Chapter Twenty

Mary looked haggard. She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away, turning my face into the pillow. Her touch ghosted over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “What more would you have me do?”

Tears sprang to my eyes, but I didn’t know how to answer. I wiped them away from the puffy skin ringing my eyes. A day and a night of alternately crying and worrying hadn’t helped much to improve my mood. Normally, when beset by doldrums, I tried to console myself with happy thoughts, lest the heavy, watery feeling on my chest suffocate me. How could I be cheerful with my sister missing?

I should have done something. I should have looked after her. But no—I’d been too busy looking after myself.

“The Dunlop carriage was spotted heading north,” Mary repeated for what might be the fifth time. Her only findings. “We’ve posted men along the road to alert us if it comes back, and more have sent word looking for it along the roads north.”

My head spun. I’d mulled over that fact to such an extent that the information pounded new holes into my head, new headaches. Daisy had left at night, during a storm. Mary and her riders hadn’t found the carriage capsized, but that didn’t mean nothing ill had befallen her.

Mary sighed. “I’m disappointed in her, too.”

Disappointed didn’t begin to describe my feelings. She hadn’t given any warning, not even a note. And she’d turned north, not south to London and home. I didn’t know what to think.

Mary had more than a few ideas, but they all involved Lady Dunlop’s nephew, who was also missing. The cad had convinced her to run away with him. Didn’t she realize the extent this would besmirch her reputation? She’d never be able to find a husband now, if we couldn’t convince the devil to marry her. Surely Lady Dunlop would intervene, make him do the right thing, wouldn’t she? She was an advocate for love, after all.

Even if this leaned more toward lust than love.

I wiped my tired, ragged eyes with the back of my hand. They hurt, even to squeeze shut. My head pounded with such ferocity, I nearly bowed over in bed.

“Won’t you come down?” Francine asked from behind Mary, her voice small. She was worried. So was I.

Emily perched on the other end of the bed, in plain view. “You haven’t eaten at all since Daisy’s disappearance. Going down to supper could be a good thing.”

“And do what?” I shoved myself into a sitting position, but didn’t rise from the bed. I clutched the blankets to my chin. “How can I socialize, act witty and charming, smile, when Daisy is missing?” I shook my head. “I can’t do it.”

Francine sighed. “If you like, I’ll send you some food up. I hear the cook made pastries with blueberry jam today. I know how you like them.”

Even the thought of sweets didn’t lure me away. I shook my head. “No, thank you Francine. Maybe I’ll come down to breakfast tomorrow.”

I had no intention of doing any such thing. Today was the last day of the house party. Tomorrow, everyone would leave. Including me.

What would Mama say when I returned without her dear, sweet Daisy? My gut twisted as I imagined her reaction. I’d send her into a fit of vapors. With good reason.

Oh, Daisy. Why did you do this? Don’t you have a care for…anyone?

Mary and Francine retreated from the room. I murmured something after them, good wishes I suppose, but my spirits didn’t match the sentiment. I sighed, rubbing my temple.

To Emily, I begged, “Maybe a cup of tea will help?”

She patted my hand. “And some soup, too? I can have the cook whip up a broth.”

I almost shook my head, but the pinched expression on her face convinced me not to. She’d done nothing but fuss over me for two days, ever since Daisy’s disappearance. In moments of quiet, she chewed her nails to the quick. She craved some way to help.

So I inclined my head. With the smallest glimmer of a smile, she backed away and retreated through the door.

In the doorway, she halted. She stared at something or someone out of my sight, then made a hasty curtsey and trudged down the hall. She forgot the door open. I sighed, stirring to rise and close it.

Hartfell darkened the doorway.

I stiffened then gathered the covers, lifting them to my chin. He might have seen my body, but he had no right to view me in my nightgown. Certainly not after I’d been abed ill for these past two days and a night.

“Shut the door, please,” I announced. I kept my voice stiff, formal, though tears threatened to swamp me again. The pressure in my head mounted. I fixed my gaze on a spot on the wall.

He ignored my edict and stepped into the threshold of the door. Not into the room proper—that would be unseemly—but close enough to converse with me.

“I hear you’ve been ill.”

I fiddled with the blanket, knotting it between my fists. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then don’t,” he said. His voice was soft, hesitant. “Let me speak.”

I shook my head. “Please leave.” If I faced him again, I wanted the confrontation to be on even ground, when I was of sound mind and heart. Not now, when I felt like the swell of a wave was going to crash over me.

He recoiled and almost shut the door, but he hesitated with his hand inside the doorway. “If I hurt you in any way…I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

He shut the door behind him.

A fresh wave of tears stung my eyes. I drooped into the bed, staring at the canopy overhead as I battled them away. I breathed deeply, battling that horrid, heavy feeling. Soon, the throbbing in my head dulled to a manageable level.

The door creaked open, followed by the click of porcelain on a tray. I sighed with relief. “Emily, thank you, set the tray over here.”

I sat up, only to freeze as Lady Dunlop squeezed into the room, bearing the tray herself. Emily followed, an apologetic look on her face.

I stiffened my shoulders. “With all due respect, madam, I don’t feel much like entertaining. I’ve—”

“A headache,” Lady Dunlop completed. “Your maid informed me.”

She set the tray on the writing desk and filled the cup with a noxious blend of tea. Not what I expected at all. She thrust it into my hands. “Drink this. It will help.”

That, I highly doubted. I sniffed at its contents and made a face. “Might I have a bit of sugar to…make it go down easier?”

“It wouldn’t help with the taste,” she said, with such a matter-of-fact tone she must have tasted the brew herself on more than one occasion. “Drink it quickly, if it helps. It will cure your headache.”

“Cure…” I swallowed. She expected me to go down to supper. “Lady Dunlop, I cannot possibly go down and entertain—”

The bed dipped with such force as she sat on it, that I nearly spilled the tea. I clung to the cup with both hands as I lurched toward her.

“I don’t expect you to entertain anybody,” she said. “I am the hostess here, am I not?”

She lifted an arch eyebrow. I averted my gaze. What could I say to that?

She forced my hands, holding the cup, toward my lips. I sent a pleading look to Emily, who shrugged helplessly. From the determined glint in Lady Dunlop’s eye, she wouldn’t accept a refusal. She would tip the contents down my throat herself. The only question was whether I let her strip me of all dignity.

Swallowing my trepidation, I held my nose and gulped down the contents of the cup. I gasped as I surfaced from the hot, noxious brew. It burned my tongue, which made me suck in air, which only brought back the horrid taste.

Lady Dunlop pressed a pastry into my hand. “Eat this. It will quell the taste. I’m told they’re your favorite.”

I didn’t meet her gaze but nibbled on the edge of the pastry. It was delightful, and washed the terrible taste in my mouth. Within moments, I licked the last crumbs from my fingers.

Tears sprang to my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’ve acted abominably.” My voice was quiet, but thick with emotion. “I never should have yelled at you. Or manhandled your staff. Or tracked mud into your house. Or—” let Daisy out of my sight.

“Hush. All is forgiven.” Lady Dunlop patted my knee. Her voice was kind, kinder than I might have been under the circumstance. “I know you’re worried. I’m worried, too. Did you forget my nephew ran off with her? He left no note, either.”

I met her gaze, which seemed genuine. I shook my head. “How can you be so cheerful? You don’t seem worried at all.”

“Lots of practice,” she told me. “And plenty of distraction. There’s still one game left to play at this party, and supper, besides. Will you come down? It might take your mind off the matter.”

I hedged, but Lady Dunlop tightened her hold over my knee. “No one expects you to say a word. Just sit and listen. You might be able to pull yourself from this stupor. Do you want your sister to come back to find you half dead?”

I swallowed heavily. Sweet, perpetually exuberant Daisy didn’t understand the fits that washed over me without warning. At least this time, there was cause. “Do you really think she will come back?”

“Eventually,” Lady Dunlop answered. “She can’t stay away from her family forever, can she?”

I wanted to say no, but I wasn’t certain. Running away didn’t seem like Daisy at all, even if she had been coerced by a gentlemen and a fickle emotion.

Lady Dunlop reached forward and squeezed my hand. “Come down, child.” Although her words were gentle, there was an underlying edge to her voice that told me she didn’t make a request.

Reluctantly, I nodded.

Emily radiated delight as Lady Dunlop trundled out the door. She shut it behind her, leaving Emily and me alone. Emily tugged me from the bed by the hand.

“I have just the thing for you to wear,” she told me.

Before long, I was washed and dressed in an off-white underdress with a gauzy muslin dress over top that shimmered in the candlelight. Emily brushed and braided my hair, coiling it in an intricate coif. Then she daubed powder and various other cosmetics onto my face to hide the horrors of the past two days. She shooed me out the door in record time, despite the way I dragged my feet.

Even so, I descended last into the sitting room. The others grumbled at the delay. Lady Dunlop must have held them in wait for me. The moment I stepped through the door, she smiled.

“There you are, my dear. Lord Hartfell, would you accompany Miss Wellesley to the dining room?”

I trembled as Warren separated his form from the shadows beside the door. Had he known I’d come down and waited for me to make an appearance? We locked gazes, but I couldn’t discern anything of use in his. They were unreadable but gentle. He offered his arm.

Without a word, I slid my grasp onto his sleeve. I strolled to the dining room, where Lady Dunlop seated me at her left yet again. This time, Warren sat to my left. His big, solid presence shielded me from the obligation to make conversation during the meal. Lady Dunlop was true to her word, in that case.

Surprisingly, I relaxed the longer I stayed in company. The pea soup tasted superb, with just the right amount of salt. I slurped my bowl at an unladylike pace. A footman near Lady Dunlop’s age refilled it with a fond smile on his face. He stepped back again, to stand at Lady Dunlop’s rear.

I consumed another bowl of soup, though I picked at the main courses, eating sparingly. By the time dessert rolled around, I ate far too many blueberry pastries. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice my appetite. In fact, they were far too consumed in each other to pay attention to me at all.

Now that I wasn’t focused on my own happiness, I noticed more than one couple with their heads together, ensconced in a tête-à-tête throughout the meal. They chattered with glee and shot fond smiles at one another. Several ladies cast flirtatious glances at their partners, their regard returned. The house party of love appeared to be a success. Even the spinster chaperone had a grin on her face as she engaged in repartee with the scholar, Mr. Wray.

I risked a glance at Lady Dunlop, who smugly examined the procession.

Once everyone had stuffed themselves so full they groaned over the idea of eating another bite, the hostess got to her feet and announced, “We’ll have one last game in the sitting room, for those who care to join. It will be Consequences this evening.”

I smiled with relief. I didn’t know if I could handle something as energy consuming as Charades. But Consequences, which I’d played before, was a light-hearted, fun word game that always resulted in a few laughs.

Warren held out my chair as I stood. “May I accompany you to the sitting room?” he asked, his voice low. His expression was tight, almost uncertain.

I nodded but didn’t know what else to say to him. Was he on edge about the fallout of his behavior the other night? I wouldn’t confess to anyone just how close to ruination I’d fallen.

Warren had apologized, if his words counted for anything. I didn’t have the energy to fester with ill will toward him. Or, even, with hurt. Daisy had used up my quota.

So I accompanied him in silence to the room.

The servants had pushed aside the furniture and set up a ring of chairs in the center of the room. Warren led me to a seat and held it out while I swept my skirts away from my rump and sat. He took the seat next to me. Francine claimed the one on my other side. She squeezed my hand and whispered, “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

I sent her a wan smile, the best I could do.

At Lady Dunlop’s direction, the servants handed every member of the circle a sheet of paper and a graphite pencil. Several of the couples had slipped away, but the eleven people remaining made for a lively crowd to partake in the game. I accepted my pen and paper and waited for Lady Dunlop to begin the game.

Warren lowered his head to me and said, “I can’t stop thinking about Tuesday night. I’m glad you don’t harbor ill will toward me.”

“Don’t I?” A sly smile buoyed the corners of my lips. The smothering feeling in my chest shifted a bit, no longer unbearable. I sat straighter as Lady Dunlop called for us to start.

I wrote two adjectives in big, bold letters on the top of the page: boorish, pigheaded. Then I folded the top of the page over my words and passed the paper to my right. Warren accepted it with a worried frown. Good, let him stew. I accepted Francine’s paper and added the next line, a gentleman’s name.

So the game continued in a circle: more adjectives, a lady’s name, a place, an object, a line of speech from the gentleman to the lady, one from the lady to the gentleman, the consequence, and another line of speech. By the time every sheet was filled, we folded our papers one last time and passed them to Lady Dunlop.

She unfolded them one by one, searching for the best one to start. A grin capped her face as she found one. She cleared her throat.

Everyone quieted, waiting to hear what she had to say.

Warren’s fingers ghosted over mine. I jerked my hand back and frowned at him. He didn’t seem to notice he’d done it.

Lady Dunlop began, “The boorish, pigheaded Lord Hartfell…”

I sniggered with the rest of the group. Leaning closer to Warren’s form, I whispered, “You wrote your own name?”

He scowled. “I didn’t think you would write something unflattering.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to quell more laughter.

Lady Dunlop continued, “…met the dramatic Miss Wellesley…”

My smile slipped. Beside me, Francine chortled. “You are dramatic,” she murmured under her breath.

I ignored her as Lady Dunlop continued the tale.

“…in the garden. Oh!” She laughed. “He gave her a kiss.”

The group laughed. Several turned their faces to give us knowing stares. Oh blast. They suspected we had done more than kiss, I imagined. I hunkered down in my chair, trying to hide in Warren’s shadow. It didn’t work. Why couldn’t I be as small as Francine?

“And he said to her, ‘I like to eat eggs in the morning.’”

More laughter traveled through the circle. I couldn’t help but join in.

“She said to him, ‘I prefer red roses.’”

I met Francine’s gaze. We both grinned from ear to ear.

Lady Dunlop continued, “The consequence was that they fell in love.”

I shook my head with a chuckle as I counted around the circle. Sure enough, Lady Dunlop had added that line herself. She grinned voraciously as she concluded, “And the world said—”

“I’m married!”