face if he found that both of his cousins were falling into unsuitable infatuations.

  “Who now will see to my balloon?” Monsieur Leveque went on. “Mademoiselle Camellia promised me she will do it.”

  Eve almost laughed. Perhaps she need not worry about Camellia and Monsieur Leveque after all. “I am sure your balloon is fine. They carried it into the barn. Camellia watched over them to make sure that they did everything exactly as you said.”

  “Yes, but she said she would make sure no one moves it or—or lays something on it. There are tools in the barn, I believe.” He shook his head, envisioning the variety of disasters that could befall his balloon while it lay sheltered in the barn.

  “Perhaps later Mr. Carr will go down to check on it.” Eve offered up Neville without a qualm. “He said that he would come to see you today. You could tell him what he must look for.”

  “Yes. Yes, perhaps I could.” He seized on this idea gratefully.

  “At least he speaks French.”

  Monsieur Leveque grinned and gave a very Gallic shrug. “His knowledge of drinking songs is good, that is true.” He heaved a sigh. “I am glad of his company. The broke
n leg is very boring, I find.”

  “Yes, I imagine you do. Could I bring you any books? Writing paper and pencil?”

  He shook his head. “Merci. Mademoiselle Camellia has kindly done that for me. I am not much with the paper and book. Better to be outside, no?”

  “No doubt. Well, you have a bell there, I see. Ring if you need anything.”

  She picked up his tray and laid it on the floor outside, figuring to save the maids a bit of work, then made her way to Camellia’s room. Opening the door a crack, she peered in. The room was dark, and Camellia was asleep. Not wishing to disturb her, she quietly closed the door and went down the stairs to check on the housekeeper, Mrs. Merriwether.

  Like Camellia, Mrs. Merriwether was feverish, with an aching head and sore throat, and several spots had popped out on her arms and face. In her fevered state, she kept trying to get up and go about her duties, moaning about the state of the house without her. Eve assured her that she would take over the housekeeper’s duties as best she could, which seemed to ease the woman’s fears somewhat—though Eve could tell that the middle-aged woman had her doubts about the ability of a lady to oversee a household adequately.

  Eve would have thought that the household, under Mrs. Merriwether’s and Bostwick’s exacting rule, was so well organized as almost to run itself, but she found that the servants relied more on the housekeeper’s authority (and her eagle eye) than they did on themselves. At the loss of one of the people who told them what to do at the very moment when they were facing a crisis, they had fallen into a panic. What they needed, Eve realized, was a calm demeanor and confident answers, both of which she was able to manage. She took care of most of their questions by extracting from them what Mrs. Merriwether would expect them to do, and for the rest she relied on common sense.

  Doing so, however, took most of the rest of her morning. She returned to Camellia’s side early in the afternoon and found Lily there, bathing Camellia’s face with cool lavender water. She was glad to see Lily with her sister, not only for Camellia’s sake but also because she was afraid that without Eve’s supervision Lily might seize the opportunity to spend every moment with Mr. Carr.