Page 44 of The Heir
“Perhaps it is you who are anxious, Anna. Surely the chicken pox aren’t so serious as all that?” He sat back down on the bed but held her eyes.
Her chin came up a half inch. “Who just said he’s never risen feeling so uncomfortable?”
“Unrefreshed,” the earl corrected her, considering his bodily state. He felt like pure, utter hell. His worst hangover at university did not compare with this, the flu did not, the broken arm he’d suffered at thirteen did not. He felt as if every muscle in his body had been pulled, every bone broken, every organ traumatized, and he had to piss again with a sort of hot, whiney insistence that suggested illness even to him.
“Welbourne it is,” he said on a sigh. “Just to borrow a proper coach and a sturdy team. I won’t have Amery gloating over this, nor his viscountess.”
Getting even the three miles to Welbourne was an ordeal for them both and for the horse. In the hour it had taken them to dress, load, and hitch the gig, Westhaven’s condition worsened. He sat beside Anna, half leaning on her, using what little strength he still claimed just to remain upright on the seat.
They didn’t speak, the earl preoccupied with remaining conscious, Anna doing her best to help the horse pick his way along at a shuffling walk. When she saw the gateposts for Welbourne, Anna nearly cried, so great was her relief. Even through the layers of damp clothing between them, she could feel the earl’s fever rising and sense the effort the journey was costing him.
The stables were closed up tight, but Anna didn’t even turn into the yard. She steered Pericles up to the manor house and pulled him to a halt.
“Westhaven.” She jostled him stoutly. “We’re here. Sit up until I can get down and help you to alight.”
He complied silently and nearly fell on Anna as she tried to assist him from the gig. Getting up the front steps saw them almost overbalancing twice, and Anna was panting with exertion by the time they gained the front porch.
The front door opened before Anna could knock. “For the love of God, get him in here.”
Anna’s burden was relieved as Westhaven’s free arm was looped across a pair of broad shoulders belonging to a blond man dressed only to his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. The man was fortunately as tall as Westhaven and far more equal to the task than Anna.
“You,” the fellow barked at a footman. “Have Pericles put up and see he’s offered a warm mash. You.” He fixed fierce blue eyes on Anna. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Taken aback, Anna could only follow as Westhaven was half-carried to a parlor and there deposited on a settee.
“He is coming down with chicken pox,” Anna said, finding her voice at last. “He thought to come here only to borrow a closed vehicle that he might return to Town.”
“Douglas Allen.” The man offered her a bow. “Viscount Amery, at your service.” He jerked the bellpull and surveyed the man dripping on his couch. “Westhaven?”
“Amery?”
The earl’s voice was a croak, but one that conveyed a spark of pride.
“If you insist on attempting to travel on in your condition,” Amery said, “I will send a note forthwith to His Grace, andtattleon you. I will also hold you up to Rose as abad example, and worse, my viscountess willworry. As she is the sole sustenance of my heir, I am loathe to worry her, do I make myself clear?”
“Ye gods…” Westhaven muttered, peering at his host. “You are serious.”
Amery quirked an eyebrow. “As serious as the chicken pox, complicated by a lung fever, and further compounded by Windham pride and arrogance.”
“Douglas?” A tall woman with dark auburn hair entered the parlor, her pretty features showing curiosity and then concern.
“Guinevere.” The man slid a shameless arm around the lady’s waist. “Look you, on yonder couch, ’tis your former betrothed, come to give us all the chicken pox.”
“Oh, Westhaven.” The woman stepped forward, but Anna had the presence of mind to rise from her seat and step between Lady Amery and the earl.
“My lady.” Anna bobbed a curtsy. “His lordship informed me you have an infant in the house, so had best not be coming too close to the earl.”
“She’s right.” Amery frowned. “I know I’ve had the chicken pox.”
“As have I,” Guinevere said, but she returned to her husband’s side. “And so has Rose. Douglas, you can’t let him travel like this.”
“Using the third person,” the earl rasped from the couch, “when a man is present and conscious, is rude and irritating.”
“But fun,” Amery said, coming to peruse his visitor. He put the back of his hand to the earl’s forehead and knelt to consider him at closer range. Though both men were of an age, the viscount’s gestures were curiously paternal. “You are burning up, which I needn’t tell you. I know you hold physicians in no esteem whatsoever, but will you let me send for Fairly?”
“You will not notify the duke?” Westhaven met his host’s eyes.
“Not yet, if you stay here like a good boy and get better before my Christian charity is outstripped by my honesty,” Amery said, sending his wife a glance.
