At least Helene did not argue with him for accompanying her. Rhys told himself he was only remaining with her because the hotel was filled with officers and other men in town who did not have enough to entertain them and plenty of opportunity to consume a lot of Belgian beer.
When they neared David’s room, the boy had just stepped out into the hallway, humming a tune.
His cheerful expression drooped when he spied his sister. ‘Oh. Helene.’ He gave Rhys a more cordial look. ‘Rhys.’
Helene faced her brother, elbows akimbo. ‘Where are you going, David? It must be after ten o’clock.’
‘I am going out.’ He jutted out his chin. ‘It is not so very late.’
She glared at him. ‘Where have you been all day? I left you so many messages. About Wilson—’
‘I know. I know,’ he interrupted. ‘Wilson is sick. I am sorry for it, but you already told me there was nothing I could do.’
Her voice rose. ‘You might at least have sent me a note informing me as to your whereabouts. And that you would not meet me for dinner.’
He looked chagrined. ‘Yes. Dinner. So sorry about that. Slipped my mind.’
Rhys thought again that it should be David who acted as Helene’s escort, not him.
‘So where were you all day?’ Helene demanded.
David pursed his lips. ‘Not that it is any of your affair, I’ll have you know that I was with William Lennox. He is here with his parents, the Duke and Duchess, and he will likely have an important role in the battle—if his eye heals quickly enough.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘And if you do not believe me, ask Rhys, because William and I had dinner with Rhys and another captain in the army.’
She shot Rhys a severe glance.
‘I told you I saw him,’ Rhys said.
‘Not that you had dinner with him.’
David ranted on. ‘You are not my keeper, Helene. You cannot tell me what I may and may not do. With whom I may and may not dine. I want to go out now and you cannot stop me.’ His voice turned shrill, like a child having a tantrum.
Rhys stepped forward, looming over the boy. ‘Mind your tongue, David.’
David shrugged his shoulders. ‘She’s only my sister. She has no business trying to manage my life.’
‘I came because it is not safe for you to be in Brussels, David,’ Helene said. ‘You should not have come. You need to be home.’
‘Well, as Wilson is ill, we are staying, are we not? I am going out!’ David pushed past them and strode swiftly down the hall.
‘David—’ Rhys started after him, but Helene seized his arm.
‘Let him go,’ she said. ‘I am too angry at him to have more words with him tonight.’
Her touch flooded Rhys with memories.
And temptation.
She looked surprised at herself and abruptly released him. She glanced down the hall where David disappeared. ‘I do hope he will not drink too much again.’
‘After last night, he should have learned his lesson.’ Although did Rhys know any young man who remembered a morning headache when night-time fell? ‘You will not go after him,’ he insisted in as firm a voice as he could muster.
‘No.’ Her voice sounded both stressed and weary. ‘I will not go after him.’
Rhys walked by her side to her room. His arm still felt the pressure of her slender fingers and he remembered, a long time ago, twining her fingers through his and admiring their graceful beauty.
‘Goodnight, Rhys,’ she said as soon as they reached her room. ‘Thank you again.’
She unlocked the door and disappeared inside.
Rhys stepped back and stared at the closed door, then he turned away and started towards his room. After passing the stairway, he stopped and reversed direction.
‘Cursed boy!’ he said aloud.
He descended the stairs and made his way to the outside, feeling obligated to make certain David Banes returned to this hotel without doing a thing to worry his sister.
Helene rang for a maid to attend her and crawled into bed as soon as the woman left, but she tangled herself in her bed linens trying to quiet her racing mind and restless emotions.
She wished she could say her struggle was due to her anger at David or her worry over Wilson. Those concerns certainly were not conducive to sleep, but, if honest with herself, it was Rhys who kept Morpheus at bay.
She had to admit she loved seeing him again. His handsome face. His deepened voice moved her, even when his imperious tone grated at her nerves. She did not understand why he insisted upon being in her company when he obviously derived no pleasure from it. Especially because it had been she who sent him away. It had taken her a long time to accept that she would never see him again. Now, after accepting it, here he was.
A different person.
In the morning she woke still thinking of him. The maid arrived to help her dress. Afterward she left her room to check on Wilson.
The nurse answered her knock. ‘Good morning, mademoiselle.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Jacobs.’ She entered the room. ‘How is he?’
‘No worse.’ Mrs Jacobs moved away so Helene could approach the bed. ‘He has been sleeping these last two hours, more quietly, I think.’
The room was tidy, and Wilson was comfortably propped up on pillows, the bed covers neatly over him. His breathing was ragged, but he was still.
That might be a good sign, although her parents had moved in and out of delirium before their fevers robbed them of life. She remembered some moments of rest, too, before her own fever deprived her of her senses. At least she had awakened from the fever and survived.
‘What of you?’ she asked the nurse. ‘Were you able to rest?’
‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ she responded cheerfully. ‘He slept. I slept. We got on very well.’
‘Has he spoken to you at all?’ Helene asked.
Mrs Jacobs nodded. ‘Nothing that had meaning. He speaks the name Louise a great deal.’
Yes. Who was Louise? ‘We know nothing of Louise. Did he say anything that would tell us more about her?
‘Only the name.’ The nurse tilted her head apologetically.
Helene glanced over at Wilson, now murmuring in his sleep.
She turned back to the nurse. ‘May I do something for you, Mrs Jacobs? I am at liberty to perform some errand or to sit with him if need be.’
Mrs Jacobs laughed. ‘Mon Dieu! It is I who am hired to help you, not you to help me.’
‘But you will need some relief, surely.’ Helene remembered how much she needed the respite the servants offered her after she’d spent hours with her ill mother or father.
Mrs Jacobs looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you would not mind sitting with him for an hour or two? I would like to go home. Check on—check on something. And to gather some necessities for our patient.’
‘Of course,’ Helene readily agreed. ‘Do you need any money? I must pay for whatever Wilson needs.’ She took a purse from her pocket and handed the woman some coins.
Mrs Jacobs looked at the coins in her palm and smiled. ‘That will do nicely, mademoiselle. Merci.’
Helene thought she might have breakfast with David again, but she would leave him a note instead. He’d probably like that better.
‘Would you bring a note to the hall servant for me?’ she asked the nurse.
‘Of course, mademoiselle.’ Mrs Jacobs wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.
Helene crossed to the table where Wilson had placed pen and paper—to write to the mysterious Louise, no doubt. She penned a quick note, folded the paper and wrote David’s name on it. She handed it to Mrs Jacobs.
The older woman grinned. ‘Is this for your handsome captain?’
Helene felt her face flush. ‘No. No. For my brother. He is also a guest here.’
Mrs Jacobs shook her head in mock disappointment. ‘A brother? Not nearly as nice as a note to the captain.’ She gestured to a table near the small fireplace where sat a teapot and a plate covered by a cloche. ‘The footman next door brought me some food a moment ago. Bread and cheese and tea, of course. I’ve not touched any of it, so you must have my share.’
Helene was hungry, she realised.
‘I will return before two hours have passed,’ Mrs Jacobs promised as she walked out the door.
Helene poured herself a cup of tea and placed both it and the plate of bread and cheese on the table near Wilson’s bed. She tore off a piece of bread and nibbled on it, the silence broken only by her chewing and Wilson’s raspy breathing.
Her handsome captain. He’d once been her handsome Rhys. Helene felt a wave of loss.
She must have dozed a little after eating, because a knock on the door roused her. Was it already time for Mrs Jacobs to return? She rose and opened the door.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Rhys.
‘Rhys! It is you.’ She clamped her mouth shut, vexed at herself for stating what was so obvious.
He strode right past her, eyes flaring. ‘Where is the nurse? Did she desert her post?’
‘No. No.’ Helene closed the door behind him. ‘She was here the night. I offered to stay with Wilson while she went for some necessities.’
He straightened. ‘I see.’ He glanced towards the bed. ‘How is he?’
‘Resting more quietly than yesterday, I believe, although Mrs Jacobs said he was still delirious some of the time.’ Her heart was still pounding. She’d not expected to see him.
A groan came from the old servant’s bed. ‘Lady Helene? Is that you?’
She rushed over to the bedside. Rhys followed her. ‘Yes, Wilson. It is Helene. And Rhys.’
‘Rhys?’ The older man tried to sit up, but it was too much effort. ‘Ah, yes. I remember. Rhys was here. We are in Brussels.’
‘Yes,’ Helene said. ‘But you have been very ill with fever. Do not exert yourself. You need to rest.’
‘No.’ Wilson tried to rise again. ‘I have somewhere I must go. I must.’
Rhys stepped forward. ‘You need to stay in bed, Wilson. You are too ill to go anywhere.’ His voice was firm but...gentle.
Like the old Rhys.
Wilson lay back against the pillows again, but he looked quite distraught.
‘You should drink something, Wilson,’ Helene said. ‘Some tea. I’ll get it for you.’
Rhys had already walked over to the teapot and poured Wilson a cup. She took the cup from Rhys’s hand and spoke quietly. ‘Do you think his agitation is about the letter?’
Wilson heard her. ‘A letter?’
‘Do you remember, Wilson?’ Rhys asked him. ‘The letter from Louise.’
Wilson extended his arm. ‘Let me see!’
She put down the teacup and reached into her pocket for the letter. She handed it to Wilson.
He held it in a trembling hand and put it close to his face, then dropped it on to the bed. ‘My eyes will not focus.’
Helene picked up the single sheet of paper. ‘Louise wishes you to call upon her.’
‘Louise.’ Tears filled the old man’s eyes. ‘Louise.’
Helene glanced at Rhys again, sharing her worry with him. In his delirium Wilson had forgotten the letter.
Rhys put a gentle hand on Wilson’s shoulder. ‘Do not upset yourself. You need to get well.’
‘I need to see her!’ Wilson cried.
‘Perhaps we can get a message to her.’ Rhys’s voice was calm and reasonable. ‘Can you give us her direction?’
‘Rue de l’Evêque. Near the theatre,’ Wilson managed. ‘Louise Desmet.’
‘We will get a message to her,’ Helene assured him. ‘We will tell her you are ill and cannot call upon her now.’
Wilson nodded, but tears rolled down his cheeks. His tears distressed her. Wilson had often been the one to dry her tears.
She brought him the cup of tea. ‘Come. Drink some tea.’ It was tepid by now.
Rhys helped him sit up in bed. Helene put the cup to Wilson’s lips. He drank the whole.
‘Are you hungry?’ She held up the plate of bread and cheese.
Wilson grimaced and shook his head vehemently.
She turned to Rhys. ‘He needs some broth or porridge. And something more to drink. He must have some nourishment.’
Rhys nodded in agreement. ‘I will bring something from the dining room. I can do so right away.’
Helene was glad for his help. At least when it concerned Wilson, Rhys was the Rhys with whom she’d fallen in love.
‘Message!’ Wilson cried. ‘Message to Louise.’
Helene turned back to her old servant. ‘We will send your message, Wilson. I promise you. Now rest, will you?’ She felt his forehead. He was still very hot to the touch.
Rhys stepped away. ‘I’ll bring some food.’
She saw the concern in his eyes, a concern that matched her own. They were both afraid Wilson would not recover.
Rhys hurried down to the dining room. If only he’d had more sleep, his emotions might not be firing in all directions like Congreve rockets, but he’d risen very early that morning to visit his company and he’d been out quite late the night before.
Rhys hadn’t expected to see Helene when he knocked on Wilson’s door. When she opened it he’d been momentarily struck dumb. She wore a plain striped blue dress and had taken little care with her hair, but her loveliness cut into him like the slash of a sabre. Then to see the nurse was not there—he’d immediately thought the woman had deserted and his agitation had flared. He was accustomed to keeping a cooler head.
He’d even lost his temper at David. The night before it had taken Rhys some time to find the hare-brained boy and, when he did, David was already as drunk as a wheelbarrow and about to engage in fisticuffs with some soldiers from the Dutch light cavalry. Rhys had rung a peal over David’s head for that folly, but he doubted David would even remember it this morning.
Rhys was done, though. This would be the last time he’d put himself in the path of Helene and David Bane—as soon as he made certain Wilson had what he needed.
The dining room servant promised to have a tray delivered to Wilson’s room within the half-hour. As Rhys walked back to the hall, Mrs Jacobs, hands full of a large bundle and a basket dangling from one arm, had just reached the stairway.
He caught up to her. ‘Mrs Jacobs, may I assist you?’
She smiled at him and handed him the bundle. ‘Ah, Captain. You are a most welcome sight.’ They walked up the stairs together. ‘I brought some clean nightclothes for Mr Wilson. And some food and some things for me.’ She lifted the basket, then inclined her head towards the bundle he carried. ‘The hotel gave me these clean linens. I do not know how I would have managed had you not come along. You do not mind carrying these to Mr Wilson’s room, do you?’
‘Not at all.’ Even though Rhys had not intended to return to the room.
‘You truly will not mind when you see who is there with him.’ She grinned at him. ‘Your lovely mademoiselle!’
He was about to tell her Helene was not his, but she interrupted him, her expression sobering.
‘She did not mind me leaving her with Mr Wilson. I had her permission. I had to go to my home. I—I needed to check on...’ Her voice trailed off but the distress in it did not escape him.
‘Is something amiss at home?’ Rhys asked.
‘Oh.’ She sighed. ‘My husband is a bit poorly, that is all.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he responded.
‘It was not the best time for me to leave him, you see, but we do need the money.’ She seemed to force a smile. ‘And I like to be of service when the hotel calls upon me.’
‘Is there anything we can do?’ he asked, catching himself saying we as if Helene and he really were together and as if he was not adding Mrs Jacobs to his list of people with whom to become embroiled.
She shook her head. ‘All is in hand. My husband will be able to care for himself.’ She glanced at him. ‘I should like to check on him once a day, if possible.’
‘We will arrange that, then.’ He said we again.
They reached Wilson’s door.
‘Ah, Mrs Jacobs,’ Helene said as they entered. ‘You are back.’
‘With clean linens and nightclothes for Mr Wilson. Food for me, and—’ the nurse smiled cheerfully ‘your handsome captain.’
A nerve twitched in Rhys’s jaw. Helene’s smile froze.
Helene recovered. ‘You did not have to bring your own food. I will happily pay for you to eat. Whatever you wish to have.’
Mrs Jacobs grinned. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle.’
Rhys spoke up. ‘The hotel will deliver some broth, porridge and beer for Wilson. You can ask them then for whatever you want.’ He again sounded as though he and Helene were acting in concert.
‘Louise?’ Wilson called from the bed. ‘Louise? Is that you?’ His voice was a painful rasp.
Helene hurried over to him. ‘Not Louise, Wilson.’ She brushed the damp hair from his face and Rhys felt her tenderness as if her gentle fingers had touched him. ‘Your nurse is here. Her name is Mrs Jacobs.’
‘Nurse?’ Wilson murmured. ‘Too much fuss. Too much money.’
‘Not too much fuss,’ Helene assured him. ‘And you know I can well afford it. You need a nurse. You should not be alone while you are so ill.’
He grasped her hand. ‘You will send the message to Louise?’
‘Yes. I will do that right away.’ She squeezed his hand and brought it to her cheek. The loving gesture pierced Rhys’s heart.
Mrs Jacobs shooed her away from the bedside. ‘Now you go off with your handsome captain, mademoiselle,’ she said. ‘I will take good care of Mr Wilson.’
Rhys once again grimaced at Mrs Jacobs’s words, but, at the same time, it seemed so familiar for Helene and him to be seen as one. He shook himself. He must not be seduced into again thinking their inseparable childhood had ever been intended to last.
He walked out of the room with Helene at his side, exactly as they might have done had they been together.
As soon as they stepped out in the hall, she said, ‘I am not sending a message to Louise Desmet. I am going there myself.’
Good idea, he thought. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I will go.’
She whirled on him. ‘No, Rhys. It must be me. Wilson is my responsibility. I need to deliver his message.’
‘You can trust me with the errand,’ he countered, his tone sharp.
‘What does trust have to do with it?’ She sounded exasperated. ‘I want to meet this Louise.’
Rhys hardened his voice. ‘You cannot go alone.’
She glared at him. ‘Of course I can go alone. Or I can arrange a servant to attend me. You do not need to go!’
She did not want his company? That decided the matter. He would go, no matter what. ‘I know Brussels. You do not.’
She put her hands on her hips. ‘Someone will direct me. No matter what you do, I am going to call upon Louise Desmet.’
He held her gaze. ‘Then we go together.’
She stared back at him. ‘I will need my hat.’
He continued to look her in the eye. ‘I will meet you in the hall, then.’ He needed his hat and gloves, as well.
They resumed walking again. When they reached her floor, he parted from her, but turned to say, ‘Do not set out on your own.’
‘What?’ she responded in a mocking tone. ‘You do not trust me?’
He almost laughed. She always could give as well as take.