Lady Lampton’s shoulders squared, and her chin lifted. Her mouth tensed in a fearsome line. “He does not know my Philip as well as I do.”
“Perhaps Lord Lampton does not know himself as well as you do. I think he—” She cut off the remark before wading any deeper into forbidden territory.
Lady Lampton did not let the sentence end as it had. “What is it you think?”
Arabella shook her head, not wishing to cause difficulty.
“I would like to know, and I vow not to grow angry with you.”
She took a breath and rallied her courage. “I think he wonders sometimes if you are unhappy, not in general terms but with him in particular, with the life you are building together.”
Lady Lampton’s color dropped off a little. “Surely, he does not doubt that,” she said quietly.
Arabella suspected Philip’s antics had grown more pointed of late because His Grace’s insults and annoyance hadn’t inspired any reaction whatsoever in his wife. While Arabella interpreted Lady Lampton’s composure as a matter of not particularly caring what a near stranger thought of her, she could see that the neutrality was being interpreted differently by Philip.
“I have known the Jonquils all my life,” she said. “They love deeply, but that means they can be deeply wounded as well. A heart is a vulnerable thing.”
Lady Lampton did not answer. She sat in heavy silence, her brows pulled low. Arabella’s mind was no less at ease. They love deeply. She had seen that again and again as she’d watched the family interacting. She slipped her fingers around the bead hanging from her neck. No one could have blamed her for begging the earl to make her part of his family. All she’d ever wanted was to be loved.
* * *
As soon as Linus had the opportunity, he was going to throttle Artemis. Leave it to his youngest sister to choose a contender in his family’s matchmaking efforts who was unrelenting in her determination. Mrs. Blackbourne had kept a very close eye on him all evening. She was . . . aggressive to the point of being a little frightening.
Linus did not have a preference for mousy women or ladies who possessed no backbone. Far from it. This, however, was something different. He felt almost like he was being hunted.
Keeping to the edges of the music room whilst the evening’s musical performances were underway did not prevent him from drawing Mrs. Blackbourne’s attention. Even when she wasn’t looking at him, he felt certain she was aware of where he was. Their conversations and time together had not been such that this degree of attachment made any sense. She was in pursuit, not acting upon a true fondness.
The one lady at this party he truly wished to see was nowhere to be found. He wondered about Arabella. Worried a little, truth be told. Life had not dealt her a particularly fair hand. But though her situation was not ideal, she was not broken by it. He admired that. He felt a kinship with her, an unexpected connection, one that tugged at him when she was away.
Mrs. Blackbourne, sitting not nearly far enough across the room for his peace of mind, adjusted her position on her chair. The movement spoke of preparation to rise.
Linus was a man of the military; he knew when a retreat was called for. With speed that likely robbed his flight of any grace or subtlety, he made directly for the music room door and walked quickly down the corridor. He slipped around the corner, then the next, quickly taking the stairs two at a time and reaching the landing above without a pause. The library was on this floor. He could slip in there, grab the book on land management that Lord Lampton had recommended, and retreat to his bedchamber, where he could lock the door, perhaps even push a chair under the handle. An overreaction, likely, but any prey that wished to survive understood the importance of hindering its assailant.
He’d only just stepped inside when his ears perked at the sound of a cough. He turned in that direction, moving toward the fireplace and the sofa set in front of it. Another cough told him he’d not imagined the first.
Stepping around the sofa, his stomach sank. Arabella was lying there, curled in a ball. He might have thought she was sleeping if she weren’t coughing so much.
He knelt on the floor beside her. “Arabella?”
He lightly touched her hand. It was quite warm. A quick check of her cheek and forehead revealed the same. Was this the same fever the children had?
“Arabella.” He gently moved her damp hair away from her face. She was clammy and sweating and, upon closer look, he realized, shivering a bit.
Her eyelids fluttered open. He offered a reassuring smile; awakening in an unexpected place could be worrying and disorienting. She coughed again but didn’t speak.
“Are you feeling poorly?” Only after posing the question did he realize how obvious the answer was.
“Quite.” Her voice was not hoarse, neither was her response nonsensical. That was a good sign.
She wrapped the fingers of one hand around the bead on her necklace. It was such a simple adornment yet clearly held particular importance to her. She wore it every day without fail.
“My lungs hurt when I breathe,” she said.
“Dr. Scorseby is here this evening. I think perhaps he’d best check on you.”
A rattling cough. “I haven’t anything to pay him with.”
Linus slipped his hand around her free one. “Lord Lampton will not require that of you.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.” Her fingers wrapped around his, and he felt the gesture clear to his heart.
“I doubt you could be a burden even if you tried.” He rubbed her hand between his. “Though I would enjoy watching you make the effort.”
Her smile was weak but genuine.
“I am sorry you are ill,” he said. “I wish there were more I could do.”
“What is this?” Mrs. Blackbourne arrived on the scene, eyes taking in everything on the instant.
Linus did not permit even a moment’s speculation on her part. “Miss Hampton is quite ill. Will you ring for a servant? Quickly?”
To her credit, the widow changed course without objection. She tugged on the bellpull while Linus kept his position.
“Dr. Scorseby will be here soon,” he reassured Arabella. “He’ll have you feeling well again.”
“If only I’d felt this way earlier,” she said quietly. “He could have made his diagnosis while I was at his home.”
“You were at his home?” Mrs. Blackbourne asked the question on Linus’s mind.
“On an errand for Lady Lampton,” she said.
Relief surged through him. For just a moment, he’d thought she had visited the doctor for personal reasons—Dr. Scorseby had not exactly made his interest a secret—and the possibility had not sat well at all.
Into the momentary silence, a fourth voice sounded. Lord Lampton. “What errand were you seeing to on my wife’s behalf?”
He stood at the foot of the sofa, having somehow silently entered the room. One would never expect the flamboyant Earl of Lampton to arrive anywhere without drawing attention.
Arabella’s eyes were closed once more. Her coloring had worsened in the last few moments, and she’d begun to shiver more.
“Is there a blanket or a shawl or something nearby?” Linus asked Lampton.
The earl nodded and crossed to a small trunk in the corner. He pulled out a light throw and returned, handing it to Linus, who had stood in anticipation of receiving it. Carefully, he spread the blanket over Arabella, hoping to alleviate some of her misery.
“I saw you running for your life,” Lampton said in a barely audible whisper, “and then Mrs. Blackbourne following close on your heels. I thought I’d come and save you from her.” Lampton’s amusement dissipated when his gaze returned to Arabella. “She does not look well, does she?”
Linus shook his head. “She felt feverish.”
“Mater has been worried about her,” Lampton sai
d. “We all have been.”
Had Arabella shown signs of illness before this? Linus hadn’t noticed any.
One of the maids stepped inside. Lampton took charge, not a hint of his dandified mannerisms in evidence. “Send word to the dowager and Dr. Scorseby that they are both needed forthwith here in the library.”
The maid dipped a curtsey and hurried from the room.
The earl was not yet finished. “Mrs. Blackbourne, I believe you can return to the music room to enjoy the remainder of the evening.”
Linus had all but forgotten about the other lady present.
“I would not wish to leave Miss Hampton unattended.” Mrs. Blackbourne moved a bit closer.
“She is in no danger of being abandoned or mistreated.” Lampton spoke sternly, something that seemed to surprise the widow as much as it did Linus. “This family has cared about her all her life. I will not give you leave to doubt our loyalty to her.”
“I hadn’t intended to imply that you would neglect her.” Mrs. Blackbourne had, in fact, heavily implied exactly that.
Lampton dipped his head. “I should hope not.”
“I will see if I can help locate your mother or the physician.” Mrs. Blackbourne shot Linus a look that was far more uncertain than the ones he was accustomed to receiving from her. Had their frivolous host managed to quell the unquellable?
“You were nearly as fearsome just now as my brother-in-law,” Linus said once the lady had slipped from the room.
“I am absolutely certain no one is that fearsome. Not even him.”
Linus studied him out of the corner of his eye. “You doubt the dangerousness of the duke?”
Lampton laughed. “I am not so foolish as that. Still, we all have roles to play.”
Linus had come to Nottinghamshire expecting to find the shallowest of gentlemen acting as host of this gathering. He was discovering, instead, a man every bit as complicated, nuanced, and, he suspected, misunderstood as the brother-in-law from whom Linus was charged with protecting him.
Arabella coughed again. Linus knelt once more, taking her hand in his. Still warm. She was no longer shivering though. The light blanket seemed to have helped.
“I wish she had told us she was feeling poorly,” Lampton said. “Mater would have had her bundled up in bed, resting, with all the teas and tisanes she could possibly need to feel better.”
It was a reassuring declaration. “Not all companions benefit from such concern.”
“Arabella is far more than a companion. We grew up together. She was, in many ways, like a little sister to us. My father, in particular, adored her. We all did, really.”
“Did?” Linus knew Arabella felt left out of the Jonquil family. What explanation did Lampton have for it?
“We didn’t see much of her after Father died. I don’t know if she pulled away or we did. Or both. But it’s been good having her back again.”
The dowager arrived, her expression showing curiosity more than alarm. Until she spotted Arabella. “What’s happened?”
“She is feverish,” Linus said. “And she is coughing. I came in here to fetch a book and found her here. She’s been dozing, but fretfully.”
The dowager touched the back of her hand to Arabella’s forehead. “Was Dr. Scorseby sent for?”
“He was,” Lampton said.
The dowager nodded. “He will know what is best to be done. In the meantime, though, I can say with certainty that Arabella would be mortified at the thought of being in such a vulnerable state whilst in full view of any- and everyone.”
That was most certainly true.
“Philip, you remain here so you can direct Dr. Scorseby to Arabella’s room. Mr. Lancaster, would you be so good as to carry her. I will, of course, accompany you.”
Linus lifted the blanket from Arabella and gave it to the dowager. He slipped one arm under Arabella’s back and the other under her legs. He carefully lifted her from the sofa, holding her close to him.
She stirred.
“Rest, dear,” he said quietly.
Without a word of protest, she laid her head on his shoulder. The dowager tucked the blanket around his feverish armful. The warmth radiating from Arabella was not his greatest concern. She was far too light.
“Is she eating properly?” he asked the dowager in quiet tones as they made their way toward the family wing.
“She is skin and bones, isn’t she?” The dowager glanced at Arabella, her face lined with undeniable concern. “It is all the walking she does. We could always tell when life was particularly difficult in her uncle’s home. She would walk for hours every day, avoiding the necessity of returning there. She had grown almost gaunt the past months, and she walked for hours on end every day. She had to have been missing meals to have been away from home as long as she was. It is a miracle she hasn’t been ill before now.”
They turned down a corridor of bedchambers—the family wing, no doubt.
“I first considered the possibility of inviting her here almost a year ago,” the dowager said. “Sorrel’s younger sister and our Stanley were married, and the house was all but empty.” The dowager’s mouth turned down in lines of disappointed frustration. Though her volume did not increase, her words grew more vehement. “I should have acted upon that impulse sooner.”
“Well, she is here now,” Linus replied. “She will regain her strength; I’ve no doubt.”
“But what of her spirit?” The dowager seemed to address the question toward herself.
Linus hadn’t a ready answer to that. He didn’t think Arabella’s spirits as low as all that.
The dowager motioned to the last door in the family corridor. “This is hers.”
Linus carried his coughing bundle inside. The room was nearly bare. The furniture was fine and well maintained. The linens were not worn. Yet everything else about the space reminded him of his own home during their very lean years.
The dowager must have noticed his reaction. “She was not permitted to bring very much with her from her uncle’s home.”
Linus crossed to the bed and gently laid Arabella on it. The dowager pulled another blanket over Arabella’s shivering frame. Linus moved a chair over for her.
The dowager sat. “Thank you.”
Linus watched Arabella. She appeared to be sleeping but was clearly not resting. He hoped whatever ailment had laid her low would prove short-lived. Only with effort did he keep himself from reaching out for her hand once more. With the dowager watching, he didn’t dare. Calling her by her Christian name and being found alone with her despite her being rendered nearly insensible with illness had already pushed the acceptable boundaries. The dowager was watching the two of them rather closely as it was.
Dr. Scorseby arrived. Linus could think of no innocuous reason to remain, and he was not ready to admit to the reason he hated to leave. He watched Arabella for a drawn-out moment, wishing he could take her hand or sit beside her to offer some comfort.
He slipped quietly from the room. During the slow walk to his own bedchamber, he had time to think over the state of things. His sisters had gone to great lengths to find a lady to catch his eye. Without warning, a completely different lady had captured a bit of his heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Arabella could not remember ever being so cheerful while simultaneously so ill. Linus had managed the impossible.
“Why do you not seem as interested in this as I am?” He held up his book on land management, eying her with an expression of disdain that she didn’t believe for a moment. “Is it not absolutely riveting?”
Even the maid sitting near the door for propriety’s sake didn’t bother hiding her amusement at his jesting question.
“I will confess,” Arabella said, “the bit about soil type influencing the frequency of changing one’s crop did set my heart racing a bit.”
“I believe I was asleep for that part.”
She shook her head at his intentional nonsense. “I happen to know you were paying very close heed to what you were reading, focusing very intensely.”
“Mostly because it felt like reading a foreign language.” He set the book on the floor beside his chair. “That does not bode well for my future as a landowner, does it?”
She coughed, something she couldn’t seem to stop doing. Linus’s sister who lived in Lancashire had sent instructions for tisanes and tonics to aid the children’s illness a week earlier as well as information on adjusting the dosages should adults be likewise afflicted. Arabella felt better than she would have without that help, but she did not feel truly well.
“This might be an unforgivably personal observation,” she said once she’d regained control of her voice and breathing, “but you do not seem very enthusiastic about your responsibilities.”
“And this might be an unforgivably sullen response, but . . . I’m not.” He absentmindedly waved a hand as if dismissing the confession. “This was never meant to be my responsibility. I cannot seem to fully resign myself to it.”
“You told me during our garden walk that you were the younger son.”
“My brother and I both served in the navy during the war, but only I survived.” He made the admission quickly, quietly.
“How long ago?”
“Almost eleven years. At times, it feels like only eleven days.” The look he gave her clearly communicated his belief that she would find the continued rawness of his grief ridiculous.
“Someone I loved very deeply, someone infinitely dear to me, died eleven years ago. While I have more or less stopped expecting to see him in the places he once frequented, I do not miss him any less than I did then.”
“Your father?”
That was not a question with a straightforward answer. And she knew that was not what he was truly asking. “I told you that both of my parents died when I was six. Do you truly believe I am only seventeen?”
He smiled broadly. “I never guess a lady’s age.”
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