Page 18 of Romancing the Scot
A woman after her own heart. They could be close to the same age too. Grace’s priority in life had always been her father, never planning a future for herself. Then again, she could be a widow. The wars had produced many across Europe. Either way, she wondered who Jo took care of now. Her brother, perhaps.
“I take back everything I said,” the physician said. “It appears your patientwilllive.”
Jo rested her hand on Grace’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. The simple show of affection brought on a wave of raw emotion. She was grateful for what had been done for her. She hated the fact that she now needed to lie to someone who’d been so kind and attentive.
The doctor and her hostess gently sat Grace up. He tapped on her chest, putting an ear close to listen to her breathing. “The wheezing remains, but she’s young. That should lessen over time.”
When he was finished, Jo propped pillows behind her. Anna came in carrying a tray, and the old woman’s round face beamed at the sight of Grace awake.
The doctor moved across the room to a table that held an assortment of bottles, and Jo took his place at her bedside.
“It pleases me to no end to see you improving,” she said. “Even though you’ve been here for ten days, we haven’t had the opportunity for introductions. My name is Jo, and this is our maid Anna, and Dr. Namby. Although you may not remember, you’ve already met my brother Hugh, Viscount Greysteil. We’ve all been quite concerned about you.”
Ten days? Grace looked at the faces that, in spite of her illness, she’d come to know. Missing was the man who’d rescued her from the crate and then had carried her up here again when she went wandering through the house. Hugh Pennington. Viscount Greysteil.
“You should eat very little for a day or two,” the doctor ordered, eyeing the tray. “We want to make certain you can hold down the food.”
“Thank you,” Grace whispered, meeting Jo’s gaze.
Warm hands rested on her own.
“There were a few moments during these past days when I had little hope you’d stay with us,” Jo said.
“Not you, m’lady,” the doctor said, coming back with a dark brown bottle and a spoon. “You never lost hope.”
Dr. Namby poured the liquid onto a spoon and reached over. “Open.”
Grace grimaced with disgust, swallowing the bitter syrup. Jo sat on the edge of the bed and motioned to Anna to bring the tray.
“We’ll start you with a little tea and bread this morning, Grace.”
This was the moment. Questions were sure to follow. She would need to devise her answers in a way that would raise the least suspicion. Her only route to safety lay in getting to Brussels, where she and her father were going before. But she had to regain her strength first.
“Grace?” she finally replied. “Is that my name?”
Jo’s head turned away, searching for the doctor. Namby was already on his way to the bedside. A look passed between them.
“Allow me, m’lady.”
Jo stood but hovered over his shoulder. Grace hated herself for doing this, for acting this way after everything they’d done for her. But she had no choice.
“Whatisyour name, dear?” the old man asked patiently.
Grace stared at him for the space of a few breaths before darting a look at Jo. Anna stood wide-eyed at the foot of the bed.
She finally turned her attention back to the physician. “I don’t know. But you called me Grace. Is that my name?”
A heavy silence fell, the only sound being the breeze pushing at the curtains and a bird chittering somewhere outside.
“Tell us what youdoremember,” Namby persisted. “Anything? Any person? Can you tell us where you live, perhaps?”
She stared into the intent faces, grateful that no one could read her mind. But his scrutiny alone was intimidating. Her throat began to tighten as she worried about lying. It would certainly go worse for her if they found her out.
“Nothing. I remember nothing. But tell me. Is my name Grace? What am I doing here? Help me.”
Jo sat on the edge of the bed, speaking softly. “As I said, you’ve been here ten days, but three nights ago my brother found you wandering downstairs. You told him your name is Grace. You were afraid that someone was after you.”
The men pursuing her in Antwerp had followed her into her fevered dreams. In those nightmares, her father was still alive, still needed her. She vaguely recalled stumbling into the room where Hugh Pennington sat behind a desk. Grace couldn’t recall what she’d said or how much she’d admitted to.
