Page 30 of Every Rogue Has His Charm

“I shouldn’t wonder,” the housekeeper declared. “A lot of stuff and nonsense, if you ask me. The sort of thing that has housemaids sneaking candles into their beds, reading when they should be asleep.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a despairing sigh.

Caro focused all her attention on finishing what she could of the beef tea and was shuffling her hips down in the bed again, exhausted by the effort, when the crinkle of paper reminded her of Fanny’s note. Rescuing it from the linens, she smoothed away its wrinkles but still had to squint to make out the hurriedly written lines, hampered both by the ache in her temples and the lack of light in the room.

Dear Caro,

I can’t convince myself that you’ll ever see this, but if it should somehow come into your hands, please take pity on me and send word that you are safe. I can be at your side in half a moment.

F.

Despite the difficulties, she read it through twice. Safe? Not well? And whom did Fanny suspect of keeping her post from her? Caro’s headache, subdued by the broth, now threatened to roar back to life.

It must’ve been frightening for Fanny to witness Caro suddenly take ill, but this felt like more than ordinary concern. Caro recalled what Mrs. Horn had said about Mrs. Drummond’s reluctance to leave, despite the duke’s insistence. Her friend’s fear rubbed uneasily against her husband’s unprecedented show of care and concern. The whole episode had been caused by something she ate, according to the physician, but she could not remember taking a bite. Nor could she remember ever having been so sick in her life. Surely Fanny didn’t imagine Caro was in real danger, or that the duke was capable of—

“How’s our patient, Mrs. Horn?” Still clad only in shirtsleeves, Hartwell nearly filled the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame. Though he’d spoken to the housekeeper, his gaze was focused squarely on Caro—or rather, the note she held.

Caro hid it in her hand, ignoring the prickle of pain when the paper’s sharp corners prodded the abrasions on her palm. “Better, thank you. But tired.”

“Then by all means, rest, my dear,” he said. “Ah, and there’s my coat.” Pushing himself upright, he turned toward the housekeeper and stretched out a hand. “Leclerc will scold me for my carelessness.”

Mrs. Horn hustled toward him, juggling the various objects she had collected to get to the garment. “Oughtn’t I have it sponged and pressed?”

“No need,” he insisted, shrugging into it, careless of the wrinkles. “I’m only stepping out for a breath of fresh air—unless I’m wanted here?” Quicker than seemed possible, his dark eyes were once more focused on Caro.

She swallowed. “I’m fine. You needn’t worry about me anymore.”

His answering expression held that same wistful note she’d seen earlier, but he quickly masked it with what she once might have called a scowl. Only now did she see the shadow of something more in it. With a dip of his head, and without another word to either of them, he turned and left.

Mrs. Horn rearranged her armload once again in order to free her hands to carry away the tray that was still lying over Caro’s lap. “You rest now, Your Grace.”

“I will,” she promised. She really didn’t think she could do otherwise. “But please,”—she dropped her voice a notch lower and sent a glance toward the empty doorway—“will you go to Mrs. Drummond yourself, reassure her that I am well, and ask her to call on me tomorrow morning?”

The housekeeper looked mildly surprised by the request, but not displeased. “Of course, ma’am. She’ll be relieved to hear it. But do you really think you’ll be ready for company tomorrow?”

“This was merely a bout of indigestion,” she insisted, as if saying it out loud would make it true. “I refuse to let it keep me bedridden. And Mrs. Drummond isn’t company. She is a friend.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Despite her burden, Mrs. Horn managed a shallow curtsy and backed her way from the room. Caro closed her eyes as the door shut behind her. Turning on her side, she slid Fanny’s note beneath her pillow.

Fatigue and weakness made her limbs heavy, but sleep did not immediately come. She kept replaying Fanny’s words in her head.

Send word that you are safe.…

Was she? Or was she foolish enough to open her heart to her husband again?

* * * *

The next morning, she felt almost herself, enough better that the previous day’s worries could be dismissed as fretfulness. Under Mrs. Horn’s watchful eye, she managed tea and toast and coddled eggs, and submitted to having her hair combed and loosely arranged. When she called for a morning gown, however, the housekeeper’s brow sank into a maternal frown.

“Another day in bed would suit you better,” she insisted.

“I couldn’t possibly. Besides, Mrs. Drummond is to call soon—”

“Let me show her up here.”

Caro shook her head. “I’m not an invalid—though I might yet become one, if you don’t let me move about a bit, stretch my limbs. Is Geoffrey back at his post?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Mrs. Horn confessed, looking sheepish.

“Then surely I can survive a quarter of an hour in the drawing room, being fussed over by my friend.”