Page 9 of The Heir
She had no idea how long she stayed like that, but eventually a voice spoke.
“Here, now, Miss Conroy.”
Hard, competent hands steered Jane to a stool and pressed on her shoulders until she sat down. Her own hands were lifted and wrapped around something lusciously warm. Jane inhaled. Tea. A mug of tea had been put into her hands. She trembled. Someone removed her bonnet, which dangled down her back, and pulled her dripping hair away from her face. Jane blinked and saw Lehzen looking down at her.
Are you all right?That was the question in Lehzen’s eyes.
Jane nodded.
Lehzen nodded in return and strode back into the boudoir, leaving Jane alone with her tea. Jane drank. The tea was painfully hot and very sweet. Her mouth burned, but at the same time, her trembling eased and tingling life returned to her hands.
Jane drank again.
She remained on her stool for a long while. Her sluggish blood quickened, and something like normal movement returned to her thoughts. A man, one of the doctors, came into the room and quickly disappeared inside the princess’s boudoir. Jane heard the duchess’s hysterical exclamations and the doctor’s calm responses.
Jane’s tongue prodded cautiously at her teeth. One—no, two—had been loosened.
Jane finished her tea. The boudoir door opened again, and the doctor emerged. For a single instant, Jane looked through the doorway, and her gaze met the princess’s. In the next heartbeat, Lady Flora slammed the door shut.
Some more time passed. Jane finished her tea. She blinked at the floor, and to her shame, she realized what she wanted most right now was to curl up and fall asleep.
Perhaps she did doze some. The next thing she knew was the touch of a hand on her shoulder, and she found she was looking up at the new doctor.
“Are you all right, miss?” he asked her.
Jane nodded.
It was plain from the doctor’s expression that he did not believe her. However, his only response was to shrug, as if to say that if she wished to be a fool, it was not currently his business to stop her. He left.
Voices were raised in the boudoir. The princess was once again arguing with her mother.
Of course she is.
Before Jane could think anything else, Father returned. He ignored her as he marched past and instead glowered at the closed boudoir door. Father ruled any room where he was present, but in the end he was a man of rank—not a doctor or footman or body servant. As such, he could not enter the princess’s closed bedchamber.
He turned and glared down at her, angry and suspicious, as if she was the one who had arranged for the door to be shut against him. Jane found herself too tired to cringe.
“How long since the doctor left?” he asked. “What did the man say?”
Thankfully, Jane was saved from having to admit her ignorance. The boudoir door flew open, and the duchess darted out.
“Oh, Sir John!” The duchess collapsed against him and pressed her forehead to his shoulder like a small girl or . . . or . . .
Jane felt her stomach turn over. She tried to look away and instead found herself looking through the doorway into the boudoir and directly at the princess, who looked directly back at her. Jane saw her anger and her sadness. Saw the frank, open urge to break something and scream out loud.
“Go home, Jane,” Father snapped.
Jane put down her empty mug. She stood carefully, making sure her legs were steady and that the room did not spin. She walked to the bell rope and rang for her maid, Betty. Betty brought her bonnet and coat, both still damp, probably ruined entirely. Jane let herself be dressed and took her reticule when Betty handed it to her.
Father watched every movement. She could feel his gaze, even when the brim of her bonnet blocked him from her view. Jane made her curtsy. Father gave no sign he regarded Jane at all. He just curled his arms protectively around the duchess and patted her back, crooning to her as if she were the child.
He had never held Jane so. Or their mother. Or her sister or her brother.
Or, or, or . . .
Jane turned and walked out the door.
Chapter 3
