Page 85 of Duke of Emeralds
CHAPTER 35
“Why must I remain in bed when I am perfectly able to walk?” Hester gripped the edge of the coverlet, ready to yank.
Miss Holt pressed a hand to her own chest as if bracing for musket fire. “His Grace was most insistent you stay abed, Your Grace. He said you were to take not one step until the doctor called again.”
“Then tell His Grace I am alive and would prefer to die of boredom in the drawing room rather than of bedsores in here.”
The maid’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but she schooled her face and began fussing with the tray of tea on the bedside table. “Would you care for breakfast now? Or perhaps another volume of the novel?”
“I want,” Hester breathed, “to know if the world has ended, and if so, whether it has been mended by all this infernal coddling.”
Miss Holt kept her eyes on the teacups. “His Grace left before dawn. He rode out toward the city but gave no further instruction, save for your rest. And he said not to admit any visitors, except for family.”
The news stung more than she had prepared for. She tried to ignore the sudden urge to fling the pillow into the hallway. “He’s been avoiding me, you know.” The words surprised her. “Since… the fall.”
Miss Holt gave her an anxious look.
“He’s angry with me, then.”
“Oh, no, Your Grace,” the maid rushed to say. “Nothing of the kind.”
Hester set her jaw, grinding her teeth until it felt like she might gnaw through the bone. Then she propped herself up, which made her head swim. “He cannot possibly keep this up for the whole day. Not if I walk out myself and find him.”
“The doctor said you are to?—”
“I will not obey the doctor or the Duke, not today. Bring me my robe, and I shall meet my fate upright.” She flung back the covers, exposing her legs to the chilly morning, and was gratified to see Miss Holt scurry to fetch the dress.
In the brief time it took Miss Holt to return, Hester ran over the conversation in her mind. Why did it matter so deeply that he’d left without so much as a word? Why did she feel raw and shamed, like a schoolgirl scolded for giggling in church? Was he truly angry? Or did he simply wish to be rid of her? And why shouldthatmatter? Had she not always wanted a life free of the liability of love?
Yet, when she thought of the past two days—how he had barely entered the room, how he had spoken only in stiff, formal phrases—it hurt. Not physically but somewhere else, somewhere that she could not compress into reason.
Miss Holt returned with the robe and helped her into it then fetched slippers for her feet.
A knock at the door startled both women then it opened and Thomas strode into the room. He was dressed in a somber blue that looked almost black, and his eyes avoided her at first.
Hester’s heart skipped then promptly fell into a ditch. She studied him, and there was not a hint of play, none of the warmth she had come to expect. Just a cold, shuttered mask.
“You are up,” he said. “How do ye fare?”
“I am not dead,” she replied, “though you may check my pulse if you require proof.”
He did not smile. “The doctor will call again in the afternoon. Until then, ye must remain in bed or in that chair.”
“Is it necessary to station a sentry at my door?” She meant it as a jest, but the line sat flat.
He looked away then motioned for Miss Holt to leave. The maid retreated and closed the door.
Silence bloomed between them before Hester braced herself, determined to shatter it first. “You are very attentive today, Thomas. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your vows to plague me.”
He did not answer. Instead, he poured a cup of tea from the tray, added nothing, and set it within her reach.
She tried again. “I was told you have been busy.”
“Aye.”
“What business?”
He straightened, every muscle taut. “I have something to tell you. It will not wait.”
