Page 48 of A Duke's Overlooked Spinster
“This is highly irregular,” the physician complained, but after a moment he shrugged and rested his hand on Henry’s brow and then felt for his pulse.
Sarah sat with the little boy. She was aware of the duke’s gaze on her, but she ignored him, doing her best to focus on Henry.
When the door shut behind the physician, she heard the duke walk across the floor towards her. Henry had relaxed and was seemingly asleep. She turned around.
“Thank you,” the duke whispered.
“There is nothing to thank me for,” Sarah said softly.
He gazed into her eyes and Sarah’s heart twisted at the mix of emotions she saw there. They seemed turbulent with feeling, like the sky before a storm. She longed to ask him what hewas thinking, to hear him say what he wished to say, but as he stepped closer, someone knocked at the door.
“A bath, Your Grace?” a servant asked hesitantly.
“Bring it in,” the duke replied, half-turning to the door.
“At once, Your Grace,” the servant replied, and the door opened. Two footmen carried a wooden bathtub inside. A maidservant followed, carrying two buckets of steaming water.
“I will let you bath your son,” Sarah said gently to the duke. She felt sure that he would not want her to be there for that. She was not part of their family.
“Thank you,” the duke said again. Sarah turned and bent to the bed. Buttons was still sleeping. He opened his eyes and gazed up at her, then blinked as she reached down to lift him up.
“Henry is going to have a bath now,” she told the little dog gently. “We will see him again in a few hours.” Sarah went to the door. She felt the need to get out of the room, where the discomfort of Henry’s mistaking her for his mother still hung in the air. She smiled at him, trying to convey as much reassurance and care as she could. Then she went out into the hall, going steadily to her own room to rest. She would surely worry about Henry and about the duke and what he thought, and about what the duchess might or might not have seen that evening at the ball.
Chapter 22
“If you are too tired, Sarah, you do not need to attend,” Caroline said gently to Sarah, where she stood beside her on the terrace. It was a warm afternoon, the golden afternoon rays pouring down on the stone paving of the terrace. Around them, members of the household staff moved efficiently, setting out tables and chairs, polishing glassware as they set it out on the trestle-table by the wall.
“I am not too tired,” Sarah said quickly. “I think it would do me good.”
“Good. Grand.”
Caroline smiled at her kindly. Sarah took a deep breath. She had cared for Henry for much of the morning, forgetting that Caroline had planned a Venetian Breakfast. Though the party was called a “breakfast”, it was really a day-long event, beginning mid-morning and lasting through to dinnertime. It was a beautiful day, the sunlight warm and bright; the leaves on the creepers that swathed the wall fluttering in the slight breeze. Sarah looked down at the white-and-blue muslin dress that she wore. It was thin and cool and she focused on whether or not she needed a shawl, ignoring the tumult of questions that raced around her brain.
“I think I will fetch my shawl,” she told Caroline, who nodded.
“It is a little chilly in the breeze, and only likely to be more so later,” she agreed. She herself was wearing a gown in rich orange silk, a soft ocher-colored Venetian silk shawl draped around her.
Sarah hurried indoors to the hallway, glad to remove herself for a moment from the bustle of activity outside. She had decided to attend the breakfast after all, hoping that spending time with the other guests—Caroline and Victoria, she hoped—would distract her from her own worries and confusion.
The fact that Henry had called her “mama” had disturbed her greatly. On the one hand, her heart had kindled with complete joy. She would like nothing better than for a boy like Henry to be her son. But he was not, and he never would be, and she did not wish to pretend, not even for a second, that he could be.
But the duke—does he really feel that way? she asked herself. She told herself that he had disapproved of Henry’s confusion, that he had wanted her to leave the room, but that had seemed far from true. He had thanked her, even though his gaze seemed troubled. And he kissed me, she reminded herself.
He had kissed her, but he had said or done nothing since then. She still had no idea if his mother knew and what she had said about it. Her stomach knotted queasily. The duchess would doubtless also attend the breakfast—maybe it was not wise to go, after all. She lifted her shawl from the hook by the door and walked towards the stairs uncertainly, in half a mind to go up to her room and avoid the event. As she did so, Lady Philipa and Lord Charles appeared on the stairs, Lord and Lady Egerton behind them.
“Ah! Miss Brooke,” Charles greeted her with a warm smile that was disconcertingly like the duke’s. “So glad that you will join us! How does my nephew fare?” he added, his brow creasing in a frown. “Is he any better?”
“He has a fever,” Sarah told him, though she was sure that the duke had informed his family about that. “But when I left the room, he was sleeping peacefully.”
“Good. Good,” Lady Egerton said warmly, joining the group at the foot of the stairs. “I am so grateful that you acted so promptly, Sarah,” she added gently. “May I call you Sarah? You may call me Victoria, of course.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, flushing red at the new, unexpected familiarity. “Of course, you may.”
“Good.” Lady Egerton smiled. “I think I can smell tea and pastries. Just what I fancy at this time of day.” Sarah smiled with genuine warmth and followed the group out onto the terrace.
“Sarah! You are back! Grand,” Caroline greeted her. She was still overseeing the details as the servants laid out the glassware and arranged the plates full of delicacies. Sarah smiled at her, understanding that Caroline wanted her to manage the guests while she completed the arrangements.
Sarah turned to Victoria, feeling a little shy. “Did you enjoy your morning stroll?” she asked her, having spotted her in the distance when she was out on her own morning adventure.
