Page 66 of The Earl Takes All
“Go find a bed in another chamber so you can get some sleep,” she told the nanny.
“I shouldn’t leave her.”
“She’s fine.”
“Thank you, m’lady.”
Julia waited until the woman was gone to sit in a chair near the bed. The sight of the tall, powerful man sprawled over the small bed with her daughter resting near his heart made her want to weep. She did not want to be so moved. Damn the weasel for coming to the princess’s rescue. Damn her own heart for its gladness at seeing him—she thought it might swell beyond the confines of her chest—when she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him for days.
He’d lost weight. Shadows rested beneath his eyes. Even though he was asleep he appeared tired. Was it fair to punish him for doing what Albert had asked of him? No, the punishment was for the six weeks when he’d held the truth from her and charmed her instead.
If you got to know him better, I think you’d like him,Albert had once told her. The problem was, she liked him far too much.
She wasn’t going to ask for the cottage in the Cotswolds, because he was correct, blast him. Alberta belonged here. Nowhere else would she be more loved, more protected, more spoiled.
Unfortunately, she feared that nowhere else would she herself be more miserable.
Chapter 17
Ithad been a wretched winter. Edward cursed the frigid winds that whipped around him as he dismounted in front of the village tea shop, then chose some rather strong words to fling at himself for braving what surely had to be the last storm before spring for something as whimsical as strawberry tarts. They weren’t even for him. As nearly a week and a half had passed and Julia had yet to communicate with him in any manner whosoever, he knew she was still grieving, and he was hoping the tarts might cheer her, lessen her disgust with him. Or they would make her angry, but her fury was better than her sorrow.
The bell atop the door tinkled as he stepped inside and welcomed the warmth. The only other customer was a young boy, barefoot without a jacket. What sort of parents would be so negligent? He was of a mind to have a word with them.
“Please,” the boy pleaded, holding up a fist that appeared to be closed around a coin. “Me mum’s hungry.”
“Sorry, love,” Mrs.Potts said, “but a ha’penny isn’t going to buy you a meat pie.”
“But she’s gonna die.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Mrs.Potts looked at Edward. “Good day, Lord Greyling. What would please you?”
He understood no profit was to be made in giving away food, but surely exceptions could be made. On the other hand, if she gave something away, she’d have all manner of beggar at her door.
Edward knelt before the boy, who he put at around six years of age, surprised to see how flushed his face was. It wasn’t that warm in here. “What’s wrong with your mother, lad?”
“She’s sick.”
“Probably influenza,” Mrs.Potts said. “Lot of people coming down with it.”
He touched his palm to the boy’s forehead. “He’s far too hot.”
“He shouldn’t be in here, then. Be off with you, lad. Go on home.”
Edward held up his hand to halt her hysterics, wrapped his other hand around the child’s bony shoulder. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Johnny. Johnny Lark.”
“How many in your family?”
“Four.”
“Box up four meat pies, Mrs.Potts. Put them on my account.” Removing his coat, he wrapped it around Johnny Lark and lifted him into his arms. The lad weighed nothing at all. Taking the box Mrs.Potts placed on the counter, he said, “Box up four strawberry tarts. I’ll return for them shortly.” He turned his attention to the boy. “Show me where you live, Johnny.”
It was a small cottage at the edge of the village. Based upon the lines of rope strung along the back that he could see as they neared, Edward assumed Johnny’s mother was a washerwoman. Setting the lad on his feet on the stoop, he knocked on the door. When no one called out to him, he opened it and was nearly knocked back by the foul stench of sickness.
“Mrs.Lark,” he announced as he stepped inside.
On a bed in the corner, a woman with tangled red hair pushed herself up. “What’d ye do, Johnny?”
