Page 78 of The Earl She Once Saved

She could not know. Whatever he had done, he had not found her. Roland had.

The thought turned bitter in her mouth.

Rafe might have searched through lists and hospitals, but his brother found her in an English drawing room, newly bereaved, dependent upon an aunt and in possession of a fortune she could not touch without a husband. Roland needed only to smile.

Verity entered the drawing room. Celestine rose from the sofa in a drift of pale green muslin.

“My dear Lady Edgeworth.” The greeting was warm enough for sisters.

Verity inclined her head. “Miss Marchmont.”

“I do hope I am not intruding.”

“You are already here.”

Celestine paused, then she smiled. “How very like you.”

Verity took the chair opposite her. “Win, tea, if you please.”

Win’s eyes moved once between them. “Yes, my lady.”

She withdrew, while Celestine settled back upon the sofa. She wore the morning as easily as she had worn the ballroom. Her golden hair had been arranged beneath a fashionable bonnet, and the rain left no mark upon her shoes or hem. Verity wondered whether Celestine ever arrived anywhere less than perfectly prepared to be admired.

“How are the tenants?” Celestine asked.

The question was so unexpected that Verity almost looked toward the door to see whether someone else had entered.

“They are well, thank you.”

“I am pleased.”

Verity resisted the urge to frown. “Are you?”

Celestine’s smile held. “Naturally.”

Win returned with the tea tray. Verity poured.

“And Lady Cordelia?” Celestine continued. “I did not see her at church yesterday.”

“My aunt is well.”

“I am glad.”

Celestine accepted her cup. The clock on the mantel ticked. Verity waited. Celestine took one sip.

“And the Earl?”

It required less than two minutes.

Verity looked into her tea. “He is unwell.”

“Yes, I heard something of it. A chill?”

“A fever,” Verity corrected.

Celestine’s eyes widened with precisely measured concern. “How dreadful. Is he much recovered?”

“The fever broke this morning.”